Monday, January 31, 2011

Please Mr. Postman

"Agent M, did you find the post man, is the package secure?"

This is just a sample of the text conversation Mabel (aka Agent C) and I have been having as we try to track down our mail. Thursday we received a notice that our mailbox was full and that we needed to pick up our mail at a secret location (the post office). Slightly embarrassed that we had ignored our mailbox that long, I made my way to the secret location to pick up "the package," but I was told that the carrier still had it. So I was faced with a new mission: look out for the carrier. A few hours into that mission, I decided that I have a life and quit waiting.

So today, after a full weekend of checking the mailbox and occasionally looking out the window to see if I could spot the carrier, I went back to the secret location to see if "the package" had been dropped off. Nope. I was given a number to call tomorrow before a certain time which doesn't help the whole secret-agent-on-a-mission thing that Mabel and I have concocted, but if that fails I have an equally fantastic scenario: my mail has been stolen because it was too awesome!

It's the only logical explanation. Why else would he or she hold onto something so boring as the ads that normally filled our mailbox?

Fortunately there are a slew of pop songs that describe my situation. Okay, so only two that I know of and even then, I had to do some tweaking, but be sure that I've utilized both for this post. As the Presidents of the United States of America sing "Some postman is grooving to all our love letters," or in my case, awesome letters/packages, but agents m and c will catch the mastermind behind this, or at least get our mail back.

Update: I had a chat with the postman. Turns out he's not an evil mastermind, but actually a pretty nice guy and we finally have all our mail. Mission accomplished.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Dinner at Kranky Franks

My favorite adventures are the ones that find me on otherwise perfectly mundane days. Revise that. My favorite adventures are ones that find me when I'm with my friend who wishes to be called Mabel.

Mabel and I had to drive to a neighboring town so she could get a blood test. You see Mabel has decided to serve a church mission. During her blood test, the nurse asked Mabel a series of questions that seemed odd to her, but she went along with it anyway. It wasn't until the nurse asked who her baby doctor would be that she realized that she was answering questions for a pregnancy test. She quickly explained to the nurse that she wasn't pregnant, she needed a blood test to go on a mission. The nurse responded by saying, "Oh. Being pregnant might be awkward then, unless it was a Jesus or something."

Even though Mabel wasn't eating for two, we decided her experience warranted a meal so we stopped at a local eatery called Kranky Franks. Turns out Kranky Franks is a hot dog stand and I'm a hot dog philistine. Instead of ordering the famous dangerous dog with the works, I ordered a brat with a sauce on it and I only got the sauce because the man running the stand asked me three times if I was sure I didn't want anything on my brat. Mabel made up for my heathenism. We sat down, ate our brats and fries (amazing fries!), and talked to the notably cheerful man. He talked to us about school and what we want to do with our majors without the usual skepticism towards the English major. In fact, he gave me an encouraging tale of a friend who found a job right out of college. At that point, I wished I was one of those people who can get the life story out of complete strangers because he seemed like the kind of guy who'd have an interesting story to tell.

All in all, we were satisfied with our side trip, but thinking over our little adventure, Mabel and I decided we will return to Kranky Franks, mostly for the fries, but also to answer some important questions: Is there a Kranky Frank? Was the nice man serving us hot dogs Frank? And if so, why wasn't he cranky?

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

I Can Be Domestic

My roommate jokes that I can cook, I just choose not to. I'm not saying I became Julia Child over Christmas, but I did happen to show a little more of my domestic side.

It all started with the Christmas tree. I put it together (our first fake tree), decided where it would reside, and decorated it all by myself.

Then I made fudge which I do almost every Christmas, but this Christmas I didn't make a practice batch.

Finally, I spoiled my Dad for his birthday by making him meringue. You might think big deal, she didn't make the actual pie. But I feel like this was the crowning glory of my experiment with domesticity, mostly because I made this meringue with my mom and both my grandmas looking over my shoulder. Talk about pressure! I made my Dad blow out a candle I put in the pie just so he'd appreciate my handiwork before it was sliced and served.