Day Fifty-One: Tequila...

Perhaps I am strange...  But I find that I am ever so slightly embarrassed about today's novel experience.  My embarrassment spans multiple levels.  First, I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that today's experience was novel! I guess I am somewhat afraid that you, dear reader, will wrongly assume that I have lived under some sort of repressed rock.

However, at the same time, I am a little embarrassed that in this uber responsible, mother of two children, business woman/professional, older than dirt stage of life, I was taking part in these shenanigans!  OK.  Truth time...  I guess my embarrassment is not so much that I took part, as much as that I am about to admit to it publicly!  But here goes...

For today's novel experience I did a tequila shot!  I am not sure how I made it through college having completely avoided this rite of passage, but I did.  It's not that I didn't drink socially when I was younger, it's just that I'm not really the shot type.  I'd much rather savor a nice glass of wine or enjoy a frilly, girlie drink than pound back the hard stuff.  And, truth be told, the whole ritual just seemed too damn complicated for me.  And then, as I aged, it seemed less and less appropriate to try it...

But, when discussing novel experience possibilities with a group of close friends, it was brought to their attention that I had never done a tequila shot.  And then, unbeknownst to me, the secret planning began.  And then next thing I knew, I was standing before a shot glass, salt shaker, and lemon being coached on when and what to lick and suck by my husband and some of my closest friends.  

Now alcohol and novelty seekers have a conflicted relationship to say the least.  In my research, I've come across articles stating that novelty seekers are especially prone to alcoholism, particularly if they are at all sugar sensitive.  I think it is probably clear to you from my multiple dessert related posts, dear reader, that I am both.  Thankfully, while I will enjoy a drink from time to time, I've somehow avoided this pitfall.  But it is worth mentioning here, that the relationship between drinking and novelty seeking has been explored and it isn't pretty!

So the verdict...  I think I would chalk the actual experience up to "been there, done that."  My life has not been profoundly changed for having had a tequila shot and (thankfully) I have not become inspired to partake in this activity everyday!  At the same time, if it hadn't been for this experiment I probably never would have had this experience as I had previously determined that my window of opportunity had closed.  In a sense, this experiment opened the window and gave me an excuse to revisit my (lost) youth.  And, in a strange way, I'm very glad for this.  I had let the psychological confines of my age limit what I perceived as my opportunities.  The phrase, "I'm too old" had snuck into my vocabulary.  And every time I had this thought, I found these false limitations to be incredibly depressing.  

So, tequila shot, thank you for stopping me from limiting myself due to my age.   As silly as this experience was, a profound lesson was learned, and I will be taking this one with me for a long time to come!

Day Fifty: My Completely and Totally Failed Attempt at Growing Sugar Crystals...

The title really says it all, here...  Not only was this an attempt at a novel experience, but it was a novel experience as it is my first, utter and complete, failure.  

I first was inspired to try this project after doing a Google search for projects that use Borax.  (Don't ask...  and anyway, I am sure you will find out why soon enough!)  From this search I learned that you can grow crystals with Borax!  I thought that this would be a really cool novel experience to do with Liam...  Until I did further research and discovered that Borax is toxic!  However, at this point it was too late.  I was fixated and dead set on finding a way to try to grow (non-toxic) crystals!

I then learned that you can do, (more or less), the same process with salt or sugar.  Being the little sugar addict that I am, the decision was clear!  So I boiled my water, saturated it with sugar, and immersed my eyelash yarn, (a fancy suggestions found here).  Then I waited....  and waited...  and waited for my sugar crystals to form.

And here you have it!  The end result of my experiment!  If you clicked on the link above, you can see a picture of what I had expected to find at the end of my project.  I think mine is prettier, don't you!  OK.  Fine.  It looks a bit like a drowned rat.  I admit it.  There's not a crystal in sight.  

Surprisingly, though, I had fun with this!  The simplicity of following simple directions.  Stirring in sugar until it pooled at the bottom.  The anticipated of the end result.  All of these things were fun for me.  Which just goes to show that true happiness can be found not in the end result or destination, but in how we approach the journey.  

Day Forty-Nine: I Do My Best Pirate!

I present to you the following blog post, which stands as a warning to all of my novelty seeking readers about what can happen when you leave your novel experience until the end of the day and have absolutely nothing planned to pull out at the last minute.  This is also a cautionary tale about peer pressure. 

It was another busy, sometimes frantic, day in which I attempted, unsuccessfully at times, to meet the needs of my very small children, my household, and myself.  I find that motherhood, for me at least, often resembles the work of a triage nurse:  you assess the level of the crisis, prioritize, and then follow through in order of importance and urgency.  My children's basic needs and happiness come before everything else, and some days it feels like that's where all my time is focused...  Thus, leading to the seemingly never-ending backlog of tasks of lesser importance that need to be addressed when there is a rare free moment!  But it is my internal list of priorities that gives some semblance of structure to my days.  As a result, this novelty experiment, which is, of course, a lower priority than the needs of my children, can get pushed off until  they are safely tucked in bed.  And then the race against the clock begins!

Tonight, my best friend, Angela was over so I decided to employ her as the generator of novel experience ideas for the evening.  So, of course, she suggested something really easy.  "You need to Google search Guinness Book of World Records," she said with authority.  "Dare I ask why," I replied.  "Just do it.  Trust me."  

So, like the obedient woman that I am, I typed in the search parameters and pulled up the website.  "Now you're going to break a world record," exclaimed Angela.  Oh.  Of course!  What else would I do with barely two hours to dedicate to a task?  Doesn't everybody set out to beat a world record when they have a few moments of free time?  

Shockingly, it became abundantly clear that this was not a realistic goal.  However, the website did provide endless amounts of amusement with some inspiration mixed in to boot!  As we perused long lists of the fastest, tallest, widest and smallest, Angela became excited about a listing for the most people dancing the Bharatnatyam, an Indian dance form, and decided that learning this dance was going to be my novel experience for the evening.

But here's the part where I put a damper on Angela's enthusiasm...  A quick search of the internet confirmed my darkest suspicions...  I've actually danced the Bharatnatyam before.  Seriously, what are the odds that this WOULDN'T be a novel experience?  But when I was at a welcome reception in India in 1995, a group of us went up on the stage to learn how to dance the Bharatnatyam with the performers...  I hadn't been able to remember the name of the dance, but the description gelled with my memory of the experience.  So it was back to the drawing board.

The good news, here, is that it was at this point that we became inspired to do random searches on YouTube.  A simple search for "how to" led me to the novel experience of the night...  Though I initially protested that this was a cop out, I was eventually peer pressured to participate.  And, while laughing to the point of tears, I did, in fact, practice like a good little student, thus alleviating my concern that this should not count.  Are you ready?

Yup...  This is how I ended up spending my night.  I do feel that my new bilingual status will help me in life in the long run so I am very grateful to Angela for convincing me of the worthwhileness of this novel experience.  I mean, just check out my mad pirate-speaking skills:

"Arrrr...  This sharp-tongued wench be tired.  I gunna be sleepin."

So, on that note, I will wish you all a goodnight, and will now retire to my bed to dream of plunderin' and booty, (of the pirate variety!)  

Day Forty-Eight: Mainers, Massholes, and Mangoes

For those of you who have not visited, Maine is, in many ways, an idyllic place to live.  With its endless coastlines, beautiful mountains, and quaint villages it's really a perfect place to raise a family.  And Mainers are acutely aware of their assets and fiercely proud of their state and their roots.  As a person of Scottish heritage, I liken Mainers to the Scots:  Rugged, proud, and rather disdainful of their neighbor to the South!  

My husband and best friend are both Maine natives.  This puts them into the elite class of Mainers and affords them acceptance without question throughout the state.  I, on the other hand, am the sworn enemy of the native Mainer.  I am from Massachusetts...  or, as we are referred to locally, I am a "Masshole."  

I can remember my husband's disappointment when he discovered my heritage on our first date.  At the time, I thought he was teasing when he exclaimed, "But I thought you were a nice New Hampshire girl!"  I now know better.  As far as my husband is concerned, my Masshole status is a secret that must be protected and a shame to his family.  At business dinners he has frequently told people that I am from New Hampshire.  You see, to the native Mainer, New Hampshire is a huge step up from Massachusetts...  A step up, but believe you me, it is still not Maine!    Maine is the way life should be!

Now, while we do live within the borders of the Great State of Maine, we happen to live quite close to my old stomping ground in New Hampshire.  On occasion, we will even leave utopia so that I can meet my long standing need to "live free or die."  You see, while I was born in Massachusetts, my heart is in the seacoast area of New Hampshire.  

In the later months of my pregnancies, these ventures south became a risky business.  To my husband, it was paramount that his children be born in Maine so that he could bestow native status on them, thus negating the blight of their Masshole mother.  Therefore, if I happened to go into labor while "away," his plan was to drive me over the border to ensure that his children receive their birthright.  In the final weeks of my pregnancy with our son, we needed to run an errand in Massachusetts.  As we crossed into "enemy territory," I remember requiring my husband to give me a verbal contract that he would take me to the NEAREST HOSPITAL if I were to go into labor, which, after hemming and hawing, he agreed to.  Thankfully, we were safely back in Maine before my water broke twelve hours later, and twenty-three hours from that point, our son officially became a native!

As an outsider in a family of natives, I've been able to observe the Native Mainers within their own habitats, and I've made some striking discoveries.  They can crack a lobster like nobody's business, a good majority really do answer questions with "ayuh," and they seem to be immune to the cold.  It is not unusual to see a Native Mainer in a t-shirt in below freezing weather, and shorts are often broken out as soon as the temperature hits a balmy 40 degrees.

It is the tolerance to cold that sets me most apart from the Native Mainer.  While I would be very happy moving down to Costa Rica and living in the glorious, tropical heat and humidity for the rest of my days, my husband lives for April snowstorms.  Crazy!

Which brings me to the novel experience of the day...  The weather today was cold, wet, and miserable, as it often can be this time of year and I was busy feeling sorry for myself while my husband celebrated.  In a futile attempt to cope, I pulled out all the stops...  I listened to Caliente on my satellite radio...  I turned up the heat...  I drank hot beverages and snuggled under blankets... but nothing was working.  The reality of the weather proved to be too much.  Just when I was about to give up hope, I remembered that I had bought myself a tropical treat at the store:  Orange MANGO juice.  

Nothing says tropical weather, monkeys swinging by in trees, and a very happy Christy like a mango!  While it did not take the cold away, it did remind me that sunnier days are coming and gave just the shot in the arm that we Massholes need when living outside of our natural habitat.