Day 349: Not that Kind of Transfusion

Elizabeth and Kristof were in town from San Francisco, and on Day 349, we all met at Kyle and Greg's house to watch the South Carolina/Georgia game. Friends dropped in and out with their kids and their dogs throughout the day and we flipped back and forth between baseball and football games. It was a daytime get together that lasted well into the night.

I was sure that at some point, after all the games were over and we needed a change of scenery, that we'd head out to the bars.

But no one was really interested in doing that. And I couldn't help but think that in addition to having conversations about life insurance, getting older also meant that we'd traded bar-hopping for staying in and playing games.

But having game night was not Day 349's thing I've never done before. Pretending to be Charlie Chaplin and humming the words to "Here comes the Sun," by the Beatles and having Momo understand it during a riveting and competitive game of Cranium, well, I'd never done either of those things either but what I'm not counting them.

Day 349's thing I've never done before was to try a new drink called a "Transfusion." Andrew told us about them and how good they were and when he saw that we were interested, he wasted no time in going to the store to buy the ingredients to make them. The drink includes vodka and grape juice, half a cup of ginger ale and a lime wedge. I assume they are called, "Transfusions," because their color makes them look like blood, but I didn't care. After drinking beer all day, the cocktail was a sweet and refreshing change.

As Andrew said, "These are money." Indeed they are.

Day 272: Oprah! Pick Me! I'm a Party!

Day 272's thing I've never done before was to audition for my own show on the Oprah network.

I put myself to bed early on Day 271 so that I could wake up early on Day 272 and drive north of Atlanta to Roswell, Georgia where the auditions were taking place in the parking lot of Kohl's discount store.

According to Oprah's website, which I had consulted many times in the days leading up to Day 272, her staff would begin handing out wristbands at 7am and would stop handing them out at 12pm. The application needed to be filled out completely before auditioning. Any hopes of speaking to the media giant herself were quashed, as the site made it abundantly clear that OPRAH WILL NOT BE IN ATTENDANCE AT THE ATLANTA AUDITIONS. If there was specific detail about exactly what the audition would entail, I forgot to read it; I simply showed up with my application and hoped for the best.

I was not surprised to show up to find hundreds of people in the parking lot, all hoping to become the star of their own show. Some were dressed to the nines, others were more casual like me. The whole scene was circus-like: there were members of the local media on hand, folks hugging and greeting each other, and people selling bottled waters out of coolers helping contestants to beat the heat. It was 7:30am. It was weird.

Once out of my car and in the mix, though, that despite drawing was surprised to find that despite the mass quantities of people, the entire operation was extremely organized. The amount of people who had come out to audition was intimidating and gave the impression of complete chaos and disorganization.

Leave it to Oprah, the most successful woman in television to bring a sense of calm, and class to the audition process. None of this American-Idol-sleep-out-on-the-sidewalk-for-days-in-advance bullshit. Nope, Oprah's approach was far more civilized. Come, in an orderly fashion to retrieve a wrist band, and then come back at the your scheduled time. Don't waste your whole day out here.

While waiting in line, I met a middle-aged attractive woman and her husband who had driven up from Destin, Florida. She was clutching her audition material in one hand, and a microphone in the other; her husband was holding amateur video equipment. She told me that she has a blog, inspiring women to embrace getting older and live life to the fullest. She excused herself for a minute, turning briefly into a television reporter while her husband filmed her showing her blog audience the parking lot full of Oprah show hopefuls.

When she was done taping her little bit, we continued our conversation. I told her that I also had a blog and explained its premise. My show idea was an extension of my blog, encouraging regular people, just like me, to step outside their comfort zone and try new things.

Side note: if you told me a year ago that I'd be discussing blogs with complete strangers in the parking lot of Kohl's in Roswell, Georgia, I would've said you were crazy, but alas, there I was.

Complete stranger blogger friend said she loved the idea of Project 29 to 30 and asked if she could interview me for her blog. Duh, I told her, of course you can. So she asked me questions about my show idea while her husband taped it.

When I made it to the head of the line, I received a wrist band for and was told to come back at 5pm. That time would've been perfect, if I had nothing to do for the rest of the day. But my friend Melissa's wedding was scheduled to start at 6:30pm in the city, so even if this audition took just an hour, and I suspected it would last longer, there was no way I would be able to make it back in time. I considered asking if I could change my time with someone else, but when I looked at the wrist band, I noticed there wasn't a specific time listed on it.

So I went home and slept for several hours, woke up and got a pedicure, watched a little bit of the World Cup game. Then I packed all of my things for the wedding, and headed back to Roswell.

I parked my car and walked towards a large tent where lanes were roped off. Like a bouncer, a staff member checked my wrist band and checked to see that I had my application in hand before instructing me to stand in one of the lanes. As I walked forward in the lane, I could see ahead of me eight or ten tents with other contestants sitting in a semi-circle around a table. Behind the table was an Oprah staffer. Everyone seemed very laid back and relaxed; there was even laughter coming from the tents. I breathed a sigh of relief.

While in line, I met a woman named Carrie who had driven from from Chicago. She is a social worker who works with at-risk youth helping to prevent teenage pregnancy. She told me her show would draw from the real-life cases she deals with to focus on teen issues, and helping young people reach their full potential.

She was spunky, and had a great smile, and we chatted until the Oprah staff said it was now our turn to go. In each lane, they counted 20-25 people off and sent them to take a seat under one of the tents. The seats were in a semi-circle around a desk with a chair behind it. On the desk were stacks of applications. Judging by the stacks, these casting agents had already had quite a busy day.

After we were seated, a young, skinny guy sauntered over to the tent; he loudly and gruffly introduced himself to everyone.

"I'm Billy. I'm 26. I live in Los Angeles and I work in casting. We're going to go around in a circle. Tell us your name. Your age. Your show idea. We don't have a lot of time, so keep it brief. If you're taking too long, I'll tell you to wrap it up so we can move on."

And then he collapsed into a chair behind the table, leaned back and pointed at the woman directly to his left.
"You're up," he said to her. The woman

"Wait, wait," he stopped himself. "One more thing. Keep in mind that I'm the one making the decisions here, so while it's nice to engage the others, you should be directing your pitches to me."

Little 26-year old Billy was humorous, but he was also an ass.

The first woman stood up and said her name was Annie. She lives in Nashville where she is an advocate for victims of physical and sexual abuse. She wanted her show to offer a lending ear for victims and serve as a platform for those issues.

Another woman that looked like soap opera star Susan Lucci stood up wearing a form-fitting red dress. She said she wanted to host a show about woman over their fifties, and call it "50 and Fabulous." I thought about my reluctance to turn 30 and smiled. This woman is definitely aging gracefully and though I've got a long way to go until 50, I think I could learn a lot from her.

One woman stood up and smiled at the group before dropping an enormous bomb on all of us: my husband is Georgia's version of Bernard Madoff. In 2006 he scammed all of his employees for millions of their retirement money. And then he left me for this secretary. I'm raising our 12-year old daughter on my own. I confess I have no idea what her show idea was because I was too shocked and too sad that chose to share this very private, very devastating information with all of us.

One by one, each member of our tent circle rose to pitch their story idea. The environment was friendly and even though we were all "competing," against each other for our own show, there was a sense of camaraderie among our group. Maybe because we all knew how nerve-racking an experience like this is or maybe it was because we were all nearly melting under the hot Roswell sun. Regardless, I found myself smiling at each one of them, proud that we'd all been so courageous.

One man wanted to host a show about money matters after having worked at a bank for years. Another extremely worked up man paced back and forth shouting like an evangelical preacher about kids refusing to wear their pants on their waists and ending up in prison. Apparently after a child "low rides" their trousers, prison is the next step. I tried not to laugh as I pictured Chris Farley's motivational speaker character from Saturday Night Live. One woman who called herself a "performance artist" got up and read a poem that she had written.

I meant it when I said everyone was putting out good vibes for each other, but I admit, as each participant stood up to pitch their show idea, I couldn't help but think, "My idea is so much better than that."

Despite my confidence though, when it was finally my turn to pitch, I was nervous. Really nervous.

"Hello, my name is Stephanie and I'm on a year-long quest to do 365 things I've never done before. Today, Day 272's thing I've never done before is to audition for my very own show on the Oprah Network!"

I tried to sound as upbeat as I possibly could, but I think my nerves got the better of me. My voice was shaking and my knees were too. But when I went on to explain that for every one of the last 272 days I'd done something that I'd never done before, Annie looked me right in the eye and smiled, nodding her head at me. I could tell she was interested in the project and her reaction gave me energy to get through the rest of my pitch.

"I have had such an amazing year, thanks to the people who have offered to help me try new things. I want my show to encourage people to step out of their comfort zone to try the things they've never done before. I can take someone sky-diving for the first time, or take them to the spa to get their hair dyed a different color."

I think Billy had fallen asleep at this point, and I noticed he never wrote anything down while any of us were talking. He barely even glanced at the 16-page application that everyone had filled out. Either he was not interested in any of our ideas, or, I considered when I left, maybe the decision for this contest had already been made.

As I was walking away from the tent to my car, a woman and her daughter, who had both auditioned under my tent, came up to me.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you look exactly like Uma Thurman?," one of them asked me.

"What?," I said, smiling coyly. I heard what she said, I just wanted to hear it again.

"You," she repeated, "You look exactly like Uma Thurman."

She leaned back and looked me over again.

"Yep, you sure do. Just like her."

"That's so nice," I said, "Thank you!"

I think I grew several inches taller on my way to my car. I drove to Kyle's house knowing, for certain, that I wasn't getting my own show on he Oprah network. In fact, I found out later that before the audition in Atlanta ever happened, a hilarious man with cerebral palsy had won the web submission contest and would likely be Oprah's choice.

When Kyle and some of our other friends asked me how it went, I told them I had fun, but they shouldn't hold their breath on my becoming a star. The casting agent was less than impressed with me, but what an experience.

"But," I went on to tell them, "Someone told me that I look like Uma Thurman, so I'm going to call the day a success anyway."

I think perhaps I might've been a little too excited, because while getting ready for the wedding at Kyle's house, I fell down an entire flight of stairs, bruising the entire backside of my body. I hit every single step individually, injuring both my back and my ego enough that warranted everyone at the house to the stairs to make sure I was okay.

First the audition, then the stairs? I was striking out.

I should've been exhausted, but I wasn't. Neither incident could keep me down, and neither kept me, or my friend Trish, who was 8-months pregnant, from hitting the dance floor, taking the dance party of two to an all-out throw down.

Oprah show or not, I remain a one-woman party.

Day 258: Goooaaaaaaal (or is it Goooooooal?)

The 2010 World Cup soccer tournament kicked off on Day 257 and I, like most of the country except for my boss Paul who hates soccer/football, was super excited to cheer on the USA.

Why all of the excitement over a sport I no next to nothing about and barely follow any other time in my life except during the World Cup?

I don't know. Because everyone else was. And it felt like the right thing to do. And soccer players are hot. I think that's reason enough.

Day 258's thing I've never done before was to attend a World Cup viewing party, England vs. USA, at Kyle and Greg's house.

This day's, "thing I've never done before," was certainly less about this particular day, and more about this day's representation of a several weeks-long obsession with this sport and everything having to do with the World Cup.

I didn't just watch the games (or it matches?) with all of the gusto of a lifetime fan, I immersed myself in soccer. One of my favorite blogs, Stuff White People Like, said that I probably like the World Cup because it allows me to, even if just for a few weeks, pretend that I'm European so that I can drink at strange times during the day. I can't deny either of those things.

But here are my own observations as a new World Cup fan:

1. Vuvuzelas are annoying. Probably equally as annoying as a bourbon-drunk Georgia fan singing, "Who's that coming down the track," but still super annoying. There, I said it.

2. The red card/yellow card system is so perfectly passive aggressive, I may incorporate it into my communication with everyone.

Yellow card = you've hurt my feelings
Red Card = you've REALLY hurt my feelings

3. The endless conversation about why soccer has never "caught on" and become a mainstream sport in the United States is perhaps why soccer has never become a mainstream sport in the United States. Play hard to get and maybe the people will come around. If they don't, it's best to just move on to countries and people who love you. Like Slovenia. Where the hell is Slovenia?

4. Never has ending in a tie felt so good. I love soccer!

The party was fun and not unlike any other sports watching party I'd ever been to, minus about 80 percent of us not completely understanding what we were watching. I managed to take the momentum from Greg's and carry it over to several weeks of World Cup watching, forcing my productivity, along with all of my colleagues minus Paul, to hit record lows when the USA was playing. And thanks to my own research and asking countless questions from any current or former soccer player (Greg, Andrew, Chas, Ben, FF), I think I started getting the hang of it, just in time for the USA to get eliminated.

But it was a fun ride while it lasted, and I can't wait to do it again in four years (or maybe sooner if I can figure out how to watch soccer in the USA when it's not the World Cup).

Let's take a moment, though, to remember this highlight:

Day 209: Diaper Cakes and Frat Parties

On Day 210, I was hosting a baby shower for my friend and former college roommate, Rebecca. Sound familiar?

Well that’s because 2010 has been the year of the baby shower, so I've already included my other roommate Ashley and her baby shower and her baby Robert in the blog.

This is my other roommate, though. This is Rebecca.

All of my former roommates are having babies.

I'm writing a blog.

Whatever.

Besides not knowing much about babies myself, I've eagerly signed up to host baby showers for my friends. And for this one, I was looking to stretch my creative arm and try to make something crafty that I’ve seen at nearly all of the baby showers that I’ve gone to this year.

On Day 209, I attempted to make a diaper cake.

For my male audience, I’m sure you’ve checked out by now, having already read the words “baby” and “diaper.” If you stick with me, though, we’ll get to the end of the day where I attend an adult fraternity party as another thing I’ve never done before.

But for now, it's back to the diaper cake.

I said I "attempted" this diaper cake, because I wouldn’t call the effort that I put into completing this craft anything more than an attempt. And I’m going to have to blame that on Day 208. Because after experiencing the trauma and humiliation that is a bikini wax, I celebrated the experience with a My Morning Jacket concert and a very late night.

So when Day 209 rolled around and it was time to construct the diaper cake, I was feeling less than enthused about it, and far less confident that I could pull it off.

I consulted some websites, all of which had different instructions on how to do it, some using just diapers, others filling the diapers with rolled up clothes and trinkets. I needed some hands on training, though, so I pulled myself off my couch and drove to Kyle's store to seek her assistance.

Since making her first diaper cake that our friend Maribeth actually thought was a real cake, Kyle has been the resident diaper cake officiando, making them for several of our friends and several of her colleagues' friends. I joke that diaper cakes are her side job.

Ahead of going to Kyle's, I bought a jumbo box of Pampers swaddlers, small diapers made for newborns. Buying diapers is not something that I have ever done, and now having attempted that too, I'm convinced no single people should ever do. Or maybe it's just me. I found the experience to be confusing, and unnecessarily frustrating, like the baby product people are trying to screw with you.

There are far too many categories, all labeled by some weird system, that unless you have a baby yourself, you're probably not going to understand. Would it be so hard for diapers to be sized small, medium, and large? I don't understand why you can't see what the diaper looks like unless you open the entire package. And I don't understand why diapers have cheesy designs on them and why some of them are tinted blue. Why can't they all be white?

When I arrived, Kyle looked at the box of diapers that I bought. There were 64 in the package.

"Are those all the diapers you have?" Kyle said.

"Yes," I told her. "Do you think I need more?"

She nodded her head, indicating that I would. She also said that she thought I should buy generic diapers. It's cheaper, she said.

Makes sense. We went ahead and she started showing me how to roll the diapers with rubberbands. When we reached a stopping point, she made me a list, telling me what was on it and then she instructed me to go to Michael's craft store.

I soon found out that not buying enough diapers and not buying generic ones would be the least of my worries that day.

I went to Michael's, Kyle's list in hand. Actually, not in hand. I tossed it into the abyss that my purse has become and never saw it again.

I remembered what she told me I would need: rubberbands, thick decorative ribbon, a cardboard circular disc (usually used for a real cake) to set the cake on, and, if I wanted, wooden figurines for the front of the cake.

Before even attempting 365 things that I've never done before, I had a pretty good idea at the things that I'm good at and ones that I'm not. I'm not really crafty at all. So I knew that making a diaper cake wasn't going be the easiest thing for me, despite Kyle's ability to make it look easy. But with all of the things I've managed to accomplish this year (sky-diving, a polar bear plunge, speed blind dating), I didn't think that shopping at Michael's Craft Store would be the experience that would bring me to my knees.

But sure enough, I had a Category 5 meltdown.

I blame this on a lot of factors, starting first with my own state of mind. Plus I was strapped for time. Plus it's Michael's. Not exactly the kind of place for first-timers. I sincerely think, now having had this experience, that they should ban amateur crafters like myself from entering. They should have a bouncer outside that checks your craft abilities before you walk in the place.

I wandered up and down the aisles, locating the ribbon first. My indecisiveness made choosing ribbon one of the most difficult tasks ever. I chose a light pink ribbon with hot pink polka dots.

And then I wandered some more, locating some sort of wooden trinkets, all of which seemed tacky to me and not good enough for my diaper cake. I was off to try and find the cardboard cake stand when Andrew called me to talk about plans for later that night. I saw his name pop up on caller ID and I should've ignored it, but picked up the call, causing me to lose my train of thought in a store where I already felt out of place. We rehashed the previous night for several minutes when I realized I had wasted far too much time.

"Andrew, I have to go," I finally muttered hastily. I hung up quickly and tried to refocus.

I found the cardboard cake disc, but only in a package of eight. Perhaps I'd have an opportunity to make seven additional diaper cakes, but at this point, I just wanted one. I bought the 8-pack. I had no choice.

I continued looking for the wooden figurines, not ready to give up on that idea. I started sweating though, holding a pink dragonfly in the palm of my hand and then putting it back. And then picking it up. And then putting it back.

I finally took the ribbon and the cardboard cake discs to the checkout counter and left.

When I returned to Kyle, she admitted she was a little concerned about my whereabouts. I told her I'm not cut out for places like Michael's and then showed her what I'd purchased: one spool of ribbon, two bags of rubberbands and an 8-pack of the cardboard cake discs.

She looked confused. When I asked her if I'd forgotten something, she laughed and said, "Well, I said I needed two spools of ribbon, one bag of rubberbands, and one cake disc."

Seriously, Stephanie. This is not that hard.

"And more diapers," she said.

Gah!

In my defense, the cardboard cake thing was only available in the 8-pack. At least as far as I could tell. Plus, I knew Michael's wouldn't have diapers, so I walked next door to CVS and bought more, this time bigger ones, and of the generic variety.

Once again, collossal failure. When I got them back to Kyle, we opened them and found them to be a completely different style, color, and design than the first ones that I bought. These had a blue tint.

Why is this diaper cake the worst decision ever?

I took the half-opened diapers back to CVS and tried again, this time buying the exact same name brand, small diapers I bought from the beginning. The teenaged cashier wanted to talk to me about diapers, assuming having been in there to buy them twice, that I would've too. I did not, obviously, and tried to leave in a hurry.

I returned to Kyle's store, stressed and exhausted. The stress caused me to blow my 12-days of vegetarianism on a microwaveable White Castle cheeseburger, courtesy Kyle's co-worker and friend, Mendy. Unfortunately, even red meat couldn't help me in this situation.

Once we had a random assortment of supplies, all that we had left to do was to construct the cake. Kyle, not used to working under such conditions with such crappy materials, did the best she could to get me started and to show me how it needed to be done.

In fact, she constructed two of the three layers with little to no help from me at all. I promised her I'd go to Michael's on my way home and pick up another spool of ribbon to complete the project. If she could just get me started, I could pick it up where she left off.

"And," I told her, "I got this oversized Rubber Duck to go on top of it," I said excitedly, certain she would be thrilled with this innovative idea.

She was not. She looked at me like I was both crazy and a redneck with absolutely no class whatsoever.

"It's supposed to be a floppy, stuffed animal," she said. "The animal's legs are supposed to hang over the sides."

"Oh yeah," I said, nodding, "I know. But I decided to go with a beach theme. And the duck is really cute."

She did not look impressed and though she never said so, she gave me a look like, "I'd rethink that plan if I were you."

I stuck with my theme and finished my multi-colored and multi-textured, ghetto style diaper cake. It took one more trip to another Michael's, a completely different ribbon choice, and when it was done, it had a giant rubber duck sitting on the top of it. Since I ran out of diapers (just like Kyle said I would), I was forced to roll up the outfit I'd bought baby Edie and make it a part of the cake.

Despite my failure at nearly every turn, the cake was a huge hit on Day 210. Rebecca loved it. I think I'm going to continue to outsource my craft projects to Kyle, but at least I know when push comes to shove, I can make a diaper cake.

And then it was time to party.

Admittedly, part of the stress in finishing the cake was that I was also doing something at night on Day 209 that I had never done before that I had to get ready for.

My friend Paul had asked me that morning if I would be his date to the 9 o'clocks spring party later that evening at Piedmont Driving Club.

The 9 o'clocks is an all-male social club that several of my friends are members of. The group has two parties every year, one in the spring and one on New Year's Eve. Those who are members are not shy about the fact that the organization's entire existence is for the parties.

I'd like to say that this was the first time I'd ever been asked out for a date on the same day as the date, but it is not (I'm not sure what this says about me, but I'm sure it isn't good). I know the southern lady in me should have said no, and demanded that he ask me days in advance, but the reputation of these parties made me curious and I wanted to go, so I said, "yes."

Paul had to go to a wedding, so we arrived after dinner, just in time for the first of two bands and a DJ that would fill the evening's entertainment line-up. In that regard, I'd say we arrived right on time.

I was a little intimidated, and somewhat turned off, by the exclusivity of this group. I wondered if I'd feel out of place. I mean, I did go to public school, after all. But when I got there, I saw that this party was nothing more than an adult fraternity band party with tuxedos and fancy dresses. It was less like some exclusive party and more like the greatest wedding I'd ever been to where no one got married.

I suppose upon further investigation we could talk about the social injustices and potential snobbery associated with such a group, but I'd rather not. Plus, I can't, and wouldn't, because the party was freaking fun. I had a blast and everyone that I met was super nice.

Plus, I got to watch my friend Philip accidentally dump a woman's purse out onto the floor and middle aged white men get their groove on to Yacht Rock. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday night.

This day was like a giant metaphor for my life. One hand in diaper cakes, and the responsibility of babies and adulthood, the other hand still holding on to fraternity parties, not wanting to let my spontaneous, fun side ever go.

Part of me wonders if that feeling of being trapped between two sides of myself will ever change. Part of me hopes it never does.

Day 152: Booty Dancing Fools

On Day 152, I met some friends at Cavern in the Highlands for a going away party. I usually hate this bar, because it's always crowded and difficult to move around in, but since the crew that I was meeting was already there and had already established a place right in front, I actually enjoyed it.

My friend Andrew asked what the thing I'd never done before was for that day and I told him I hadn't come up with anything yet, so I was open to suggestions.

Robbie, who I had only met a handful of times before, was sitting next to me and he appeared confused until I told him about the blog and my goal to do something I've never done every day for one year. His eyes lit up and I could tell his mind had kicked into overdrive as he tried to think of a way to get involved.

"Have you ever booty-danced with a guy in a wheelchair?" Robbie asked me.

I've booty-danced with a lot of people over the years, so I had to think about it.

"Well, no, I guess I haven't," I replied.

And immediately, he wheeled back from the table and away we went, making Day 152's thing I've never done before owning the dance floor with my new favorite person, Robbie.

Surprisingly, the best thing about this night wasn't the dancing. I mean, that was great too, because Robbie's dances better than a lot of people that I know, and we have the same taste in music. And though he grabbed my ass far more than I would normally allow someone that I just met, I really can't blame him. I mean, it was right there in his face. What else was he supposed to do?

No, the best part was that I have an inkling that when I met Robbie, I met someone who is going to become a big part of this blog. He's down for whatever, whenever, two qualities that make for a good blog participant. Among the other things we started planning, included paying a visit to the Tupac Shakur Center for the Arts in Stone Mountain.

We also considered including Robbie's cats, Mr. Pickles and Olive in our adventures, though I'm not sure exactly how we're going to do that.

I'm thinking, with permission from the people who run the Robbie Svoboda fan club on Facebook, the name of my blog may soon change to "The Adventures of Stephanie and Robbie."

Things could get very entertaining and/or very illegal pretty soon.

Stay tuned.

Day 124: A Lovely Day for a Guinness

Day 124's thing I've never done before was to drink a Guinness. A full Guinness. I've had sips of Guinness, sips of Black and Tans before, but this time I was drinking it for real. No more sissy sips.

I didn't exactly tell my friend Andrew that I needed his help in completing this task when we made plans to hang out. I met him over at his friend Beau's house and I assumed I'd be able to talk them into joining me for Day 124's blog adventure. I didn't have to go to an Irish bar to pull this off, after all, I just needed to get to a bar with Guinness on tap.

After we sat at Beau's for a couple hours, Andrew tried to talk me out of going out for a Guinness and into taking a shot of high-end tequila as the thing I've never done before, but I think that was so we didn't have to go out in the cold.

There are times, and this is a prime example, when the blog becomes a drag and I just don't feel like doing anything I've never done before. I had to push through.

Luckily Beau was a little stir crazy too and we headed The Elbow Room, bellied up to the bar so I could order my Guinness.

Right when the bartender poured it, I wished I was drinking liquor drinks like Beau and Andrew. Despite skipping dinner, the beer looked like a meal in a glass. And it was.

The liquid meal tasted good, but I honestly don't know how people drink more than one. I didn't even eat dinner that night and I was full after just one.

Andrew tried to up the ante by ordering the bear fight I almost did back on Day 13. A bear fight is a jager bomb followed by an Irish car bomb. I told him I refused to do it, after my friend Vic said it was the worst decision he had ever made.

When the bartender brought the drinks, Beau helped me out and drank the jager bomb (red bull and jager). I stuck with the Guinness and drank the Irish car bomb (a shot of Bailey's dropped into a Guinness). Not bad.

It was a Lovely Day for a Guinness (or two), indeed.

Day 110: Taking Anxiety to the Movies

I was so ready to put an end to this week, after Haiti and the run-in at the gym. The weekend could not have come soon enough.

Unfortunately Friday did not start off well, and I placed a call that I have never placed to my friend, and nurse, Maribeth.

"I think I just had an anxiety attack," I said.

"What?!" she said, "Wait, describe what happened."

I told her that I suddenly was having difficulty catching my breath. I became unable to breathe out of my nose and when I tried to breathe out of my mouth, it felt like I was just sucking air and not getting any oxygen. I don't have asthma, but it was how I imagined a wheezing asthmatic sounded. Very scary, and somewhat like an out of body experience.

She asked me several questions like how long the episode lasted, and what I was doing when it happened.

"Well . . .," I said, embarrassed to tell her, "I was running. (pause) And crying."

Crying? True and weird. I don't know why. Running is cathartic to me and I've definitely become emotional when I run. The solitude, a sad song on my iPod, a horrible week, the bad news out of Haiti. I don't know exactly what triggered it, probably a combination of many things.

"Oh, Steph," she said sympathetically while laughing. "Okay, well you're going to need to take it easy. You can run. Or you can cry. But you clearly cannot handle both things at the same time."

The experience was not at all funny, but I found her diagnosis and subsequent treatment plan hilarious. Like pain pills and alcohol, I am not permitted to mix running and crying.

And then she said to call her if it happened again.

Determined not to let that horrible episode the only thing I'd done that I haven't done before, I also sought an after work activity that would make me feel like 2010 wasn't the worst year ever.
My friend Andrew and I decided to go to the movies. We went to see 'The Lovely Bones," a film based on the book with the same title. I tried to read the book several years ago, but the premise was so creepy and horrible, I put it down and never picked it back up again. Not necessarily an "upper," but whatever. I was along for the ride.

We were going to Fork and Screen in Buckhead and I was going to meet him there after I got off work. The moment I left, Andrew kept calling me asking where I was. This movie wasn't the most anticipated film of the year, so I found his impatience annoying.

I told Andrew to relax, but he kept telling me that seating was difficult at this place and I needed to hustle.

I've been to many movie theaters that serve alcohol, so that was not new to me. When we walked into the theatre room, though, I finally understood why he was concerned. There are fullsized tables and big chairs, so there isn't nearly the available seating that a regular movie theater has. Fork and Screen is like a restaurant that just so happens to play movies. Complete with a full menu, full bar, a wait staff and light up service buttons to press when you're ready for another drink or something to eat.

Like the little tables in pizza boxes to prevent the cheese from touching the top of the box, this was one of those, "Why didn't I think of that?! I could be a millionaire!" revelations for me. Fork and Screen is awesome.

The day did not start off well, but it ended on a high note with an entertaining movie in a very cool setting. I hope the trend of ending on the upswing continues in 2010.

Day 104: Driveway Sushi Beat Down

This blog is all about resisting the urge to sit at home or to do what I've always done. Sometimes these adventures are planned, and sometimes I just like to see where the day takes me and when someone offers me something to do, I do it.

Day 104 was not at all planned, but it turned out to be full of things I'd never done before.

Starting first at Andrew's house, where I escaped the awful winter weather. There was snow and ice all over the ground, so everyone was pretty much hiding out in the city. Snow in the south seems to lose its appeal after a couple of days in the south and by Saturday, I was over it. So I went to Andrew's with no real plan of doing anything.

I hadn't seen Andrew since the Blue Moon Widespread New Year's. But we hadn't really talked in months. We have the kind of friendship where we won't see each other in months, and then we spend one dinner catching up on three months of time. This was our catch up day, and all of a sudden day 104's thing I've never done before was drink wine in the middle of the afternoon and tell the story of Mountain Man, and the trip out west. Again.

Weird? Yes.

The fact that I took such a wild and crazy trip was interesting to him. The fact that I managed to take the trip and go this long without him even knowing about it was interesting to me, especially since he claimed to read my blog. Busted, Andrew.

We got about half-way through the story, when we realized we needed more wine (the story requires copious amounts of alcohol, I find). When we returned, I took a tumble on Andrew's driveway, learning the hard way that high heels and white snow are not a good combination.

Normally I would've jumped right up and tried to play it off like I didn't just face plant in the snow, but I couldn't. The fall was like a metaphor for the week I just had, and 2010 so far. I just sat there, feeling completely defeated by his snowy driveway, and by life, and laughed. Andrew did too. We laughed so hard we couldn't speak. I think I cried I was laughing so hard, which is on my list of top five favorite things to do.

At some point I got up, brushed the snow off my pants and managed to get back inside the house without killing myself so that I could continue Stephanie's Life Story Over the Last Three Months, Part II.

After the marathon storytelling, we decided that dinner was in order. So we went to eat sushi at a little place near Andrew's house. I managed to make it down the hill with no more spills, miraculously.

Andrew walked into first sushi restaurant we had planned on going to. I was following him. He took two steps into the place and turned immediately around with a weird expression on his face. He said, "Yeah, let's go somewhere else."

I laughed because I thought he was kidding.

But he wasn't and started walking quickly to his car. He explained that when he walked in he saw a girl he went out on a date with and didn't want to deal with seeing her again. I've seen this scenario in movies and on television, but I had never seen it happen in real life.

I tried to get him to tell me what really happened with the girl, but he refused, so I dropped it. Maybe he was embarrassed to be seen with me? Nah, that couldn't be it.

Regardless, we moved on to Taka sushi restaurant and I decided to purposely order octopus off the menu as the next thing I'd never done before.

Once again, another metaphor. This big, beautifully presented piece of fish that looks like it could be tasty, but turns out to be a whole lot of effort for not a lot of payoff. Octopus doesn't taste like anything but rubbery nothing. Not worth it. At all. If I'm going to have to chew on a piece of fish until my jaw hurts, I'd like to enjoy the taste of it. I wasn't completely grossed out, I just didn't understand the appeal.

After we ate sushi, I ignored my friend Maribeth's advice and watched the film, 500 Days of Summer. She said the film would depress me, but I thought it was great. I actually thought it was hopeful. "You Make My Dreams Come True" by Hall 'n Oates also happens to be one of my favorite songs of all time, too, so I especially loved the spontaneous dance scene in the park.

Day 104 was falling in the snow and eating octopus, seemingly unrelated events that all felt like metaphors for my life. 2010 was not off to a great start.

Day 95: Blue Moon Panic

Day 95’s thing I’ve never done before came courtesy of Mother Nature. It was the first time I’d ever seen a blue moon, which is the 13th full moon in a year, and it only happens every two or three years. In 2009, a blue moon happened on New Year’s Eve.

The weather was cloudy, so the moon was difficult to see. And much to my dismay, the blue moon wasn't blue at all.

Still, I tried to point out the blue moon on the way to see Widespread Panic on New Year's (also something I've never done before), but no one seemed to care.

In fact, my friend Lisa has made fun of me since that night, saying I was going on and on about the moon like a science dork in the cab on the way to the concert. I wasn't trying to be nerdy, I just thought it would be nice to share what I had recently learned with everyone else.

When people say, "That happens once in a blue moon," you'll now know that they mean, once every two to three years. You're welcome.

Seeing Widespread Panic on New Year's Eve at Phillip's Arena is pretty standard practice in Atlanta. The band has played there for several years, taking a few years off here and there. I've seen Widespread Panic many times, but never to ring in the new year, so I was happy to check it off the list of things I've never done before. It was great. Everyone was in a great mood, and feeling festive. The band played an entertaining show, including a rocking midnight cover of Michael Jackson's "Wanna Be Startin' Something."

While at the concert, I ran into my friend Shelley, who is not in any of these pictures because I unfortunately did not have my camera when I was with her. We were standing by the bar talking when Shelley waved at someone walking towards us. As the girl got closer Shelley realized it was not the person she thought it was. She laughed at herself and said, "Whoops, I thought that was my friend Erin."

We continued our conversation.

The girl that Shelley had waved at, who I will now call "Crazy" walked over to us and accusingly said to Shelley, “Did you just wave at me?”

Shelley smiled and said, “Yeah, sorry, I thought you my friend Erin.”

Crazy took a step closer to Shelley and said, "Yeah, well I'm not Erin, so maybe you shouldn't wave at someone unless you're sure it's who you think it is."

And then Crazy walked away.

My jaw dropped to the floor. Shelley looked at me with wide eyes and a huge smile and said, “I am SO glad that you were here to witness that because no one would EVER believe that it happened.” True, had I not been there to see it with my own two eyes and hear it with my own ears, I wouldn't have believed that it went down the way that it did. The hate and venom with which she spoke was unlike anything I'd ever seen before.

Day 95’s thing I’ve never done before should’ve been to punch Crazy's lights out. Who gets so mad about a mistaken wave? On New Year's Eve? She must've had a really bad 2009.

I spent every trip to the bathroom looking for Crazy so that I could give her the stink eye, still so perplexed by her behavior. I'm the most non-confrontational person that I know, I've never been in a fight in my life, so the chances of me actually starting something with her? Very slim.

But seriously, wouldn't starting a fight as something I've never done before be fun?

Day 77: Laughing (not really) All the Way

After Lisa and I went to the Christmas Tree Farm, we grabbed dinner at Taco Stand and she said would be down for more blog adventures the next time I needed a friend. I told her there were plenty of holiday options to accomplish in December: ice-skating, gingerbread houses, Christmas caroling.

I'm not sure how we came to the decision that Day 77's thing I'd never done would be to go Christmas caroling, but it felt like a good Sunday thing to do. We texted our friend Philip to come with us. Well, we didn't exactly tell him what we were doing, just that we wanted him to come.

"Don't make plans for next Sunday," the text read.

Philip texted me back, understandably confused. No less than 20 text messages later, he finally agreed to come hang out with Lisa and me, so long as our activities didn't involve moving. He actually said that via text message ("I'll do whatever as long as I don't have to move anything"). I meant to ask him what that was all about, assuming he must've had a moving horror story worth hearing, but I forgot. We figured if we got Philip to Taco Stand for a couple of beers, we could get him to come along with us for whatever we were going to do.

"No way," Philip said when I finally spilled the beans we were taking him to Christmas carol. "Are you insane?"

"Yes. You already knew this about me."

We continued eating and finished our beers, Philip still refusing to come caroling. He and Lisa both claimed they didn’t know any Christmas carols.

“Even Rudolph the Red-nosed reindeer? Jingle Bells?”

I pulled the lyrics to both songs up on my blackberry. Not knowing the words to the songs was not going to a viable excuse for getting out of singing. I found it sad that they both claimed to not know the words to songs that we’ve all been singing since we were kids. As my mom says in reference to the caroling trips we used to take as children, “if you need a song sheet for Jingle Bells, you probably shouldn’t be celebrating Christmas.”

Philip held strong that he would not go caroling. Well, then, what other “Christmasy” activity are we going to do, I asked. Lisa threw out ice-skating at the St. Regis hotel. It was expensive, but I said fine. I still wanted to carol, but I was outnumbered. Philip’s reluctance had rubbed off on Lisa.

We walked out of the restaurant, and I demanded that Philip ride with us, certain that if I let him drive his own car that he would ditch us. We rode over to the St. Regis, but they were already closed.

Caroling it was!

My plan was to go to our friend Andrew's house first. I figured the possibility of completely freaking Andrew out could possibly turn Philip's opinion around about this little excursion.

Philip said no. Andrew was on his way back from a not-as-fun-as-expected weekend in Birmingham. There was a good chance he wasn't even at home and if he was, our three faces were the last things he'd want to see.

I had in that time, found a miniature bell in my car from a wedding reception. I gave it to Philip and told him that he didn't have to sing, he could just ring the bell. He seemed to like it.

The next on our list of victims for the caroling were our friends Kyle and Greg. Their house was nearby so we headed straight there.

On the way, I felt like a frazzled, nagging mother with my two whining children in the backseat bitching and moaning in the back telling me they didn't want to go.

"We're doing it for the blog and you're going to like it!" I felt like screaming, but didn't.

Truth be told, I'm not sure Philip even knows I have a blog. Dropping that bomb might've been disastrous, so I left it out.

We arrived at Kyle and Greg's front porch and knocked on the door. Teddy, their dog, immediately ran to the door barking loudly. Greg, who likely caught a glimpse of stupid faces from down the hall opened the door. We immediately started singing and Philip started ringing the bell.
Greg bent down to deal with the dog and before I could even get to the chorus of Jingle Bells, he was gone, leaving us standing there mumbling the words to the song to a door that was cracked.

He eventually came back, but not before we realized that caroling was a bust. Actually Lisa and Philip seemed to know that caroling was going to be a bust from the start. I remained confident until this happened.

I think the trick here, and with any activity like this is full commitment. Every person, regardless of how silly the challenge is, has to be invested and ready to make it happen. With two less than eager participants, this plan was dead on arrival.

Caroling was not a success. Not even a little bit. But involving people in the blog that don't know about it was a great success. I'm already brainstorming.