winding down

Well, I had a great Christmas holiday. Without going into detail, the reason it was so great is that, once again, I realized how wonderfully blessed I am to be surrounded by family and friends who love and value me. I'm a lucky, lucky girl.

Being back at work for the last few days, though, has caused me to contemplate the winding down of another year. Wrapping up files, closing accounts ... it makes me think about things I'd like to do better in the coming year.

So here's my list of resolutions:

(1) Be more disciplined.
(2) Be more active.
(3) Be more aware.

As to resolution number one, I am the laziest and most slothful procrastinator you will ever meet, especially in regard to things I hate doing, including inter alia* washing dishes, other cleaning (all types) and completing my time records. So I resolve to be more disciplined in getting things done. In light of the great feeling that comes from knowing all the chores have been completed, I know that the discipline will pay off in spades. Not that I need spades.

As to resolution number two, again, I am lazy and slothful. Activity maintains youth, and I am afraid of getting old, so I resolve to be more active. My new CC skis (thanks Mom & Dad!) should help in the endeavor.

As to resolution number three, I've recently noticed that I am more interested in celebrity gossip than I am in current events, world affairs and politics. That's just plain wrong, not to mention disturbing. I cannot willingly contribute to the dumbing of America. So I resolve to read Harper's magazine** and check the CNN website before I read DListed each morning.

So ... what do YOU resolve this New Year?
__________________

* I like using Latin as much as possible. It makes me feel smart.
** I would try reading the Economist or Atlantic Monthly, but I guarantee you the subscription price would be money down the crapper. While I'm resolving to be more aware and disciplined, there's NO WAY I could actually read the more scholarly articles contained in those publications on a monthly basis. Thus, Harper's, being left-leaning and more fluffy, is the best option pour moi.***
*** I like using French, too. Same reason as set forth supra footnote *.

hoe-down run-down

So, last night’s party was a success, despite the fact that I got home from my work party way later (and slightly more tipsy) than I thought I would.

*****************

On the work holiday party, it was very chill, very nice. Started off with cocktails at the bar, and then we headed into a private room. About ten minutes later, my boss excused himself and said he had to visit the restroom. About ten minutes after that, he walked in dressed as Santa and proceeded to give us gifts. As for my gift, “Santa” said that a client of ours wrote him about how much I whine, whine, whine. So what did I get? A bottle of wine.

Santa’s smart and knows his audience. Either that, or my appearance screams “wino.” Maybe both.

Even though I love the wine, the best part about the whole thing was seeing my boss, who’s regularly lauded as one of the most esteemed in his field, dressed as Old St. Nick.

*****************

On the Homemade Holiday Hoe-down, it was a smashing success.

First, the food. It was delightful, delicious, de-lovely. In my estimation, the best dish was the bacon-wrapped dates that MBM brought. It was one of those dishes in which the component parts combine to create something simply transcendent. I could eat them all night.

Barley really wanted MBM's date.

The mashed potato bar was a success, as well. I served them in martini glasses for a festive touch. The only problem is clean-up. The glasses are still soaking.

Doesn't Annaconda's modeling of the mashed potato martinis make you want to dive into the mashed potatoey goodness?

Next, the homemade gifts. They were shockingly awesome. We were all very impressed with ourselves.

I beaded a necklace, bracelet and earrings set for Claire, using amber, light green and purple Swarovski crystals as the focal points. She loved. I forgot to get a picture.

I got a beautiful pillow from MBM. Unbeknownst to her at the time, MBM picked a shiny purpleish-grayish fabric that perfectly matches our living room drapes. Awesome. She also made me a mixed CD with a bunch of songs designed to get me in the mood to plan my wedding. I’m going to need that CD because I’m kind of dreading the whole planning process that’s going to start in earnest in the new year.

Other gifts included a crocheted baby blanket for Durbie (who’s having a girl!), an etched picture frame for JW (who’s having a baby of unknown gender!), two painted and/or decopaged (I have no idea how to spell that word, and I’m not even sure of the technique used) picture frames for the Preb-licker, beaded Christmas ornaments for Mo, beaded napkin rings for Annaconda, a kiln-fired glass vase for runnergrl, and eucalyptus soap for MBM.

Gratuitous photo of Screwball. Just because he's so effin cute.

My special surprise was that I knitted everyone a hat as a party favor (except for Durbie, because she was the recipient of my homemade gift last year (a hat/scarf set), but I made her a baby hat, so cute!). I started in October and finished Wednesday night (12/19) at about 10 p.m. The girls were really excited, and that’s good because it was a shit-ton o’ work.

Like I said, the 2nd Annual Homemade Holiday Hoe-down was a smashing success. You know how I know it was a smashing success? runnergrl looked like this at the end of the night.

party central

Sometimes I'm like a kid. I get so excited about stuff that I just cannot focus. If I have an upcoming vacation, I can usually forget about productivity about two days before I'm scheduled to leave.

The same thing goes for holidays, parties, and really anything that I look forward to.

Today, the reason for my complete lack of productivity (although I was successful cancelling a backordered gift and ordering a substitute gift for LMFT) is the two parties at which my presence is requested/required ... one I'm going to, the other I'm hosting.

The first party is my work party. I work in a tiny office; there's a total of three-full time professionals, one-part time professional, three full-time support staff, and two part-time support staff. So 9 people total. We're going to a local country club for a late lunch and drinks. I'm somewhat excited about this, but really, I'm just excited that I get to go home after the lunch is over.

The second party is the one I'm hosting. I've been preparing for months.

It's kind of a secret santa party, but instead of buying gifts, we're required to actually make them. We call it the "Homemade Holiday Hoe-down."

This is the second year we're doing the party, and I'm thinking it might be the last. Being that none of us are particularly crafty (except for Annaconda who has some mad knitting skills ... seriously check it out, she knitted that sweater herself), some of us were tapped after last year's craft session; very few of us will survive after this year.

I would divulge what I made, but I don't want to give away the secret quite yet in case the recipient is as unfocused as I am and, therefore, reading blogs at work. Suffice it to say, I'm kind of impressed with what I made, and I kind of want to keep it for myself. I'll post a picture tomorrow.

I'm also kind of impressed with the spread that I, and my guests, have created. Check it out:

Appetizers
--Mashed potato bar (w/ sour cream, top the tater, shredded cheddar, chives, green onions, bacon bits, tomatoes and tortilla chip bits)
--Chicken basil sausage, cherry tomato, basil & fresh mozzarella skewers
--Brie, fig & green apple cups
--Cheese plate (w/ brie, herbed chevre, cheddar and gouda)

--Fruit
--Bread and/or crackers

--Bacon-wrapped dates

--Artichoke Dip

--Butternut squash ravioli

Munchies
--Wasabi peas
--Candied Macadamias
--Rosemary Marcona Almonds
--Chocolate covered cashews
--Chocolate covered ginger
--Chex Mix
--Almond Bark Pretzels
--Brandy Beans

Drinks
--Vodka slush
--Wine
--Sparkling lemonade and pomegranate juice for the pregnant ladies

Dessert
--Napoleons

--Sparkling wine w/ sorbet

I'm so crazy excited. And I'm going to be so crazy hung over tomorrow.

It's going to be awesome!!!!

friday night lights

Every year during the holiday season, I try my damndest to get down to Minneapolis to see a particular show. “Shows” (as in Broadway, musicals, etc.) are not typical Diatribes fare. I’ve long been known as the girl who has an apoplexy when a character sings, rather than speaks, his or her common everyday communications. I find it neither credible nor entertaining when characters randomly burst into song.

This show is an exception, however; probably because it’s a different kind of show. It contains no singing of common everyday communications. Rather, it’s a funny, raunchy and interactive cabaret. It happens at a martini bar called Jitters, which is in the basement of another bar called The Times; both are located across Hennepin from Nye’s.

The singer is Erin Schwab, and she's phenomenal. She’s a saucy minx, with a sweet, low, raspy voice to match. Listening to her makes me curse my ancestors for having no vocal talent to pass on to me. Normally, her show consists of some pop, some oldies, some jazz and some show tunes. At Christmas, she blends in the holiday favorites. Her sing-alongs are sure to please. As you can probably imagine, the show draws a very mixed crowd.

The first time I went was probably five years ago or so with my older brother, my cousin, her 6’8” then-fiancé and his uber-straight 6’4” friend, both of whom hail from Grand Rapids, Minnesota (the Iron Range’s snooty, moneyed cousin). My cousin, her fiancé and I loved it; the uber-straight friend was uncomfortable, pissed off that he had to spend $4 per bottle of Bud Light and sure that all the gays were watching him when he went to the bathroom. (The gays may have, in fact, been watching him when he went to the bathroom. Giants like those two don’t often show their faces in places like the Jitters mixed crowd. It was inevitable, so a little open-mindedness would have gone a long way.) But, other than the uber-straight friend, the night was a blast. Hence my yearly tradition.

I went to see the show last Friday night. I met my older brother (I'll call him LMFT), his new boyfriend, some other random 21 year-old fashionisto from Vancouver (BC not WA), and a 37-year-old large-and-in-charge gal. I never really did figure out the connection between all of the people, but enjoyment of the night didn’t demand that I do so.

LMFT had mentioned to me earlier that day that he was seeing someone new. I was excited to hear it because I want nothing more for my brother than for him to meet someone great and settle down. Knowing that he wants the same, it always drives me nuts when he introduces me to his new early 20-something boyfriends.

This time was no exception.

LMFT introduced me to the new boyfriend. LMFT is 33; new boyfriend is 22. LMFT is firmly into his post-grad-school career, struggling with bills and creating a life for himself like the rest of us in our early thirties; new boyfriend is graduating from college this month and will be moving to the Twin Cities to find work after New Years. LMFT is non-effeminate; new boyfriend is flamingly effeminate and reminds me a lot of my grad school roommate, a cute, tiny little girl named Jenny. A rousing version of “Bobbie McGee” later indicated that new boyfriend and Jenny even have the same kickin’ dance moves and the genetic inability to process alcohol. It was really weird (and oddly reminiscent of grad school) to watch the whole drunken dancing scene unfold.

Anyway, though I was disappointed, it’s LMFT’s life, and maybe he’s not as ready to settle down as he proclaims to be. Can’t fault him for that. I mean, he is still a guy, after all.

Other than Erin’s performance (which was awesome, as per usual), other notable events included the large-and-in-charge gal embarking on her own expletive-ridden diatribe about the condition of the bathrooms (which, admittedly, were disgusting) and the 21-year-old fashionisto giving me addresses for blogs that apparently contain photos of people on the street who are the inspiration for fashions that will eventually make it to the European, NY and LA runways. I engaged in the conversation, all the while thinking that this little dude obviously didn’t even look at me. In my gray cowl-neck sweater, dark jeans and black boots … I was (and generally am) hardly what one would call “fashion forward.”

But the night was a lot of fun, a respite in my business trip stress. Schedules permitting, I will definitely go again next year.

And to anyone who frequents the Twin Cities area, you should check out one of Erin’s shows; they’re a lot of fun. For information, click here.

notes on a business trip

I'm currently winding down one of the most extended and intense work marathons I've ever faced, which is the reason for my recent lack of posts. Last week, I had one client meeting down in Minneapolis that lasted two days; I then had another client obligation in Milaca that lasted a half-day, and, finally, I had to speak at a seminar on Saturday in Minneapolis about the purchase and development of lakeshore and recreational property. While all of these events were interesting and integral to the furthering of my career, by the time they were done, I was numb. I had nothing, nada, nil, zero left in me. After making the trek back up north, I ended up falling asleep on my couch at 8 pm and not waking until the next morning at 9. It was bliss.

(Incidentally, I thought of Ms. Feisty while at the seminar … lakescaping, stormwater treatment and green building were all topics of discussion. We would have benefitted greatly from her input on the subjects. But I digress.)

Despite the main focus being business, I managed to squeeze some "me" time into the trip. First, I got almost all my Christmas shopping done in the span of one afternoon ... Cabelas (Mr. Wonderful), Best Buy (Duckie) and Target (Mom, Dad and future ILs). I even stopped at Party America or whatever the hell it's called and got lots of little doo-dads that will make my upcoming holiday party kitschily festive. I'm sooooo excited to use my snowman party picks.

I also made a stop at Trader Joes before the weekend rush. For my west coast readers (holla!), Trader Joes is some pretty new and exciting shit here in these parts. People flock to its Hawaiian theme and moderately priced treats like moths to a flame. They go gaga over the cheap organic greens; they marvel at the competitive cost of the Edam; they go nutso over the frozen lemongrass and chicken rolls; they fawn over the all the chocolate-covered foodstuffs, and they stop dead in their tracks while perusing the unique canned goods (“ooooooh, organic black bean and pumpkin soup, coooool”). It's really effing annoying when all you want to do is grocery shop like normal.

Which is why it’s really only reasonable to go there if you can make it on a weekday morning. I breezed in and out with nary a frustration.

I also made a stop at the TJ’s wine room. (Again, for my west coast readers (holla!), Minnesota law requires that booze be sold separately from regular groceries. The rationale for this law is that Minnesotans would apparently lack the intelligence and self-control to prevent themselves from being drunkards and disturbers of the peace if they could get wine and beer in grocery stores. IMHO, this is a completely idiotic basis because Minnesota routinely ranks among the highest in education, intelligence and overall health. In comparison, look at the south. We all know how the south ranks in these surveys (no offense Katharina) and yet people in the south can buy whatever they want at the local Food Lion (pronounced "Food Line"). It’s just plain ludicrous. But again, I digress.)

While at the wine room, I ran into an old acquaintance of mine. I had actually witnessed her earlier in the food section of the store … I didn’t see her face, but I heard a shriek, and when I looked to where it came from, I saw the back of the shrieker and thought, “I wonder if that’s Big Head K?” I didn’t really feel compelled to find out, as I could have lived my life without ever seeing her again, and I would have been just fine.

But as I was having my Prosecco checked out by the register guy, I heard the same shriek as earlier, only in the form of my name. “[Diatribes]-y!!!!!” I turned, and there she was. Big Head K in the flesh. She rushed over and gave me a hug. It was one of those awkward deals where I put out my hand to shake, but then I saw she was going in for the hug, so I tried to make it look like I was going to do a one-armed side hug. She was too loud and shrieky to realize.

“So how are you” and blah blah blah, the conversation went. Until she brought up my older brother. See, Big Head K used to have a HUGE crush on my older brother. As far as she was concerned he had been a perfect match for her: cute, musical, spiritual … the complete package. But then ….

Big Head K said, “So … how is your brother? It’s been so long. I haven’t seen him since he came out ….” and she started waving her hands in front of her face. Knowing full well what she was alluding to, but wanting to make her squirm and define what the hand-waving meant, I asked innocently, “Out where?” She said, “You know, out of the closet.” She whispered that last part, and then asked, “Is he still … ?”

“Out and proud,” I confirmed. When my brother came out (of the closet), Big Head K tried to dissuade him from doing so. She told him that she thought he was condemning himself to eternal damnation by making the “decision” (her word, not mine) to be gay. I’m quite sure from the disappointed look on her face that she hadn’t had a change of heart.

As the conversation began to wind down, Big Head K gave me a slip of paper with her email to give to my brother. I think we both knew it was an empty gesture. Later that evening, when I saw my brother, I gave him the email. He laughed resentfully and tossed the slip of paper aside. Sometimes, when doors close, it’s a good thing.

movin' on up

Big news at my place d'emploi: a co-worker is moving on to greener pastures, and I'm moving up in the world.

The other associate is one of those ladies who could definitely be the target of a non-sexual girl crush. She's about 42, extremely pretty and fit, good dresser, has a very gainfully-employed husband, three good-looking kids (one of whom is currently being scouted by the U.S. Ski Team), a huge house in Congdon and a Volvo SUV, which she and her husband picked up in Paris last year. It kind of makes you sick, doesn't it? But then on the other hand, she's so nice, friendly and competent, that you can't help but to like and admire her. It's a bummer that she's leaving because I would value having her as a co-worker in the years to come. Alas, it's obviously not meant to be.

Of course, there is a bright side to her leaving: I will get her office, which has a killer view.

The view from my current office is pretty nice:

But it's going to be a lot nicer come January 1:

I'm also getting her parking space, which has been noted by many inhabitants of West Superior Street as one of the best out there. Nice and big, with drive-through access. My current parking spot is very narrow, located in a basement right next to a cement pillar, and is apparently the depository of all the 100-year-old building's limestone drippings.

So, in light of the new office and parking space, her move is treating me pretty nicely.

Is it terrible of me to say I'm excited about this turn of events? I'm only feeling bad because of the aforementioned non-sexual girl crush, so I'm sure it will pass ... as soon as I get to gaze out that window and park in my cushy spot.

getting figgy with it

The drunken figs were good, enjoyed by all who tasted.

Thanks to Jude*, Screwball and Barley are now gourmands.

*My mom would be embarrassed that there is a picture of her in an Iron Ranger t-shirt layered over a Cuddledud top published on the internet for all the world to see. Neither she, nor I, are all that proud of the land from which we hail. The t-shirt was given to me as a gag gift and used by Jude to prevent sap from the Christmas tree, which we had decorated earlier, from staining her sweater. Not that anyone gives a shit.

friday surfing

Just watching the clock and filling time this afternoon, I found these gems:

For those who don't know (and why would you?), this is Solange, Beyonce's little sister. You know ... Beyonce of Destiny's Child and House of Derreon (or Derriere, you pick) fame?

Now, I don't want to be accused of impinging on the Go Fug girls' territory, but this is about the fugliest combo I've seen. Hefty bag dress? Not hot. Indigo-colored tights? Just .... why? And fugly ass white and black check shoes? Come on! This whole ensemble reeks of "got dressed in the dark."

Next one:

I love the look on Rachael Ray's face in this picture. It's like she's thinking, "Seriously, could you try not to eat my entire upper lip area when we kiss? I find it difficult to breathe. Come on now .... I mean it ... LET GO!"

Usually, Rachael Ray drives me bat-shit crazy, but I really like her dress in this picture.

I cannot believe I just said something nice about her. Has hell frozen over or something?

Next one:

I just do not get the attraction with this one. Hairy, skinny and a girly voice. What's the deal?

Last one:

That's exactly what I was going to wear, and how I was going to sit, when wrapping all my presents this year. Damn that Vanessa Minillo!

For the rest of the cutesy Christmas photo shoot, click here.

pearl harbor, T plus 10 years

Ten years after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, most of America looked back and remembered the victories and defeats of WWII. But not Julia Torkkola. Nope, she was looking down at her new beautiful baby girl, who later became my mom.

Jude, my mom, turns 56 today. She's a great mom, and I'm lucky to be her daughter.

I usually have no problem at all shopping for her gifts. This year was especially easy, because she just asked for money. She's going to New York later this month to visit her cousin, and she wants some spending money. So a card and some money it is.

(Side note: I think it's completely weird to be giving my mom money for her birthday. She asked for money for Christmas, too. To expedite the whole process, shouldn't we just set off any amount I'd give her against what she's going to spend on me? I brought this up to her, and she said she'd be willing to do that if I wanted to. After thinking about it, I decided that a set-off would be no fun, so again, a card and money it is.)

I couldn't resist getting her a little something, though, so I ordered her some of these. I'm really looking forward to her sharing.

o tannenbaum

We put up our Christmas tree yesterday:

Just kidding! (Although I wouldn't be if Mr. Wonderful had gotten his way.)

why i call him mr. wonderful

It's a tongue-in-cheek thing.

When I was growing up, my mom used to call my dad "Mr. Wonderful." She didn't use the term in a sugary-sweet way, and she wasn't being sarcastic, either. She just used it in a humorous way, a la a faux 50's housewife who catered to her husband's every whim.

Everyone who knows my mom knows the 50's housewife persona just does not fit.

Fast forward 20 years or so, and, after hearing my Mr. Wonderful pull into the driveway the other day, I caught myself telling the dogs, "Here comes Mr. Wonderful," just like my mom used to tell us kids.

Even moreso than my mom, the 50's housewife persona doesn't fit me. But, to quote the Propellerheads, it's all just a little bit of history repeating.

damn.

Someone beat us to it!

I guess great minds think alike.

the future's so bright you gotta wear shades

I'm so excited about this guy and his campaign.

Winston Churchill once said, "“If you're not a liberal at twenty you have no heart, if you're not a conservative at forty you have no brain."

Old Winnie obviously never met Al Franken. He's over 40, full of heart AND brains, not to mention humor.

Like I said, I'm excited about him.

the heat is on

I'm really excited for football this upcoming weekend because it's (cue CBS Sunday football theme, dadada dadadaaa dadada dadadaaa dadada dada Da Da Da .... you get the picture):

FANTASY FOOTBALL PLAYOFFS

I ended the regular season in third place with a record of 8-5; not stellar, but then again, due to injuries and myriad other factors, no one in our league did all that hot either, with the exception of one guy who's probably going to end up the champ. Somehow, he drafted Tom Brady, Terrell Owens, Chad Johnson and the New England defense. Drafted them, not made strategic trades for a well-rounded team. Seriously, how did that happen? I suppose I know the answer ... everyone else was drafting running backs while he was pillaging all other positions and effing over those who draft by traditional rules. But I'm not bitter at all, can you tell?

I digress ... I'm even more excited for this weekend's matchup because I'm playing Mr. Wonderful's team. We've met twice already this season, and we split the games. So there are some HUGE bragging rights to be won at our upcoming contest. There will likely be some sort of bet, too.

Mr. Wonderful always wants to bet beer. Since I'm not much of a beer drinker anymore, I'm thinking we should bet something else, maybe household duties. Or I could really use a Wonderful carwash ... he exhibits an insane attention to detail with his washing and vacuuming. I think he even Armor-Alls. If I lose, maybe I could do his laundry or something similar that's not too hard.

Anyway, I have 4 more days to analyze every player on my team and agonize who to play and who to bench. Wish me luck!

what's that smell?

A couple weeks ago, I wrote about wanting to find a CD called "Miles and Means" by a band named Storyhill. A commentator found me a website that still had some copies (thanks Mo!), and I received the CD in the mail a couple days ago.

I eagerly popped it in the player, and began enjoying the tunes. All was going well, until a certain song came on. I had forgotten about it completely. It took me waaaaaaay back.

The song is "Parallel Lives," and its significance is that it was included in a mixed tape given to me by a guy with whom I was in love for a time. For purposes of this blog entry, I'll call him Big D...(bag).

Big D...(bag) and I met in the summer of 1999 in Lake Oswego, Oregon, an Edina-like suburb of Portland. We were both servers at the Olive Garden during summer break. He was going to Portland State; I was going to Lewis & Clark.

Our first conversation, held in the beverage alley, yielded that we had grown up within an hour of each other in Minnesota. Our high schools were sometimes-rivals, depending on the sport. I had even hung out with his cousin during previous summer breaks. My interest was piqued.

Our second conversation, which involved all participants' discussions of their dream weddings, yielded that he is as big a fan of John Denver as I am. I didn't think that was possible. I mean, I'm a BIG fan. At that point, I was definitely into him.

He suggested we go out for a beer after work. We went to one of my favorite places ... the Fulton Pub ... and we drank a pitcher of Nut Brown. Later, we walked down to a dock that provided a great view of downtown Portland from the Willamette River. We talked and talked.

After I started shaking from the cold night air, we left the dock, bought a bottle of Riesling and headed to an apartment that I had just rented that day. I had the key, but there was no furniture. So we sat in an empty apartment and talked some more. I think we made out. I can't really remember. All I know is, that by the time the sun came up, I was gaga for him.

It was right about the time the sun came up that Big D...(bag) told me he had a girlfriend. He couched it in terms that he wasn't really into her, and he couldn't believe that someone as incredible as me existed. It was enough of a hook to draw me in deeper. I knew by the end of summer, he would be mine.

Fast forward through a summer full of camping trips on Mt. Hood and Mt. Adams, day trips to the beach and hanging out in town, and I was still as into him as ever. But he wasn't yet mine. In fact, he was far from it. As the summer drew to a close, he began preparing to go to Alaska to hang out with his girlfriend for a month before heading over to Jackson Hole for the winter.

I was pretty miffed, and I got all moody. He still wanted to hang out and be as good of "friends" as we had been throughout the summer. Shortly before the summer ended, he gave me the mixed tape. He had fashioned a cover out of a picture from a magazine that he thought looked like Lake Superior in the fall. On the cover he wrote, "I Do Love You, [Diatribes]."

It had a bunch of songs on it, some I liked, some I didn't care for, but I loved "Parallel Lives." There was one stanza: "as we are, we're worlds apart, but i can still command your eye. i can make you smile, twitch or blush. and the other night, when the lunar light had spread across the sky, it wasn't the white wine that gave the rush." I don't know why, but it made me swoon. (Seriously, I can't figure it out ... those words aren't really that poetic. It must've been either the melody or the rose-colored glasses.)

Anyway, the next time I saw Big D...(bag) was about nine months later. He drove the ten hours to Portland from Jackson Hole for a weekend. I was really excited to see him, but considering how we had left things the summer before, I was determined to keep things strictly platonic.

The night he came into town, I was busy with school. He came straight to where I was, and then sat with me and my friends while we got a beer after the school function. During that time, I learned that he was finally single. My determination began to crumble. He said he missed me. Just like that, we reverted to our easy back and forth, like no time had passed.

Because I'm stupid, I said he could stay with me. It wasn't long before we started to get busy. Making out and all that. Then it started to get a little more intense. Buttons started being unbuttoned, zippers unzipped. I was caught up in a frenzy until ... wait ... sniff, sniff ... "what's that smell?" I thought.

Big D...(bag) was still all into it. I paused and did some surreptitious sniffing. There was a smell, strangely familiar. Then I started to get a little hungry. "Burrito ... that's what I smell! Mmmmm." Until, a split second later, I realized the smell was coming FROM. HIS. CROTCH. Oh, ewwwwww.

Apparently ten hours in a warm Jeep results in funky burrito-smelling ball sweat. Who knew?

I'd like to be able to say that the smell of burrito was enough to end the relationship (or even that night's hanky-panky), but it wasn't. Our worlds crashed into each other time and again during the next five years. Finally, after a particularly heinous rendezvous at his cabin on Lake Vermilion, I'm happy to say it all ended.

No more burritos (or Big D...(bag)) for me. Thank God.

dream weaver

Have you ever had one of those dreams where you dream something crazy about someone you know, and then when you see them, you look at them completely differently?

Last night, on my way back to Duluth after a weekend at my parents', I was reminded of one of my craziest dreams ever. As I passed the Paul Wellstone Memorial just south of Eveleth, my thoughts went back to the night I had said dream.

At the time, I was living in Washington, D.C., interning for the Sierra Club. As part of the internship, I had to do "Hill Drops" once every two weeks or so. Hill Drops consisted of delivering packages of pro-environment literature to the offices of Congresspeople and Senators in hopes of influencing upcoming votes. So it was often that I was walking the hallowed halls of our government, rubbing elbows with the rich and powerful.

Out of the blue one evening, in my little apartment on Capitol Hill, I had a horrendous dream that Paul Wellstone kidnapped me, took me out in a boat on an unnamed Minnesota lake and raped me 700 times. The dream felt so real, and I felt so violated and so betrayed because, to the extent one can be a fan of a politician, I was a groupie for Wellstone.

When I woke up the next morning, I still felt gross, but I shrugged it off and went on with my daily activities ... class then internship.

As luck would have it, I had to do a Hill Drop that afternoon. And of course, I was assigned the Hart office building, which housed Wellstone's offices. As soon as I emerged through security, who did I see? Yeah, you got it .... Wellstone.

I've never been one to hide my emotions, and that day was no exception. I had a horrified look on my face as I stared at him, the dream still vivid in my mind. He walked toward me (which was also toward the door), and when he saw me glaring at him, he looked at me with concern and said, "Hello?" I could hear the questioning in his voice, no doubt reacting to the look of horror on my face.

All I could muster was a "mmmhi" as I averted my eyes and hurried past.

Later, I kicked myself for not taking advantage of the situation and properly introducing myself. Who knows what kind of stellar political career could have ensued?

Alas, it was not to be.

I still think that Wellstone was a great senator, one of the best of our time, and I sorely miss his presence in Washington. But unfortunately, every time I think of him, I think of that dream. And I still get skeeved out.