Finally…it’s here!

Only five days after our self-imposed deadline, the new b. & c. blog…she has arrived! Point your pretty little browsers to Fifty2 Things to read stuff about it. And thanks again for following along on this little adventure of ours!

c.

So, uh…alrighty. Nice chatting. Time to go.

Looking back on the last 52…

Being an advertising copywriter for the last 9 years or so, I always promised myself I’d try to be a “real” writer by the age of 30. After Shelly was taken away so early in life, ignoring a dream felt downright wasteful.

Prior to 2009, I had thought about writing the story of our incredibly rare and exuberant 16-year friendship. But something felt wrong. It needed to be more special than just a sad tale about how I lost my BFF.

And then that fateful first day of 2009 came along, boozing with Kerry and Ami. This was it. After some giddy gabbing about the bar brainstorm with c.,we knew this was an idea that could carry Shelly’s spirit and make a teeny difference in the world at the same time. Little did I know, it would make a tremendous difference in my life.

There was a lot of power lurking around in this fun little project. Before I knew it, I faced feelings and thoughts I hadn’t faced since her death. Joy, love, heartbreak. And with that, a different bond grew. c. and I were no longer just sisters. we were best friends (cheese-a-rrific, but true). In other words, for the first time in a very long time, I no longer felt like I was missing that role anymore. The hole Shelly left in my heart will always be there, untouched. But now, the other 3/4 (or 5/8) of my heart is so much more full of love and happiness that each day feels exciting and hilarious again.

And really, hilarious is the most important thing in life.

Thank you c., for being hilarious.

Oh yeah, and then there’s you guys. c. immediately urged to bring the Fifty2 Resolutions idea into the 21^st century via blog…so you all got to take the ride with us. And for that, I owe her a boatload of gratitude. Without you, we wouldn’t have known the impact of one crazy sweet soul. We wouldn’t have known that two sisters with questionable confidence could make people cry and laugh and maybe even pee a little (we won’t mention names). But most of all, we wouldn’t have learned to appreciate how kind and genuine this world can really be.

This Saturday, I’ll say goodbye to my best friend, again. I’ll say goodbye like I have on that day for the last 4 years. But this year will be different. This year, I’ll say goodbye knowing that we’ve done something to make her proud.

So thank you, Kerry and Ami, for helping to come up with this madness, half drunk. Thank you, c. for going through it with me, I would’ve been a wreck without you. And E2 and Amy W, who also found themselves in the middle of things…usually without notice. And random Lea, the girl I barely knew when this started, who ended up playing a role I never expected to cast.

And lastly, thank you. All of you. For believing in us and keeping us going for FIFTY TWO weeks.

With that, here it is.

Resolution for 2010: Tell the Story. Follow the dream.

b.

PS. Check back Mondayish. A new blog is on the horizon.

Hey, thanks!

Well, here it is. My final post of the Fifty2 Resolutions project.** Can you believe it? In some ways I feel like this started a couple weeks ago. (Perhaps this has a lot to do with the fact that I still find approaching strangers terrifying.) And in others, it seems it started a million years ago. In these fifty-two weeks I’ve learned a ton. About myself, my friends and family. I’ve made quite a few new friends both in real life and over the interwebs. And more than anything else, I’ve opened myself up to so many amazing, often times scary, and occasionally painful, experiences.

And now, it’s time to give a little thanks.

First, to b. For inviting me to go on this little trip with her. It’s been phenomenal and has brought us closer than we’ve ever been. I love having a sister that is also my best friend. Plus she’s an amazing writer, and posting along side her (ie. trying to keep up) has been a fun challenge. First and a half, to e1. Who has participated (usually willingly, but not always), and taken a little abuse here and there during some of the more stressful weeks. Thanks for hanging in. And resisting the urge to dress me like a fool more than once.

Second to all of you readers. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that I pull the blog up every morning and refresh at least four or five times an hour just to watch the number of hits we get through out the day. Even after fifty-two weeks, it never, ever got old. And extra special thanks to everyone who has ever left a comment. It’s still exciting. Every single time.

Thanks to Matt Keller, Nicole Levine and Greasy Chad McCool for filling in when I needed a blogging buddy. And also to Chad for letting us call him, and kind of embracing the “greasy” moniker.

And finally, to Heather, Denise, Amanda & Hannah, for being a part of so many of my little adventures whether you wanted to, or were even aware of it, or not. As well as to Tim and Karri, for getting me out and about and talking to strangers that very firs tweek, as I tip-toed into this trying to make myself a little better project.

Thank you all. I heart you.

c.

**PS. The blog will go on! We’re still figuring out some of the logistics, but we WILL be back next week!

You are so beautiful, to us.

Please print out the above card. Sign it: Love, Fifty2 Resolutions. And hang it somewhere you will see it everyday.

The final tally for our little one week fundraiser is (read that again, but this time use a Bob Barker voice): $2,235! This was after we added the donations people made directly to the Preeclampsia Foundation.

So now, we’d like to take a minute to list everyone who found the time to throw their hard-earned money at a very good cause:

(in no particular order)

Mike Oberhaus

Steve & Shauna Strom

Andy Janssen

Polly & Brad Guy

Kerry Craig

Amanda & Tim Brend

Jack & Margo Sahrmann

Kelly McGraw

Brad Burt

Jeremy Benson

Denise Miller

Joe & Kate Kardel

Brandan & Maggie Jenkins

Ami Fox

Joe Sgro

Lea Severson

Jenn & Jeremy Schaeffer

Megan Jones

Jon Henninger

Kristine Burkle

Gedean Behning

Jim Kelly

Crissy Mulroy

Kim Smith

Ann Steward

Bess Jacobson

John & Brenda Warner

Christine, Alex & Griffin Richman

Craig & Donna Housley

Doug Waltonbaugh

Heather Hayden

Denise Lang

Sara Bytnar

Trish Crowley

Jennifer Colgan

Angelique & Emyrwyn Jones

Andrea Porth

Sarah (Melton) Blakeslee

Scott Deyoung

Chad & Kelly Thomas

Lars Larsen

Amy Warden

Georgia & Gary Bower

Eric Sahrmann

Jason deBlois

Brendan Gustafson

Amber Baybayan & Jeff Nesler

Adam Nowak

Cassidy Fletcher

Kate (Spedl) Kinne

Mackenzie Soedt

Mary Bauercamper

Kohl Norville

Wes & Karen Ritchie

Diana, David & Carter Bonetto

Jamie & Jeanne Secrest

Brad, Michelle & Hailey Bridgewater

Yep. Wow. All this from a little goal of $500. Shelly was our inspiration, you helped us succeed.

THANK YOU.

b + c

PS. We’ll be posting a few more things this week. So check back.

What the kids are into

Yesterday’s resolution is one of my all-time faves, and I’m pretty sure b. agrees. What better to make us feel young again, after feeling like old-lady squares (see b.’s descrition of leotard clad sparkly peacocks and girls wearing tights as pants), than to do stuff we haven’t done since we were kids!

Long ago and far away, there was a cute little town called Walcott. That’s World’s Largest Truckstop to you. And in that town, there was the Walcott Store. For a couple girls under the age of 12, it was the place happiness and dreams were made of. They had produce and school supplies and soup and wrenches and popsicles and Pop Rocks and OMG GARBAGE PAIL KIDS!! All in the space of about 800 square feet. It was amazing. An honest to goodness small town general store. Candy and cigarettes and candy cigarettes were behind the counter. And when you wanted a package of Chuckles, you just walked back behind the counter and grabbed ‘em. Awesome, no?

It was owned by Al, grandpa of our neighborhood BFFs Brad and Chad. (How did I never notice there were two sets of b. & c. siblings in the hood?) And other than the occasional junior high kid, only family worked there. That’s right, a small town, family owned and operated general store. What is cuter than that? And? It gets a whole lot better. Charging. Yes, you could charge stuff. The Walcott Store didn’t have a card. But they did have a nice bright pad of yellow sticky notes. You simply took your bomb pop and Grape crush to the counter and said “Charge it!” Your name, or more likely, you’re mother’s name, and the amount you just spent on junk food went on a sticky. Said sticky was stuck to the old-fashioned looking produce scale. Then, two weeks later when your mom goes down there to get Cheerios and diet coke, she’d be blindsided by the $17 sticky note. And that, my friends, is how b. and c. payed for nutty bars, drumsticks and…(wait for it) TOMBSTONE PIZZA!!

Please control your jealousy

I feel like it’s probably been mentioned before that we love Tombstone pizza. Like, we get excited about getting to have it for dinner. As a matter of fact, I’ve had it for two dinners in a row. And I am beyond okay with that. Why is this the case? Because mom of b. and c. refused to buy it. She was too busy making healthy home cooked meals for us. And all we wanted in the world was frozen pizza. We got around that by walking down to the store, charging it, and going to Gedean’s house to cook it up and eat it while watching Tim Curry sing about his lost tambourine in ”The Worst Witch.”

So, while the modern day big city grocery store didn’t let us sign a sticky in exchange for our Tombstone, we enjoyed the hell out of this cardboardy, synthetic cheesey goodness!

Moving into the evening, we decided it’d be a good idea to explore our ping-pong prowess. Back in junior high, there was always a unit in gym class called leisure games, or games for old people, or something. It consisted of shuffle board, badminton, something called pickle ball, and ping-pong. Also, for some reason, we had a ping-pong table at home. Which seems a little strange. I’m not sure why, but it just does. For a while it was in our breezeway. A room only slightly larger than the actual table. I recall our form of the game consisting of hitting the ball across the net to each other and off various walls, the floor and pieces of furniture.

Despite all this ping-pong background, I have not played in ages and am terrible at it. Evidence:

Obviously, we still aren’t exactly up on the rules…but then if we were, it wouldn’t be something we haven’t done since we were kids.

Though the official Fifty2 are wrapping up, we’ll still be posting a bunch this week, so keep comin’ back!

c.

When sisters get together, productivity goes down.

Um, yeah…we have some catching up to do.

Let’s shimmy back to Friday. Please choreograph that shimmy to go with “Boys Boys Boys” or “Bad Romance” cuz that’s what we were rocking out to LIVE. Yep, b & c were Lady Gaga’d. And it was killer.

We knew we had to take a pic with a stranger, and if you know Lady Gaga fans, “strange” is an understatement. Very bad word play, please give me some leeway as I’m not functioning with much brain power right now.

c. arrived in Chicago around 3 PM and we were on the road to the burbs by 4:30 for the 7:30 show. I was worried about traffic, so the plan was to find our way to a little “indie” establishment such as Applebees, Hooters or Bennigan’s as early as possible and walk over from there. A mere 15 minutes later, we found ourselves canoodling with Rosemont’s finest at McCormick & Schmicks.

We surveyed the place wondering if our special stranger might be lurking in a nearby booth or bathroom stall. But then we got too caught up in the excitement of what was about to unfold, and kinda forgot. There were sequins and platinum leotards everywhere, can you blame us?

We tromped over to the theater behind some girl chumps wearing tiny skirts and tank tops. As we were making snide old lady remarks, a man on a bike rode by and yelled, “put on a coat!” He was homeless. They were dumb. So needless to say, they were not selected.

As we walked in the door of the theater, our eyes were abruptly flooded with brightly colored chaos. c. and I each got a glass of champagne and oogled the best pre-show entertainment in history.There were men dressed as peacocks, girls with wings, boys with wings, boys who looked like girls with wings, lots of sparkles, lots of exposed flesh, drunk people falling, platinum wigs, offensive leggings galore. We were like two kids in a psychedelic candy store. Kids who forgot they had a homework assignment. Oops, still no pic.

What happened next was surreal, to say the least. Ya know those early 90’s movies where the premise revolves around some sort of repressed youth who finally break free in the last twenty minutes of the movie by dancing uncontrollably down the school halls. And then omigod, even the science teacher starts dancing! Well, that kinda happened. And it wasn’t even one of those unnatural flash mobs that keep popping up. It started with a Michael Jackson song and one section of unruly dancers. Before we knew it, people everywhere in the place were dancing and gyrating down the aisles. c. tried to catch it on video, but it doesn’t really translate. Just believe us, it was awesomely IN-SANE.

The impromptu dance party was quickly followed up with two hours of non-stop brilliance . If you ever have a chance to see her, go. Sell a kidney if you have to. You won’t regret it.

Here’s a shot c. took:

Mark from SYTYCD was one of her dancers! Squeeee!

But um, when we got home, we realized we hadn’t fulfilled the resolution. Curses! We are hoping you can find it in your hearts to forgive us. We still completed the resolution, but we’re turning our paper in a day late.

This is Sandy, the cutest little waitress ever:

Trapped between two Housleys!

Here’s what we found out about her:

Sandy’s favorite drink is chardonnay with some other sweet liquor mixed in. (the name of that liquor has escaped me. Again, I’m in the market for some more brain cells if you have any extras lying around).

So that’s technically Friday’s resolution. C. will be back a little later to post about yesterday’s. Check back soon!

b.

Happy Donation Day!

It wouldn’t be right if we didn’t start with a giant, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HAILEY!”

Just look at how this one has grown up!

We’ll be back later to catch up on all things resolutions, but we’re way too jazzed about this:

Can we say, “YEOW!” or is that too dorky? Maybe… “BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE!”

Awh, whatevs. We’re just excited!

Whether you contributed or not, just take a second to smile.  That donation up there proves how amazing humanity can really be. Sorry for the cheesy ending. We’ll make up for it later.

We love you all!

b + c

THE FINAL RESOLUTION: Greatest Hits, Vol. 5

Just when we think our pig is full, you go and feed him again. Thank you, David and Diana (and cute little Carter) Bonetto for your donation!  We’ll re-tally tomorrow and make “the drop”.  Can’t wait!

After a not-so-very close vote, we will be harassing strangers and capturing it in picture form today (the Social Butterfly). Here’s the original write up of that resolution:

Our resolution: Take time to actually observe those around us. Really look at them…appreciate the beauty, the quirks, the imperfections, the WTFness. Then snap a picture of them…co-starring ourselves. Oh yeah, we have to talk to ‘em too. Each pic must be accompanied by one bit of information about the new stranger-friend.

This was one of our favorites. It was also the FIRST ONE. Can you believe it? It’s one of those resolutions that stuck with us for awhile. I had that weird epiphany like, “hey, pretty much everyone wants to be smiled at. or talked to. or be forced into a photoshoot on a random Wednesday morning.”  Of course, I haven’t done that every day since, but I certainly have made more of an effort to be part of those around me instead of plodding through them like they’re just props in my very important life.

Ahem. (mood shift) So, while were on the subject of voting, we’re a little curious why a lot of you aren’t doing it. The number of people who visited that post compared to the number of you who voted is dismal at best. All you need to do is click and we’ll do whatever you choose.  How often do you get that power? (please read all that in a whiney voice, that’s how it’s intended). Vote people, vote.

Okay, so here it is. Today’s poll:

If you need a refresher, that first option was this:

Do at least 3 things you haven’t done since you were a kid. That’s it, that’s all.

b.

PS. after a lot of thought, pretty sure that was ox butt I ate yesterday.

An ethnic tour. Of the grocery store.

Okay, here’s the deal. I was slightly unprepared for this one. Going out for lunch wasn’t an option today. Busy-ness and such. Yesterday, we had set some pork chops out to thaw for tonight. So we were kinda locked in to making dinner at home tonight. Besides, e1 had some shoveling to do, and had no interest in going out after that suckiness. So I came up with a plan. A very undetailed completely lack of a plan, plan. Go to the store. Wander around. Find stuff I’ve never eaten. Behold, my treasures: 

 

I figured the produce aisle would be the perfect place to start. There’s a lot of weird stuff there with crazy names like daikon and bok choy and uh-roo-ga-la! I actually considered the daikon. The little tag said it tasted radish-like. Yum! However, it looks like a large white carrot. And when I picked it up, it was limp and rubbery. I don’t know if it’s supposed to be that way, but it completely freaked me out. How ’bout turnips! The last time we did this resolution I tried a root vegetable that became my new favorite root vegetable. Aces! So, turnips? Not parsnips. Bland, boring, pretty tasteless. Parsnips are still kickin’ it safely at number one on my list of favorite rooties. There was a new item in the fruit area. Korean pears. The gleeful sign, sadly missing an excited starburst, promised something that looks like an apple, but tastes like a pear. I like apples. I like the way they look. And I like pears too! You got your apple in my pear! Um, wow. That doesn’t sound nearly as fun as getting your chocolate in my peanut butter. So, I cut it open and it does, in fact, look like an apple. And you know what….IT TOALLY TASTED LIKE A PEAR. Amazing! I love when fruit gets tricky. It was juicier than an apple and kind of grainy like a pear! My only complaint…it needs to be eaten cold. And the skin is completely disgusting.

 The bakery is right next to the produce. I was desperately hoping I’d come across some sort of exotic cupcake or something. They had little pies, and suddenly I was kicking myself for having just tried pecan pie for the first time recently. A little package of pastries with a Scandinavian looking label caught my eye. I know very little about Scandinavian culture other than lutefisk is the worst food on the face of the planet. Wha a shame I couldn’t find any of that. Anyway, e1 is a full 50% Norwegian. So being a nerdy learny type, I’m always curious about what the Norwegians are into. So far, I’m not all that impressed by their pastries. The Kringla wasn’t bad. Just boring. I suppose when you’re used to a lye-soaked-gelatinous white fish, anything seems fancy. If any of you nordic folks have any serving suggestions for the Kringlas, let me know. e1 suggested frosting. I was thinking maybe just a little lemon zest i the dough before baking. The name Kringla is so lovely and whimsical I want to love them!

 Now, this is where things get a little sketchy. You had to have guessed by now that my next stop was gonna be the cheese island. Duh. This particular store didn’t have the as big a selection as I’m used to. There were only two cheeses in the entire case I had never had. One was french, and moldy. I have no problem with this. However, it was also twelve dollars for a small square, and worst of all, it was kind of runny and oily looking. Yet solid. A combination I wasn’t up for. Then I spied this:

Cute overload!!

 Tell me that isn’t the cutest cheese you’ve ever seen. And it’s called Ski Queen. I am in love with this. I love cheese. I love cute things! You got your cheese in my cute! (sorry, I’ve got peanut butter cups on the brain. What else is new.) Even better? Check this label:

My dream come true?

 

Perfect for breakfast? Are you kidding me? A breakfast cheese? This may be the most amazing piece of information I’ve ever read. So I removed the adorable little wrapper: 

 

Okay, we’ve got a square of cheese. I’m good with that. Looks a bit like the rindy outside layer you’d find on a chunk of gouda. But wait! It’s time to cut it open! 

That's...unexpected

 

And, um. It’s brown on the inside too. I was…not expecting that. I thought it’d be white and creamy on the inside. I am thrown off. A lot. Like when I first found out that back at home John Locke was in a wheel chair. (worst case of daddy issues ever!) Brown cheese. I really didn’t know what to do with that information. I took a small bite. And it was wierd. Not bad, necessarily. But something was definitely up. To google I went. The best explanation I found for it is that it’s a fudgy cheese. Fudgy in texture that is. And peanut buttery too. (Finally! My peanut butter cup analogy pays off!) It had a strange, rich, sweetness that was confusing the hell outta my tastebuds. BROWN CHEESE! I’m having trouble getting over that part. I found a great blog called the Cheesemonger’s Wife. (great title. Makes me want to know more.) She told me it is often served at breakfast with strawberry jam. Worth a try! And this makes much more sense. The fruit definitely takes an edge off the richness. But it still got all fudgy and peanut buttery in my mouth. Like paste. Kindergartners world-wide eat paste. I don’t. I don’t eat paste for many reasons, and texture is one of them. So, my results were mixed at best. But there were no bones. Or gelatinous meat. Hooray!

b. and I will be hanging out together all weekend starting tomorrow afternoon. Don’t forget to scroll down and vote on what you think we should do!

c.

I ate a tail.

I don’t really eat much meat. I’m afraid of soft textured animal food. I absolutely refuse to eat meat off the bone.

Tonight, I had oxtail.

In case you’re not already gasping, guffawing, or barfing, here is the defintion of oxtail (which I didn’t look up until after dinner):

The culinary name for the tail of cattle. Formerly, it referred only to the tail of an ox, a castrated male. Oxtail is a bony, gelatinous meat, and is usually slow-cooked, often stewed ^[1] or braised.

Let’s start from the beginning. I lived in the Miami area for two years, yet never really tried authentic cuban food. I was too busy sucking down chicken fingers and nachos with my pal Amy. (come on, I was 22).

We now live in a very diverse part of chicago. This means I can get killer Middle Eastern, Thai, Italian or Cuban any night of the week. Tonight, we tried a place I’ve been dying to go. Habana Libre looks like a party every time we walk by. There are plants in the window, but I swear we always see hands flying up in the air and disco balls spinning.

Perhaps that doesn’t happen when you show up at 6 PM. No, I’m actually sure it does not happen at 6 PM. However, the place is absolutely scrumptious looking. Very authentic decor, hardworking waitstaff from minute one, and festive music sings from the small speakers in the corner (it also “skipped” through the speakers later in the evening). I was pumped to try something new.

We ordered the Papas Rellenas immediately.  Little did we know, mashed potato meat donuts would be delivered soon after. They looked like this:

Oozy mashed potatoes = heaven

I should’ve stopped there on my quest for new edible objects. Instead, we perused the menu. Dish after dish made my mouth water, but I had to question whether it was “new” or not.  In a lot of cases, I’d tried everything in the dish…but not all together.  This seemed cheaty to me.

My eyes locked on “oxtail”. Now that is something I’ve never even thought about trying. Two minutes later I found myself confidently stating, “I’d like the oxtail, please.”  I felt super cool and culinary.

E2 and I discussed what it could possibly be. “Well, if it’s tail, I wouldn’t think it’s bony.  Maybe cartilage?” E2 reasoned. Bones scare me, cartilage terrifies me. “What have I done,” I whimpered to myself.

It didn’t get better.

The very sweet waitress soon returned with two plates. One, that looked like delicious shredded pork and one that looked like three giant balls of floppy meat swimming in unidentified sauce.  Guess which one was mine.

My first contact with this ball-infested plate was fork to bone (or cartilage or whatever).  My taste buds started to cry. I forked around until some meat unhinged itself from the nucleus of whatever I was about to eat. It mushed itself onto my tongue.

“Mmm…tastes like pot roast,” I hoped. I thought maybe I just got an immature piece, surely the next bite would be more meaty and less “gelatinous”.  My dreams were shattered upon the next six identical bites. Meaty icky mush.

So then I resorted to childhood trickery.  I robbed the bone of all its meat. I then proceeded to hide the meat underneath its mothership. Here’s a badly lit picture of my handy work:

It looks like murder just happened.

I thanked the waitress heartily in that, “yes, I’m the extremely sophisticated palate owner who ordered the oxtail. and it was lovely.” She seemed to like me.

Then I watched her bus the table. She took my bowl of ball-y meat hidden under giant bones and dumped it into the trash, revealing every bite I’d hidden. She came back, made no eye contact, and gave us our bill.

Now as much as this sounds like a complete disaster, dinner was nice.  I loved the restaurant and E2 and I had a fun time talking about weird things that happened in our heads as children. So even though oxtail will never find its way into my mouth ever again, the night wasn’t a complete bust.

Tonight was a refreshing reminder of something I’ve always believed: the specifics aren’t important, it’s all about the experience.

b.