my most favorite purchase ever (or at least in the recent past)

I bought this coat at Target for $13 on clearance! And seeing as it was pretty much no degrees today in Indiana, this has really come in handy. The hood is most definitely my favorite part and I'm pretty sure I will never again buy a coat without a hood. With my new coat and my long underwear, the past few days have been almost bearable. I have no idea what I'll be doing in a few months, but Miami is sounding appealing. Although, as much as I hate the cold, when I manage to somewhat outsmart it, I get some sick feeling of midwestern pride:)

the wedding singer

In keeping with tradition, I am here to report on Josh and my third Broadway Across America date. We saw The Wedding Singer at The Murat. It's a 2006 musical based on the 1998 movie with Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore. It was probably my least favorite of the ones we've seen so far but it was still fun and enjoyable. Plus Josh and I always have fun dressing up and going out!

newsworthy

Two of my favorite people in the world, Ted and Paulina, are getting married June 7th in Merida, Mexico. Pau is my friend I stayed with when I was living in Mexico this summer and Ted is the one who introduced me to her. I'm so happy for them and I'm saving my pennies in hopes that I can make the trip out there for the wedding:)

Also- Check out the comments on my post "commonest." I mentioned that I was going to call in to a show on NPR and the next morning, one of the co-hosts of the show had posted on my blog! I couldn't believe it. I emailed him and asked how he found my post- Google newsfeed I guess. Anyway, I just thought that was pretty cool. Maybe I'll call in and be on the show!

i like indy

It really is a charming midwestern city. Last night, my friend Robert and I headed out to try our hand at Spanish tapas cuisine. There is a charming Spanish restaurant on the corner of Delaware and Ohio in downtown Indy that I had been wanting to try for awhile, Barcelona Tapas. The food was good, but the atmosphere and the sangria were excellent! Definitely worth a try. I'll be going back so if you're looking for someone to go with, give me a call:) Luckily we had a reservation because this tiny little restaurant was packed. Our waitress suggested the pitcher of Sangria which was definitely a good choice because the individual glasses are very small. We loved their famous goat cheese tapa! The way tapas work is that you order several small dishes (tapas) of food and share them. It's kind of like finger-food. A very fun dining experience. If you're lucky enough to live in Indy, you should definitely check out Barcelona Tapas.

the man who saved my life and never knew it

Because it was debilitating. It affects the way you eat, the way you talk, the way you walk, and the way you live. For years I was haunted by the pain and embarrassment.

Smile.

Mine was inadequate. So I felt.

Overdramatic? Slightly. Overemphasized? Not a chance.

I recently had the chance to revisit the man who saved my life and never knew it. Or perhaps he did. Perhaps he went into orthodontics because he knew how much a smile could change a life. Or it could have been the money, but for the sake of ignorant bliss I’ll go with the former.

My teeth are an immense source of pride and joy to me, and, I expect, to my parents who paid a lot of money to fix them. They were bad. Before I even went to the orthodontist, I had four of my permanent teeth cut out of my too small mouth. Anyone who knows me will see the irony of the previous sentence. I had a device that dental professionals like to call an expander, but that is actually more like a medieval torture device. Suffice it to say that this device involved a key that was inserted into the expander every night and cranked, yes, that is the word they used, to slowly widen your arch. I walked through fire for these pearly whites.

On the day my braces came off (one of the proudest of my life), the doctor fitted me with two permanent retainers- small pieces of wire attached to the back of my top and bottom teeth to keep them from moving back. Last night, as I was flossing my teeth (a challenge with the wires), the bottom one came unglued on the left side. I freaked. I was convinced that I could feel my teeth struggling back to their demented origins the moment the metal lost its grip. I woke up this morning and my bottom teeth ached with the paranoia that I would be returned to my adolescent awkwardness.

As I returned to the site of the pain, I wanted to say to all the people in the waiting room: you’re doing the right thing, push through. As I lay back in the chair, prepubescents on either side, my whole body was tense with anticipation. Logically, I knew that they were not going to hurt me- they were going to glue my retainer back in place. But I had to remind myself to breathe. In. Out.

I am a sucker for make-over shows. And I have a peculiar affection for the ones with the women whose teeth are so bad that they never smile. Imagine consciously suppressing every physical expression of happiness. That’s hard work. When the women see their new smiles for the first time they always start sobbing immediately. And I have to admit, it really gets to me. It’s not open-heart surgery, but in a way, it is saving a life.

They fixed my retainer and I left. I felt I should have expressed my appreciation for my teeth. I suppose that was my inspiration. An ode to my orthodontist, to my broken retainer. An ode to the smile.

commonest

I have been such a bad writer, but the truth is, nothing has happened lately that I felt like writing about. So rather than talk personal things I thought I would share a word that I recently came across. Commonest. This word was in some material that I was reading for immune dysfunction and I thought to myself, these scientists really need to proofread their stuff. Technically, I was wrong. I did some research (grammatical, not immunolgical) and found out that commonest is actually a word! Actually it's the most correct, but not the commonest. Apparently there is a "rule" that one or two syllable adjectives are -er/-ist as opposed to more/most. But if you notice: two sentences ago I typed most correct. Correct is two syllables but you definitely would not say correctest. Ok, I just checked: correctest is not a word. Because yesterday I would have sworn that commonest wasn't either. According to my research, most common and commonest are both acceptable superlatives, but I happen to think that commonest is just ridiculous. It sounds like Communist. What do you think? Have you ever heard the word commonest? I do get the two syllable rule in most cases: prettiest, ugliest, brightest, stupidest. As in, commonest is the stupidest word I have ever heard. Anyway, wasn't that a great revelation after so many days of no blogging. There's a show on NPR on Saturdays called "A Way With Words" and if I remember, I'm going to call them about this. I'll let you know.

I also thought I'd share some tangible things that make me happy. I saw these tulips at Target yesterday and just had to have them. I love tulips and everytime I walk into my room they make me happy. This second picture is my art project. I hadn't done anything remotely creative in a long time and was in the mood so I painted some flowers to go in the corner above my bed. That's all the exciting news I have to share today. But don't worry, I have a story in the works...

it's a christmas eve miracle

Jenna is updating her blog. Actually, I just wrote this for my parents for Christmas and I thought I'd share it here. It isn't what I imagined but I think they'll like it anyway. I just wanted to put into words a few of the things that stick out in my mind and let them know what those things mean to me. So here it is:

A valuable lesson to teach a daughter

I don’t know if he ever actually said it, but for some reason I have the picture in my head of the times that he did. Multiple times that I sat on his lap or he on the edge of my bed and told me that I could be anything that I wanted to be. Not to let anyone ever tell me differently.

When so many girls get nothing but criticism or worse from their fathers, for some reason, I got the good one.

My parents gave me the greatest gift that parents can give a child- security. The confidence that comes with knowing that no matter how far you fall, there will always be a safe place to land. My father added to that landing place, a desire to jump. When I was younger, it was a physical jump.

“We’re in a cave, mommy,” I explained as my father patiently videotaped the whole adventure for my mom, home with the baby brother who was the reason for the trip. My father had decided that at the sensitive age of four, his attention hungry daughter needed the spotlight all to herself for a few days. This might have also been a break for my mother now that I think about it.

“It’s so short that Daddy had to crawl. But I was just right.” For some reason, this trip has always stuck in my head as the representation of the relationship between my father and me. It represents all the roller coasters he took me on. All the science projects we did together. All the ways he pushed me to embrace the sense of adventure I now know he always knew I had in me.

My dad and I were the ones on the roller coasters, and my mom was always waiting for us when we got off. She has always been there supporting me at the end of every ride. As a child I was sick a lot, and although I was overly dramatic at times, my mom always gave her attention freely. I remember once when I was very sick complaining to her about how bad I felt, and she said to me, “If I could take it away I would. If I could be sick instead of you, I would do it in a heartbeat.” And I knew she would. And somehow that made it feel better.

“Why are you putting makeup on?” I asked my mother as I sat on her bed watching Oprah after school. I remember being so confused. It was four o’clock. Dinner was in the oven. We weren’t going anywhere. “I just want to look nice for your dad when he gets home.” The thought had never even occurred to me. In a time where it seems to be a battle between empowered-working-mom and the mom who freshens up her makeup as dinner is in the oven, my mom showed me how to be both.

That physical jump that my dad encouraged, the make up tips from my mom, all obviously have come to mean so much more to me as I stand on the cusp of the big-girl world. And while my mother still laments the fact that I don’t know how to make gravy, she and my father have taught me so much more. How to jump. How to land. How to live.