Okay, okay, okay!
So, blah blah blah I ran a half-marathon and I 100% realize that that’s treading in questionable territory of rescuing dogs and becoming a vegetarian where it’s slightly socially acceptable until it becomes all that person talks about, and then you’re all like, “Yeah, yeah, get on with your life.”
I know, I know.
I’m not going to talk about it.
But!! I thought maybe you’d like to know a thing or two or three about Nashville? Yes? Three things about Nashville? (Really, I don’t have much else for you at the moment. I did laundry yesterday and watched some internet with Jimmy Fallon. Did you want to hear about that life? Naw. I’m going the route of Country music and cowgirl boots).
First of all: I PET A BABY KANGAROO.
RIIIIIGHT?? This is a thing. There were kangaroos hopping about and the Zoo Person was like, “If they jump on the path, you can pet them.”
And I was like, “Wait. Come again? What was that?”
And the Zoo Person was like, “If they jump on the path you can pet them.”
Cue me calling to all of them in baby-voice. “Come here. Come herrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre.”
There was one baby kangaroo on the path a bit ahead of me…until a bunch of little children tugged it’s fur and it ran away.
I was like, “THANKS FOR RUINING IT FOR EVERYONE, KIDS.”
But a different Zoo Person was like, “Don’t worry, he’ll come back.”
You better believe I waited.
And then I pet him.
SO SOFT LIKE THE SOFTEST SOFT.
Totes a highlight.
OK, so, there were seven of us running this here half, but another four cheering us on. And we all rented a vacation rental house together. The house could probably fit sixteen if all of the couches and pack-and-plays were utilized, but we filled it nicely with our eleven.
Now, one of the reasons we went with a house was so that we could make our own food, just to save money and have that culinary experience and a bit more freedom and what not.
So, night number one rolls around. I’m in charge of setting the menu and cooking, right? I decide to make pasta, since the race is the next day and: carbs for dayyyyyyyyyyyyys, baby! (That actually really helped. I guess urban legends are sometimes a thing).
I went shopping for a couple of days worth of groceries and came back, ready to put the kitchen to good use with my friend Justin.
But, wait. Nope.
Please know a few things about me. I have prepped and made food in rented kitchens across Spain and the U.S. and Canada and wherever else I need to. This was the most ill-prepared kitchen I have ever found.
Do you know what is necessary to make pasta? You need one pot to boil the noodles and one pot to make the sauce. Usually you use the large-ish sized pots for a crowd.
There were no large pots.
There were only FOUR teeny pots. Four. Plus one small and one medium skillet. Period.
Justin and I exchanged looks and did our best.
Our best consisted of boiling one half of the long-noodles, then using salad tongs to flip them around to boil the other half. I know, I know. It was a complete mess. Water and noodle-starch everywhere.
And then Justin was like, “We need a colander,” but there was no colander. There was nothing even remotely colander-y. No salad strainer. No steaming pot. NOTHING. We used the salad tongs to pull the noodles from the boiling water and set the noodles in a 13×9 baking dish. The pasta sauce was distributed between the small skillet and the medium skillet and a separate dish-set bowl and the same 13×9 baking dish. It was an inspiring sight of ingenuity and noodle-starch water for days.
Ay yi yi.
I hope I never forget the look of despair in Justin’s face.
(The food did turn out well, though. Can’t stop won’t stop).
On a happier note, while my party was in downtown Nashville buying cowboy boots, I trucked about a mile or so to a fabric store I found online.
When I arrived, it was so leetle! Only about fifty or sixty options for material. BUT!! I found some soft and float-y yellow.
I was like, “Is this too much?”
And the saleslady was like, “I don’t think so.”
So, even though she was trying to make a sale…I believed her. And I bought it.
I’m currently enraptured with cowl necks on vintage dresses. Oh, and fascinators (forever fascinators!!) I’ll keep you posted. Ya know I will.
X,
N.
