How long is an era? Probably about the time it'll take to read this post.

Dear 29,
It's the end of an era, assuming an era is a mere ten years. The end of your twenties is a weird thing. I don't think I realized just how different I was feeling about it until we're here, just 2 days before, feeling a surge of energy (in this case energy is defined as fear + anxiety + joy + motivation + hungryforbreakfast).
This is me at Senior Prom. Age 17. It's hard to believe that was 13 years ago.
PS we are all wearing dresses. Very important note to make. Clearly.
I don't remember my 20th birthday, at all, which is pretty odd for me. I'm sure it was important, you know no longer being a teenager, but I don't think I did anything too special. Strange. I love birthdays. I love birthdays more than any self-respecting 17 year old (seen above) should. I've been writing these lists for awhile, not quite an era, and this might be the year I crossed off the least amount of stuff. But you know what? SIMS.SINS. (Thanks, Kate, for teaching me this totally hip phrase. "Sorry I'm Not Sorry." Also thanks for correcting me on my terrible acronym)
Year 29 has been a hard one. I can't pin down a particular part of it that made it that way, but to be honest, it wasn't the kind of year where I wrapped it up a with a smiley summary. I hope I don't sound ungrateful, because there were so many incredible moments of pride in this finale year. So many. I think that this year felt so heavy because I really learned so much. And hot damn learning is hard.
They weren't the kind of life lessons that come with a great post about a sunburn on a Sunday where I ate beetles for the first time on a picnic blanket in a sea of lilac bushes (that didn't happen, but maybe "eat bugs" should be on list 30. I assume the life lesson would be don't eat beetles or be sure to wear sunscreen.) It wasn't a story kind of lesson learning, but rather the kind of learning that's hard to own up to. It was the kind of learning Mrs. Larry never really explained to me.

I learned that a new haircut can make a difference in your attitude, even if it is reminiscent of your hair in 1989 and takes a significant amount of patience and roundbrush technique to look as good as Michelle Obama's hair. I learned about backing up my computer, for the second time, and that photos matter, but facebook matters more (that's sort of a joke). I learned about what a real, grown up career transition feels like and how difficult it is to find your way, prove your worth and be the new kid. I learned about forgiveness and the kind of strength it takes to be secure and confident.
I learned about what a good fit feels like, to identify and recognize and maybe trust a gut feeling and just how important sincerity can be. I learned how much better the closer seats are at the Civic Center and that a good date matters. I learned how Saturdays of solitude can be perfection, but just how much fun a secret run to a bar called (embarrassingly) Whiskey Dix can be in the midst of a rainstorm even if you're probably to old for it. I learned that I'm stubborn and still don't like olives and look exactly like my mother did at 29.
I learned that your twenties are full of self discovery-- a topic no one really wants to talk much about, but something that is real and scary and trying, but brings out the complete best in you. I learned that everyone feels doubt and that admitting you need something or someone is necessary, because apparently the whole world can't read minds. I learned about art and about faith (in others, in yourself, in the world) and about growth and about friendship. I learned about giving and taking chances.
Ultimately my 29th year was about testing my strength. No, I didn't do a pull up. Frankly I didn't try. (I have a pretty significant frame for these frail arms to pull up above a bar. I joined the Y, yes, but I haven't spent a lot of time stress lifting. I have mostly been stress cooking. Which is a bit counter productive to pull up training.) I know the list feels unfinished, but, as cheesy as this may be, I don't feel undone.
(The Ocean Beach pier. Sigh)
Soon the list for 30 will be up. Soon I'll be writing posts on the NEW SITE that seems so professional. Soon 62% of my friends will have babies and I'll be living with a dude that isn't my dad. Soon I'll have to be sure my charitable giving is a documented deduction and I will be yet another person's boss. Soon 29 will seem a small blip on my life's radar.
That's my mom around age 29, not me. And my dad. And me, not a small boy.
But for now, I'll just look back on my twenties critically but fondly, knowing that bigger, and more joyful and more challenging moments lie ahead. For now I will be thankful for what I learned, for what you taught me and for what 29 meant. For now I'll celebrate the end of an era.

6 days away.

Dear 29,
6 days to 30. (Because that paper chain in your office you are using as a countdown is getting shorter, you've probably already noticed.) I think the stars decided to align for me and give me a vacation to remember and a return-home that's kept me busy enough to not think about the decade change to come. (Don't worry, I'm not that anxious.)
The HBF and I took a three day adventure to San Diego where we walked along the highway by accident, crossed the 5 out of necessity, withstood the record setting heat that felt amazing, took the ferry, went into a hidden bar with gilded skulls on the wall and pretended it was my birthday daily.
We rode in a pedi-cab with a man who said "they call me the Paulmeister" and marveled at the sands of Coronado (seriously covered in glitter. this was incredible.) I even went to the zoo. A honeybadger is a real animal. Hippos are really mean and nasty creatures. And aw man panda babies are cute. We allllmmmooosssttt didn't come back. (From San Diego, not specifically from the zoo.)
Another super highlight of the last week-- a family meet up. We got to watch the littlest one speak at graduation. Then we celebrated the big news, mother's day and just generally being together. And the Mar and I wore matching outfits. (Again, my family, probably more fun than yours.) These last few days before 30 have been a flurry of fun.
Hoping to wrap up the year with some great sappy posts about what I learned in my twenties. Unless I'm packing during those moments. So much good ahead.

Dear 29.

1. Do a pull-up
2. Celebrate Jane's 21st
3. Sell the cards at 5 new spots
4. Camp
5. Visit Fairfield, IA
6. Publish the Cookbook
7. Run 2 5ks
        The Color Run
8. See 9 new places
      Cleverly Farms
        South Dakota
        North Dakota
        Elkader, IA
        Meskwaki Casino
        The Maingate
        The Surf Ballroom
        Many spots in KC, MO
        NYC locations (soooo many)
        Des Moines Playhouse
9. Hold a snake (ew)
10. Go to a rodeo
11. Acupuncture
12. See 9 live shows
     Avett Brothers
         Dan Deacon
         Fiona Apple
         Grace Potter and the Nocturnals
         Heartless Bastards
         Boyz II Men
         Girl Talk
         Sleigh Bells
13. Journey to California just for fun
14. Take an improv class
15. Start something new
16. Ride a horse
17. Play blackjack
18. Visit a waterpark
19. Make 29 vegetarian recipes
      ||||| ||||| ||||| ||||| ||

20. Go on a blind date
21. Ride a motorcycle
22. Take 29 photobooth strips
      ||||| ||||| ||||| |
23. Keep the #stoopgarden alive
24. Shoot a gun
25. Read 15 books (This year. This year I'll get there)
            Fifty Shades of Grey
            The second 50 shades book
            The third 50 shades book
            Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?
            Seriously, I'm Kidding.
            Language of Flowers
            Gone Girl
            Sharp Objects
26. Play bingo
27. Create a portfolio website
28. Brew my own root beer
29. Celebrate the big 3-0.

Westward HO!

Dear 29,
Because my sense of humor remains in high school, what a hilarious blog title right?
I mean it's a real thing, but it's real funny to me. But it's also what's happenin, today, in hours.
In the old days (or about a year ago) I spent lots of time out in California. Each time my plane began it's descent into the Golden State this wisp of delight surged through me followed by a wave of calm. Something about that vaguely L-shaped state felt like home. And today we head back. (Cue the track) My first real, grown up vacation with no work, no obligations, not even many plans. Looking forward to being in that serene headspace for a few days before the chaos of change (chaos is used in the way that means "exciting and awesome" here) that May will bring. But for now a Calmer Palmer.

We've hit the big time.

Dear 29,
It's like I'm a machine. Or like I really want to be efficient.
Either way-- in the past week I've crossed off 2 list items and added to one. (Be shocked with me, it's ok.)
I finished a creepy book. I went out to a farm, learned gun safety, gun history and shot a gun used in World War I. Oh and I set up a real, grown up website. In year thirty I'm going to try using the blogging feature on this new, improved webpage, but we'll always have blogger to go back to.
Stay tuned for the big move. Now I have to pack for #13.

ps- I got carded again last night. Must be the freckles and not the headband.

On April 28th.

Dear 29,
I got carded today at Dahl's. Here I sit, 25 days from year 30, and I got carded. I think it's this ribbon headband I'm wearing that made the high-schooler behind the counter take an extra look at my need-to-renew-for-the-first-time-since-2007 ID. In 25 days I'm entering a new decade. My friends who have already crossed into their fourth decade (Thanks for the correction on that Tim. Would hate to have mistakenly called this my third decade) swear by their thirties. "So much better." "Seriously so much better."
If you'd take your focus off the two attractive dudes, you'd note I look younger in a headband. Particularly one made of bubble wrap. Note this was for an event. I wasn't wearing a hair accessory made of packing material today.
I'm feeling pretty guilty about the inadequate end to the 29th year on the blog. The list is blindingly unfinished. Fairfield Iowa is 1 hour and 53 minutes away from here. Homemade root beer consists of more than root beer flavoring, soda water and dry ice. (Spoiler alert. "Brew" involves actual brewing. Wrong word choice there, past-Laura. Should have gone with "Make my own root beer." That's a much more make-it-work-able sentence.) I haven't even considered camping until today due to a winter that lasted long into the fourth month of this year. I can't even explain what "Publish the Cookbook" means anymore after the idea has morphed, waned and come back to life at least three times since last May.
Currently drawing random recipes on a waxy paper meant to be a paint palette.
The list is more unfinished than it has been since the inception of this blog. When I look back on this 29th year, I can't say it was my most favorite, but I can say I learned more about myself this year than in any other I can remember. Maybe that's why there were less posts and more reflective moments (also known as panic attacks, celebrations, to do lists or Saturdays at home). A lot has changed in this finale year of my twenties. With 25 days left I vow to do my best, to cross off at least three more list items and to spend some time figuring out how the documentation of year 30 will be a little bit different. (New decade, new medium. Duh.)

It's me.

Dear 29,
We're sitting at just about 7 weeks from 30 and, well, let's face it, the blog, and the blog's author, we just aren't what we used to be. Days fly by without a word written. Even the number of draft posts (14) keeps dwindling. I haven't even "attempted" to post. Even my use of quotation marks, which I honestly almost called parentheses, is odd and unnecessary. Something isn't clicking between the two of us (insert joke about all the readers I used to have not clicking on my site anymore).
It's not that 29 hasn't been good to me. I mean, the winter has been far too long, but other than that I just feel older than I did at 27, not less inspired, less adventurous or less like I'm an hilarious writer. It's not that there aren't things to say, it's just that in year 29, this hasn't been the best way to say them. So here we are about 50 days from a whole new decade and we're at a crossroads. A metaphorical one, just so we're clear about that.
So what's the solution? That's a serious question, not a rhetorical one. We've had a great run, and I'm not saying it's over, but we seem to find less and less to talk about. In 1,200 hours, year 29 will wrap up. What's next is mostly unclear, but a new list is a foregone conclusion (the first time I've ever written that phrase, I'm not even completely sure I used it correctly). Something has to change to make this work, because a blog isn't really a blog unless somebody is willing to invest in this relationship. I guess we have some thinking to do.

But seriously. It's not you. It's me.

A redo of August: Tramps.

Dear 29,
Again, an unfinished thought for us all to ponder. I've learned from this re-reading-of-posts-that-never-officially-hit-the-blog that the majority of posts that don't get published have a title I think is super funny, one or two photos I think are super funny and then I can't seem to write content that makes it funny to anyone other than me or someone featured in the photo. Exhibit B.
(August 15, 2012)
Dear 29,
Tramps is short for trampoline.
thanks for the photo liz.
The arches of your feet will hurt for a full three days afterwards. And Firework is an awesome tramp dance song. (Again, tramp is short for trampoline)
August is awesome
February 2013 commentary: This photo was taken at skyzone after it was too rainy and cold to float down a river in a tube. It was probably too shallow too. I love tubing, of course. This had to have been the one day it rained in August since we were in the midst of a drought. I wore a strange outfit because I wasn't quite sure what you are supposed to wear to a room full of trampolines. There aren't any pinterest boards dedicated to trampoline fashion. We played dodgeball with children under 10. We accidentally knocked over children under 10. I found it incredibly difficult to climb out of a foam pit after launching yourself into it from a set of tramps. I probably looked like a left handed cat trying to escape a bag of sugar coated donut holes. Not pretty. I will say that I recommend you drop $10 and bounce around this place for an hour (be careful though, I hear it's a pretty easy place to bust an ankle, but then again, sidewalks around Sherman Hill in the winter are pretty risky too.)
That's me dunking. And wearing my sweatshirt as a cape. In related news: Happy Bday MJ.
Potential blog topics that could have helped finish this post: What do you wear into a room full of trampolines? Why didn't I start a pinterest board dedicated to tramp attire? (hilarious) What are real trampoline athletes called? How annoyed were the children who had their time at skyzone interrupted by 20 and 30 somethings bouncing around? When can we go back to skyzone? Had we actually gone tubing down a shallow river, how do you protect yourself from a) snagging your swimwear on the countless river rocks that will be really near the water surface (because of the drought, duh) and b) from being uncomfortable seated in a tube, blasted by sunlight? 
But a better question: Where do I find a picture of a left handed cat trying to escape a bag of sugar coated donut holes?

I'll say it again, this post was clearly hilarious to me, but not to the masses. Because I want to appeal to the mass audience (of 7) who still read my occasional blog posts that have become increasingly unfunny over the years, I've included this super embarrassing photo of myself falling off a floor tramp and onto a wall tramp. You're welcome. Now that I've successfully/regrettably shared that, I think I'll tackle the draft-post about 50 Shades of Grey. Look forward to that one. There's a High School Musical reference.

A master of the unfinished thought.

Dear 29,
I write a lot of drafts of blog posts. A lot. Lots. Seriously. After a blog hiatus, I spent a little time cleaning out the post-stash. There's a lot of unfinished business around here. Some posts failed because, well honestly, there wasn't a whole lot more to say, but today I'm exposing my unfinished thoughts. Putting them out there for us to laugh about together. So here we go.
"Just look how outdoorsy I've become."
(Fall-time, 2012)
Dear 29,
That's really it. A furry hat, Bass Pro Shop and fishing accessories.
February 2013 commentary: That's all. Clearly I wanted to post silly photos of myself that I found completely hilarious. What's funnier than a freckled face framed in fur? I KNOW, a picture of a giant fish body pillow held up like it was just caught in a lake/stream/fish-filled-body-of-water. What can you really say about a Bass Pro Shop photoshoot that hasn't been said in that first line? I have been to Bass Pro Shop at least 4 times in the last eight months, but still haven't bowled, which saddens me, but I have learned a lot about the outdoors. HBF actually shops there, I spend time looking at the feathers they use to make flies, other shoppers, camo-fashions, and studying the fish. Once I sat in a camo-recliner. 
This is a real catfish. I caught it. It's not as big as the body pillow. It's actually as big as my foot.
Potential blog topics that could have helped finish this post: Who buys a camo-recliner? Who sleeps with a catfish body pillow? How many freckles are on my face? Was I the only person wearing silk at Bass Pro that night? Do I always open my eyes that wide when I'm mocking myself?
In case you wanted to see another shot from that night. Yes. I did pose with a backdrop that was meant for children.
Now that I'm re-reading this, I realize this post couldn't really be improved upon, but instead of throwing in the towel, I'm putting my beige-heeled-feet-in-Bass-Pro out there for us all to see. Just a few months until thirty now, (in this case "few" is less than four months) and this list in year 29 is less than finished, much like most of my posts have been lately. As a master of the unfinished thought, I have a lot of work to do to cap off a year full of genius plans with a little execution. The post-stash of drafts ends today. Look for old ideas to resurface before 3-0 strikes.

I better go get a few pushups in if this pull-up is going to happen. 


Dear 29,
I love a good valentine. Puns + Love notes + awholelottahearts. Sigh.
Happy Valentine's Day.


Dear 29,
I'm nearly eastbound headed out on my first flight in months and months. (or at least 6 months) After many years of travels, I've been grounded, in a nice way, for awhile now. But tomorrow, bright and early, I'll be airborne and jetting east. Back to New York City.
Looking forward to a trip filled with city style, menswear celebrities and little adventures in the big apple. Follow along (how interactive) with my silly instagram hashtag: #LPinNYC. Yep. A self-serving hashtag for the trip. Can't wait.

So many promises.

Dear 29,
Mighty shellfish* of me to show off these fancy snow crab legs that we celebrated day one of 2013 with, but I'm doing it anyway.
Some hot legs. Too far? Maybe.
In my last post I mentioned a little list of promises for 2013. Rather than resolutions (which are really just intentions), I'm working on a list of promises to myself and to a few others this year. So many good things ahead, but lots of work to get there. This fancy set of crustacean limbs feeds (pun intended) one such promise: Cook more at home. I won't share them all on the blog because, let's face it, we all hear enough about what I WANT TO DO and see all the lists I have out there for the world to see.
The remains of a fancy dinner. Not so pretty after it's devoured.
There were so many well cooked meals already in 2013. I took this promise pretty seriously for these first 8 days, but let me tell you, I have a hard time staying in when so many great dining spots exist in DSM. (These links take you to a few of my very favorites) I do love to cook, though. It's like making delicious art. Or, less poetically, it's fun. Endless internet sources leave me combing Martha, Jamie, Chow and Bon Appetit, plus about 187 food blogs, every Saturday (literally. and I'm using the word correctly here.) Some might say I'm obsessive.
One of my favorite dishes to cook up: Risotto. All kinds of mushrooms hanging out too.
Collecting cookbooks, foodie magazines, kitchen tales from friends and new Macguyver style meals (it's been awhile since I brought that up. What do you think blogland? Do I bring back the Macguyver style recipe post?) has become a pretty serious, fattening hobby for both me and the HBF. I'm hungry just thinking about it.
First attempt at scallops at home. Easy on the budget and darn tasty.
In an effort to uphold the aforementioned promise as well as another (Save money for that grown up life ahead), I'll be gourmet-ing a whole bunch this winter. What are your favorite recipe sources? Where do you find feastpiration? (believe it or not I just made up this word.) Share them all.
Now. I must eat.


*A most hilarious joke. I can't stop laughing about it. It's crackin me up.**
**Another hilarious joke.


Dear 29,
I wrote and rewrote an end of year post for 2012. A bunch. After last year's great year end post, I really didn't have much to say about 2012 that was poetic, thoughtful or funny. In 50 blog posts I captured just a bit of what 2012 felt like (including some rough patches and bigtime celebrations). But I can say this: 2012 was all about gaining momentum and forward movement. Finally, according to my big fancy horoscope and my general feeling about the world, everything started to fall into place, slowly, but in a way I haven't felt in awhile.
I'm so grateful for the friends, family and colleagues that made the challenges, changes and triumphs of 2012 bearable and, even more so, completely awesome. Onward to 2013. Even bigger things on the horizon. Thanks for sticking with the blog. I'll be doing my best to keep a list of promises to myself (and to others) in this lucky year 2013, one of them: Write more.
Cheers to the year ahead.


Dear 29,
I'm a few days late, but Merry Holidays. It certainly was a special one.
(And yes, that is a jello shot Christmas tree.)


Dear 29,
I haven't written about snow. I had to search "snow" in the blog search option and the only references to snow aren't actually about snow. (That sentence made no sense) But you might remember me talking about 2012 in terms of snow days...this one was for real. Complete with over a foot of snow. (That hasn't happened here in Des Moines in a year or more.)
Wednesday night the storm predictions started pouring in, so I stocked up on cinnamon rolls, my new wine crush, chips, dips and curled up in this patriotic blanket to hunker down and wait out the storm. Have you heard of thundersnow? (That's a real thing) Basically it's a thunderstorm with snow rather than the rain, but you probably figured that out already.
There was a whole lotta this. (See above) Trees down over still blanketed streets. My sweet little Honda was trapped in a parking lot and patches of ice that even four wheel drive didn't like. According to Instagram, the whole city was celebrating snow days with booze or fancy photos of icicles. I wrote Christmas postcards at the Star Bar, crosslegged in a booth, while sipping bloody marys with a weird ponytail, a sweatshirt and wellies. (There were only 5 other people there. So no one really noticed my strange drawing in a booth behavior, or the ponytail)
OH and then there was snow day #2. But I did manage to snap this lovely shot of Sherman Hill. This neighborhood looks mighty fine in the show. 
Cheers to an actual snowday. And near Christmas. And a safe trip to muskietown.

Memory loss.

Dear 29,
I should have learned my lesson from the first scare. Back in the 4404, I curled up in the entryway to use some internet that wasn't mine and catch an episode of something-or-other (I'm guessing it was Grey's Anatomy and the spill was the universe telling me this show had jumped the shark and I should give up on McDreamy already.) on the hulu and there went the smart water, spilling it's liquid contents all over the macbook. I don't blame Mr. Harmon anymore, but I really should have learned from this tear-inducing incident that left me exasperated at the Banana Republic. Ultimately all the photos, music, files and others such important bits of life were returned to me, on that trusty macbook.
And then, then there was a the clicky, clock noise on Friday night while watching How I Met Your Mother, sipping the herbal tea prescribed by the acupuncture man, and curling my hair for a holiday party (too much detail? oh well.). The clock clicky noise didn't stop and then it all shut down. Poof. Just like that the "you should remember to back up everything on this macbook, Laura" lecture from the Apple genius guy came flooding back, as did the dread.
I pushed the thought of the computer never turning back on far from my mind and went back to focusing on holiday preparedness. This weekend I saw Santa and Lincoln and a baby. I was busy enough to not fret about the clock clicky computer noise and impending memory doom.
As you have probably gathered from my skilled use of foreshadowing, the hard drive unexpectedly, and without any screw up on my part, quit working. The End. I sat stunned in the Cheesecake Factory (judge away) trying to nurse my aching heart with that delicious brown bread they have. I poured over the last year of my life, trying to determine what might have been stuck in the not-so-trusty macbook. There's always facebook photos, and instagram, and this blog, and so many friends who captured bits of the past twelve months or so. This might be the first time I'm grateful for a permanent FB record of my life.
There were a lot of files lost, sure. Lots. Like lots and lots. But maybe this time I'll learn from the defunct hardware. With 2013 just a few days away, rather than focus on just how much of a bummer this whole thing is, I'm going to try to look at the bright side. So much of the past three years have been documented in (what might be annoying to the rest of the people out there that aren't me) vivid detail.
Happy Birthday Mom! We look super cool in this photo taken in an NYC elevator.
And whoa, the past three years have been terrific. In these last two weeks I've gotten more notes, emails and hugs than I have in awhile- thanks for all the thoughts, praise and high fives you've given me. Thanks for reminding me how much fun I'm having and how lucky I am. I'm pretty proud of where I've pushed myself to be in life and damn proud of the city and people that helped me get there. So yes, lots of physical evidence of fun was lost, but so much lies ahead in 2013, and in year 30. This time I'll just be sure to back it up.
Thanks for the condolences. You're nice.

A quick recap.

Dear 29,
Back in year 27, I set out on what felt like a pretty serious quest. Some might dispute the fact that "Seeing 27 new places" in the city I'd lived in for over 4 years wasn't exactly a challenge, but since then I've seen at least 27 more. With year 30 staring me in the face (from about 5.5 months away), I've been spending some time assessing lists of years past while waiting for the calendar to turn to 2013. Most of the normal world starts thinking about resolutions around this time, I start thinking about what I'm going to wear on December 31st, and remind myself that only a few months remain before this list expires and the new one begins. So let's talk. What's left? (Because whoa baby there's a lot.)
New Year's Eve, 2010. The year of the side pony tail and nearly setting the dumpster on fire.
1. Do a pull-up
Turns out that when you google "do a pull up for the first time" there's a lot of information out there, but frankly, it sounds really hard. There's a whole bunch of muscles needed to pull yourself up. Nerd Fitness (that's seriously what it's called) tells me to make my back exercises a priority. Caeli would tell me to get my butt to the gym. I think I will trust them both. Maybe 2013 will bring upper body strength or a free trainer or a pull up bar in the laundry room oooooor lots of physical fitness motivation.
4. Camp
This list item is so seasonal. I hope Iowa winter quits early. Or I hope it doesn't. I haven't decided. It's not that I've never been camping before, it's that I am not sure I like it. This year I've learned I am not completely opposed to fishing. (Don't tell anyone.) I even considered joining Trout Unlimited for a day. I'm just not completely convinced I am into sleeping outside, but I love the stars, marshmallows, boat shoes and random guitars around a toasty campfire. So if dresses are allowed in and around tents I should be good to go once springtime hits. 
14. Take an improv class
So I know a guy who taught improv classes in LA (and now writes a movie review blog you'd like reading). He says I'd like the improv. So did a few students of the Anything Improv class here in Des Moines. After watching their performance a few weeks ago, I think this one needs to be high on my list to complete before 30. I mean, I'm hilarious and really great at embarrassing myself in public. (That's a joke there. See what I mean?)
22. Take 29 photobooth strips (so far: 5)
People of the blog, I need you. Where can I find photobooths in Des Moines? Help.
Clearly I have my work cut out for me. Lots of vegetarian meals to cook. A city in Iowa to visit. So much to accomplish in 5.5 months. I have to get back to plotting my NYE look, but now that you're feeling charged up to make your own set of resolutions, sign up for the 2012 Mixtape Exchange. It'll kick your new year off with a hot mix of this year's greatest hits.

ps- If you're new to reading this love letter to 29, thanks for checking it out. Photobooth locations welcome. And so are you. xo-LP

Waaarm December.

Dear 29,
It's been so mild this December. I mean yesterday I was in a short sleeved dress in my autumnal jacket and feeling a little toasty. It's made me sing this song. But with modified lyrics. Like the blog post title.
Even on Kate's 23rd birthday it was warm. Go Kate! Final Papers! YAY grad school!
Scotchmas night was warm enough that we had the stoop door flung open for most of the evening. Jura Superstition had a weird, good-fortune-granting-ritual-drinking that, while the scotch wasn't the tastiest, did force the scotch drinkers to finish the bottle within the day it was opened. (Seriously. It says that right on the box. The Isle of Jura must be a secluded partyzone of Scotland full of fortunate scotch drinkers.)

I made scotch eggs. Not because they are a delicate and delicious food to pair with scotch, but because "scotch" is in the name of them. Clever, I know.
There've been so many custom holiday card orders rolling in that I feel like a legit illustrator some days. Thanks for that friends and Market Day goers. You could say the postcard biz is heating up just like the weather (hilarious.)
Finally, be sure to check out my friend Jen's world tour page and read about how she's setting off (very soon) to change the world in 11 months. You'll want to support her mission, I know I do.