curmudgeonly.

This week has been the kind that has put me through a metaphorical wringer, on repeat, and I’m frankly really glad it’s over. There’s something about this sludgy midwinter period every year that makes me want to be a hermit. Bears got it right, hibernating. Weirdly, when I’m not channeling my inner Miss Havisham, I want to do wild, irrational things to bust out of this rut. Write a book. Quit my job and travel the world. Hitch my star to some other wagon.

I vacillate wildly between being excruciatingly bored by my job and having days that make me want to silently cry with stress and frustration. On Tuesday, I went the entire day without more than five minutes of conversation. Headphones in, a steady flow of slow, mundane, mindless work. Great for my knowledge of current music, terrible for my data usage (sorry Dad). Wednesday, on the flip side, was the kind of day where I caught myself mumbling “ohmygodohmygodohmygod WHAT DID I DO!?” under my breath on more than one occasion, trying to fix a poorly-articulated issue for someone without even really knowing what the issue was. I inadvertently made it worse…twice…before finally finding my inner cool-as-a-cucumber problem-solver self and figuring it out, but the day left me tapped out in every way. 

Bottom line, I felt a little stuck at various points this week. Sometimes it seems like my world has gotten so incredibly small…my (admittedly spacious) cube at work, my apartment, my car. These spaces defined my January, and it felt like such a humdrum existence after the excitement and travel and hectic adventuresome fall and holiday season I had. I’ve been a little bit antisocial and a little bit lonely, and sometimes I don’t even know which I’m being and when.

I’m constantly thinking ahead…the next trip, the next friend to come to town, the next apartment. Even the next job, lately. Recruiters have been reaching out with some intriguing propositions (Chicago? Phoenix? Dallas? Baltimore?) and I am, for the first time in a long time, actually finding my interest piqued. Maybe the way my life feels small is making me want to do something big…to try a new place, new people, new job, new world, and see if in that world I find a whole new Lizzie. Who knows? Half this angst is simply midwinter, and the fact that I’m ready for something, anything, to happen.

Here’s to February and all the happiness it inevitably holds. BYE JANUARY. 

Fiesta Bowl 2016!

As I mentioned here, I kicked off 2016 with a fairly spontaneous adventure in Phoenix for the Fiesta Bowl, and it was everything I could have dreamed it would be…minus an Irish victory, of course! David, Kelli, Andrew and I had way too much fun, and couldn’t have been a better travel group.

Is there anything better than a trip that just works out perfectly like that? For as little planning as we did up-front, everything worked out astonishingly well. All we had planned or booked in advance was our hotel, and of course we had our tickets to the game. Everything else, though? Winging it. And anyone who knows me, or reads here, knows that “winging it” isn’t naturally hardwired into my DNA.

We departed Minneapolis after plenty of cocktails around 8pm on New Year’s Eve, all smiles on the first leg of our Spirit flight…

After landing in Dallas, we had about ten minutes to take a bathroom break and immediately re-board our 11pm flight to Phoenix. The flight, interestingly, was pretty evenly split between drunk college football fans/New Year’s celebrants and families traveling with young children…which made for an interesting arrival at nearly 2am in Arizona! The family in the back of the plane had a three-year-old daughter who just really, really wanted to get off the plane. And who made it clear, at astonishingly high decibel levels, that she felt that way. After sitting waiting for a gate for half an hour, we all shared her feelings…just a bit less vocally. Between the alcohol and the sheer exhaustion, next thing I knew I was collapsing into one of the hotel suite’s beds for a quick nap before the game.

We were up by 6:30am, and out of the hotel by 7 to get to the University of Phoenix Stadium. Our Uber driver, who was delightful, filled us in on the fact that Glendale is pretty much a wasteland apart from the stadium and West End-like bar district immediately adjacent to it…which was pretty apparent when we pulled up to what felt like a stadium and some parking lots just plopped into a desert. Fortunately, we immediately found Hal and his family’s tailgate!

I felt like a bit of an asshole rolling up to a Notre Dame tailgate with three Buckeye fans in tow, but fortunately Hal and his delightful parents were more than welcoming…and willing to share champagne, vodka, and beer with the enemy. It was also one of the only times that weekend when green and navy outnumbered scarlet and grey, so I had to enjoy it while I could!

After a few mimosas, we met up with two more Irish fans…Michael and Ben! The Fiesta Bowl was Ben’s first Notre Dame game, and both he and Michael are lifelong fans. It was great to see them and catch up!

Easily the highlight of the tailgate: the fact that when you’re drinking with Undertones alums, you’re inevitably treated to renditions of the Glee Club's version of the fight song. Um, hi, let me just die and go to heaven and close my eyes and pretend I’m at Troubadours again, mmk?

We also couldn’t resist taking a few…creative…versions of the O-H-I-O picture. I can’t decide which is my favorite, so I’m including them all below. First, I sulked.

Then, I channeled everyone’s favorite leprechaun. O-H-I-Go Irish!

And finally, I just flipped the bird, which I think is a massive improvement on the usual "H." Clearly.

After a very unsuccessful shotgun of an ice-cold beer, we hit the stadium, picked up 40s, and found our seats…

…where I summarily proceeded to freak out over the marching bands. Let me go on record: while the Band of the Fighting Irish will forever have my heart and soul, Double Script Ohio is possibly the most beautiful/technically impressive marching maneuver I’ve ever seen.

Can’t leave that without a little love for my band. Our pregame still makes me cry.

Andrew and I had a blast talking shit to each other and watching the game...he was absolutely the ideal rival fan to sit with. I also freaked out over halftime, although I'd marched in the Notre Dame show as a student (C'mon, Ken Dye, America and the service academies again?!), and the Ohio State show happened to be the one from when I visited Columbus this fall! I sort of felt robbed...but quickly got over it because, duh, marching band (OMG). 

Before too long, it appeared the fate of the Fighting Irish was sealed. So naturally, I did what every masochistic Irish fan does, and let Andrew sneak me into the Ohio State student section. I was the only one wearing green, with the exception of the middle-aged man behind me who did his undergrad at ND and his graduate degree at OSU. Needless to say, I stuck out like a sore thumb...talk about diving right in to enemy territory. Thanks, Bud Light Lime, for liquid courage, but more importantly, thanks to these fools for being nice to me even in the face of defeat!

It was incredibly special to share this experience with David, in particular. I think he’s the first person who made me understand football, way back when in high school, and was for sure the first person who impressed upon me just what I was getting into by choosing Notre Dame. We shared college marching band and have both remained passionate lovers of college football, and watching our teams play each other is something I’ll remember (for the most part) forever. I was included in the OSU alma mater, and David hopped right in for "Notre Dame, Our Mother." Thanks for being my bud for going on 20 years, Davy. :)

Postgame, we headed over to the bar district near the stadium, where we stumbled into Salt Tacos and Tequila. After a fairly chill recapping of the game over tacos and beer, things went (rapidly) downhill when our crew decided to take a tequila shot before leaving the bar. And when I say “a tequila shot,” I mean “took a tequila shot, then decided to TAKE ALL THE SHOTS.” We hooked up with some mid-thirties Irish fans, and quickly became best friends (even though the husband lived in Zahm, gross). I’ll let the photos (mostly) speak for themselves…

How many college football fans does it take to frame and capture a selfie? 

Elizabeth, 35, kept telling me I was "fucking adorable," and in my multiple-shots-downed state, I totally believed her. Sharing this picture as a reminder to Future Lizzie that tequila does NOT, in fact, make you look like a Disney princess. 

THE ZIBBY JERSEY. 

With our new friends Rudy and Elizabeth, who were '02 grads and married in the Basilica in '03. They also had a cousin, somewhere around the periphery of this photo, who David kept calling "Katniss" because of her hair and who really, really wanted to go to a strip club. Because naturally that's how one always gets over Irish losses. 

Andrew, the vintage leather style football helmet really suits you.

Evenly split!

After way too much fun, we headed to Scottsdale for a nightcap at Michael and Ben’s hotel, and capped off the night in our hotel’s hot tub with even more beer and hilarity before the adrenaline of the day completely ran out. At this point, we had gotten about five hours of sleep in 48 hours…and our trip was just beginning! Day 1 Phoenix for the win. 

A few daily delights

The prettiest striped/pink sunrise from the office this morning

Being sore all over after hopping back into the 21-Day Fix workouts

Meeting colleagues from the Hartford office who I’ve worked with for years and never met face-to-face

Vanilla bean crème brulée Keurig coffee

Seeing “Room” with my mom after work

A freshly-reissued passport (even though the photo looks like a mugshot!)

Hearing one of my new favorite classical pieces performed by the amazing Joshua Bell on Classical MPR

Researching tours and day trips for our family trip in June

…and of course temperatures nearing 40 degrees in January! 

101 in 1001 #62: Frame and display my college diploma

So, better late than never, I guess? 

I'm celebrating my five year reunion this June, and since I graduated, my diploma has been safely tucked away in the drawer of my nightstand at home in a dust jacket, plastic sleeve, and envelope for safekeeping. I've also had a display-quality frame for it sitting in my closet for all those years...and there's really no excuse to not be showing that baby off! It represents four years of hard work and achievement, after all. 

This weekend I went home for family dinner, dug the frame out of my closet, and said to my Papa Bear, "Dad, it's time we finally hang my diploma." Having financed my education (thanks Dad!), he was obviously as excited as I was. We headed up to my room and, less than ten minutes later, it was on the wall! 

We ditched my middle school Pottery Barn Teen galvanized metal magnet board (oh yeah, I was SO cool)...

...and framed my diploma VERY carefully. Fun fact: Notre Dame was one of the last remaining schools to use actual sheepskin for diplomas, and my class was the last to receive them before they switched to regular parchment! That means my diploma is extra-delicate and needs to be handled with care. 

Not so fun fact: my dad sliced his finger open trying to get the back off the frame. Thanks for making yet another sacrifice to my education, Papa Bear! 

It's almost like thirteen-year old me knew that there would be blue and gold in my future when I picked that Goldenrod paint color for my room. Sure looks good to have my beautiful diploma up! Can't wait to someday have a home office to show it off in, but for now I'll take it hanging out on that perfectly matchy wall. 

For more of my home improvement/"domestic goddess" (HA) goals, check out my 101 in 1001 here! And as always, Go Irish, love thee Notre Dame! 

Fridays in France: a macaron tour of Paris!

Time for another installment of Fridays in France! As you (probably?) know, Mom, Em and I went to Paris for ten days last May, and I, being a shamefully delinquent blogger, am just now getting around to recapping it. There will be a France-themed post every Friday from last week until I finish sharing the stories and photos from our trip! 

Like any basic-bitch female with a penchant for Instagram, I (along with Em and my mom) am obsessed with macarons. The fixation far predates their recent trendiness, however; I've been a fan since Sofia Coppola's gorgeous "Marie Antoinette" hit theaters in 2006, featuring heaps of the pastel treat scattered all over what felt like every set. Needless to say, our time in Paris last May was macaron-heavy! 

In my post about where we ate in Paris, I mentioned that we hit up Ladurée on the Rue Bonaparte, of course. Ladurée is arguably the most internationally-known producer of macarons, along with gorgeous pastries and treats to make one's head spin, and they did all the confectionery and pâtisserie work for the Coppola film. I mean, look at this insanity: 

Heaps and piles of macarons, and the prettiest pastries, at Ladurée! I couldn't get enough of the beautiful jewel box of a café...the pretty mint-green walls, the silver-gilt everywhere, and the classic, stereotypically French awnings and window boxes. What a dreamy setting! 

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Simply visiting a macaron shop, however, was the tip of the iceberg. We also signed up for a macaron- and chocolate-making tour at famous pâtisserie Gerard Mulot through a tour company called Meeting the French! We spent a morning of our trip learning way more than I ever thought I'd know about macarons and artisanal chocolate...and I loved every minute of it. 

Gerard Mulot in Saint-Germain des Prés is one of the most famous macaron shops in Paris, right up there with Pierre Herme and Ladurée, and they offer small-group tours every morning. We robed up in sanitary booties, aprons and hair nets and headed into the hot, close, crowded back kitchens, where we met legendary chef Patrick Leclercq. Chef Patrick has been Gerard Mulot's chief macaron-maker for 35 years, and is personally responsible for producing over 10,000 macarons in 18 different flavors every week. 

When we walked back, Chef Patrick and his sous-chefs were piping filling into the middle of classic almond macarons. He quickly switched gears, though, to mix up a batch of framboise (raspberry) while we looked on! 

A macaron is basically a sweet and flaky almond cookie sandwich with jam, ganache or buttercream filling. Chef Patrick explained to us that there are actually two different styles of macaron-making: the Italian method and the French. The vast majority of macarons are made in the Italian style, which uses hot sugar syrup to make the batter more durable. Chef Patrick, naturellement, scorns the Italian method and is all about the more complex, finicky French method, which uses room-temperature sugar along with a blend of dried, pasteurized and fresh egg whites. He also mixes each individual batch by hand, submerging his arm up to the elbow in the batter, because he has the ability to tell when each batch is perfectly mixed solely by its texture. Impressive! 

The macaron batter was then poured into the macaron machine. Due to the volume of macarons produced every day, the machine is necessary to keep production flowing. It was hilarious and wonderful to witness how idealistically Chef Patrick talked (all in French, of course!) about wishing he could hand-mold each individual macaron! I enjoyed being able to understand him directly, as our tour guide definitely had to stick to the basics in translating. Even I lost a lot in translation, though...there wasn't a unit on macaronage or French culinary terms in my ten years of study! 

After being plopped out onto parchment-lined sheets, the macarons rest for ten minutes before being rotated into the ovens, and then quickly out again! Just look at that...only a fraction of the total production for the day, and so delicious! Per Chef Patrick, the cooling racks are constantly filled, sorted by flavor to prevent any filling mix-ups! 

Once they're cooled enough, it's time to fill them! We saw two flavors...almond, which is filled with almond paste...

...and fresh-out-of-the-oven framboise, with a delish raspberry jam center. We got to taste-test the raspberry, and it was absolutely out of this world to taste a macaron that had been made five minutes ago. The texture wasn't brittle like many macarons I've had, but almost cakey and so incredibly light. It truly melted in my mouth. 

Our next stop was the chocolate kitchen, where Gerard Mulot's sexy head chocolatier, Johan Giacchetti, showed us how Mulot chocolates are produced! 

We tasted two kinds of chocolate: a salted-caramel-filled chocolate and a classic poured "wafer" style chocolate. Above, Johan filled the molds for the filled chocolates with the thinnest layer of rich, dark chocolate ganache. The molds are then left to harden, filled, and topped...

...then they're decorated with all kinds of beautiful chocolate art! Johan showed us edible logo decals, delicate sugar-painting, and even tiny, perfect appliqués of flowers or hearts that get pressed onto the chocolates. Look at how perfect the finished product is! 

To demonstrate poured chocolate, which is a much more time-consuming process that uses sheet molds and requires overnight setting, Johan did possibly the most ridiculously delicious thing ever: 

Those are macarons. Being covered. IN CHOCOLATE GANACHE. Excuse me while I die, s'il vous plaît. We also got a look at some of Johan's chocolate artistry, which earned him gold at the 2014 Jean-Claude Léchaudé chocolatier exhibition. His specialty? Chocolate sculptures based on bandes-déssinées, or, en Anglais, cartoons. Look at this cutie guy, for an example: 

100% chocolate. You can see more of his amazing work here. I was completely overawed (both by his adorableness and mad, mad skills), and fascinated to hear that he wanted to compete in the "Grand Prix of Chocolate" next spring! 

(The photo above, obviously, is Emily's work. I love the depth her lens imparts! 

Having tasted macarons and chocolates, we loaded up on a few flavors we had to try, including salted caramel, cherry almond, and...lily of the valley? We were in France over their Labor Day (Fête du Travail), which is celebrated by giving lilies of the valley to loved ones, much like a Valentine. There were sprigs of it in every buttonhole and people selling stalks on so many corners!

Turns out that macaron-makers commemorate the day by making lily-flavored macarons (the green-and-white, muguet, above!) I had to try one...as soon as we got to the Luxembourg Gardens and parked ourselves with sandwiches and wine for a lunch al fresco! 

Turns out I was the only fan of the unorthodox flavor. Mom's favorite was lemon, while Em preferred the much more classic pistachio (again, that depth of field kills me): 

For those with upcoming trips to Paris planned (LUCKY!), I highly, highly recommend the "Meeting the French" tours. For just 22€, we had such a wonderful, behind-the-scenes look at production of true French pastry and chocolate. Both Chef Patrick and Johan were incredibly friendly and proud to show off their craft, and I feel like I gained such an appreciation for what an art form each truly had perfected! 

Chef Patrick was adamant that Mulot macarons are intended to be eaten the day they're purchased, but had no such qualms about Ladurée...so we stocked up on our visit to Rue Bonaparte! I saved my box and keep bracelets in it now...along with the darling pagoda-box I splurged on at Charles de Gaulle before we left! What a luxurious way to fly, munching macarons on and off the whole way home! 

To check out other posts about Paris, click on the tag to the right...it will take you to everything I've written so far! Thanks for tuning into the second installment of Fridays in France, and check back next week for more of our time in the City of Light!