LAX

I've been to LA's finest airport more times than I can count. But I have never had such an awesome time than I did yesterday during my layover before getting to San Francisco.

Why? Well, because while sitting at my gate munching on a huge bag of Chex Mix, I realized I was sitting next to AN AMERICAN IDOL!

I got nervous and couldn't stop smiling (this usually happens when I see celebrities and pug dogs). But then after a lot of serious thinking and overhearing conversations around me, I realized it wasn't Reuben. It wasn't Reuben at all.

Thank gawd I didn't tell him I was eagerly awaiting his comeback.

Brgrs

Last night, Molly Moker and I met for our weekly date at Stand.

Keeping with the trend, I had spent my workday chowing down Mrs. Fields cookies and brownies until I couldn't move. This didn't stop me from enjoying the following:

- Classic Stand Burger with bleu cheese and a "special sauce" which was indeed, very special.

- Crispy Fries.

- Mashed sweet potatoes with Parmesan cheese.

- Toasted. Marshmallow. Shake.

This was hands down one of the best meals I have had since Thanksgiving 2006:


Speaking of Thanksgiving, this year the wonderful holiday will be spent in San Francisco with Lilly and Hannah. It's the beginning of our very own Orphan Thanksgiving. Photos and stories to come...

We Could Be Heroes

Today, after eating three and half of the Mrs. Fields Search for the 30th Anniversary Cookie Contest's winning treat (I know you're dying to know which cookie won - but I'm sorry, I'm sworn to secrecy) and chugging 8 ounces of water, I left work. I walked to the N train on Broadway with my coworker Cheryl and complained to her about feeling like I was about to explode. Then I saw this dress in the window of Miu Miu and mysteriously felt better. That is, until I swiped my Metrocard and noticed a giant scab on the back of the old man's head in front of me. I gagged and jogged far, far, far down the platform. Away from the scab.

If you've talked to me lately you know my commutes have been horrid - I left my old school iPod in Minnesota and have been forced to listen to the awkward subway conversations, loud gum chewing and have become very aware of all the people with staring problems. Anyways, my train comes, I hop on, and I stand against the doors.

Then, amongst the noise, I hear a lot of heavy breathing and some phlegm snorting all coming from one source. I look down to my right and see the Scab Man. He's snorting and moving back and forth and I'm staring, wondering how he made it onto my train car. I'm perplexed. Suddenly, a tube the size of my Dad's funny looking thumb that's supposed to be taped and secured tightly into the man's throat pops out and falls lightly onto his beer belly. The snorting gets louder. I panic and gag and panic and reach my hand down because I'm not sure what's happening and nobody else sees what's happening and I'm freaking out.

Scab Man doesn't notice my helping hand and instead picks up his tube and starts jabbing it into his neck while moving back and forth and snorting louder. I literally hold back barf as I witness this scene, and even more so when I realize nobody else does. Can this man breath? Is he going to die on this train - right now? I reach down again and get in his face just as the tube successfully makes it back into its proper place and I catch a glimpse of pussy ooze and get a whiff of a sour smell. Scab Man doesn't acknowledge me - and I stand up fighting back tears and cookie barf.

I didn't save Scab Man's life. Clearly, he saved his own. But I was there, even if nobody noticed. And if he hadn't gotten lucky with that third jab, I might have been a NYC subway hero because I was the only friendless commuter with the pod-free ears. Nobody else would have heard those snorts for help.

Meeting in the Middle...

I wish I had a cute picture of us from this past weekend in Minnesota, but I don't. This is highly uncharacteristic of the Jensen girls. We generally have at least one photo shoot every time we're together. Whether we're waiting for the train in Astoria eating ice cream cones or playing Jenga after Thanksgiving dinner, we like to take pictures of ourselves. Apparently this weekend was too much of a whirlwind for that though, because I don't have one picture of the three of us together.

The weekend went be quickly, but it was good to see everyone. Especially the sisters.


And I kind of missed these two.


Almost the entire Nagan clan was in town for Grandma's 90th birthday. Uncle Matt, who is now known as Guillermo, made an incredible meal for everyone on Saturday night. Madge put together a slideshow, and Emily whipped up some of her delicious desserts. There was even an appearance of the famous "cake on a stick," although without the stick. Overall, it was a lovely evening that went by too quickly, like the rest of the weekend. It's a good thing Fuzz is going to be out here in a few weeks for Thanksgiving, because three days just isn't enough time together.

We'll have to fit in a few extra photo shoots to make up for lost time.

I Once Was Lost, But Now Am Found

I never lose important things. I break important things, but I never lose them – especially in a cab at 1:45AM in Alphabet City while wearing an oversized men’s button up shirt and no pants.

That is where my black clutch containing my camera, ID, credit cards, metro pass, keys and the last of my cash until next pay check ended up last Saturday night. Riding away from me, while I stood in the street with Jesus, Robin Hood, the Walk of Shame and a pirate who had just peed in her pants.

Losing your purse is like losing your arm. Or your foot. Before you get a fake plastic one. Yeah, life can go on. But doing everyday things is just a little bit more difficult because you're so FRUSTRATED. And all you want to do is scream and hate yourself for losing such an important thing!

After coming to drunk terms with my loss, I spent the rest of Saturday night sitting cross-legged in my bed, eating cold pepperoni pizza, dialing 1-800 credit card numbers, the city of New York and numerous precincts.

On Sunday I woke up thinking my purse would be sitting on the floor – everything there, magically. When I realized it wasn’t, I cried. I called people and told them the story and cried some more. Then I worked out and went to bed.

As we all know, I am a creature of habit. So, I woke up to Whoopi at 7AM on Monday and like every Monday morning, I showered, made coffee and sat on my bed to check email. My one and only email was from Facebook, alerting me to a Facebook message I had received at 2:06AM from Joe Kwan.

Joe found my purse in a cab on Saturday. Joe has the purse at his apartment. Joe lives in Midtown and wants me to call his cell phone.

Coincidentally, I was spending my entire day in Midtown for meetings. I called Joe around 4PM, met him on the corner of 58th and Madison and we exchanged. Or, he handed me my clutch and I exchanged my part, which was the news that I was taking him out for drinks next weekend. He’s normal and grew up in Chicago and he didn’t steal my $32 dollars. I love him.

I’m lucky – so lucky. So lucky that now I’m scared that writing this post bragging about my luck will make me unlucky. But that's okay - I needed this luck right now, if this is all I get. Because now I have proper identification, so I'll be able to get home to Minneapolis this weekend for a much needed break from NY to see all my favorite people.

Cheers, Joe.

Halloween

I've had quite a few memorable Halloweens in my life. From the Blizzard of '91 when we had to wear snow pants under our costumes to go trick-or-treating, to the crazy three level party that we threw last year with my neighbors in Minneapolis. Four Halloweens in Madison have left these indelible marks on my memory: three dudes running down State Street wearing leopard print thongs and fur coats, my friend Kate and I riding in a shopping cart dressed as Barbie and Skipper, watching from our fire escape as a group of people demolished the store windows below us at 4am, almost getting tear gassed in a crowd, seeing a dude dressed as Goldmember (from Austin Powers, remember?) roller skate around State Street, and of course, every year there were the Oompa-Loompas doing flips and running around making people feel uncomfortable.

This year, I wasn't even planning on dressing up. There were so many ridiculous Halloween parties going on this weekend, that my friends and I decided to boycott a night of mayhem in favor of good, old-fashioned fun. A Haunted Corn Maze. Being from the Midwest, I felt like I should have been to one of these before, but I can honestly say that I haven't. Haunted hayrides, yes. Even Haunted caves, but never a corn maze. So we all piled in Emily's Pathfinder and tried to navigate our way through the awful traffic to Fremont for this alleged maze.

The line of cars had to be 50 deep when we arrived at 8pm. We saw a Ford truck jump the curb and try to sneak in, but a cop car rolled up looking like it was going to bust him. Only instead of busting the Ford, the cops started talking to the employees. The maze was shut down by the 5-0 for having too many people on the property! In the moments of confusion, I asked a young stoner guy working the line what was going on, and he said that if we parked across the street, we could still walk in. We were all bound and determined to see this thing, so we pulled in the parking lot and trekked across the field in the dark.

Once we got to the massive line of people, our hope was crushed yet again. They were out of tickets. Cursing the corn maze, Emily threatened to hop the wire fence and make a run for it. Carrie wanted to steal a pumpkin for our troubles. But in the end, we all settled on the fact that we needed dinner. Burritos and Margaritas was the group consensus.

On our way out, I asked the same stoner guy where we could find a good Mexican restaurant. He recommended La Cabana, and after about five minutes of stoner-speak and some long pauses, he ended up figuring out how we could get there. It was just down the road, behind a 7 Eleven. We were not exactly confident in these directions, especially after driving for what felt like way too long. But then we saw the 7 Eleven, and behind it was La Cabana, right next to the Adult Bookstore. Classy.

Stoner dude did not disappoint. The food was not only delicious, but also incredibly (almost alarmingly) cheap. $3.50 for a Chicken Quesadilla with guac. $5 for Super Nachos. And all the free chips and fresh salsa we could handle. We selected a few Selena numbers from the juke box and toasted to the corn maze that had let us down. The Good Son was playing on two TVs, dubbed in Spanish, with old men speaking instead of the prepubescent voices of young Elijah Wood and Macauley Culkin.

It was about 10pm, and we were not ready to call it a night. There was a costume party in Oakland that Carrie really wanted to go to, but June and Meagen wanted to hit up bars in The Mission. Emily just wanted to go to bed. Most of us rarely leave the city, so we decided that Oakland would be an adventure...

Three hours, four last minute costumes, and $8 in tolls later, we arrived at the secluded house party up in the hills of Oakland. The guy that Carrie knew was dressed as a skeleton in a skintight black bodysuit, and I don't think I understood a word he said all evening. He was practically speaking gibberish. Although, he was able to balance a beer bottle on his head for over 20 seconds, which I found quite impressive.

Overall, it was quite a night. We traveled all over the bay area, and probably spent more in gas money and tolls than we did on dinner. Definitely a Halloween to remember.

Luna Lake

The new land now holds a new garage - a massive garage with a wicked paint job. The Cabin comes next.







These pictures make me want to cannonball into a cold lake, build a tree house and eat s'mores for dinner.

New Year's in the middle of nowhere? Anyone?