Liquid Gold

Back home, my mom used to make me fresh squeezed orange juice in the morning before I left for school.  There were quite a few times when I didn’t finish it, either because I was rushed or I didn’t want to. 

Now, I look back on my high school self and wonder, what in the world was I thinking?

At school it’s rare to get truly fresh food.  Sure, the fruit is supposed to be “fresh” but a lot of the time it’s mediocre and probably pretty cheap. 

Except for the oranges. 

If you have the patience to peel one of those things it’s pretty delicious. 

Do I have the patience?

No. 

If I eat an orange it’s because Will took the time to peel one and I simply stole a couple slices.

I can’t believe it took me so long (more than a school year) to remember how often I used to have fresh squeezed orange juice at home.  And I suddenly had the most brilliant idea I’ve had in a long time.

Buy a juice maker!

The exact juice maker I bought...
I love it.

When it arrived in the mail a couple days later I couldn’t wait to try it, and I had a stock of oranges in my room since I grabbed a couple every time I ate in Gwinn.  After I unpacked the juicer and cleaned it, I grabbed my roommate’s knife and began slicing oranges in half, then pushing the individual halves down on the squeezer to extract the juice.

The juicer happens to make a terrible grinding noise when the top part turns to remove the juice, and when Taylor walked into the room she asked, “Is your printer choking??”  Dwight, my printer, has been known to chew up paper before and it actually makes a pretty similar sound.

I just laughed and showed her the juicer, and after I had squeezed 6 or 7 I was able to pour a glass for her and myself.  I’ll admit that I paraded my juice around a bit and showed other people, but I also promised to make them some as well. 

A couple days later I texted my friend Sarah, who was in Gwinn, and asked if she would grab me a couple oranges and have the other girls with her grab some as well.  When they walked into my room, oranges in hand, they asked, “What are you going to use all of these for?”

“To make fresh squeezed orange juice!” I told them. 

“Oh.  We thought you were going to give them to the boys so that they could throw them off the balcony.”

Their assumption is understandable.  The boys occasionally do things like that, especially because they are called the Orange Men, so it’s rather fitting.  Never will I give the boys oranges to throw off the balcony when I can turn them into juice. 

The $18 I spent on the juice maker is possibly some of the best money I’ve ever spent.  Every day I try to grab a couple oranges when I’m in Gwinn.  One day I managed to sneak out 8 in my backpack, which I will never do again because carrying all that weight up Ashton hill was a lot harder than I expected. 

The point is, as long as I’ve got fruit, I’ll have fresh juice.

My brother referred to it as “liquid gold”, which I would agree is very true.  

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I Don't Always Clean My Room, but when I do...

I possibly just experienced the least productive day of my life.  Everything this morning was scheduled out perfectly and I was going to be right on track, but it all changed when I got a phone call during class.  After I got out of class I listened to the message on my phone, then called the lady back.  “Sure,” I said.  “Moving the interview to Friday at the same time will work just fine for me.” 

Changing the interview time for a job downtown meant I had three more hours of time to spare, so I kicked off my boots, climbed up onto my bunk bed, and snuggled under my cover while I watched an episode of Hart of Dixie.  (Let me tell you, watching the pilot episode of that TV show on Netflix is going to be the death of me, because now I’m outright addicted no matter how bad the acting may be.) 

Before I knew it, it was lunchtime, so I unwound myself from my cocoon and scrambled off my bed to grab some left over spaghetti out of the fridge.  People tell me it’s terribly unhealthy to warm up food in Tupperware containers since they’re plastic, but I do it anyway.  After my food had been nuked for a solid 2 minutes I climbed back into bed and watched another episode of my show.  As soon as that one finished I knew I had to start studying but, like any normal procrastinating college student, I had to check FB first. 

Which meant that I saw a post on my floor wall from one of the girls reminding the rest of us that the floor had to be decorated for Ashton Haunted Ball, which was occurring in 5 hours.  Other floors had started decorating a couple days ago. 

Let me tell you how much time we had invested into decorating.

None. 

So I took it upon myself, instead of studying, to walk down the hallway and pick up a wad of cotton “spider web-making” material to help aid in the decorating process.  For a solid hour I worked on my own, stringing spider web around the elevator and throughout the hallway.  Then a couple other girls joined me in the decorating process and I got sucked even further into it.  I couldn’t just leave after I had already done so much. 

Around 4pm I called it quits and went back to my room to study and get ready to go to dinner with my dad. 

I ended up cleaning my room instead.  Ironically, my roommate posted this photo on my wall right as I was in the middle of the cleaning process and it couldn’t have been more correct.

*sigh* I was wasting time away and I knew it. 

Needless to say, I didn’t study.  When my dad showed up (flowers in hand!) I took him through my hall, introducing him to various people and then I walked him to the guy’s side to show them that they had decorated for Halloween… with a Christmas theme.  They even had a TV, playing a never-ending clip of a crackling fireplace.  The last time I saw one of those was in a nursing home.

My dad and I left after a bit and drove to Ballard to find a restaurant I had chosen online, called “The Walrus and the Carpenter”, which is apparently named due to an Alice and Wonderland reference.  When we walked in and discovered it was a 45-minute wait we put our names on the waiting list and walked down the street to eat dessert at “Hot Cakes”. 

Delicious.  Always has been. 

We walked back to the restaurant and a blissful night of eating ensued.  When I eat real food it’s as if my stomach is a bottomless pit and I think I can proudly say I might have eaten just as much, or more, than my dad did.  We made sure we documented every food we tried on Forkly, a wonderful iPhone app that I highly recommend.  (If you want to read about my dad's last visit to Seattle, nearly a year ago, read Eating Happiness.)  

After dinner I got back to my room around 9:30pm since my dad and I first went to Will’s room to say hello.  They talked a lot about sports, no surprises there, and I would occasionally try to interject with something slightly smart and knowledgeable sounding.  Compared to most girls, I know a lot more about sports.  But, when a hearty conversation about terrible team-management is occurring between two guys, it’s hard to get a word in. 

So, eventually I get back to my room.  Did I study?  A little bit.  But a lot of other things happened within the span of three hours that were pretty distracting, and most of them won’t be served justice in a few words so I’ll save myself the trouble of trying to summarize.  After all, it was Halloween and no one wanted to settle in for a normal night. 

Welcome to my college life.  

Like I Do About You

Date nights are always something that I look forward to, and last night was no exception.  I tried on various outfits, pulled my hair up then took it down and pulled it up again.  I couldn’t make up my mind and I wanted to look nice even though I knew Will would think I looked great no matter what.

Girls face so many dilemmas.  Every step of getting ready for a date involves a choice.  Which outfit?  Which shoes?  How to I want to do my hair?  What music should I listen to while I curl my hair?  How do I want to do my makeup? What purse do I want to take?  Should I take a coat or a sweater? 

I can finally breathe when I’m ready and then all I have to do is wait.

Will came to get me from my room a few minutes early this time, which I didn’t mind at all.  A few minutes early is way better than a few late.  Late is never good, especially when you only live 30 seconds from each other. 

I love dates with Will because he never tells me where we are going—it’s always a secret and I don’t know until we walk through the door (or he asks me to help him find it, which has happened.) 

Last night we returned to his hometown, Bellevue.  It’s 25 minutes or so away from school and I have been there several times before.  It’s a wonderful city and I enjoy every time we visit it.

Last night he picked Wild Ginger, a restaurant with absolutely amazing Asian cuisine.  I haven’t eaten duck since last May when I graduated high school, and this duck was probably ten times better.  Dates are normally great for conversation, but once we had food in front of us we were dead silent until all of it was gone.  I can proudly say our plates were completely clean.  Will said, “That was about a hundred times, probably more than that, better than Gwinn.”

However, before we received our food, we talked plenty.  I asked him to tell me a story and he told me several about pranks he pulled when he was a kid, and when he was in high school.  One of the stories started, “Well, my friends and I kinda liked blowing things up.” 

Not surprising for a boy, not at all…. 

I tried telling a few of my own, but I guess I wasn’t nearly as troublesome.  I was more mischievous when I was a younger, but those were the stories I forget to tell.  (I’ve locked my brother in the dog kennel, in the basement storage room, and left him there.)  I was quite entertained listening to all of his though.

After the plates were cleared we shared a bowl of mango sorbet (so good!).  I was sorry to leave, since I knew I would have to face cafeteria food again the next day.

On the way back to the car we stopped to warm up by a giant outdoor fireplace.  The sky was clear and beautiful, reminding me of how clear it gets in Colorado.  Suddenly I wanted it to be summer more than anything but I suppose it will have to wait for now. 

It took us a few times to figure out which level Will had parked on in the parking garage, so that was fun since I’m not allowed to ride the elevator.  Normally I’m the one that remembers for him but I had determinedly marched in the wrong direction at the beginning of the night and once Will called me back to walk the other way I forgot to check what level we were on. 

We did find the car, eventually.  (After walking onto 2 wrong levels.) 

I couldn’t have asked for a better date night.  I’ve of course edited out a few of the mushy and romantic details, since I like keeping them to myself and smiling about them later.  I allowed myself to dance crazily in the car on the way back to school, causing Will to laugh a lot, and we sang a bunch of our favorite country songs.

I never found anything that makes me feel like I do about you…

Beauty Through Pain: The Story of a Small Inconvenience on Valentine's Day

The last time I had a boyfriend on Valentine’s Day he didn’t answer my phone calls or texts.  This time I was quite happy to know that Will had planned something for us and was willing to skip class to take me out.

I was pretty excited, and I spent time planning what I would wear and how I would do my hair… the typical thing any girl would do if they were going on a date. 

I had one tiny dilemma.  I didn’t have a curling iron and I wanted to curl some hair to frame my face and then put the rest of my hair in a chignon (for any guys that might be reading this, chignon is just a fancy word for a cute side bun.)  I knew exactly how I was going to do it and what I wanted it to look like.

I set off down the hall in a mission to find a curling iron and one of the girls lent me hers after she had finished her own hair.  It was a different kind of curling iron than I was used to because the hair had to be wrapped around it by hand instead of the usual way where the hair clips in and then gets wound around the iron.  I guess it’s supposed to create more of a wavy beach look.  There’s a specific name for it that I can’t remember. 

I adjusted to the new technique fairly quickly and before I knew it I had wonderful curls that framed my face just how I wanted.  Then I looked at my bangs and decided it would be cool if I could curl them a bit too.

I started with the right bangs and I was about to wind my hair around the iron when I felt a burning sensation on my forehead.

Slightly obvious, I'd say.

I quickly pulled the curling iron away from my skin and set it on my dresser, then turned around and grabbed an aluminum can of apple juice out of the fridge to hold against my forehead.  I knew I had burned myself badly and I took time to hold the cold can on the fresh burn before I lowered my hand to inspect the damage.

When I did, an oval mark the size of a large kidney bean was just beginning to appear on my forehead above my right eye. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it was right where my bangs parted and, therefore, in plain view.  Dang it.  I figured by then that I had curled my hair enough and continued to get ready.  There was only so much I could do about it and I was just going to have to live with it. 

Will said that he probably wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t told him (a smart move on his part) and Sarah said, “At least it’s in a cute shape,” which provided a bit of a silver lining. 

If the saying beauty comes through pain ever meant anything to me, it was probably right then.  (And when I had braces of course, because that was just miserable.)

The rest of my night turned out to be absolutely wonderful and full of good food… 

I was a happy girl regardless of a silly burn.  

Unexpected Nostalgia

Today I’m dressed as if I’m two years old.  Ok, not really.  But I am wearing overalls, which just so happen to be some of my favorite apparel.  In Seattle you can pretty much get away with anything.  Plus, any outfit that looks weird can just be considered “hipster”, and that definitely works in my favor on the days where I randomly mix a bunch of things up and wear them.  Most of the time I’m a simply a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl.

Yesterday, my UCOR class was talking about forms of art and someone said that people are artistic with the way that they dress.  That definitely doesn’t apply to me.  I hardly care what I wear, as long as it fits and I can run around in it.  I also have to wear clothes that I’m not afraid to get dirty because I’m a rather messy human being.  It’s not worth buying a $50 shirt if I’m going to spill ketchup on it and ruin it during lunch. 

Today I walked down to Gwinn alone to eat before I started my day.  People kept asking me where my twin was (since it’s Twin Day for homecoming week) and I told them I didn’t have one.  Half of me wishes I had said she’s in class so that people would have tried to find someone all day that looked like me. 

But I didn’t say it.

I ended up talking to a few people and then I found a spot to sit and eat.  I tend to wander around Gwinn for a little while before I decide what I want to eat.  Today I spotted grill cheese sandwiches and french-fries and knew that was exactly what I wanted. 

I grabbed a sandwich, loaded some fries on the plate and then added some ketchup on the side.  To top it off I filled a glass of lemonade.

Now I was eating like a two year old as well, instead of just acting like one. 

I suddenly remembered when grill cheese sandwiches and french-fries were the only things my siblings and I would eat when we went out to dinner with our parents.  We survived on grill cheese when we took a family vacation to Yellowstone one summer.  And we always asked for a glass of lemonade, never water. 

Before I knew it I was having nostalgia to the max.  As an 18-year-old college student, I was sitting in my college cafeteria longing to be young and eat grill cheese, french-fries, and drink lemonade all the time. 

Those times have long passed—but that doesn’t mean I can’t take time to enjoy one of my favorite meals of all time every once in a while.

There are some things I won’t ever grow out of.  

Hot Chocolate & Hash Browns

Since I’ve been back I haven’t really known what to write about.

I’m busy crocheting, or babysitting, or sleeping, or watching football (specifically Tim Tebow), which leaves me almost nothing to write about.

Well, that’s not completely true, but it doesn’t leave me enough to really elaborate upon.  Unless you wanted to hear me rant about Tim Tebow, but I figured everyone else on every sports channel and radio talk show is doing that for me already. 

Anyway…

I finally got to see one of my close friends from high school last night and we decided to go on a late night ice cream run, which quickly changed to a hot chocolate run due to the freezing weather.

Both of us agree that Starbucks’ hot chocolate is nothing special so we decided to find a different place instead.  Peet’s Coffee was closed and the coffee shop inside Whole Foods was closed as well.  Caribou Coffee was half an hour away, which didn’t leave us with many other options.

Then she suggested Village Inn and I knew of one right down the road, so we drove for 5 minutes and pulled into the parking lot.

We were both pretty sure that they wouldn’t mind a couple of college students wanting only a cup of hot chocolate.  But as soon as we entered my stomach grumbled.  Nothing surprising I guess.

It was difficult to hear what our waiter was saying since he mumbled a lot.  However, we both ended up with a mug of hot chocolate in hand—it just so happened that her mug matched the color of her fingernails, which we both got a good laugh out of. 

I couldn’t resist.  “Xavia, I really want some hash browns.  Do you think they’ll give me just a side of hash browns?”

This caused both of us to laugh again and receive some funny looks from the waiter when he took our order, but I couldn’t have been happier with hot chocolate, hash browns, and one of my best friends by my side. 

It’s an odd combination, that’s for sure.

But happiness comes in the most unique forms. 

Last night it happened to be something sweet, something salty (with some carbs), and a healthy portion of friendship. 

Perfect.  

The Power of Baking Soda

It just so happens I rely heavily on my scent of smell and, as of late, I haven’t been able to smell anything because of a terrible cold I have.

This is both good and bad.

Bad because there are things I would love to smell such as fresh baked cookies, or the morning air.  I would also like to be able to smell whether or not I need to wash certain shirts or not.  When I do my laundry I always smell everything first, just to make sure I actually have to wash all of it.

I can’t do that right now.

However, it is good I lost my sense of smell for one reason especially.

This reason would be called the fridge in my dorm room that I hate opening because it smells so bad.

I should point out that this unfortunate smell is due entirely to my negligence and no one else’s. 

Earlier this quarter I bought a carton of eggs, and a carton of milk.  For a while I used them as much as I should have and then I forgot that they existed.  Which means that there were at least a dozen rotten eggs in the fridge, and expired milk. 

It turns out that I’m not very good at knowing how to take care of food.  Back home my Mom was the one who made sure the fridge was cleaned out and, to be honest, I had no idea how long eggs actually lasted in the fridge.  We always kept extra cartons in our fridge in the basement, and then used them when we ran out of eggs in the upstairs fridge.  However, there were seven of us in the house and I’m sure we went through a dozen eggs in 2 days.

 I left a carton of eggs in my dorm room fridge for at least 2 weeks (maybe more).  Thank goodness my roommate is extremely tolerant and loving, because it’s not even my fridge… it’s hers.     

I’ve offered to drag it outside and hose it down, or at least clean it out somehow, but neither of us really have the time or the means to do it well.  So as I did a Safeway run yesterday to pick up some medicine for my cold, I also grabbed a box of baking soda.

(I must say, I have no idea what I would do if I couldn’t Google things like “how to fix a stinky fridge”.) 

Believe it or not, some genius decided to make a box specifically for the purpose of sitting in a fridge.  So I bought it, dutifully carried it back to my dorm, and placed it in the mini box that keeps our food fresh. 

I am hoping it will help fix the problem.

I currently have no idea how it’s working.

As I said, I can’t smell a thing. 

Cottage Cheese, Pepper, and Sunflower Seeds

I like cottage cheese.  Actually, I love it. 

And I was raised eating it a certain way; with pepper and sunflower seeds.  

People here think that is extraordinarily weird, but it’s not the first thing I’ve done that’s been out of the norm.  People either hate eating cottage cheese in general, or they eat it and can’t imagine eating it with extra ingredients.  I think I’ve met one or two other people that have actually eaten their cottage cheese the same way I do.

Gwinn had a constant supply of sunflower seeds the first two weeks of school and suddenly they stopped.

Which left me rather disappointed.

For weeks I ate my cottage cheese with only pepper.  In fact, I ate it with more pepper than normal in an attempt to make up for the lack of sunflower seeds.  Eventually I stopped walking by the salad bar to look for them because I didn’t think they would ever come back.

But today someone had refilled the sunflower seed containers.  Once I spotted the seeds I immediately headed for the cottage cheese and scooped some into a bowl, then walked back to the end of the salad bar and grabbed the container and dumped a bunch of sunflower seeds onto my cottage cheese.

The girl in line behind me just stared. 

Welcome to my life. 

I love sunflower seeds on my cottage cheese. 

And when I get back to my table I’m going to add pepper to the combination.

I encourage everyone to try it sometime. 

You may be pleasantly surprised.    

Eating Happiness

I changed six different times last night when I was trying to decide what to wear to dinner.  My friend Kendra can attest to that.  She kept counting and every few minutes or so the number would once more increase as I continuously vetoed various outfits.  

She said, “Elisabeth, stop freaking out!  Your Dad doesn’t care what you look like and you’ll look great in anything you wear!”

Here’s the thing.  I hadn’t seen him in over a month and I wanted to dress up and look my best, just for him.  If I dress up for someone it’s a big deal—it means I care a lot.  And I had been looking forward to dinner with my Dad for weeks.

I texted him, “Tell me when you’re here” and two minutes later I was walking down the hall toward the door that leads to the lounge.  Before I realized what was going on, my Dad was in the hallway with a bunch of flowers just for me.  He had somehow managed to get into the lounge, and then into the hallway just so he could surprise me with a bouquet of flowers.

I hugged him and couldn’t let go.  I couldn’t believe he was actually there!  I believe one of my friends managed to catch the moment on camera, but I have not yet seen the picture. 

He made the rounds with me as I introduced him to various people.  I showed him my room to prove that it was still intact and organized, and I also pointed out how much the plant from my Mom had grown.  

I told my Dad I wanted him to chose where we ate (the one requirement was that the restaurant would have good steak) and after the flowers were placed safely in a vase we headed out.

I’m surprised how well I know the city now.  I was able to help direct my Dad where he wanted to go, I could tell him the easiest way to get to main roads, and I recognized where we were.  To a point, I was impressed with my knowledge.

We successfully reached Daniel’s Broiler, which rests right beside Lake Union.  My Dad gave me the seat with the better view, but I only had a few moments to look because when the menus appeared my attention was captivated by the thought of food. 

After we ordered our food I called my on my phone Mom to talk to her.  The waiter was probably wondering what in the world was going on—he must have passed at least three times while I was on the phone in front of my Dad, and I’m afraid I looked rather rude since he didn’t know whom I was talking to.  I wanted to say, It’s ok!  I’m talking to my mom and she loves my dad and me and we’re just talking.  I’m not trying to be rude at all, I promise!  I’m sure it didn’t even matter that much, but I want to act professional and courteous when I’m at a fancy restaurant.

The first food that arrived was a shrimp cocktail.  I haven’t had shrimp in months and I just about died of happiness.  From that point on I could not stop smiling the entire meal and my Dad took a picture of me every time I ate something new because he couldn’t get over the expression of glee on my face.  I felt like a kid eating cotton candy for the first time—the only difference is that I’m an 18 year old who was freaking out about shrimp, salad, steak and mashed potatoes. 

College food does that to you, no matter if it’s ranked on "America’s Best College Cafeteria Food" or not. 

I had a great time eating everything.  Even the bread tasted a million times better.  I kept eating no matter how full I felt.  When food is good I have no limit, and last night I could have eaten for hours. 

I’m totally serious.  Hours.

When I took a bite of the steak it melted in my mouth.  I didn’t know it was possible for steak to melt when I ate it.  I had the huge urge to laugh or dance… but I didn’t.  I just continued to smile real big, eat, and catch up with my Dad on life. 

Unfortunately dinner didn’t last long enough.  I finished off strong with a beautiful crème brulee and felt totally content.  Having my Dad in the beautiful city of Seattle with me, and eating good food made the night one of the best so far this year. 

When he dropped me off at school and we said our goodbyes it felt like the first weekend of school all over, but it was also very different.  This time my Mom wasn’t there, this time I wasn’t scared out of my mind, and this time I knew what I would walk back inside to. 

Plus, my stomach was full of good food.

Which made my life look even brighter.

Fall & Pumpkin Seeds

There’s nothing better than getting a care package from people you love.  Especially when those people are my family and my Mom puts in extra effort to send me an entire batch of cookies—they may not have arrived entirely intact, but they tasted exactly like home and that was all that mattered. 

My sister sent me a little care package of her own, which consisted of the mail I’ve received since I left, pumpkin seeds, and a letter. 

My family carved pumpkins for the first time in years this fall, and I wasn’t there.  It’s always been something I’ve loved to do, but it hasn’t happened in a while.  So of course they did it the year I left.  (Not on purpose, it just worked out that way.)

I had one request.  That my sister would send me the pumpkin seeds once she cooked them.  She told me she would, but I didn’t think it would actually happen.  However, to my pleasant surprise, I received the notification yesterday that I received a care package.  Once I retrieved it and opened it I discovered an entire Ziploc bag of home-baked pumpkin seeds.  In my sister’s handwriting there was a note attached that said, “The guts of Mr. Pumpkin fried and salted.”  I couldn’t help but smile.  My sister managed to represent her personality perfectly on a hot pink sticky-note. 

For me, pumpkin seeds are one of the most prominent signs that it is finally fall.  Granted, the leaves will turn, the air will possess a distinct chill, and the world will prepare for winter, but I can’t accept that fall has arrived until I have pumpkin seeds in my hand. 

There is a distinct taste associated with pumpkin seeds that I can’t entirely place.  Mostly it’s the taste of earth.  As if I can taste how the leaves feel when they are falling from the trees.  I don’t know how to describe the taste of fall, but the closest thing would be pumpkin seeds. 

Anything pumpkin has a distinct fall flavor, but I’ve always reserved pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving.  I can’t make myself eat it even though it’s been served in Gwinn several times in the past few weeks. 

I’ve decided I’m picky about food that way.  I’ll eat anything and everything (except bubble tea, which makes me want to puke).  I guess I tend to reserve certain foods for certain seasons. 

Currently I am content eating pumpkin seeds, drinking coffee, and listening to Death Cab for Cutie as I sit by my window. 

It’s a perfect Seattle day.