Vacation

I'm on Vacation, something so terrific it needs to be addressed with a capital V. I enjoyed the Third Annual Wine & Cheese Night - a yearly summer tradition at my parents' house (... so what if I started the tradition?), I have eaten Indian food from my favorite Indian place, I've played tennis, flown a kite on the DC mall, ordered Mr. Merlot a new T, and sat around and enjoyed large amounts of food. This is, essentially, the first time I've touched a computer since I left work on Friday. It is, in a word, glorious.Vacation is a land where I don't have to wake up early, but I do anyways so I don't sleep it all away. On Vacation, there is Holly, my brother's dog, to snuggle and play with. On Vacation, there are friends I have not seen in eons to catch up with. On Vacation, I can run errands that are otherwise impossible in Roanoke (cheap wine, Costco...).

So for now, I cannot be bothered to blog properly. Too many amazing things to do, like help Brother make ice cream, take Holly to a dog park, eat some leftover cheese from Wine & Cheese Night, put new grip tape on my tennis racket, among so many other things.

Please do not disturb.

Uphill Climb

As I write this, I am frantically running back and forth to my kitchen, lovingly adding more chicken broth to my risotto and giving it a nice little mix. With a glass of wine. And then I intend to eat my risotto with chopsticks, because I haven't used them since I've moved to this town. So, it's more or less an average evening.

I have, as of late, but wherefore I know not (spot the nerd reference), developed an unhealthy obsession with Mad Men. I've stopped reading and now spend my free time completely engulfed in the lives of Don Draper and Peggy. Oh, Peggy. How did you manage to get yourself a private office, at 22, as a female in an advertising agency in 1960? I don't even get a door on my shared office. You're my hero. Let's be best friends.

OfficeMate and I successfully climbed to McAfee's Knob this past weekend. Well, climbed is a very strong word for what I did. I huffed. I sat on a log and was passed by children and people legitimately doing the Appalachian Trail with massive backpacks. I shamed OfficeMate by making him stop, too. He climbed. I huffed.Aside from my being shamefully out of shape (It was hot! I was getting over a cold! We only brought one water bottle! I ran cross country nine years ago! Doesn't that count for anything anymore?), the view at the top was absolutely worth it. The view is absolutely breathtaking, and I'm embarrassed it took me until now to get out there. It honestly is not that far from where I'm currently living. I am also now one of those cliche people with a facebook photo of themselves at the top. Sue me.

And finally, sadly, I've begun job hunting again. Much like my hike this weekend, I'm horribly out of shape. If you're a prospective employer, hey, what's up? Let's chat sometime. Job hunting is soul-crushing work. I've said it before and I'll say it again; the whole process is like a bad dating scene. "Hey, I think we'd be great together! I like combating (insert nonprofit mission statement here), too! We should get together sometime. No, I'm looking for something long-term. I think we'd work really well together. Please give me a shot! I THINK YOU'RE CUTE! PLEASE CALL ME!"

Ah, the joys of being back here, not even 12 months since the last time.

Happiness is a Warm Pot Roast

I made my first pot roast!
For as much as I talk about my love for food and all the time I spend cooking, I must admit that there is something about a 3 or 4lb slab of cow that just intimidates me. However, I was reaching a breaking point with my recipes. Spaghetti (or defrosted free Olive Garden) was occurring much more than I would normally deem acceptable. One night, there was some canned soup for dinner, and another night, carrot sticks and some toasted kale. At my low point, there was a frozen pizza.

These are not proper meals. But I wasn't feeling creative and was tired of anything I possibly could have made with what we had in the fridge. I can't even tell you how many combinations of eggs and potatoes I've done in the past month. So. Many. I did what any normal person would do - I turned to facebook. I asked all the wonderful facebook folks for suggestions, and was pointed in a variety of directions. Some suggested Pioneer Woman, whom I am quite stoked about checking in with come grocery-list/recipe brainstorming day. Others suggestions ranged from Spanish tortillas (which I haven't attempted since my disastrous first meal at this apartment) to a pot roast, by my brother.

It also bears mentioning that my lovely neighbor from DC suburbia read my blog post about budgeting and how I had cut down on herbs. This prompted her (and her adorable daughters) to mail me the most thoughtful care package full of brownies, artwork, and herbs. Yes, herbs. I can't tell you how happy a box full of herbs and chocolate made me. OfficeMate couldn't understand my excitement at things like bay leaves and cumin. My kitchen feels complete.

I went to the store, and I did what I did not know I could do. I bought a 3lb chuck roast. And do you know what I did with it? I roasted the CRAP out of that sucker, in a pot. A pot roast, if you will. And sure, maybe I went over the top with wine. And yeah, potatoes would have been a good addition. Also, maybe not cooking it on high in my friendly crock pot would have made it a little more moist. But that's not the point. The point is that I took the most ghetto cut of meat (it was expiring the day I cooked it!) and made something which resembled a legitimate meal, complete with a dry-rub based off all the herbs gifted to me; this resembled a meal that I had been fearing for months, nay, years. For the past twenty-three years, I have only been content to mainly cook on stove tops, with the occasional throwing something casserole-like into the oven, never daring to explore the more exciting realm of adult meals.

So, hello adulthood. I never thought you'd look like a dry pot roast.

Things I'm Thankful For (in general, and while ill)

Thanksgiving has come and gone. I spent the holiday with family in Philly, after many hours of sitting in a car. There was much food, more wine, and overall quality family time. I am so thankful for such a phenomenal family, honestly. Alas, reality does not lie in Philly, and I had to return to Roanoke this morning.

Now, while speaking of things I am thankful for, let me explain that I awoke sick this morning. We're talking worshiping the porcelain god, clammy hands, no appetite sick. (No appetite is the tell-tale sign of my illness.) Ergo, I am thankful for the following:

Mr. Merlot, who returned me to my abode in Roanoke in one piece, to reunite me with my electric tea kettle and my taco-shaped bed.
My Taco-Shaped Bed, who embraces me every night and is ever-so-soft.
My Tea Kettle, who, every night, makes me some chamomile, and every morning heats up some H20 for my french press. He is currently assisting in my tea consuming endeavors.
Garrison Keillor, for knowing that in the last leg of my trip, what I needed to hear more than anything was A Prairie Home Companion. Thank you.
Glasses, for allowing me to see without the hassle of contacts.
My Yoga Pants, for being the best pair of pants a girl could ask for. I apologize for never doing yoga in you anymore, and really only wearing you to eat and sleep.

Hopefully I won't have to use a sick day tomorrow. Although, sleep would probably help this whole illness thing. Come on, body, fight this!

One Month and Counting.

One month and going strong...
So I've been in Roanoke for about a month now. I've learned a few back roads, I can hear the twang developing in my voice (I'm not proud of this), and I am getting a better feel for the people and the culture of the valley. Sprawling metropolis that Roanoke may be, it still very much has the small town feel. People I vaguely recall meeting once not only remember my name, but somehow seem to know every single personal fact about me, including things that I may not yet know.

"MV, do you remember meeting Mr. X?"
"Of course!" I lie.Mr. X will then proceed to tell me not only how we first met (thanks for the refresher) but also what he has learned about me from our mutual connection since we last saw one another. Now, everyone here only has to remember meeting me. My handicap is having to remember every single one of them. It's a challenge, and I am slacking something fierce. My biggest fear is them learning I don't remember meeting them, but for now I just smile and go with it. Nodding enthusiastically and occasionally going in for a hug helps too - yes, I am promoting the hugging of people who are potential strangers.

Roanoke = ParisMy supervisor loves to compare Roanoke to Paris. Obvious comparisons aside, such as it being a massive city and cultural center of the world, there is some validity to this comparison.
Zip codes are done in snail pattern, much like Paris. So, in that light, I'm just living in the Paris of Virginia. Instead of a big fancy tower, we have a massive lit-up star. And instead of the Seine, we have the Roanoke River. Other than the language, you'd never be able to tell the difference.

The Morbidity of Nonprofits
You'd think that nonprofits would be all about forward-thinking methods and general optimism. And, well, it's not that they're not - it's more that there's a dark side to them as well.

My first week at work, I found myself researching various funeral homes and crematoriums. And pet cemeteries... and so forth. This was when I was initially just trying to figure out who was generous in their donations in the area.

Now, about a month in, I've begun doing intense research in regards to planned giving - or who includes us in their will, estate plans, etc. While calling the necessary contacts, I began to realize that the nonprofit world has its ugly, morbid side. Somehow, this has become my niche for the past two weeks or so. While it sounds awful, it is a very real and necessary part of fundraising. Many nonprofits, especially in the educational realm such as universities, rely heavily on planned giving for a substantial percentage of their income. It is just incredibly essential to have a sense of humor about the whole thing, or you'll become such a Negative Nancy cynic that no one will see the point in giving to you.

The Stipend
You're probably all like, "Alright MV, that's great that you're fundraising and dealing with death and all, but how's your pretension working out for you on your limited budget?"
Let me tell you, friends, amigos, countrymen.
There's been some wine withdrawal, I'm not going to lie. I may have moved with two cases of wine (no, parents, I haven't finished them), but finding people who are like "Hey, let's get together to chill over a glass of wine!" has been rough. I went to the friendly neighborhood Kroger after work yesterday with Supervisor for a free wine tasting, and felt almost like I was at the wine tasting at Whole Foods. The sommelier had brought a zinfandel from home that he let us try - it was fantastic and honestly, I was a little bummed that it wasn't available for sale. Supervisor enjoys wine, though, which is an incredibly exciting find. There is apparently a wine festival up at the lake next weekend, but our sommelier said it was good if you're into an abundance and large variety of mediocre wine.

Going out. I don't do it, really, at all, because it costs money. (and because I'm still learning how to make friends) Or, you offer to DD. Then it's free/cheap. I eat a lot of pb&j at work. Or pb&honey. I also eat a substantial amount of pizza because you can buy a pizza here for $6. Who knew that in a one week I could go from never having had Little Caesars to having it twice?

Also, enjoy a handful of the few photos I've been able to upload! Woo.

Coming soon to the blog: my first real college football experience (and having no idea what to bring to a tailgate), being useless at work because I know no one, and my ongoing adventure to de-ghettofy Mr. Merlot.