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You May Be Right…I May Be Crazy

Okay, this post is not “By Katie,” as it automatically notes above.  Anything in this post rudely interjected by me (Katie) will appear in this lovely green italic font.  I can do that because it’s my blog.  Our special guest poster for today is my dear friend Stacy.

Okay, I’ve actually only known her a few months, but since she was hand-picked by Erin and me to replace Erin here in Gray Cubicle Land when she moved off to Frederick, MD, we knew we’d all get along.

And we do.  Swimmingly.  It’s people like Stacy who make it a little harder for me to leave this place.  Lucky for me, she’s decided to relieve some of that burden.  In light of this whole Costa Rica thing, people frequently ask, “How can you leave a great job and go work for nothing??”  To that I say, “Define ‘nothing.'”  As yet another twenty-something struggling with a crisis-of-career faith, I think Stacy can provide some much-needed inspiration – and perhaps even clarification – about what makes “nothing” so damn great.

So here she is:

If I were superstitious, I’d say this tripod of cubicles is cursed.

My predecessor and current desk mate, known to you (respectively) as Erin and Katie, just quit their jobs to work on a chili pepper farm in Costa Rica .  Who does that?  

The third leg of the tripod, Ms. Middle Chair, has been empty for months.  I suspect its former occupant became some sort of Russian spy, Congolese chimpanzee charmer, or a hapless, ham-fisted victim who plunged to her death while trying to snap a perfect shot. 

Whatever the cause, after just four months of staring at Erin’s derelict potted plant…

…and watching Katie’s ever-growing stack of ne’er-to-be-recycled Starbucks sleeves…

…I’ve got the “itch.”  

“Isn’t there a cream for that,” you ask? 

Not for this itch.  The only cure is ACTION! 

Am I accompanying these two brave ladies on their Costa Rican adventure?  No…but I am doing something that might raise a few eyebrows:  I’m going back to school…to become a park ranger.

I know that might sound anticlimactic, but as Katie often reminds me, “The heart wants what it wants.”

(Thanks for that picture, Stac.  Really.)

I know that, in a hopeless economy, I should be content with my first bachelor’s degree and cling desperately to gainful employment.  I know that it makes no sense to go back to school to enter a field that pays less than what I’m making now. 

But I keep remembering what this Yellowstone park ranger said during a conversation with my man:

My Man:  “This must be an awesome gig, right?”

Park Ranger:  “I love it.  Every day is an adventure.”

My Man:  “But you won’t get rich doing it, huh?”

Park Ranger:  “No…” (contemplative pause) “But I’m rich in other ways.”

Hell yeah, she gets to wear a really cool hat!

Rich in other ways?  Wow.

I once thought I was rich, pre-this job, when I worked in insurance.  Insurance was great, except for the whole “being at work” part.  Hmm…How can I put this?

I read, grasped, and regurgitated insurance forms – you know, those nasty things most people immediately shred or file away in some dusty bin or bake into a fruit cake – for FIVE YEARS.     

I lived for Fridays.  I dreaded Mondays.  I stopped laughing.  I needed a stiff drink every day after work.  I started talking in my sleep.  I forgot who I was and what I wanted.  

When I finally reached a breaking point, I called my mom.  “If you stay in insurance, you’ll just be a rich alcoholic,” she said. 

So I took a 50% pay cut and took the environmental writing gig here, next to Erin’s dead plant, empty Ms. Middle Chair, and Katie’s corrugated cardboard coffee sleeves.

It’s been a great run.  I like my job, but it feels like a segue, like something’s pulling me in another direction.  I’ve spent too long trapped in cubicles, and now I want to play in the woods.

Is it wrong for our dreams to evolve?  Is it worse to listen, or to ignore?  Am I crazy?  Are we crazy?

Time might tell.  All I know is that, in about a month, these three cubicles will all be empty, and Katie, Erin, and I will be unemployed but pursuing richness in other ways. 

I’ll leave you with my mantra, from The Avett Brothers’ Head Full of Doubt / Road Full of Promise:

“Decide what to be, and go be it.”

When Does the Fun Start?

On my way to quench my coffee addiction this morning (a habit on my list of things to kill before the big Costa Rica trip), I decided to stop over at the military hospital to get my second shot for Hep A and B.  Ouch.  (But I’d rather take 8 more of those in one arm – no, in my face – before I’d choose to subject myself to another Typhoid shot.  That’s just the kind of baby I am.)

Frequent responsible and health-conscious travelers, how do you do it??

At least I got a hot pink band aid out of the deal.

(‘Scuse the image quality – that was taken with my phone.)

As the nurse drew the curtain closed and pinched my arm fat so she could administer the medicative juices, I started to consider the fact that there’s a lot of merit to just taking off one day with absolutely no initial research or preparations.

I read an online article over the weekend about a kid who did just that.  He was fresh out of college and had been running a hospital shuttle bus for a few months, and then BAM!  He saw an ad on Craigslist or something for a room for rent in Costa Rica and just decided to go for it.

No vaccinations, no Spanish-English dictionary, no trip insurance.

He brought just himself and a strong pair of cojones.  And his brother.  And his brother’s cojones, if you want to get technical.  Okay and maybe he brought a toothbrush.  And maybe he put that toothbrush in a backpack – but I’m guessing he didn’t try on a bunch of packs at the store and post questions on travel forums about the best way to carry his DSLR.  That’s all I’m sayin’.

And I thought, how great would it be to have the guts to just go for it – don’t worry about professional courtesy of giving work notice, don’t worry about reading up on the history of the country, don’t worry about contracting potentially life-threatening blood borne pathogens – it’ll all work out in the end.

Right??!

But then I realized.  I may not be much of a planner – I’m not good with itineraries or playbooks or remembering which day of the week it is – but I will always be a maximizer.  (It’s a word I learned during an office retreat, so it must be real.  And it must always be typed in bold font.)  At any rate, I will always try to make an experience the best it can possibly be.

The maximizer in me knows that if I go into a trip like this without understanding anything about the local people or the ecology of the region, I’d spend so much time while I’m there trying to figure those out while not looking like an ignorant idiot that I’d forget how to just enjoy.

So I’ll deal with the shots.  And the hot pink band aid.  And the questions about what I’m going to do when I get back.  The works.

And I’m bringing a damn dictionary.

And I think – I really think – it’ll be worth it in the end.  And maybe my shoulders will thank me for doing a little research about the pack.

My Therapist Makes Me Drink

One of the best things about being military is moving new places and meeting new people.

One of the hardest things about being military is saying goodbye to people you’ve begun to consider not just friends, but family.

Countless people have entered and left my life over time, but never so much as in the past 7 years.

I’ve started looking at the different places I’ve lived as different lives – each unique in its local climate, cuisine, culture.  But it’s always the people – not just the locals, but those military people who weave in and out, each affecting me in different ways, who impact me the most.  All of the experiences they share, so many faces they wear, countless backgrounds that inevitably bleed into my own.  They change me.

We’ve been unusually stagnant for the past few years, staying in this one place while our friends from this place and lives past flit from state to state, country to country.

The most recent people to leave our lives are Mike and Sarah.  During their all-too-brief stay in our neighborhood, this young couple somehow managed to become the glue in our little group of neighbors.

Mike, aka. “Manchild,” always brought the party.

His wife Sarah always brought the wine.

As I sat with them in their kitchen one night shortly before they moved, I noticed the synchronization they’ve achieved in their relationship.

(You’re nothing at Mike and Sarah’s place if not relaxed.)

Sarah cooks, Mike watches.

Mike comments, Sarah gets annoyed.

Just kidding.  They’re pretty laid-back.

And I think that’s what makes them work so well.

Sarah gave me this as a going-away gift (even though she was the one going away).  It’s just the kind of gal she is:

Can’t argue with that.

Enjoy the friends in your life while you have them.

You’re missed already!

I’m Too Sexy for my Hep Shots

Since Erin is busy gettin’ busy with her hubs who made it home yesterday, I thought it might be helpful to address some of the questions I’ve been getting about my level of preparedness for this upcoming trip.

Do you remember how my prep work for our trip to Hawaii entailed attempting to get bikini-ready by faking a tan and trying to work out?

Well, my preparations for our (much longer) trip to Costa Rica are panning out a bit differently.

The truth of the matter is, in my attempts to resurrect my feelings of carefree youth by quitting my job, booking a ticket to a foreign country, increasing my alcohol tolerance level – the works – I’ve started to realize that in light of this upcoming experience, I’m going to be regressing a hell of a lot further back than I ever wanted to go.

You see, I’m not just reverting – I really am a baby.

I’ll explain:

Language

The most glaringly obvious sign of my unpreparedness is the fact that I don’t speak a lick of Spanish.  Okay, fine.  I learned the words “platos” and “cerveza” from some of the guys I worked with at a restaurant, but that’s really about it.

Enter Rosetta Stone.  I’ve been working my way haphazardly through the lessons over the past couple of weeks, but I’m going to have to pick up the pace if I want to do anything more than tell people, “The cat is black.”  El gato es negro.  And there’s a good possibility I screwed that up.

Let’s face it – it’s unfair of me to expect people to speak my language while I’m living in their country.  But with my computer’s microphone not cooperating, the best I can expect in the end is to sound like a 2-year-old.  But I can deal with that.  Oh, and I’ll need to be spoken to the same way.  “No, Katie – caliente!”

Money

Once I (finally) graduated college and joined the real world (I may have had a couple of missteps along the way), I thought I was free of the back-of-the-mind burden that comes with living paycheck to paycheck.

Well, it turns out that the idea of living with no paycheck at all is a bit more daunting.

Of course, I would not have quit my job if it would’ve meant losing the house or becoming delinquent on my student loan payments – I’m not an idiot.  But still, it was kind of nice having my “cushion” of pay every couple weeks.  It was nice to be able to spring for the fancy $10 bottle of wine, ya know?

But you know what?  A little bit of life experience holds more value to me right now than a new car or hardwood floors.  Besides, my ’99 Chevy Tracker only has 140,000 miles – she’s still got a lot of life in her.

Health

Do you remember the plethora of immunizations/vaccinations you needed to get when you were little?

They usually came in the form of a shot administered to your arm, thigh, or my personal favorite, your butt.  Well up until a couple weeks ago, I didn’t really remember these shots.  I’m not really a queasy person when it comes to needles or blood, but let’s just say that a Typhoid vaccination injection is not one of the key ingredients to a kick-ass party.  The shot for Hepatitis A and B wasn’t too bad, except for the looming thought that I need to have it repeated two more times.

By the way, here’s a text excerpt from several hours after I got my immunizations, one in each arm.  (For some reason the nurse wouldn’t honor my butt request):

Me: I am now immunized against Hepatitis A, Hepatitis B, and Typhoid.  My arms hurt.  They hurt so good.  :)

Erin: Lucky!  I want MY arm to hurt!  (Haha, and why not Hep C?  Guess they knew they’d be wasting their time.  Slut.)  ;)

Ahh, I love traveling with loving, trusted friends.

Culture

So I just want to clear a little something up from this post, in which Erin described some of the lovely ailments her doctor told her to look forward to experiencing during a trip to Costa Rica.  Anything we might acquire while there would likely be due to us being travelers (aka. babies) in a foreign country.

See, our bodies are used to little buggies in the water here, but American little buggies are different from the little buggies in the Costa Rican water, which can lead to something known as travelers’ diarrhea.  It’s not because their water is unsafe – unless we decide to drink directly out of a river, which wouldn’t be smart no matter where we are in the world.

We’re lucky enough to be staying with a really great family (more on that later), and we anticipate many, many good times to be had in the sweltering jungle heat between bouts of the craps.  Which, it turns out, can be caused by more than just exposing our unacclimated bodies to the elements.  According to our host:

“LMFAO, you will most likely not get the craps unless you drink a lot of Guaro, the Tico moonshine, the water is good to drink right out of the tap in the whole country.  It is no hotter than Frederick Maryland in the summer, or NC.  There is a possibility of being wet during this time of the year and you could be very wet, like Seattle wet, with the small difference that there are dirt roads everywhere and you will most likely be wet and muddy.  But it’s nothing that an icy cold cerveza can’t take care of.

Just wanted to clarify that your doctor’s are quacks and if I am wrong I will buy you both a beer!

Adios from the malaria filled, steamy, sweaty, hot world of Guanacaste Costa Rica!

Hahhahahaha”

Okay, so maybe we won’t be adhered to the toilet with explosive diarrhea (darn).   Maybe we won’t be able to fry eggs on our foreheads.  Maybe our bodies won’t be so bloated and water-logged that friends will send us boxes of gas-X and ShamWows.  There is just the slightest, teensy-weensy-tiniest chance that we were exaggerating our hardships just a bit.  But hey, we’re writers – that’s what we do.

Meaty Make-Up

Here’s a juicy, meaty picture of the sandwiches I made tonight…

…to make up for yesterday’s debacle.

You want to make these sandwiches.  Trust me.

I call them “Katie’s Favorite Sandwich” – otherwise known as “Marlboro Man’s Favorite Sandwich” courtesy of The Pioneer Woman.  She’s a genius.

If you want to impress your meat-loving significant other, test these puppies out.  And don’t you dare leave out the Tabasco – only use a couple splashes if you’re afraid of the heat.

Doesn’t get much easier or tastier than this.  The end.

Cheesy Mozzarella Ranch Burgers

*Warning:  Do NOT read this post if the sight of raw meat makes you queasy.  Unless you like feeling queasy.  If that’s the case, read on.

I realize it’s kinda ballsy to post a recipe for burgers on a blog that a) isn’t entirely about food, b) isn’t written by a food connoisseur, or c) claims that poo-pourri is one of the best. gifts. ever.

Many people tend to take hamburgers very, very seriously.  Such people insist that burgers should be prepared as simply as possible, using very little ingredients.

But c’mon – it’s a burger, people – ground chuck stuck between two buns (and I’m not talking about Erin’s husband when he finally gets home).  (Sorry Erin’s mother-in-law!)  I mean, it’s ground beef – not veal.

All I’m sayin’ is that it’s a meat that’s made to be played with – and play with it, I do.

So here’s what you need for the burgers I made for the 4th of July celebration (a recipe inspired in-part by Erin’s good friend Kevin and other recipes found online at various times):

  • 4-ish lbs. ground beef (I normally like to get the good stuff, but since I was being cheap after much purchasing of alcohol, I got a pre-packaged brand of regular ground)
  • 2 (1 oz.) packages of ranch dressing mix (I would’ve actually used 3, but I only had 2.  Crap.)
  • 2 eggs, lightly beaten
  • 1 to 1 1/2 cups crushed saltine crackers or bread crumbs (amount depends on the consistency of your meat)
  • 1 large onion, chopped
  • Worcestershire (if meat is dry)
  • 8 oz. mozzarella cheese
Burger ingredients

1)  Dice up your onion, nice and fine.

Diced onion

2)  Stick all your ingredients in a giant bowl.

3)  Now’s the fun part.  Make sure your hands are clean and dig on in!  Trust me, you can try to do this with a spoon if you want.  You can try.  But your burgers will likely end up very unevenly mixed.  Plus, you won’t have the fun of digging ground beef out from under your fingernails later.

Ooohh feels so good.

4)  You want them to be sticky, but not too sticky.  (Yeah, that helps, right?)  Then form them into balls.  I think I got about 14 balls out of my 4 or 4 1/2 lbs. of meat.  You can really make them as big as you’d like.

5)  Break off chunks of your mozzarella cheese (wash your hands first), and then press them inside the meat, making sure to cover the cheese completely with meaty goodness.

I only used half of this block of mozzarella:

6)  Once each burger ball is stuffed with 2-3 pieces of the cheese, it’s time to slap ’em on the grill.  Now I’m not about to tell anyone how to cook your meat, but FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, PLEASE don’t make them well-done.  I know it’s not veal, but it’s not tire rubber, either.  You want to taste the meat, don’t you?  (Unless you’re a vegetarian, in which case I’m not sure why you’re even still reading this post.)

ranch burgers

Now is when I have to admit I’ve failed you.  I’ve failed you as a blogger and as a human being.  Every person who blogs about food knows you’re supposed to have a photo of the finished product.  They know this.

But here’s what went down:

We took some really good buns and slathered butter on the insides and stuck them on the top rack of the grill so they could get nice and toasty (you could also do this on an indoor griddle).  Then we added condiments of our choosing and finally bit into the ranchy, cheesy goodness that is these burgers.  It was the cheese, friends.  (Okay, it might have partially been the beer), but it was mostly the cheese that made me forget about picking my camera back up and snapping a photo of the finished product.

I promise you I will probably forget to take the final picture on more than one occasion.  That’s just me.  But it’s like the Gin Blossoms said, “Don’t expect too much from me, and you might not be let down.”

Make these (or some variation there-of) this summer.  You won’t be disappointed.  Unless you screw ’em up.

What’s your favorite kind of burger?

Contemplating Waves

A jet plane and a big idea
I jump over the sea
What ifs hot on my trail
But that can’t catch me, no…  

-Avett Brothers  

Don’t worry kids, even with all of this Costa Rica talk, I’ll still continue to post about some of our house projects and my attempts to cook.  It seems like so long ago that I showed you our crime-scene guest bathroom, and I haven’t forgotten that I still need to show you how it turned out.  

In case you forgot, the last time I showed it, it looked like this:  

Kate's Guest Bathroom Crime Scene

  

But since this Costa Rica thing is currently still so fresh – so mind-numbingly, eye-openly, heart-palpitatingly new and exciting, I can’t help but talk about it a little more.  

First, let me just say that the hardest thing about going to work when you know you want to quit, is going to work when you already have quit.  The gray cubicle walls seem a little… grayer… and the harsh neon lighting seems a little… neonier.  It’s like the last couple weeks of a prison sentence.  Except with coffee breaks and I don’t have to worry about my co-workers shanking me on my way to the bathroom.  Usually.  

The interesting thing about going back to work after making such an announcement are the slew of questions that follow.  And the questions with their associated reactions to my answers are different depending on who’s asking:  

  • So you’re leaving here to go work on a farm?  For free?!
  • What does your husband think?
  • Why??
  • Can I come with you?
  • A farm?  Working for free?  REALLY??!
  • What will you do when you get back?
  • So like… aren’t you afraid you’re going to get raped?
  • Isn’t it going to be hot there?

And my personal favorite…  

  • What are you trying to accomplish by doing this?

And my answers are:  

  • Yes
  • Why do you care?  (He’s supportive, by the way.)
  • The heart wants what it wants.
  • Do you want to work on a farm?  No?  Then no.
  • Yes.  Yes.  Yes.
  • I have no clue.
  • Always.
  • I ain’t afraid of a little sweat.
  • I realize an existential heightening of awareness and enlightened state of mind along with the final, clear realization of what I’m supposed to be doing with my life might be a bit too much to ask out of this trip.  So let’s just say I want to do something fun.  I want to meet new and interesting people.  I want to experience life for a moment unchained by the conventional constraints that have me constantly worrying about the future.  I want to see the sights today. Smell the smells today. Taste the tastes, hear the music, and walk the trails that don’t have to take me anywhere other than where they actually go.

Seriously, guys.  I know to 70% of you this sounds irrational.  And the other 30% tell me they want to do this as well, but it’s not the right time, those loans still need to be paid, they need me right now at work, and on and on and on.  

And on.  

So if you still think we’re crazy or need a better explanation for why we’re doing what we’re doing, please read this.  It should make it a bit more clear.  

And remember that I defied death to take this:  

  

And Erin and I have both done this:  

Skydive Hawaii

  

Oh, and Erin has a BIG tattoo:  

  

So maybe we are a little crazy.  But only a little.  

And I will tell you this – it’s never a good time to quit work.  It’s never a good time to be selfish.  It will always conflict with somebody’s schedule, somebody’s budget, somebody’s feelings.  

A very good friend of mine, Christy Lowery, wrote this:  

“Closing ear to the voices that call,
Would be as seeds of adventure unsown.
Heed not the doubts, feed not the fears
For they will surely blind your path.
Spirit yearning for freedom is your driver now.
Let it take you where it may.”  

So take all of your questions and turn them back on yourself.  There is a consequence to every decision we make.  If you’re happy with your life, if you are content with your job, then there is no question for you.  But if you long to do something else, then what’s stopping you?  It’s only fear.  But as wise old Amazon book reviewer once told me, “Fearlessness is only attained on the moving side of action.”  

You could stand around and contemplate the waves…  

Heather Brown Print
(Click photo for link to artist's website)

 

Or you could just jump on in.  

I’m tired of contemplating waves.  

Photo by: Leah B Photography (click photo for link)

 

In the end, we all have to make our own choices and take our own risks.  

Find the quotes, song lyrics, or other inspirations that work for you.  Of all the ones I posted here, this one was the table-turner for me:  

“It is never too early to start beefing up your obituary.”  – Dos Equis commercial.  

‘Nuff said.

Don’t Let ‘Em Drag You Down

“Stay safe, keep faith, and don’t let ’em drag you down.”

That’s what the gate guard said to me when I was headed back to the installation from my lunch break a few weeks ago.  Okay, so he says that to everyone.  Every car – always, “Stay safe, keep faith, and don’t let ’em drag you down.”  It’s his mantra – that thing he repeats over and over again just to get himself – and others – through the day.

But that day, for some reason, it meant so much more.

Those of you who’ve been keeping up with us have seen that Erin has had a busy couple of weeks – getting hired, getting fired (err… quitting), and cultivating an overall level of squirreliness that’s borderline-scary.

Even for her.

But I’m about to explain this, since it’s finally come to the point where I actually can.

See, I gave notice at my place of employment last week as well.  And while it didn’t involve high-heel shootouts or greased piglets, it did involve a certain amount of uncertainty.  After nearly 2 1/2 years at the place, it’s the longest I’ve consistently worked anywhere.

Ever.

In fact, one year I had to file taxes for 7 jobs in 3 different states.  So this?  This was a feat.

What’s crazy is that it was a good job.  A very good job.  Oh, and that whole deal about getting a paycheck was pretty great too.  But somewhere along the ride, it went from newness and excitement to this and this.  And while most people would still be grateful to even have a job, what I’m looking for is something else.  Experience.  Stimulation.  Life.

How’s that for introspective?

I know I have a passion for something, but it definitely isn’t this:

(I stole Erin’s picture because the sad reality is that mine looks pretty much the same.  But cheaper.)

And I’m pretty sure it’s not government work.  So after 27+ years on this earth, I still can’t tell you what my passion is.  But after 12 years of thorough research, I can definitely tell you what it isn’t:

  • Washing dishes
  • Selling jewelry
  • Waiting tables
  • Wearing suits
  • Fixing watches
  • Giving tours
  • Hanging clothes
  • Making spreadsheets
  • Kissing asses
  • Watching children
  • Flipping burgers
  • Sorting CD’s

In fact, the only commonality I actually liked with each of these jobs was the people.  Be it the people I worked with or the people I helped, I always enjoyed them.

So after much thought and consideration about what I actually wanted to do, I eventually approached my equally professionally-dissatisfied friend with a proposition:

How about we take this blog on the road?

All it took was a weekend trip to Frederick, sushi bribes, lots of alcohol, and a quote from Thoreau (“How vain it is to sit down to write when you haven’t stood up to live.”) to convince her we both needed this adventure.  And I might have let her see my boobs.

Kidding.

Actually all it took was a quick Skype session with her husband, and we were ready to roll.  The rest was just for fun.

So that’s what we’re doing.  Actually, we’re not driving.  We’re flying.  Then busing.  Then walking.  Then riding.  But we’ll get there, and there we will stay for 61 days.

Where?  Well it’s taking a bit of planning (not exactly my forte), and all will be revealed very shortly.

In the meantime… Stay safe, keep faith, and don’t let ’em drag you down.

Guilty Pleasure

One of my all-time favorite foods is the avocado.

Case-in-point.  Here’s the DELICIOUS avocado salad I ordered at a sushi restaurant in Frederick, MD a few weeks ago:

Avocado Salad

If I can eat – and love – a “salad” comprised almost entirely of avocado, you know I love ’em.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that it was followed by this:

Sushi

(Sorry, took the sushi photo with my phone.)

And this:

Cocktail

But anyway.  You wanna make me happy?  Don’t bring me flowers.  Don’t bring me jewelry.  Bring me a couple of ripe avocados.

(Or a can of black olives.)

But today, I’m talkin’ about the avocado.  A luscious, buttery, and green (happens to be my favorite color) fruit that tastes great plain, but even better when adorning a BLT, salmon, or whipped up into a dip for chips.

I make avocado dip all the time in the summer.  It’s my favorite weekend snack, especially when the hubs is out of town.  It’s not exactly a healthy treat, but a girl’s gotta have some guilty pleasures, right?  Right?!

I’m sure you’re all familiar with guacamole, which is made from avocados mixed with various seasonings, tomatoes, and onion.

The dip I make is quite a bit simpler because it’s really just all about the garlic.  And I usually have all of the ingredients on-hand (besides the avocados).  I play with the proportions all the time – you’ll notice the amounts in my photos don’t exactly match the amounts below, but below tends to be the proportions I stick with the most and should give you a good base to adjust according to your tastes.

What you need:

  • 3 ripe avocados
  • 3 cloves garlic, minced (or more if you love garlic like me – less if you plan on making out with someone who didn’t eat this with you)
  • 6 Tbsp. sour cream
  • 1 1/2 Tbsp. lemon juice
  • Salt
  • Pepper

1.  Start by dicing up your garlic.  Mmmm…. garlic.  They say garlic smell starts coming out of your pours when you eat it.  I say, why is that a bad thing?  There are worse things to smell like than garlic.

minced garlic

2.  Then slice your avocados length-wise (you’ll have to circle around the seed), chop your knife into the seed, twist, then pop it out.  Use a spoon to scoop the delicious avocado innards into a bowl.

avocado

3.  Add the minced garlic to the bowl.

avocado dip

4.  Then add the sour cream and lemon juice.

avocado dip

The lemon juice helps keep your avocado from turning brown.

avocado dip

5.  Mix everything together with a fork.  (You can also do this in a food processor if your avocados are still slightly hard, but usually mashing it up with a fork works pretty well.)

avocado dip

Okay I realize this doesn’t exactly look appetizing, but trust me.  It’s yummy.

6.  Season to taste with salt and pepper, dip in a chip, and enjoy!

avocado dip

Alaina’s Unique Flooring Solution

Do you all remember my friend Alaina and how we had so much fun demolishing her old kitchen and how she and her husband Dirk started the agonizing task of putting it back together again?  There was another progress check somewhere in there as well.  If you missed it, click on those links to catch up.
 
I asked her once to describe her granite counter-top buying experience for the blog, and now I’ve asked her to describe how she chose and installed her kitchen flooring material.  As with her counter top tale, I will periodically interject in this lovely green italic font, but here, in her words, is the saga of the flooring:
 
Flooring is a touchy subject.  You touch it every day around your house so it needs to meet certain needs.
Our needs (in no particular order):
  • Durable
  • Pretty
  • Easy to install because we don’t want to pay someone more than what the tile is worth to install it
  • Pretty
  • Not a temperature shock when you transition from different floor styles
  • Pretty
Now might be a good time for me to give my quick spiel on kitchen flooring.  Wood and laminate are great flooring materials because they’re warm, soft, smooth, and beautiful.  Unfortunately, they are both (yes, laminate too) susceptible to warping if exposed to water for long periods of time.  Since kitchens can have a considerable amount of water running through them (dishwasher, faucet, refrigerator, etc.), be warned that you’re taking a risk.  Tile, however, is much “safer” when it comes to water.  The drawback with tile is that it’s incredibly hard (this can be rough on your feet and back if you’re standing on it for long periods of time, not to mention the fact that you can kiss any dishes you drop good-bye).
  
Lucky for you (but too late for me), Alaina seems to have found the perfect kitchen flooring solution.
 
Considering all of these requirements of our floor, you might think it’s amazing that we actually picked one.  But we did, and we liked it so much that we purchased it twice!  We recently renovated our converted garage because it still looked, smelled, and leaked like a garage.  Yes, yes it did.  After discovering the source of the leak and fixing that, we gutted the room and fixed it up!  (I really hope to highlight this room renovation at a later date.  It is a fantastic garage conversion – perfect entertaining space, game room, movie theater.)
 
Through that project, we did a lot of research on flooring and found Congoleum DuraCeramic Tile.  (Sounds like something you’d contract in a trip to the Amazon.)
 
 
This “tile” is a limestone composite that comes in two patterns per color choice to offer variance in the floor.  It’s important to note that this is not a typical tile.  It’s softer than ceramic or porcelain tile, and warm to the touch.  Also, the installation process is quite a bit different than a traditional tile floor.
 

Congoleum DuraCeramic Tiles

 
With our dark cabinets and granite with a lot of movement, we wanted to pick a simple-patterned, light-colored tile.  I returned to my favorite flooring guy, Chad, at CarpetOne here in Durham, NC.  He provided me with every light color tile sample they had in the DuraCeramic, and from those, we picked 3 we liked best.
 
He even let us take those tile samples with us to look at granite so that once I picked my Atlantis granite slabs, I could pick my tile and order it.  We ended up selecting the “Sunny Clay” because it picked up the gold flecks in the granite we purchased.
Congoleum DuraCeramic Sunny Clay
 
Before they could install the new flooring, Alaina and Dirk had to pull up the old flooring.  Let’s stare at Dirk in complete awe for a moment, because ripping up FIVE layers of multi-flavored linoleum is NOT EASY!
 
Step 1:  Vigorous enthusiasm.

Tearing Out Floors

 
Step 2:  Quirky delirium.

Ripping Up Floors

 
Step 3:  Sheer exhaustion with a hint of annoyance directed at the person standing around taking the pictures.

Replacing Subfloor

 
Okay, back to Alaina.
 
We prepped our subfloor by cleaning it as well as we possibly could and actually ended up replacing some of it – due to rot from unnoticed small leaks.  It happens in an older home.
  
Then, in order to tie down some of the dust generated from the drywall, we primed the floor using a latex (not lamb skin?) primer.
 
Typically for a more square room, instructions recommend that you chalk-line the center of the room, but because our kitchen involved several doorways and paths, I did 3 chalk lines:
  • From the back door to the doorway at the bottom of the stairs
  • From the center of the main kitchen area
  • From the center of the doorway into the butler’s pantry

Here’s the nifty little chalk line tool, and uh… the chalk?

Chalk line tool

Then I plotted out all of the tiles so that I would know that the end of a row wouldn’t leave me with a tiny sliver of a tile.  This is a VERY important step, my friends!  As a seasoned tiler myself, you do not want to skip this dry-run, or you could find yourself making some very awkward (and visually unappealing) cuts at the end of a row.

Laying Out Tiles

Laying out duraceramic tiles

Because I had worked with this product before, and I had some more difficult cuts to make around the door trims, I “dry fit” every tile alone my initial path into place.  I made all of the cuts I needed and though it took me a bit longer than I expected, I am definitely happy that I did.  Trim sucks.

Bonus!!  Because these aren’t hard like porcelain or ceramic tiles, you do NOT need a tile saw or nippers to cut these.  A sharp knife will do the trick.

Cutting congoleum duraceramic tiles

Then I FINALLY got started with the glue!  Another big difference between this and traditional tiles – instead of dealing with messy mastic in small sections, Alaina applied special glue to the entire floor before beginning the install.  I glued my way over to the back door and from the butler’s pantry out to the kitchen.  Then I waited for the glue to tack up.  The 45 minute drying time is apparently just a suggestion, because it took more like 2 hours for it to tack up.  It was also raining that day so that might have had something to do with it.

glueing congoleum duraceramic tiles

Then, the first tile was laid into place, and the rest followed shortly after.  I separated my tiles out into the two patterns so that I could ensure I staggered them and turned them so they would look more like a ceramic tile.  (Way to finally make it look like you did some work, A.)

How to install congoleum duraceramic tiles

Dirk was a big help not only laying tile, but keeping me motivated to keep going until we had finished the project!  Oh did Dirk help?  I thought he just stood around taking pictures while you did all the work…

Grouting occurs within 48 hours of setting the tiles.  To do this, get your pre-mixed Congoleum grout, a grout float, a large bucket of water, a sturdy sponge and LOTS of patience.

Grouting congoleum duraceramic tiles

Grouting took almost as long to do as the tile installation, but when it was done, I had a very happy husband.

One final step was to remove the grout haze by taking an ammonia based window cleaner and scrubbing each tile, removing the cleaner with plain water.  And brute strength.

Remove grout from tiles

One more step big step complete!

You can see this is a bit of a tedious DIY process, but the end results are well worth it.  All the beauty and durability of a tile floor, but a much more comfortable standing surface.  Nice work, guys!  We can’t wait to see how everything comes together!