How To: Survive the Holidays

The Holidays are here! Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, whether you're ready or not. By the time you'll be reading this, I'll more than likely be on a plane on my way home, snuggled in and ready for my usual horrific turbulence while landing in Denver. I invite you to sit back, relax, and start your holiday weekend off right by laughing at my family's best ever Thanksgiving story.

DISCLAIMER: I am by no means an expert on any topic I choose to write about from here on out, but maybe the things that I've gone through or are going through currently relate to you and can help you in some way. At the very least, you can laugh at/with me, remembering that one time that maybe you too felt like a complete moron, as I go through the many Mishaps of an Almost Adult.

It was 1997 and my family was living in Cooper City, Florida, a suburb of Fort Lauderdale. We had just moved to Florida that summer before and were ready to celebrate our first ever Floridian holiday season. Seeing as we hardly knew anyone in South Florida and the rest of our relatives were in the Midwest, my maternal grandparents decided they would come and visit us for Thanksgiving to keep us company.

Our house was strangely one of the only two story houses in our neighborhood. The downstairs featured extremely high ceilings (about 12 feet) and was comprised of the family room, dining room, kitchen, and then there was an "outdoor room" that was a screened in pool/patio under an overhang. I know, you're sitting here saying, "Okay, Aimee, I'm done reading, you've lost your touch. Why on earth do I care about the layout of your house?" Trust me, its important.

Thanksgiving morning looked like a pretty typical day in any American house. My mom and my Grandmother were in the kitchen making side dishes and desserts while my dad and Grand-daddy were left in charge of the meat.

My dad, ever the adventurous type, decided that he was tired of waiting 128745 hours for a turkey to cook in the oven, so he was going to try something new this year. He was going to smoke the turkey. On the grill. (Go ahead, shake your head, cover your eyes, you can see where this is going.)

My brother and I were contently sitting in the family room doing what 11 and 14 year old kids did best in 1997... playing the new Goldeneye 007 for N64. I had this addiction to using the rocket launcher at all times, making my kill count awesome. Except I died every time as well. And lost. Repeatedly. But that's beside the point. Our central location gave us the perfect view of both the kitchen and the grill out on the patio to witness what happened next.

While chatting with Grand-daddy, my mom went out to the grill to check the temperature of the turkey. When she opened the lid, it wasn't just her eyebrows that hit the roof. Flames shot up and hit the ceiling as if a special effect in our 007 game. My mom was just standing there with her bangs and eyebrows about to be singed off, staring wide-eyed at the grill and trying to figure out how to get these massive flames out. Grand-daddy, ever the calm one, walked up to my mom and said these three epic words.

"Close the lid."

Everyone gawked as my mom slowly grabbed the lid to the grill and closed it back over the turkey, thus putting out the flames. Grand-daddy came and turned down the grill, and then removed the turkey. Please imagine Eric and I sitting in the family room, controllers in hand, jaws on the floor, as we're noticing the scorch marks on the ceiling of our back porch, providing evidence, that yes, we just saw 8 foot flames coming off our dinner.

Surely our dinner was doomed, but something like a little charred skin wasn't about to stop my dad and Grand-daddy from providing for their family. They carved and carved and carved that turkey until they removed all of the burnt part and everyone got a little bit of turkey for dinner that night. Thanksgiving had been saved. Funny part is, I'm pretty positive they spent more time carving that dang turkey than it would have taken to just bake it in the oven.

Those scorch marks were still on the ceiling above the grill when we moved out of that house three years later and headed for Indiana. I hope the people who moved in after us made up some kind of good story as to how they got there.

My family still uses the phrase "Close the lid." for any kind of stressful situation. Don't know what to do? Close the lid. Kill the flames. End it.

Are you prepared to handle holiday stress? Mishaps is here to help!

1. Need to travel to see your family like me? Check out How To: Take a Trip with Frugal for some budget travel tips!
2. Tired of your relatives asking you "So what are you doing these days?" Read How To: Walk Uphill Both Ways for advice on readjusting your life plan.
3. Ready to watch football all day? Don't know the first thing about sports? Fake it with How To: Take or Fake an Interest in Sports.
4. Are you the only single one in your family? Change that with How To: Find 50 First Dates. Or at least laugh hysterically at my horrible date story to make yourself feel a little better.
5. Pants don't fit after you ate all of that non-burnt turkey? Get some dieting tips with How To: Move On from Ramen.
6. Need some new things to talk about with your parents other than the weather? Read How To: Have an Adult Relationship with your Parents.
7. If all else fails, close the lid.

My dad said he's going to smoke the turkey this year... Here's hoping he was kidding.

The Facts and Fictions of Grad School

Mishaps has a bonus this week! A good friend of mine and avid reader of Mishaps emailed me this week that she'd written a guest post for the blog about something I can't give advice on. Thanks Sam! Welcome to the Mishaps family!

DISCLAIMER: I am by no means an expert on any topic I choose to write about from here on out, but maybe the things that I've gone through or are going through currently relate to you and can help you in some way. At the very least, you can laugh at/with me, remembering that one time that maybe you too felt like a complete moron, as I go through the many Mishaps of an Almost Adult.

When Aimee started a blog about twenty-something-mishaps, I knew I needed to write a guest blog about the dreaded subject of “graduate school” (insert Star Wars’ death march here). Some of you may be in grad school, other’s considering it, and the rest of you shouting a resounding “hell no!” Either way, you’ve probably been told a bunch of lies about what grad school is really like – everything from “It’s just like going back to undergrad!” to “You’ll make more money if you get your master’s degree…”.

Let me sort out some of these Facts and Fictions for you.

• Twenty-something purgatory: Fiction. One of the biggest misconceptions about grad school is that you’ll  be partying it up undergrad-style with just a few extra tests/papers. Anyone who claims this probably photoshopped their master’s degree.  Remember when you got to go to happy hour? On weekend vacations? To eat at Whataburger? I don’t – because I’m too poor and too busy. But hey, at least when I’m $50,000 in debt, sobbing on top of my thesis and praying for a salary that will support more than a ramen noodle diet, I can still claim I’m smarter than you. (Replace thesis for bar exam or fancy-business-test… I’d include med school in here, but I don’t have enough adjectives to describe that sadness.) Grad school is a full-time job without a salary.

• Student ≠ Adult: Fiction. Throw away the following items: Nike shorts/athletic shorts (unless you plan to work out in them), over sized t-shirts (especially of the fraternity/sorority variety), UGG boots (unless used for their intended purpose), and all teenage angst accessories (feathers in the hair, unnatural highlights, nose rings). If any of these items make an appearance on your body, you will blend in as one of the thousands of undergrads on campus. There’s nothing more traumatizing than showing up on campus and having to explain to your colleagues/professors that you “really are 25 and will be a [insert profession here] someday.” Despite the raging youth hormones all over campus, you are an adult – you don’t have to commit to this idea 100%, but you at least have to play the part.

• You aren’t a student, you are a colleague: FACT! Okay, this part is awesome-ish. After four years of being at the bottom of the job market food chain and not being taken seriously as an undergrad, people respect you! For real – you go from being janitor Matt Damon, to super-genius “Robin Williams mentors me” Matt Damon. You are not a student, but a colleague. People expect you to know your stuff – you’re the expert now.

• Relationships won't be affected: Fiction. Friends, lovers… Relationships, ugh. As if this one isn’t already a pain when you aren’t in grad school. Something I wish someone would have told me? Maintaining relationships in grad school is hard - you have new time constraints that will dominate your life. Grad school is a vicious relationship serial killer. Expect to be challenged, go through hardships (lots of them), and question the legitimacy of your relationships.  Get ready to embrace 15 minute phone conversations for “study breaks”  and a weird schedule that will only promote contact with your unemployed friends (class three days a week, occasionally working at night, sometimes weekends, yadda yadda). The great thing? You are pretty quick to bond with people in grad school… After all, nobody else has any idea what you’re going through, no matter hard you try to describe it.

• The economy still sucks: Fact. I remember graduating from undergrad, scrambling for a job, and somehow ending up teaching kids in the ghetto how to read. I was one of the few that had a job right off the bat – some of my friends went to grad school/law school right away or had the unfortunate pleasure of waiting tables until a “real job” called them up to the big-boy leagues. When it came to grad school, my thought was simple: More school means getting a job where I won’t imagine my epic, soap opera-style resignation every day. So, I show up on my first day of grad school and what do I discover? Everyone is freaking out about finding a job. Take the advice given to me on day one: “Be prepared to hear the words under-qualified, over-qualified, and we’re currently not hiring.” I’m not saying getting your advanced degree won’t help you – I’m just saying that it isn’t a cure-all for unemployment and probably won’t result in a super-epic salary raise… At least not one that won’t be completely dedicated to your student loans.

What kind of person would I be if I didn’t end on a positive note? At the end of the day, take my advice:

1. Do what you love, love what you do.
2. You probably won’t be a millionaire or get the dream job when you graduate… You’ll have loans and you’ll still have to do grunt work to earn your keep.
3. Four Words: "Just call me Master."
4. Keep a stash of diet coke/red bull/coffee available. Do not add alcohol. If you can find a way to get your caffeine intravenously, more power to you.
5. Experiment with different types of meat in your ramen noodles. It stops things from getting monotonous and makes you feel less poor.
6. Don't let your interests (music/working out/writing) slip away. Grad school has the power to take over your identity if you let it - stay true to yourself, because in two years you'll be free.
7. It’s entirely possible that if you pick the right program, you’ll be one of those people who actually WANTS to go to work every day. It may not happen right away, but it’s a good start.

How To: Be a Long-Distance Friend

Happy Birthday to me! I have the best friends ever. Their birthday present to me this year was a guest post, so here's what they had to say.

BRAD

Weren't we attractive? Oh middle school.

For over half my life, I've had the pleasure of calling Aimee one of my best friends. Ever since the day we met, it seemed like we just clicked. Maybe it was because I finally found someone who would talk more than me. Maybe it was because I was afraid she’d beat me up since she was about a foot taller than me. It was probably a combination of several different things but, never the less, we became close. We were some of the most awkward kids in the 8th grade but we definitely thought we were the coolest. I'm sure we didn't help our case by making what we thought were witty jokes that seemed to only make us laugh.

Turning the clock forward a little closer to the present, we are closer now than when we lived up the street from one another. Aimee always fell in that category of people that I could go months without talking to and, when we finally would get the chance, it was like we had spoken the day before. I remember when Jen (my now wife) and I started dating, she was pretty jealous of our friendship. I think it was partly because there was another girl in my life who, for all intensive purposes, was my go-to-girl. Jen would always tell me that she was worried that when she finally met her, Aimee wouldn't like her. She would always give me funny looks when we would talk on the phone and, as we were hanging up, I would say, “Love you babe! Bye!"

As it turns out, the day they finally met was actually two days before mine and Jen's wedding. I remember how nervous she was as we drove to the restaurant to meet up with Aimee, Catherine, and Colby. (you’ll meet them after me, I was here first, so I get to go first.) From the second they hugged, they are both huggers so it wasn't weird, it seemed as though they had been friends for almost as long and Aimee and I. (Probably due to how much one had to hear about the other) By the end of the dinner, they were even planning a girl’s weekend without me! As we were leaving, Jen said to me, “I can’t believe I was ever worried about not getting along with her! She is so awesome!” I simply replied, “Now you know why I love her so much.”

I feel like before they met, Jen just accepted the fact that I would say, “Love you” to Aimee when we would talk on the phone or text. Now, after meeting each other and seeing what a great person she is, I think Jen fully understands why I say it. She’s the only other woman in my life besides my wife (and mother/mother-in-law/other significant female family members) that makes me want to tell her that I love her and mean it every time.

Aimee, you are the best friend someone could ask for and I can’t wait to share the rest of my life with you too. Happy Birthday!

CATHERINE

Freshman year of High School. Super cute, huh?

 Not only are we 25 now, but Aimee and I have been best friends for ten years.  During the course of a decade I've learned some great things from her, and the main thing is that all you need in life in that one friend who'll listen to you bitch about something stupid, make you laugh out loud at inappropriate moments, and who will talk you in to public humiliation.

I met Aimee on our first day of high school.  Aimee had just moved to Indiana, and I was starting at a new school.  So there we sat in an Honors English class (how I ended up in there I couldn’t tell you), when our teacher uttered the two most dreaded words for any awkward, friendless, new student.  Group project.  Being the two new kids, Mrs. Bowling, bless her, put the two of us together, and that was that.

The one project turned into many over the course of the year, each one somehow more mortifying then the last.  Perhaps the best (or worst) project happened when the class was asked to re-enact a scene from Romeo and Juliet.  Immediately there seems to be trouble there for us to be partners, but we figured out that we could do one scene together- the fight scene.

So one evening we were figuring out how best to do this, and decided that it would be hilarious to make it a modern day fight in a gym.  So we asked Aimee’s mother to grab the video camera (we should’ve known that if we weren’t willing to do this live, recording it wasn’t a good alternative).  Now to give you a little visual of this, let’s just say the scene involved Sock-em-Boppers, treadmills, and a complete blooper reel.  Sad to say the teacher kept it.  To this day I am mortified that this tape is out there somewhere.

This was just one of many a hilarious, embarassing, and unforgettable memory of my best friend. So in answer to those snobby girls in high school- "I have friend! ..And she's pretty awesome."

Happy birthday Aimee.  I am geniunely afraid of the story I’ll post for your 35th.

COLBY

Freshman year of college...
Colby's first trip to Texas.

Let me start this off by saying I have THE worst memory EVER. I tend to forget large chunks of my life; maybe for my benefit, I don't know. So not to sound like a terrible friend I really needed to dig deep on this one. I don't remember officially meeting Aimee, no seriously, and don't I sound like a jerk saying that?! But I don't, I don't know if it was move-in day, a week later, or even a month later, but to me, that part doesn't matter. The parts that came after do.

My favorite part of having Aimee freshman year at Bentley was that she had the same taste for life I did. I preferred eating my entire medium thin crust Dominos pizza, so did Aimee. I preferred two extra shots in my margarita, so did Aimee. Aimee also came prepared for such events, she had a blender; however we did have to turn up the music so to drown out the crunch of ice and whirring sound that followed. Aimee also has the same love for movies I do, resulting in entire conversations in movie quotes. People get annoyed by it; I say watch Brother Bear and join in!

Aimee was also blessed, as a freshman, to have had a motor vehicle on campus. AWESOME. We'd take trips to Target, blasting country music the whole way. She still likes to brag that she expanded my country pallet beyond the ever popular Kenny Chesney. And yes, I think his tractor is very sexy. This gorgeous red Jeep had the unfortunate experience of coming in close contact with a Bentley dumpster; “Ahh! Salam and good evening to you worthy friend. Please, please come closer. Too close! A little too close.” A typical Bentley retard decided to go the wrong way in a one way – this never ends well. The dumpster’s handle scraped down the passenger side of the Jeep as Aimee veered around the idiot. Making light of the situation, we got to have an annunciation lesson as we drove down I95 to the collision center. Listening to Aimee try and pronounce the town names as we went was priceless: Ponkapoag, Peabody(not as easy as it looks), Worcester, Gloucester and various others.

Getting back to my brain devoid of memories, I don’t remember the day Aimee told me she wasn’t coming back to Bentley. As a woman in love, I was in denial. I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with this person and here she was, up and leaving me. Silly me for thinking this magnificent creature didn’t share my vast emotions. We were married spring of Sophomore year and had a fabulous honeymoon in Florida (at my grandparent’s condo but hey, no hotel costs!) It was there I got to show off my fantastic driving skills. Aimee and I even made up a song (to be sung to the tune of Hellogoodbye’s Here In Your Arms):

“I like, where we are, when we drive, in your golf cart. I like, where we are, here. Where you are the one, the one, who sits next to me. Whispers, “Hello, you’re driving quite terribly.” I fell right out, when you turned so suddenly. But there’s no place I’d rather be but here in your golf cart.”

I think it’s safe to say, I drove her crazy. My Aimsicle and I (now that we were married, a pet name seemed appropriate) spent our days sunbathing, playing Wii, and gossiping about boys; my current boyfriend was also in Florida for Spring Break and had invited another lady as his guest (our love lives are beyond complicated).

The next three years were rough, being newlyweds and all, we didn’t see each other. We were both busy finishing school, getting a job, keeping that job, buying our babies, trying to figure out the meaning of being an “adult”.

Then, a MIRACLE happened. NEW YORK CITY – the city of lights – brought us back together again. Aimee and her “friends of the ages” all met in one location for a weekend of chaos. We drank margaritas which we’re convinced were made with grain alcohol, crashed a Lord of the Rings party, held the Statue of Liberty in our hands, shopped, and walked our boots off. After that, Aimee and I vowed to never go more than six months between visits.

The next one was Nashville, TN. I was her date (naturally) for her ex-boyfriend’s wedding (HEY BRAD!). This event was most memorable and down-right side-splitting. But that story needs its own post so I’ll let Aimee tell that one (also my brain is story-telling retarded, not being able to remember everything and all).

So here I am, my wifey turning 25, and this time next week she will be in my hometown, Boston. If she’s not careful, Aimee and that beautiful new Bendel of hers won’t make it back to Texas.

To my friend, my sister, my wife, my other half, my therapist, my personal shopper, Happy 25^th Birthday.