Day 193: I Don't Hate It

My hell week at work had started to subside slightly, so Day 193 I was ready to tackle something a little bit more challenging than writing letters to celebrities or thank-you notes.

I was walking through my office and as I was turned the corner, I saw what appeared to be a very serious conversation taking place between several of my colleagues. So I did what I always do when I see conversations like this taking place: I eavesdropped.

I listened closely and soon discovered that the conversation was even more serious than I had originally thought. Clearly sides had been taken and people on both sides were eagerly making their case to the other.

The conversation was about Peeps.

Having no opinion about the popular Easter candy, and somewhat confused that the little marshmallows had drawn such a large and spirited crowd, I kept walking to my destination, casually mentioning to everyone involved, "I've never tried a Peep."

Participants on both sides finally found common ground in their disgust with me for never having eaten a Peep. They were staring, and some of their mouths were wide open in shock.

"You've never had a Peep?" someone asked me.

"Nope."

"Well," Jackie said, holding up the container, "Have you done the thing you've never done before for today?"

"No," I said, and I happily breezed back to her desk, making Day 193's thing I'd never done before to sample a Peep.

Cameras came out and both sides looked on, hoping that my first would mean a new addition to their team.

I took a green Peep out of the container and ate it.

"Isn't it amazing," Team “Yah Peeps” member Amanda asked, wistfully.

"Peeps are poops," Sara said, obviously a member of “Team Hates Peeps.”

I chewed it thoughtfully waiting for a burst of flavor that would force a strong opinion from me on the Peep. But it never happened.

I am apparently one of the few people in the world who doesn’t have a strong opinion about the Peeps. For me, a Peep is what it is: a marshmallow covered in sugar. I don't find it to be particularly flavorful or delicious, but I'm certainly not repulsed by it either.

"I don't hate it," I said, confused that this nondescript thing that I was eating was so polarizing to most people.

I'm indifferent to the Peeps. As far as Easter treats go, I definitely prefer a Reese's Peanut Butter cup or a Cadbury Egg, but Peeps are fine. They're festive and fun.

I'd eat them.

Day 192: Thanks a LOT

Of the many things I have to thank my mother for growing up, her forcing my brother and me to write thank-you notes is at the top of the list.

While all of our friends in the neighborhood were out and about the days after Christmas showing off their new toys and new clothes, Jeff and I had to stay inside until all of our thank-you notes were written.

She had but few rules in our house, but she was a stickler for appreciation and thanks to her, I have grown up to be an appreciative adult. In fact, one of my former bosses actually told me that one of the things that impressed him most about me was the fact that after our interview, I sent him a hand-written thank-you note, a practice that has seemingly fallen by the wayside now that email is so popular.

Since I was physically able to write, I have written countless thank-you notes over the years for gifts I've received. But never had I written someone else's thank you notes. Until Day 192, when I offered to help my friends Amanda and Stephen write their thank you notes for their wedding gifts as the thing I've never done before.

Stephen and Amanda were married back in February. Their wedding was a part of this blog, as it was the first wedding I'd ever been to for a co-worker. Like most newlyweds trying to enjoy their new lives together as husband and wife, they've been bombarded with gifts, and therefore also bombarded with thank-you notes still left to write.

I haven't yet purchased their gift, but I figured what better way to celebrate their union than to assist them in their thanks. Little do they know, this is my wedding gift to them: another mention in the blog and 10 less thank yous that they have to write.

We agreed to meet at the Bookstore Pub for some drinks and to tackle this task. Great bar, great food, but possibly one of the most poorly lit establishments that I could've picked, making it extremely difficult to write and see anything.

Like every organized bride, Amanda had a detailed list of all of her wedding guests. Next to each person's name was a description of the gift they'd bought.

She gave me a stack of cards and a list of people she wanted me to work on notes for, all of whom I already knew. Apparently she was willing to take my help, but not if it meant I would be writing possibly inappropriate thanks to her distant cousins.

I can't blame her. Her plan made sense.

"Now can I write whatever I want?" I asked her.

"Sure," she said, cheerfully, obviously just relieved to have some help.

The possibilities were endless and since I knew everyone that I was writing to, I planned on pushing the limit as much as possible. But I promised to share what I was thinking about writing with Amanda and Stephen before actually committing to it on paper.

But as I quickly learned, they were pretty open to whatever, so I went for it, starting with Justin.

Dear Justin,
Thank you so much for your very generous gift. We took your check, cashed it and bought one hundred MDA Shamrocks at Kroger, in your name. All for the kids. We're really trying to be more charitable as a married couple, and your gift is helping us to do that.

"Perfect," Amanda said.

True, Stephen and Amanda actually spent Justin's wedding gift money on cocktails in Belize on their honeymoon, but this just sounded better.


I continued.

Dear Jackie & Matt,
Thank you for the silverware saver. It will definitely preserve our new silverware for years to come and we truly appreciate it. We also hope it will keep all of our illegal stuff hidden should anyone try and find it. Just kidding, Officer Matt! Thanks so much for coming out to the wedding. It was great having you guys there.

We almost nixed this one, since Matt was in the process of becoming a police officer, but he and Jackie have a sense of humor so we went for it.

Dear Jessica and Andrew,
Thank you so much for the Panini press/sandwich griddle. We will use it to make delicious sandwiches often. We also used it to brand "Ws" into our backsides, because sometimes rings aren't enough to say, "This union is legit." Thanks so much for coming out to the wedding. It meant a lot to have you there.

Anyone that gave money for a gift would obviously be subjected to the wilds of my imagination. My often inappropriate, sometimes offensive, imagination.

Dear Sara and Keith,
Thanks for the generous wedding gift. Thanks to you, Stephen has been "making it rain" for several weeks now. Your presence at the wedding meant so much to us both, and made the day so much fun. Can't wait to hang out with you guys as a married couple!

Mo was next, and though on one hand he would be easy because he would be least offended by my antics, the possibilities with him were endless, making it also difficult.

Dear Mo,
Thanks so much for making our wedding so memorable. Your performance with the pickles and the gummy bears was unforgettable. Thanks also for very extremely generous gift. We immediately cashed your check, threw the money on the floor, and, well, you know…

Dear Mayra and Devon,
Thank you for the very generous wedding present. We took the money and purchased a brand new tiara for [our cat] Coco Chanel. Everyone deserves to feel as special as we did on our wedding day, after all. It meant so much to have you there.

Those who sent actual presents were not exempt from this little exercise, though.

Dear Jill and Bryan,
It was so nice of you both to make an effort to come to our wedding. It made the day so special to have all of our work friends there. Thank you also for the wine chiller and saver. We have already put the gift to good use. In fact, we're drunk right now writing these notes of thanks.

Dear David and Sally,
Thanks so much for coming to the wedding. It meant so much that you made an effort to be there. And thanks for the cheese knives. I'm sure we will get a lot of use out of them when we have visitors at our house. Thank you, most of all for allowing me an opportunity to say, "I can't wait to cut the cheese."

Even those who hadn’t yet sent gifts got notes.

Dear Anna Rhett and Robert,
Thank you so much for coming to the wedding. Even though you haven't yet bought us a gift, we know that when you do we're going to love it. (Editor’s note: Anna Rhett and Robert have since sent a gift, so an appropriate addendum will have to be added to their note).

Amanda promised me she really is going to send the ones that I wrote to their intended recipient, though the fact that she hasn't done so already makes me a little nervous. She claims she is waiting until she's done with all of her thank-you notes before sending them all at once. We'll see about that. If I find out my notes weren't used I will be very sad that my creativity went to waste and that I didn't really help her the way I intended to.

But who knew, after years of griping to my mom about thank-you notes that writing them for someone else's gifts that I will never get to use myself, could be so much fun?

I should offer my note-writing services to others.

Day 146: Workplace Romance

Wedding Tour in 2010 is underway.

Yes, like a music group making multiple city stops, my friend Momo and I call our yearly treks from showers to bachelorette parties to engagement parties, "Wedding Tour."

Next stop on the 2010 tour: Amanda and Stephen.

After having attended, crashed or been in 60+ weddings over the years, what could their wedding possibly offer me that is something that I've never done before?

Day 146's thing I've never done before was to attend a wedding of a co-worker. Two co-workers, in this case.

I suppose a wedding is a wedding, regardless of who is getting married, and this isn't terribly monumental in any way. And it's not.

But when I think about Stephen and Amanda starting their relationship that eventually led to their marriage, I think it's pretty cool that I knew them both, separately, when they started dating.

I remember their relationship, like most office romances, was veiled in secrecy when it first began. Not in a weird, "we're ashamed of ourselves" kind of way, more of a, "trying to maintain some level of professionalism at the office" kind of way. When I found out they were dating, I did so after stalking facebook photos of the two of them together wondering what was going on. I confirmed their relationship from another colleague who told me in confidence like the news was insider information.

I can't blame them for wanting to keep their budding romance a secret, as when I think about office romances, I always think of them creating awkward scenarios for all parties involved. The phrase, "Don't shit where you eat," comes to mind. Not a classy, or pleasant thought, I know. But sadly, when I think of relationships in the workplace, I think not of the grand possibility of it working out like it has for Stephen and Amanda, I think instead of the bitter end.

Plus, despite working with a lot of great dateable people, I like to keep my work life and my outside work life, separate. I think it's just the whole world's colliding thing. When my personal life is a disaster, I seek refuge at work with my co-workers. The merging of the two could have dire consequences.

I don't have any hard and fast rules about not dating someone that I work with. I mean I spend a lot of time at work, so the potential to meet someone there is certainly high. So far it hasn't really come up, but I'd consider all workplace dating on a case by case basis and I would tread cautiously if the opportunity ever presented itself.

After all, Amanda and Stephen have proven that finding love at work can really pay off. According to Amanda, they've never really had a fight. I find this fact both adorable and annoying all at the same time.

They ride to work together everyday, which is also adorable and annoying, but environmentally friendly too. I have to think their union is cost effective for the company as far as health insurance, though I'm not sure how. And they take their dinner breaks at the same time, which is great for them, but doesn't really affect any of us or the environment that I can tell.

So maybe love in the workplace is a good thing?

It's been fun for me. I've personally enjoyed navigating their relationship from dating, to seriously dating, to taking trips to meet each other's out of town friends, to taking trips out of the country, to waiting for the engagement, to the engagement and to the wedding planning, all evidence that I need to get a life.

And Amanda and Stephen's love affair became an opportunity for all of my seemingly useless Atlanta wedding knowledge to become not-so-useless.

Amanda sought my advice on a wedding venue almost immediately, as I am now a professional wedding participant and attender. In fact, having just gone to a wedding at Roswell's Ivy Hall, I suggested it as a location for her nuptials and after she checked it out, she booked it.

The next months included decisions about the food, the cake, a band, her hairstyle. Obviously she made all of the decisions on them, but I felt honored to have been included in the discussion, which was often just an affirmation of what she had already decided.

Even as a bridesmaid in other weddings, I had never been involved in so many of the decisions surrounding a wedding ceremony as I was with this one.

I even offered to get ordained so that I could perform their wedding ceremony, an idea that Amanda miraculously considered for a hot second, but then decided against. She said she would've laughed the whole time if it was me up there, asking them to recite their vows. But as I told Amanda, I know I'm a little ridiculous and silly sometimes, a wedding is serious business and I wouldn't have made it into a joke. So if anyone out there is in need of an officiant, I'm happy to do the work required to marry you. I'm serious. Think about it.

My involvement, or at least my firsthand knowledge of all of Amanda and Stephen's wedding plans made me wonder about all of the weddings that I've been in over the years. Several of them I knew nothing about prior to showing up in my bridesmaid's dress to walk down the aisle. For this, I'd like to apologize to all of those brides who I've let down over the years. I think I failed at my job as a bridesmaid, and I'm sorry that your co-workers, who may or may not have even been invited to the wedding, likely had to do all of the work that I should've done.

When the day finally arrived, I rode up to the wedding with Emily and we met some of our group at a nearby bar beforehand, which was completely unnecessary. I'm often accused of being anti-social when it comes to outside of work gatherings, though, so I didn't want to not participate.

When we arrived at the wedding, which was beautiful, I looked around at all of us, our big dysfunctional workplace family all dressed up, and I couldn't help but laugh.

I laughed a lot during the ceremony, in fact, which is what I do when moments get serious and laughing is inappropriate (not really making a strong case to become an officiant, but I am who I am). I'm sure those sitting around me who were able to keep their composure during a 15 minute ceremony were thinking to themselves, "Who's this jerk?"

The same question was probably asked again when two of our colleagues came in late and were forced to loudly shuffle across the wooden floor, sounding like two elephants trying to find a seat in church.

And once more when we started stuffing gummy bears from the candy bar into clear liquor drinks, and then spilling them on the floor (for the record that wasn't me, but I was guilty by association).

I imagine the questions, "Who is that?," "What are they doing?," "Why are they acting like that?" was asked by Amanda and Stephen's friends and family several times throughout the night.

Just like every other wedding I go to lately, someone, this time another colleague, tried to set me up with the only other single person at the party. Not because we have anything in common, but because we're both unattached.

As far as the actual nuptials go, this wedding was just like all of the others I've attended. All of my friends acting like jackasses, and a lot of people asking me why I'm not married. Par for the course.

I truly was honored to have been around when this romance started, to have been included in the wedding planning, and most of all, to watch Amanda and Stephen begin their lives together as a married couple.

Yea for them making a workplace romance work. Congratulations you crazy kids!

Day 135: Who Dat Makin' King Cake?

With a strong Louisiana contention in my office, and the Saints in the Super Bowl, King Cake consumption had reached an all-time high at the beginning of February. All of the King Cakes came from different places, but all were store bought. I wanted to make one of my own.

Day 135’s thing I’ve never done before was to make a King Cake from scratch.

The Tuesday after the Saints won the Super Bowl seemed like a good time to make it happen. I was working late, so I had the time, and it seemed like a good time to present my friend and die-hard Saints fan Jackie with a celebratory, “I’m happy for your team” gift.

This challenge was extra intimidating for two reasons:

1. Jackie is an excellent baker

2. She's from New Orleans

The potential to make this cake for her and have her think it was a huge disaster was high. She knows baking. She knows New Orleans.

Plus, she said she doesn’t even make King Cakes anymore, after attempting them a couple of times.

When I emailed her to tell her I was attempting to make one in her honor, she replied, “OMG. I’m going to cry I've done it twice... so my hats off to you. I used an Emeril recipe that is NOT good.”

Interesting, I thought, that she mentioned the Emeril recipe because I had looked that one up and passed on it for having too much lemon and other weird ingredients. Emeril is from New Orleans too, so I assumed he would know how to do a King Cake well, but this recipe did not sound good. I chose a Southern Living’s version instead.

The ingredients were simple enough: flour, eggs, sugar, cinnamon, butter. Everything is mixed together to make a dough. I didn’t think about it until I was actually doing it, but this was the first time I’d ever made, and kneaded, dough. What a mess! My kitchen and I were both covered in flour. It was fun, though.

After the dough seemed doughy enough, the recipe called for me to cover it, put it into a warm (85 degrees) place away from any drafts.

Since my landlords like to keep my part of the house no warmer than 60 degrees, finding a place without a draft that was 85 degrees was nearly impossible. For the first round of resting/rising, I put the ball of dough in my oven. I'm sure the oven (which was turned off) wasn't 85 degrees, but at least the dough would be safe from the draft. After waiting the hour the recipe called for, the dough was supposed to rise to double in size. It definitely got bigger, but I'm not at all sure it was twice its original size.

So the next "rising period," after I rolled the dough out, filled it with butter and sugar and cinnamon, and formed it into an oval, I ended up putting the dough on a cookie sheet and placed it directly in front of the space heater in my living room. It was beyond redneck, but it worked. I think it worked. I mean, it definitely grew, but since I had nothing to compare it to, I have no idea what it was supposed to look like.

I baked it for the appropriate time, brought it out and it was less of a ring that I think it’s supposed to be, and more of a mound with a hole in the center. I frosted it and covered it with the yellow, green, and purple sugar that I had dyed. It looked glorious.

Making a King Cake is a lot like making fruit cake in that it involves a great deal of effort, and a great deal of time and tedious labor. But saying I made a King Cake did not garner the same negative reaction that saying I made a fruit cake did. And while I think both tasted good, if I had to choose one to eat for the rest of my life, I'd definitely choose the King Cake. The true test on taste, though, was Jackie, and all my native New Orleanian friends. Someone had brought in a premade King Cake that people had been eating all day. I was irritated by this because I wasn't sure how mine would stack up against the store bought version and I didn't know if anyone would still want to eat my King Cake. Mature, I know.

Jackie, who had been wearing Saints outfits for two weeks, was touched from the moment I emailed her and told her that I was making it. She got the first piece, which was still warm from having come out of my oven less than an hour before.

Her eyes widened and she said it was the best King Cake she'd ever had.

Ever. Had.

I know everyone measures success differently, but I think I can call that a universal success. Or maybe she was just being nice. I had to follow up with another New Orleanian, Belinda. She had just returned from New Orleans where she watched the Super Bowl with her hometown crew. Her voice was still hoarse.

She also agreed with Jackie that it was the best King Cake she'd ever had.

I texted my friend Tray a picture of the King Cake before it was devoured by my colleagues. He's also from New Orleans and had just returned from the Super Bowl in Miami.

“Holy smokes!” he wrote me back, “I want a piece.”

He called me later to ask about the cake.

"What did you use for the baby?" he asked me. There is usually a plastic baby hidden in the King Cake and the tradition is, whoever gets the baby in their piece of cake has to buy the next year's cake.

This question had come up earlier when I confessed to Jackie that I didn't have plastic babies just lying around my house, nor did I have any idea where to purchase such a toy. She said I could’ve come to her house because having a toddler means having small plastic toys. Lots of them.

I considered taking some random trinket from my house, sterilizing it and making it the "baby." But a Washington, DC key chain just didn't feel very New Orleansy. So I did some reading about the King Cake on cooking websites and they said a bean, or an almond, were appropriate substitutes. I used an almond.

Tray disagreed with this decision. When I told him I didn't have a plastic baby to put into the cake and that I used an almond instead, he was not pleased.

"Don't tell people that. Don't say you used an almond," he said. He was serious. When it comes to King Cakes, or anything New Orleans, Tray does not mess around.

He asked me if I knew the history behind the King Cake and Mardi Gras, which I did not. He gave me a quick overview on the phone, but proceeded to, after we hung up, send me multiple text messages delving further into it. Sending a history lesson via text message is difficult, I imagine. I applauded his efforts.

I spent so much damn time dyeing sugar for the top of the cake, so I do remember what he told me about the significance of the colors. Purple represents justice, green represents faith, and gold represents power.
I confess I don't remember much else about what he said, so I've since gone back and read about the history of Mardi Gras. For Tray’s sake, please go learn about the King Cake and Mardi Gras here.

I left one of the cakes at home because it hadn't cooled yet, and I couldn't put icing on it. I promised I'd bring it in the next day, and then I forgot, causing literal outrage from my co-workers. Sara was like a King Cake addict looking to get her fix.

"What?! I didn't eat lunch today because I thought you bringing the other cake!!” she said, crazily.

I was taken aback. My feelings were mixed, as I felt badly to have disappointed so many people, but also awesome that everyone loved the cake this much.

I brought in the second cake the next day, but it wasn't as good the second time around. I take the blame for that, because I should've covered it to keep it fresh, but I just left it in my oven, where it had been cooling.

Still, I count the King Cake an overall success, one that I know I can only take partial credit for since all I did was follow instructions. I’m in love with this recipe.

Who Dat?

Day 89: Christmas Family Tradition

My family is big on tradition, especially at Christmas.

Up until a few years ago, my mom used to read, “Twas the Night before Christmas,” to my brother Jeff and me every Christmas Eve. When we were children, listening to her read us the story made perfect sense. The tradition lasted well into our adulthood, however, and we eventually found ourselves drinking wine as she read it to us,still in a dramatic voice, still changing the words from, “laying a finger aside of his nose,” to “laying a finger inside of his nose,” cracking herself up. If she's desperate for grandchildren, I think it's just so she'll have someone new to read it to.

Another tradition in my house, also started by my mom, is the celebrity gift tags on all of our presents. Unlike the other kids in the neighborhood who received presents from “Santa” and “Mom & Dad,” I’ve received gifts over the years from Strawberry Shortcake, Carrie Bradshaw, and Oprah. Jeff gets presents from Jerry Seinfeld, Steve Spurrier, and up until his recent troubles, Tiger Woods.

My dad has made a tradition out of checking the living room before anyone else is allowed to go in there to "make sure that Santa came." Santa hasn't been coming for many years, but my dad makes this a big production every year.

Jeff tried to add, “Getting drunk on bourbon and eggnog,” to our list of Christmas traditions, but he was the only one who could actually stomach an entire glass of eggnog, so that one fell flat.

Certainly, I thought, there is something out there that I bring to the Gallman household that could stand the test of time like the crazy gift tags and, “‘Twas the Night before Christmas.” My sister-in-law Katie's debut Christmas with our family deserved it, so Day 89’s thing I’ve never done before was to start a family Christmas tradition.

But what kind of tradition?

I asked this question of myself and out loud to my co-workers a few days before Christmas.

My colleague Sara heard me and said excitedly, “Does your family do Christmas Crackers?”

Fatty over here heard "crackers" and immediately thought Sara meant crackers like Saltines or Wheat Thins. I furrowed my brow, indicating confusion. I had never heard of such crackers.

Sara continued, "You know, like the little favors that you pop open? With the paper crowns inside?"

I shook my head, still confused. Sara saw my blank look, walked over to my desk and pulled up a website on the Internet to show me.

Once I saw a picture of the cracker I knew what she was talking about. Kind of. I’d definitely seen them before, but hadn’t ever participated in this tradition. Christmas crackers, I learned, are a part of English holiday celebrations. They are cardboard tubes with little toys inside. Two people hold on to each side of the cracker and pull it a part (like a wishbone). Whoever gets the bigger side gets to keep all of the goodies inside the cracker.

“Well what kinds of things are inside,” I asked, hoping she would say diamonds, or money.

“Nothing crazy,” Sara replied. “Small toys, paper crowns, little stuff.”

Damn. Too bad.

I kept asking Sara questions, like where do I find Christmas crackers? How much do they cost? How did she know about them?

Sara told me her mom is responsible for bringing Christmas crackers into her household after she learned of them from her English neighbors. They’ve been a part of her family’s Christmas celebration ever since.

Sara was happy to lend me the idea, and even willing to pick up the Christmas crackers for me when she picked up some for herself at Party City.

I liked the Christmas cracker tradition already. Good, cheap, non-alcoholic fun for the entire family. No work. No stress.

When I arrived in South Carolina on Christmas night, I announced to my family that I was starting a family tradition for the blog. With Christmas crackers! They all looked at me like I was ridiculous, which I’m used to, but after a couple of drinks, and opening a few gifts, everyone was much more agreeable and they played along.

Jeff and Katie grabbed their crackers first and pulled. I was expecting a “pop” that would indicate the cracker had been cracked, but it was far less dramatic than I had hoped.

But just as Sara promised, in each Christmas cracker, there were toys, a joke, and a paper crown.

I demanded that everyone put their crowns on. My sister-in-law, the trooper that she is immediately complied and began to play with the whistle that was inside.

Mom and Dad went next, and again there was no exciting “crack,” but soon we all had a toy, we all read our jokes aloud, and we all were wearing paper crowns. Even my dad, whose crown ripped a little bit (I think his head is on the bigger side) left his on through our entire dinner.

I guess we won't really know the success of this challenge until next year to see if Christmas crackers are a part of Christmas 2010. But if I have anything to say about it, the Gallmans will all be wearing paper crowns to dinner next year, and every year after that.