How are you today? I'm superfantastic.

Oh, there was ivy alright.

It was January of 2002. I walked into the room to meet my new staff. They were all girls. All twenty-two. It brings to mind, as so many things do, a quote from the West Wing. "A youthful and energetic energy." It was boisterous in there alright and I instantly felt both old and tired. I was twenty-four.

There was one girl I was pretty sure was going to make me more tired than the rest of them. Sharon. I told her that, years later, the way you can say these things years into a friendship. She told me that she was pretty sure she wasn't going to like me either. I was all reserved and straight-laced and didn't seem like very much fun at all.

We grew on each other.

All of these years later, she's the one person from that staff I'm still in touch with. She's back in New Jersey now, from whence she came and also from whence came her awesome accent. Sharon's husband Eili is a PhD student at Princeton. So in the middle of my DC trip, I got on a train and went to New Jersey to visit them.

Sharon picked me up at the train station after school and we went to her house so she could change clothes and we could borrow Eili's Princeton ID to illegally visit the Firestone Library on the campus. I held it out to the man checking IDs at the library, my thumb over the photo that was very clearly not me, certain that I'd be locked up for Impersonating an Intellectual. But no! I can totally pass for a person who'd get into Princeton, apparently. And before I knew it, I was surrounded by old smart books and Sharon was knocking on this door. (Nobody answered.)

I would just like to say that I had no idea Sharon had shoved a bunch of books under her coat*. Stealing from Princeton! Why, I...wait...I'm being told that Sharon is not absconding with library materials. She is, in fact, really very pregnant. We regret the error.

*I stole this joke from Sharon. It wasn't the first one and it won't be the last.

After a couple of other stops, we were off to meet Eili for dinner. But not before I made Sharon show me some actual Ivy League Ivy. Yep, there it was. All, you know, green and...spready.

After dinner and ice cream, we went home and played Trivial Pursuit because we're a bunch of nerds and that is what our people do.

The next day, I went to elementary school. Sharon teaches fifth grade. It was a half-day and I didn't do much except color a turkey, but it still reinforced my belief that a class full of elementary schoolers is not for me. Too much, you know, energetic energy. There's a mopiness to enough of the middle schoolers that renders them more my speed. Sharon though, God bless her, seems to even enjoy it. Weird.

After school, we had lunch and Sharon took me back to the train station. Just before we arrived, Bon Jovi's Livin' on a Prayer came on the radio, which I felt really made my New Jersey experience complete. I arrived back at Union Station to be whisked off to beautiful Del Ray to see Caroline and Francine. I took this while I was waiting for my ride. No ivy, but still good.

At Caroline and Francine's, I lost at Apples to Apples. To a seven year-old. The kid was pretty excited about winning. Boisterous even. But I've learned not to hold that against people. You never know how they might surprise you.

I cannot seem to operate

I've been trying for a couple of days to get around to writing about having seen Ingrid Michaelson perform in Austin on Monday night. The thing is, I didn't get home from Austin until 1 am. And because I am old and have a day job that is tiring on its own, I am still not fully recovered, sleep-wise. Just ask the interpreter upon whom I accidentally unleashed The Bitchy Stare of Death when she was having a loud personal conversation with another interpreter mere feet from where I was working with a highly distractible student. Whoops! I like to think that a well-rested me could have better handled that situation.

Anyway, how about if I do the actual writing bit tomorrow(ish) and instead tonight offer you this YouTube video of a live version of The Chain? (I chose the one with a still photo rather than video since the camera work on the other options was seasickness-inducing.) The vocals at the end are really quite stunning. It's been running through my head for a couple of days now and I'm still not tired of it.

Who can leap the world's ties and sit with me among the white clouds?

So we didn't exactly sit among the clouds. And the world's ties were exerting a powerful force (to the tune of 120 mph) on us throughout. But on Saturday, Jenny and I did our level best to heed Han Shan's call.

Holly drove us and Kristen to Skydive San Marcos on Saturday afternoon, where we all waited for quite some time before Jenny and I were called. A couple of hours, actually. Which was bad, in that it allowed the nervous energy to build. But good in that we got to see lots of people go up in the plane and then not die. Yay! Not only were Holly and Kristen were patient and supportive throughout, they helped us celebrate with some rousing quartets sung along to the car radio on the way home.

Eventually, we were paged to the gear room and told to put on the lime green suits. We met our tandem masters (no, really that's what they're called). Erik told me, in the nonchalant manner of a man who has done this literally ten thousand times before, that he'd tell me what to do once we got on the plane.

Fortunately, it was not too complex. Step forward to the door of the plane, tip my head back, hang onto the straps of my harness. Once we leave the plane, immediately arch my body, putting my feet up as if kicking him in the butt. When he taps my shoulder, throw my arms out to the side.

I actually remembered all of that, except the bit about tipping my head back. Just before we jumped, Erik put his free hand (you know, the one not holding onto the bar above the open door of the plane) on my forehead and pulled back. Whoops.

And then, before I had any chance to grasp what was happening, we were out of the plane and flipping upside down. I hadn't realized that was going to happen.

And then we were hurtling through the air and he tapped my shoulder and I threw my arms out and Oh! Hey! a camera right in front of me! Two, in fact!

Phil had left the plane right ahead of Erik and me, but held onto the outside in order to videotape and photograph our dramatic exit with his helmet-mounted still and video cameras. He then jumped after us and came up in front of me, the better to catch me looking like The Joker. The photos, as you saw, are really quite incredible. Thanks, Phil!

And a huge thanks to Erik as well for getting me back to Earth alive and unscathed after those extraordinary few minutes among the white clouds.

I flied? No, you falled.

May I suggest a deck chair and some seafood swimming in butter?

Ooh, I was crabby when I wrote that last post. But not anymore, internet. I am happy! See?

Because that boat was taking me here

And then I saw this

And ate some delicious relatives of this guy

Do NOT park your lighthouse here. They will tow it.

So, Internet, if nutty students have got you down, put on a child-sized pirate hat, get a comical sunburn line, and things will look right up.

Yo ho ho and a bottle of, you know, pretty much whatever you've got.

I guess my next post will have, like, paragraphs and stuff.

Roses smell so pretty!

As far as I know.

Are you over the rose garden already? Because Abigail is.

Just kidding.

I demonstrate my feelings on the Pacific Ocean. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then I bet you can guess what kind of words this one represents.

Watch out for sneaker waves! And if a tsunami is coming, try to outrun it. Uphill!

Ok, this one's not from the trip. But I can't come and personally foist my camera upon each of you (as I have done with my real life people) to make you look at it and agree with me about how cute it is, so I must post it here. I call this one Owen Wears Aunt Lori's Oversized Sunglasses, to Comedic Effect

Ok, I'll stop now. Back to writing things that aren't captions. As soon as I remember how.

Because who needs words when there are more pretty pictures to show you?

Nature photos!

Some seals or sea lions or whatever that we saw when we happened to stop in Astoria, Oregon so Abigail could get a fresh diaper.

Views from Ecola State Park above Cannon Beach

A trail in the park.

In the International Rose Test Garden in Portland

Food Photos!

Voodoo Donuts! Coco Puffs, Oreo, and the Voodoo Donut itself. With strawberry filling for extra blood and gore effect.

Our desserts from Papa Haydn in Portland, where Jenny used to work. We were joined there by the fabulous Kerri of the fabulous kerrianne.org and her friend Cayly, who didn't seem weirded out at all about meeting the random internet girl and her friends. I didn't get a photo of Kerri (although I promise you that she is adorable and you would have loved her earrings) but she got one of me taking a photo of the desserts. So nice to spend time with someone who totally understands taking pictures of inanimate objects for the purpose of sharing them with strangers.

I suppose, in the interest of not making those of you with pokey computers/internet service wait all day, I should stop there with the photos. I promise, Monday will be the end of it. Then I can begin my lament tentatively titled I Have Returned to Work and Must Wake Before Seven Woe Misery Despair. Won't that be fun?

It is my firm belief

that good times with girlfriends should be documented. Documented specifically in one format, that is.

Self-Portraits!

In a park in Seattle

At the top of the Space Needle

Inside the Space Needle, where Amy decides to stoop down so we can look taller, which Holly and I for some reason decide means we need to extend our necks as far as possible

At the beach, all glowy-looking

At Target, killing time while waiting for news on Amy's car repairs (Seattle, how dare you break Amy's car!) by trying on funny 80s-inspired sunglasses

At the rose garden in Portland, even Abigail gets in on the self-portrait love

This one's not from the trip, but I didn't want to leave Jenny out. This was at Wicked and I was admonished by an usher just after taking it because apparently "no flash photography" even applies, bizarrely, to the intermission.

So yes, I realize that most of you have very little interest in looking at close up photos of our heads. It's just, while this website exists in large part because I like entertaining people, it is also a way for me to document and remember my life.

These times, these friends, and how lucky I am to have them, I want to remember.

Everything's Taller in Washington

That's my assertion. (It was also a joke I made upon arriving in Washington, which I then spent the entire next week beating to death. It is a joy to travel with me.) Follow along as I present photographic evidence.

Trees are taller in Washington.

See me there at the bottom? This tree is right in Amy's yard.

Babies are taller in Washington.

Check out those long baby legs! This girl is going to be tall.

Houses in Washington are TALL.

In fact, when Joe and Amy were looking at houses, they called this one The Tall House. Not only because of the tall columns, but because it was built by tall people for tall people. See, Amy and Joe are 6'2 and 6'3. This house has kitchen and master bathroom cabinets and counters built taller for people just like them.

You can see there that the counters are at my elbow height and I can barely reach things on the second shelf and only if they are at the front. Tall people house? Only in Washington.

But Washington does not just have taller trees, babies, and houses. Even punctuation in Washington is taller. MUCH taller!

Tallest Space Needle I ever saw? In Washington.

Even I am taller in Washington!

Sort of.

Yes, I did get sunburned in Seattle.

Guess what I didn't pack. No, really. Guess.

It's the cable that goes from my camera to a computer so I can upload pictures. So you'll have to wait on pictures until next week.

But I will say this: going on vacation with a very good friend who's pretty laid back to visit a good friend who's pretty laid back is a very good idea. We came here with three ideas of what to do: Seattle, Portland, and Cannon Beach. In each city, we had a few things we wanted to do. Otherwise, we're all pretty much fine with whatever happens. We get there when we get there. We see what we see. We eat. We mock each other. It's all good.

On Sunday night, Amy and almost-three-month-old Abigail picked us up at the airport. Then we spent Monday hanging around Amy's house, playing with the baby and the dogs. Not concurrently. Honestly, I'm better with the dogs than the baby. Plus, I've known them way longer.

Yesterday though, we ventured out all the way to Seattle. Abigail spent the day with her Grandma and Grandpa, taking a far longer nap than she ever does at home. We had a very limited agenda for Seattle, which turned out to be excellent since it allowed time to sit in the sun in a park only because it was too nice not to. Holly and I couldn't get over it. We kept exclaiming about how it was warm and sunny but we weren't sweating. It was quite something. The nice weather does lower your radar for how much sun you're getting. Probably it takes a special kind of pasty to get sunburned in Seattle. Of course I managed it.

We went to Pikes Place, saw the guys throwing the fish, went to the original Starbucks, ate lunch at Lowell's (Clam chowder in a sourdough breadbowl!) and went to the top of the Space Needle. Then we got the ferry to Bremerton and came back on a beautiful, scenic route to Amy's house.

You'll see. Next week.

Up! Past their bedtime!

After the party that was Friday night, Holly and I were interested in something a bit more low-key for Saturday. We settled on dinner, stopping in to Old Navy for the skirt and dress sale (Old Navy was almost entirely out of skirts and dresses by then, it turned out) and killing some more time at Barnes & Noble by looking at books about Portland and Seattle to get ideas for our upcoming trip.

(Internet, if you live in or have visited either and have ideas for us, please do share. So far, we've been told Powell's by a bunch of people, one of whom said we need to go since we are teacher-person-reader-ladies. Just reader-ladies this summer though.)

We needed to kill the extra time so we could wait and go to the 9:30 showing of Up in 3-D. Because surely parents wouldn't drag small children to a 9:30 movie.

Ha. Wrong.

There were only three small children in the theater. Naturally, the family with two of them chose to sit right next to us. We were concerned about the children talking through the movie. It did not occur to us to worry that the mother would begin making weird moaning sounds during the previews. "The mom one is making sex noises!" I repeatedly thought. I looked over at Holly to make sure I wasn't imagining things. Nope.

And then, not ten minutes into the movie, the smaller child started sobbing and whining, "PLEEEEEEAAAAASE TAKE ME HOME." The dad shushed her repeatedly, which was exactly as helpful as you'd imagine, while the mom searched for quite some time for something that was, I guess, supposed to be inside the giant Ziploc bag she kept holding up and turning around and around. The whine, shush, plastic bag symphony continued for quite some time. Eventually (and I do mean eventually) the PLLLLLLLEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAASSSSE TAKE ME OOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUT won the day.

Next time, maybe one of the many, many earlier showings, folks.

We did enjoy the movie. The Twitter had insisted that it would make me cry, which didn't seem outside the realm of possibility since I nearly cried in front of my eighth graders while watching Monsters, Inc. last week. (What have I become?) Up, though, not so much. There's a sad part, but it's toward the beginning and I guess I wasn't sufficiently emotionally invested yet. Or I'm just dead inside. Who's to say?

The 3-D glasses are designed to resemble the old man's glasses in the movie. A good look for us, no?

You might have heard I run with a dangerous crowd. We ain't too pretty, we ain't too proud.

You know when you're out somewhere and it's a nice place and it's kind of dark and people won't stop taking pictures and flashing their bright and flashy flashes?

We were those people on Friday! Holly, Kristen (who teaches with me), Jenny (who does not teach, but is a lot of fun so we invited her anyway), and I went out to celebrate the end of the school year. Kristen and I were done at 11:00 that morning, after getting checked out and printing our grades. (Our principal, on how we needed to stay until 3:30: "Once you've printed your grades, I won't be looking around for you." Wink, wink, very cool guy.) Holly was done at 1:00, despite actually being done at 10:30 because her principal is significantly less awesome.

We had heard that there was a new place in San Antonio called Coco Chocolate Lounge & Bistro, which sounded like the sort of place that we needed to visit. We further decided that we should dress up for this occasion, because really, any excuse.

Kristen and me

Jenny and Holly

Our desserts, which of course I photographed.

Our waitress had told us that there was a private party going on that we could probably even sneak into since she didn't think they were overly aware of who was supposed to be there. It turned out to be for the launch of a new free local newspaper. Some publicity girls were walking around handing out copies and asking whether people would like to be signed up for the email list to find out about local events. I asked whether they needed freelancers. They did, the girls thought, so they added a note next to my email address. Look at me! Networking!

Eventually, we decided to call it a night. Kristen left in her car, while Jenny, Holly, and I left in Holly's. Before getting home, we abruptly changed our minds, deciding that a stop at a pub was in order. Because we are very rude and thoughtless, we did not call or text Kristen to inform her of this turn of events.

What drink goes well with being awful people? Patron, of course.

(Photo is square-shaped because Holly didn't like how she looked in it, so I cropped her out, because that is what friends do.)

Then, in the wee small hours of the morning, there was a little breakfast from Whataburger. Because when you've had some shots of Patron and you're not interested in spending the next morning wishing for the sweet release of death, an order of fries and a breakfast taquito are your friends. Plus, you know, any excuse. (Holly and I did go to the park on Saturday afternoon to walk off roughly 1/100th of the calories we consumed between drinks, dessert, drinks, and Whataburger, so there's that.)

All in all, I'd say that summer is getting off to a pretty good start.

*Ok, fine, we're not a dangerous crowd. Billy Joel does not stipulate too pretty for what though, so that part may still apply.

In which I kiss and make up with summer

Seems like a while back, I wrote about not really caring for summer all that much. Sure, it's still early, so the weather is not so scorchy as it is about to become. But this weekend was chock-full of summery stuff AND I LIKED IT.

Margaritas and cook outs and pools, oh my! (One of the two cook outs was for my sister-in-law Dawn's birthday - Happy Birthday, Dawn!) There was happy hour on a patio. There was lunch here on my own patio, post-laying in the sun. There was raspberry buttermilk cake, made by my pastry chef friend Jenny. (I cannot recommend strongly enough that you make friends with a pastry chef. Seriously, get right on it.)

All in all, quite a nice summer-style weekend. While my arteries may not agree, my skin can wholeheartedly concur, thanks to high-powered sunblock. I have something approaching a tan, even, but no burn. Impressive! Even better, not one single bug bite and/or sting. Are you trying to seduce me, summer?

It's working.

The sundress I told you about on Friday, and Holly's new one as well. Sorry about the weird light. Evening outdoor photo, poor photo editing skills.

T.G.I.Tequila

Holly and I have accidentally invented an excellent little Friday night routine. See, by Friday, we are exhausted. The children have sucked the life out of us. FACT: Like plants use the sun, school-children generate energy by feasting on the life force of their teachers and other school professionals. Look it up.

So we like a low-key Friday night. We also like there to be alcohol and food of marginal nutritional benefit. And no need to look overly cute. Which is how we found ourselves one Friday night at Chipotle. Did you know that Chipotle serves margaritas? Did you further know that Chipotle does not scrimp on the booze? Quite the contrary.

We enjoyed our burrito bowls and margaritas, then walked over to the adjacent Office Depot so I could get some of those paper Admit One tickets for use with my kids at school. (They earn tickets for good behavior which they can redeem for cheap crap prizes.) After that, we wanted some dessert. We considered the nearby Panera, but then we remembered the also nearby Carino's where they have the Italian margaritas that we love. Carino's also has a mini-tira misu that comes in an espresso cup. Score.

So there you have our recipe for quite a nice Friday night: Chipotle for burrito bowl and margarita, shopping (optional, although encouraged if there is also a nearby SuperTarget, which there happens to be in our case), Carino's for Italian margarita and mini-tira misu (although when they have the double-chocolate tira misu for a limited time only, substitution is allowed, nay, encouraged), home and in pajamas in time for the 10:00 showing of What Not to Wear.

Which is why, one Friday after a particularly long week, I sent Holly an IM through our district network that said, "Are you up for Chipotle/Carino's tonight? I'm thirsty. EXTRA THIRSTY."

What? Everyone knows that tequila is very high in life force. Look it up.

Thirty Day Shred: Day One

After hearing a lot of people talk about the Thirty Day Shred, I decided to check it out. On Amazon, it has over 800 reviews, with every last reviewer giving it four or five stars. The DVD was pretty cheap and I had a little money in my Mechanical Turk account, so I ordered it.

And...ow.

For those of you who have heard about it, it is every bit as ass-kickingly hard as you thought. For those of you who haven't, it's a workout from Jillian Michaels of The Biggest Loser. Apparently she is known as the meanest trainer on TV. I haven't watched the show, so I can't attest to her TV trainer personality, but it kind of sounded like a selling point to me.

There are three different workouts on the DVD. Levels One, Two, and Three. You start with Level One and move up to the others when you feel ready. I have a hard time imagining that Level One will ever be easy enough for me that I'll feel ready to move up, but I suppose that if I manage to stick with this, it might not be impossible.

Each workout is composed of a two-minute warm-up, two-minute cool-down, and in between, three six-minute circuits which involve three minutes of strength, two minutes of cardio, and one minute of abs. I never thought I'd be happy to hear anybody say that it was time to work on abs, but each time I was struggling by the end of the two minutes of cardio (sad, I know) and more than ready to sit down, even if it was to do crunches.

Jillian said during one cardio interval something about how the people on day five, six, seven, eight are already feeling their endurance being so much better than on day one. I am hoping, for my own sake, that this was not a crock of shit intended to give false hope to day-one people, such as myself.

What I like about it is that everything is pretty straightforward. There aren't any complicated moves to learn. It's a lot of jumping jacks, push ups, and other stuff you've been doing since elementary school P.E. Except jumping jacks probably didn't get you quite so winded back then. There is even pretend jumping rope, which is where you make the movement, minus the actual rope. A boon to an uncoordinated person like me. All of the fitness benefits, none of the tripping on a jumprope.

I also like that nobody on this DVD is in the business of being perky at you. There is none of that shiny happy "You can do it!" motivational crap. Oh sure, Jillian tells you that you're not allowed to quit and there are no breaks in a twenty-minute workout and you don't get abs like these for free. (For the record, I am not aspiring to abs like those of Jillian's workout pal, which appear to be some sort of twelve pack.)

This refreshing lack of cheerfulness does not keep me from finding it vaguely satisfying that my TV is situated such that, during the punching portion of the cardio, I appear to be punching Jillian in the face. That's as long as I follow her directions about staying in a squat while punching and don't I dare stand up. Right, because if I stand, then my punches are over Jillian's head. Damn you, TV's meanest trainer, and your all-seeing eye.

Why do I tell you all of this? Well, maybe some of you are interested in such a DVD. But mostly, I guess I think that if I tell you that I'm starting this, then maybe there's a better chance that I'll actually continue to do it. A little internet accountability couldn't hurt.

But you know what does hurt? Most of the muscles in my body. That means it's working, right?

The Rest of the Story

Let's see, I left off post-inauguration, pre-inaugural ball. The inaugural ball was held, thankfully, at the hotel where we were working, with two other hotels full of kids and instructors coming to us. I remember having to stand outside in the sleet counting kids getting on buses to go to our ball eight years ago. I was only too happy this time to get dressed at the hotel, go downstairs, and be there.

We were told that we had to check all of our kids off the list when they arrived at the ballroom and give them their wristbands for the dance. Vicki and I arrived sans pen, so we thought we'd just know we had all of our kids when we gave out all of our wristbands. We also didn't have our list of assigned posts, where everybody was supposed to be monitoring the various areas of the hotel during the dance. No problem. We'd just station ourselves by the elevators.

We were joined there by the equally derelict Jay from our staff. The three of us marveled at how young the instructors from the other staffs were. Probably they were in the neighborhood of 22, but they looked 12 to us. Here we have the scene of how Jay came to be inducted into Vicki's and my very exclusive Cool Kids Club.

Jay: I just need to let you guys know that we won the award for this week, so we don't actually have to monitor the dance tonight.

Very Young Instructor: Huh?

Me: Yeah, we've been the most punctual staff this week, so the office said we get to take it easy tonight.

VYI: *wanders off*

The rest of the evening, Vicki, Jay, and I spent avoiding the room with the actual dancing and "monitoring" various areas instead. I'm not going to lie to you, the rooms with the food required a lot of monitoring. Together, we monitored all kinds of hors d'oeuvres, pizza, and cookies. We ran into CJ there, who had been running all over trying to find a kid who another instructor was missing. "Do you have all of your kids?" he asked Vicki and me. "Yes," I lied. We had about six bracelets left. But did CJ have to run all over the hotel on our behalf? He did not. I am an excellent employee.

On the I'm An Old Person front, holy hell, the dresses these high school girls were wearing! Short! As in perhaps an inch and a half clearance from the lady bits. No bending or sitting, ladies, lest you commit a misdemeanor.

At long last, the ball ended, the high schoolers went to their rooms, and we went home for a few hours before starting all over on Wednesday. The schedule is getting a little fuzzy by now, but I do recall a stop at the White House, followed by our lone seminar of the week. We had a former speech writer from a cabinet department who, as a Bush appointee, was newly unemployed. She did a lot of talking about finding one's passion and making it one's career. In the course of making what was actually a good point about being careful about what you put online, lest it interfere with your future job prospects, she bragged about having over 700 Facebook friends. "I'm actually proud of that," she said and further noted that she could even tell you who most of them are. Well then.

We also went to Capitol Hill, where I managed to remember my way around well enough to get my kids and Vicki's around, albeit not at all quickly. I had forgotten that high schoolers are the slowest-moving creatures on Earth. We also made a stop at the Marine Corps Memorial and then had our last mall food court meal of the week. We had five food court meals in just three program days; however, Vicki and I managed to eat quite well. DC food courts have the ethnic smorgasbord that I miss here in San Antonio. We had Italian, Middle Eastern, French, Indian, and Thai. It also doesn't hurt that anyplace not serving burgers or subs is generally free of high schoolers and thus much quicker. (OK, fine, I am counting Au Bon Pain as French when we really just had soup. But it came with a baguette, so ha! It counts!)

Wednesday evening, I got to run the large group activity, courtesy of CJ who had signed me up in my absence at the staff meeting I had missed on Saturday. This was an adventure, considering that I had very little voice and, at first, no microphone. And 250 teenagers. The students had been working up to their presidential election activity and this was the night of the election. The candidates made posters, one of which Vicki noticed after the candidates were speaking, which probably ought to have been censored. It read "Jonah gives me a big bonah". The First Amendment was unintentionally alive and well that night. Whoops.

Thursday was the students' Independent Study Time, which means that they were their teachers' responsibility and we instructors were off during the day. Which meant that Wednesday night, post-large group, was Staff Meeting. Staff Meeting at the Sports Place had always been code for "go boozing at the Sportspub" back in the day. This year, it meant drinks at the revolving bar at the top of our hotel, where we were treated to some of the worst karaoke I have ever witnessed. There's a level of bad karaoke that's comical and then a level that makes you count the minutes until the students' room check so you can go and drink in the bar in the lobby where it's quiet. This was the second.

On Thursday, we had our reunion luncheon, where I got to see a lot of old friends and eat more hotel food. Then I went to Falls Church to see Karin and Amy, who I had worked with back around the turn of the century, and Karin's husband Alexander. We got caught up for a while before I headed back to the hotel for my final workshop with my kids, the banquet, and yet another high school dance. Although this one was slightly better, punctuated as it was by hugs from my kids, one of whom said, "Thanks for being awesome." Back at you, high schooler.

Then we all said goodbye and I went back to Katie's house, where I slept for NINE GLORIOUS HOURS. Once showered and presentable, I met Angela and Maureen at Ben's Chili Bowl for pretty much the best cheese fries there are. Then we went to Cake Love for cupcakes. Because why wouldn't we? Then, because we are huge nerds, we went to the newly remodeled Smithsonian National Museum of American History. Which is, after all, one of my favorite places. Not only had we all been to this museum hundreds of times, thanks to our former employers, but when I left Angela and Maureen, they were headed to the WWII, Lincoln, Korea, and Vietnam Memorials which we have been to even more times. I love that they still wanted to go again.

I couldn't go though, because I was off to drinks in Chinatown (and eventually dinner - crab cake #2) with Katie, Chrystal, and Emily. I didn't know Chrystal or Emily and yet I participated in the conversation and everything. It being a small group, there being plenty of beer, and Chrystal and Emily being really very cool all helped.

On Saturday, I went to Del Ray, my favorite neighborhood in Alexandria, to see Francine and Caroline and their new (ok, not new, but purchased since I've seen them) cottage there. I do love a cottage and theirs is particularly cute. We had lunch and then I was off, back to DC, where I waited for Katie to finish working (the work of a high-powered lobbyist is, it appears, quite literally never done) in a conveniently Metro-adjacent H&M. Not a bad place to kill an hour. H&M was kind enough to not have my size in the shoes I wanted, thus ending my internal debate.

Katie and I, after our photo shoot, put on warmer clothes and headed out to Adams Morgan for Ethiopian food. Gosh, I love injera bread. And you can use it to pick up potatoes, which is even better. If you've been missing out on Ethiopian food, find out if there's a restaurant near you and get thee there. You'll thank me.

And then on Sunday, Katie willingly (as far as I knew) got up at 5:00 to drive me to BWI. Probably she then went to work. I bought a giant coffee from a woman who asked me if the animal on my shirt was a skunk. Yes, ma'am, the University of Wisconsin has chosen as its mascot the skunk. I flew to Minneapolis, where my four hour layover became five because, and this is a new one, our plane was in a holding area of the airport and there wasn't anyone qualified to drive it over to us. Eventually, they bussed our crew over there and they drove the plane over and we left. Then Holly picked me up at the airport in San Antonio.

The End.

Oh! Hey! Inauguration!

Yes, it has taken me over two entire weeks to finally get around to writing about it. It's just that I've been sick and busy and mentally exhausted and also dragging out the DC-related posts for as long as possible so I don't have to think of anything else to write about.

So. Inauguration. Katie and I decided we'd leave the house around 7:00 that morning and see if the Metro was a possibility. We were careful to limit our liquid intake so as not to have to use any outdoor plastic booth toilets. We stood in the Metro while two trains came though with no room at all for anybody to get on. Our choices at that point were to get on a train in the opposite direction and go so far out into Maryland that the trains wouldn't be full yet and then ride the increasingly suffocatingly full train downtown or to walk. Guess which one I picked.

Google Maps informs me that this was a walk of a little over three miles. The streets weren't so packed yet that we couldn't walk pretty much at our own pace and we were, if anything, a little warm by the time we reached the part of the Mall next to the Washington Monument. The warm part did not last long. It was still only around 8:30, so we sat on the grass and waited. We banged our hands together. We ate the Snack for Change pretzel snacks that we were handed on the street. Katie kept in touch with her mom's elementary school class via Blackberry. (Katie is a nicer person than I am. Nothing could have induced me by then to take off my mittens. Particularly since the hand warmers that Katie had given me were very helpfully sitting on her bed where I set them down when she handed them to me.)

As the crowd began to fill in, we stood up and jumped up and down every so often for warmth. At long last, the time arrived and distinguished guests began to be announced, to the enthusiastic cheers or boos of the crowd.

Rick Warren kicked things off with a rather long prayer, which ended with the Lord's Prayer. Those of us from liturgical backgrounds took this as an invitation to say it along with him. Except Rick Warren is not of a liturgical background (ok, fine, as far as I know) and he added emphasis and pauses and other non-follow-along-friendly flourishes that made it rather challenging for the rest of us.

There were also musical performances.

Aretha and friend. By which I mean her hat.

Yo-Yo Ma rules! (Itzhak Perlman too, but acknowledging that in no way references one of my favorite West Wing episodes.)

In between those two performances, Joe Biden was sworn in as Vice President. Immediately afterward, I turned to Katie and said, "Dick Cheney isn't our vice president anymore!" Then we high fived.

Then President Obama was sworn in. I watched it on a screen just like those of you at home did. I couldn't personally see even the Capitol building, so I'm sure some of you wonder what the big deal was about going. But it was a thing to be a part of, being there in the crowd with all of that collective happy in the air. It was a celebration.

The crowd roared and then got really unbelievably quiet (I cannot get my classes of six middle schoolers to be as quiet as the estimated 1.8 million people on the Mall were) so everybody could hear the speech. We clapped our mittened hands and people cheered and cried. And then the speech was over and we turned and began the long, slow march away from the Mall. I caught a little bit of the poem on the way out and then have no idea whether there was anything after that in the program.

We got out one chain link fence only to confront another. Apparently we weren't supposed to be between the fences, but by the time the police told us that, there was no getting all of us back to the other side. We stood and occasionally milled forward and occasionally people began shouting about LETting US OUT which seemed nonsensical to me. It wasn't that they were keeping us in so much as that there were just an impossible number of us trying to get out all at the same time.

Then the chain link fence on one side of us came crashing down under the weight of the crowd on the other side and I had a small internal freak out. Externally though, I remained calm, as did most of the people around us. We saw a small bitchy argument between two women, one of whom kept running into the woman in front of her every time the crowd stopped (roughly every one minute).

My favorite was the woman I heard say, "Some of us have a place to be." Oh. Well. We had no idea that you had a place to be. By all means, let us all move out of your way so that you can get to the place that you have to be. Seriously, impatient people. You voluntarily came to what was widely predicted to be the largest gathering of Americans ever. You thought you'd just stroll away afterward?

Eventually (and after hurdling a jersey wall, which is not easy to do when wearing many layers under your jeans) we made it out onto 18th Street, along with everybody else, where we all shuffled slowly for a couple of miles. At one point, we passed a woman standing in a tree with a sign that I couldn't read. She was yelling, "Can you see what I'm messaging?" Oh, tree lady. A) No. B) Message is not a verb.

A couple of miles in, we were finally allowed to cut over to a less crowded street where we were free to take strides as long as we wanted, which is a freedom that I had previously taken for granted. It was sometime during this walk that I purchased my one and only cheesy souvenir, a faux inauguration ticket, which I bought for the lanyard that it came on, which reads The Inauguration of the 44th President of the United States. I needed one for my school ID, so it's a souvenir that actually gets daily use. Well, school daily, anyway.

(Full disclosure: this would not have been my only souvenir, had those Obama action figures I saw at the Newseum been bobbleheads.)

Then, around 3:30, Katie and I finally had lunch at Five Guys. We waited about an hour for our food, but if you have had Five Guys burgers and fries (particularly when you were ravenously hungry) then you know that it was worth it. Then we got back to Katie's and I took what had to be one of the top five showers of my life. Not only was I cold and dirty and with tight, angry, knotty muscles, but Katie also has a really excellent shower. It's the kind of shower that really pommels you. I love that.

I did not love having to get dressed and leave the house again for my walk-Metro-walk commute to the hotel. But there was an inaugural ball to chaperone. Which, since it is nigh unto bedtime, I will tell you about tomorrow maybe. Along with the remaining four days of my DC trip. After that, maybe I'll tell you about my new job. And then? Uh...well...spring break?

Sunday, Monday: Happy Days

Sunday of my week in DC began much earlier than I would have liked. I arrived for the day wearing a long-sleeved shirt, sweater, tights, long underwear, jeans, socks, a second pair of socks that are rated for below-zero cold, snow boots, coat, hat, mittens, and a scarf. This was about right.

We went to the Jefferson Memorial first, where I ran into three old friends, one of whom was my roommate in New York, who I don't think I've seen since I moved out in January of 2003. The students had their group photo taken and explored the Memorial, inspired by my academic query, "Is the statue to scale? Was Jefferson our only giant president?"

After a very quick lunch at the Ronald Reagan Building, we headed over to the Lincoln Memorial for the concert. Our buses were picking us up very far away from it and so Vicki and I had our students recite the pick up intersection, complete with quadrant, many, many times. In 2001, of the 4500 students we had in town, one got lost after the concert. She was in my group. This was not going to happen to me again.

We shuffled over to the Mall, shuffled through security, then moved even more slowly toward the Memorial. Eventually, we gave up on moving forward and found ourselves a spot where we could see a screen and a little bit of the actual stage. Then a hundred thousand more people showed up, ten percent of whom attempted to push past us toward the reflecting pool. Vicki decided at one point that she was going to be a brick wall and not let anybody past. At roughly five feet nothing, Vicki does not make a terribly imposing wall of any kind. Eventually though, the crowd around us united to say "No. There is nowhere for you to go. Turn around."

Then Bishop Gene Robinson began speaking, but we couldn't hear him and the crowd started yelling about the speakers not being on and I thought, "Oh my God, I'm in an angry mob." Fortunately, the sound came on and then everybody calmed down and a lot of stars alternately sang and spoke. I did indeed see Stevie Wonder, although I found it deeply unjust that he was forced to share one song with Usher and Shakira while Garth Brooks got to perform three songs all by himself.

The (at that time) President-Elect spoke, and to be quite honest with you, I got a little verklempt. And then I got happy because we could leave and go to somewhere with warmth and food and indoor plumbing. But it wasn't quite over yet. There was still Beyonce and also this, which was actually kind of cool.

This Land Is Your Land from Lori Graham on Vimeo.

Then we shuffled out and got stuck for a while under the tent that had been the security checkpoint coming in and despite the fact that the sides of the tent were totally open, I had to fight a little claustrophobic panic from being so crammed in and with something over our heads. Eventually though, we got out and we got to the pick up point and there was a hotel near it that we used to work out of and despite not having been there for probably seven years, I totally remembered where the lobby-level restrooms were. Then I counted my students who were all there. Then I counted another instructor's students because she was unable or unwilling to do it herself.

See, this is where I have a bit of a personal epiphany thanks to my inauguration week experience. There were a few people on my staff who I didn't like. I didn't like them because they didn't work very hard and expected everybody else to pick up their slack. They didn't listen in meetings and thus dragged them out with their stupid questions that had already been answered. They made us late with their inability to count their kids. They expected those of us who had read lesson plans to explain them in detail so they didn't have to bother reading them.

I wasn't very sneaky about my impatience and dislike for these people and I don't think they liked me either. And I was fine with that. Really. And sure, these are people I won't likely ever see again, so being fine with them not liking me shouldn't be a big deal, but for me it was a bit of a revelation. Inconsiderate and lazy people don't like me and I don't care. Yay!

Sunday ended with dinner at the hotel (crab cake #1 of the week for me while Vicki and I watched some of the AFC playoff game in the hotel bar) and a workshop during which my students had a completely civil and very intelligent conversation about issues. I know, right?

Monday involved the Newseum; Lincoln, Korea, Vietnam, and WWII Memorials (where I was forced to adopt a very Mom-like tone in asking a girl who was out in the maybe 20 degree weather in a tank top "Where is your coat?" I don't know who she thought she was impressing, but she had a sweatshirt in her bag, which I made her put on.); meals in food courts; and at least two and a half total hours of sitting in traffic on the buses, thanks to the extra few million people trying to get around DC.

We had an impromptu workshop that night due to some schedule shifting, and I considered teaching my students the citizenship skill of a letter-writing campaign by having them all write to the Newseum, demanding that Tim Russert be given his own memorial exhibit. Instead, I went with the Search and Seizure workshop that I had created back in 2002, which believe it or not (you don't believe it, do you?) the students always get really into since they are conned into discussing the constitutionality of searches from actual Supreme Court cases in order to win a game. For I am tricky and educational and an eensy bit obsessed with constitutional law.

Then I went back to Katie's house to get a few hours of sleep before heading back out into the unreasonable cold for the inauguration. Which I will tell you about in the next post. And perhaps I'll wrap up the recap of my week in DC sometime around the next presidential election.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Has there ever been a less original title for a blog post? I suppose I could have gone with Ms. Graham Goes to Washington. That would certainly have been worse.

Anyway, I left for DC on the Saturday before the inauguration. That is also the day that the student program started. My ticket was purchased by the organization for which I was working. You'll miss the staff meeting, they told me, but you'll get there in time for dinner. Just grab a cab at the airport and you'll get reimbursed.

Dinner started at 6:30. My plane got in at 5:30. To BWI. That "B" stands for Baltimore, as in the airport is much closer to Baltimore than it is to Washington. The hotel where I would be working and my students would be staying was in Virginia. So making it to dinner was seeming like a pipe dream to me. It also seemed like I was going to have to take a whole lot of cab money.

Before even getting to Baltimore, I got to stop in Memphis. At my gate, I saw a whole bunch of high schoolers in matching sweatshirts. They said "Inauguration 2009 Democracy is Not a Spectator Sport" on the back, which was my tip off. I talked to a chaperone and found out they were indeed headed to a program with my organization and would be staying at a hotel reasonably near mine.

(Grown Ups: When traveling with students for whom you are responsible, it's best not to answer a complete stranger when she asks at which hotel you and your students are staying. I realize I look non-threatening and it didn't even occur to me in the moment that it wasn't probably a good thing to ask someone who didn't know me. Still, the total lack of hesitation from this person in disclosing the group's hotel information was a little alarming. Helpful to me, but alarming.)

So I hopped on their bus, where I sat near the teachers. None of them deigned to speak to me, so I listened to my iPod. I could still overhear when, several miles into the drive, a student asked where we were. A teacher answered "Baltimore" (not terribly accurate, but whatever) and the student responded "I thought that was in Missouri." It was dark, so I couldn't tell whether the chaperones were properly ashamed. See, it's a civic education program, so the chaperones tend to be the kids' social studies teachers. Ouch.

About an hour later, we got to these students' hotel, where I hopped out, grabbed my luggage, and began the long trek to my own hotel. I got there just in time to crash the dinner with the teachers and staff. Not to eat dinner, since that unfortunately was over, but to sit through introductions. After that, I had (and for once I am absolutely not exaggerating) five minutes to say hi to my friend Vicki who I hadn't seen in several years, change clothes, eat dinner, fill out payroll paperwork, find out where my workshop was happening, gather supplies, and decide what activity I'd be doing with my students. No problem.

"It's a good thing I was never a believer in preparation," I told CJ, who was my boss for the week. CJ was in no way surprised or alarmed by this since we go way back. We even got co-fired ("downsized") on the same day several years ago.

Five minutes later, I met my students. One of them asked me if we could be called the awesome crew. "Of course we can," I answered. Yeah, they were pretty cool.

Then we went to orientation with all of the students in one room, where we instructors had to introduce ourselves. We were all old instructors from different eras, returning to work the week, and I only knew a couple of the people I'd be working with. I was not too sure about the other people. Some of them were very enthusiastic. Very. I would go on to explain to my students later that while they had clearly not gotten SuperHappyFun Instructor, they had gotten Laid Back Instructor. They felt good about that. Did I mention how my students were very cool?

After orientation, we got to go home. "Home" for me that week was supposed to be the hotel for ease of commuting, but the booking of rooms for us instructors never exactly got done. So I stayed with Katie, who was kind enough to pick me up at the hotel, despite my offer to take the Metro. (Her email response to said offer was: "You're so midwestern resourceful it's almost disturbing. I'll come get you.") And when we got to her place, Katie showed me the pumpkin cupcakes she had made me. With cream cheese frosting.

"I thought you could eat them for breakfast," she said.

"God bless you," I said.

Then we talked for a long time, until I remembered that I had to go to work the next day, which would involve an hour of commuting on foot and Metro before the day even started. Whoops! Nothing like starting a really demanding work week with some sleep deprivation. Good thinking, Lori.

Speaking of which, it is currently after 11:00, which is not enough hours removed from the time at which my alarm will go off tomorrow. So you'll have to stay tuned. Will my students stay awesome? Will a new president be sworn in? WILL I SEE STEVIE WONDER?

To be continued...

A Pictorial Preview

I meant to get a post written for you today, but I also meant to start my new job today. Neither has happened, thanks to a rather violent Death Plague Stomach Bug of Doom. So I thought I'd go ahead and post a few photos from my week in Washington, since chronicling the last week seems likely to take more than one post anyway. Plus, this way I don't have to think too hard tonight.

As far as the eye can see...

I'll have you know that I made it through the entire inauguration and Sunday afternoon Lincoln Memorial concert without using a single port-o-john.

Here's Vicki and me at the concert. The photo was taken by a tall guy in front of us who had just taken a picture of the concert for Vicki since she is short and we were good and packed in.

And here's Katie and me on the Mall pre-inauguration. Holy hell, it was cold. So cold, in fact, that Katie's eyes seem to have frozen shut.

Why a photo of the Washington Memorial? Because we watched the inauguration from right next to it. Which, for those of you not in the DC geography know, put us over a mile from the Capitol.

I spent my Friday afternoon with Angela and Maureen. I love taking self-portraits with Angela because every single time, she looks at her screen and says, "We're adorable!" Which is, you know, kind of true.

After lunch, the three of us went to the Smithsonian Museum of American History, then walked down the Mall at sunset.

On my walk from the Mall to Chinatown to meet up with Katie, Chrystal, and Emily for drinks, I wandered past the Obamas' new home.

And finally, I bring you Katie and me, who put on our inaugural ball dresses on Saturday night solely for the purpose of taking a photo. Her dress is considerably fancier than mine, but then her ball was attended by 2200 adults, rather than 750 high schoolers, and I assume that she didn't spend any time yelling at anybody for inappropriately posing with an Obama cardboard cut-out. You have to imagine that we have done our make up and that Katie's hair is professionally up-done. She has good taste in Czech pashminas, no?

Hopefully, I'll get started on the word-intensive DC trip posts tomorrow, after a day of going to work and keeping down everything I both eat and drink. That's change I can believe in.

Hey, remember how I'm going to DC? Suddenly, so do I.

It's finally becoming real to me that I'm leaving soon for DC. Saturday, in fact. This means I'm finally becoming really excited about it, particularly since I'm in the midst of making plans to see friends while I'm there. It's going to be a bit of a reunion, working the program with people I worked with from 1999-2003, and also getting to see other friends in the area.

Katie has generously offered me her couch for the week and also made plans for us to have drinks on Friday night with her friend Chrystal (Hi, Chrystal!) an event at which she promises that there will be no judgment regarding how many drinks I should choose to have, given the week I will have just finished.

Because, while I am certain that it's going to be a whole lot of fun, this is definitely not a vacation. I'll start work as soon as I arrive on Saturday evening and will be working 14 hour days from Sunday through Thursday. This includes not one, but two high school dances that go until 1 am (the inaugural ball on Tuesday and the end-of-program dance on Thursday.)

During the week, I'll be responsible for teaching, both at the hotel in workshops with my 20-odd students and large group activities with all 200, and as we go around the city to monuments, memorials, neighborhoods, Capitol Hill, and museums. It looks like I'll get to visit both the new Newseum (moved from Rosslyn to DC) and the National Museum of the American Indian, neither of which I've been to before. Also possibly the International Spy Museum over the weekend with Katie.

Then there's Sunday night. Before an inauguration, there is a kick off party at the Lincoln Memorial. The 2001 Bush inauguration had a performance by Ricky Martin. This one? Stevie Wonder, Bruce Springsteen, U2, Beyonce, Shakira, Josh Groban, James Taylor, Garth Brooks, Denzel Washington, Queen Latifah, and a bunch of other people I'm forgetting. I also heard that Aretha Franklin will be performing at the actual inauguration.

I will see these things. I will be very cold at the time, but I will get through it. In fact, the fourth item on my packing list is long underwear (after phone charger, iPod charger, camera charger). It looks like we're going to get up at an extremely unreasonable hour of the morning on Tuesday in an effort to get a spot on the Capitol lawn so we can stand there for several hours before the inauguration.

Because they are expecting a truly ridiculous number of people to show up. In addition to my hatred of the cold, I will be working through my crowd-related anxiety in order to be there for this thing. A new president and free aversion therapy, all in one day. At least the hordes should provide some warmth, like penguins huddling together against the antarctic cold. I am a little bit tempted to pack my snow boots for the occasion just because they are so cozy warm, but they'd also take up a lot of packing space, which my lengthy packing list indicates is at a premium.

First though, I have two days of orientation at the school district office for my new job, which I begin a week from Monday, after hopefully arriving home on that Sunday night. I say "hopefully" because my return flight includes a stop in Minneapolis, where I very much hope there will be no icetastrophe or snowpocalypse happening on Sunday.

I'll definitely be Twittering during the week and will try to at least get some photos put up here. I'm sure I'll have plenty of stories for you when I get back. Hopefully none including the words "stampede", "trampled", or "trauma unit".

Be sure to look for me in the crowd on TV! I'll be the one in the black coat.

Leave the house, get blog material. Who'd have thought?

I went for a walk yesterday. See, I needed to go to the post office, which is roughly a mile and a half away. It's not so hellaciously hot this week and, really, what else do I have to do?

First, I discovered that, despite the fact that I live off a busy street and there is a middle school right there, we have no sidewalks. So I had to walk in the bike/parking lane and hope to not be run over. San Antonio hates pedestrians. WHY WOULD YOU WALK ANYWHERE WHEN YOU CAN DRIVE YOUR TRUCK OR SUV WE MADE THESE ROADS FOR YOU, I hear it telling me.

I saw, discarded in the grass, what appeared to be a bus driver's shirt. Embroidered on the pocket were three crosses and the words Glory-Bound Express. Well, great. The Glory-Bound Express driver has either quit or been abducted. How am I supposed to get to Glory now???

Which reminded me of a Sunday school song: "You can't get to heaven in a Kleenex box, 'cause God don't take no little snots." I've been trying to think of something funny to add to that, but I can't seem to improve upon letting you just mull that one over, unaided.

Then, there was the getting yelled at by a man in a fast-moving vehicle. Why do guys do that? I've never understood the point. I swear, if you put a gun to my head and told me that I had to tell you exactly what he said, the most honest answer I could give you would be "GAY! GAY!" I am fairly certain that wasn't the message he was trying to convey. As I mentioned to Twitter, this was an exciting ego-boost to me, as it can only mean that the man found me stunningly gorgeous. Not merely a girl walking alone who appeared to have all of her limbs and be under the retirement age.

Last night, I met up with my brother and sister-in-law, and the birthday boy himself, to do a little shopping. It was getting late by the time we were at Target and Owen was getting a bit grumpy. Which is how I, a person who will barely dance on a dark and crowded dance floor and even then after a couple of drinks, found myself dancing like an idiot stone-cold sober under the fluorescent lights in an aisle of Target to the R&B hits of the 90s for the entertainment of the boy. He particularly enjoyed me jumping around to Jump Around. This despite the fact that while I did jump up, jump up, I did not especially get down.

Better pack it up, pack it in if I'm going to get out of the house yet again today. Also, you know, shower. Gots to look nice for the driving-by men of San Antonio.

I Always Feel Like Somebody's Watching Me (You're welcome for that song.)

In case you hadn't noticed, I've had a bit of a month.  There's the stuff you know about, plus some that you don't.

Question: But Lori, isn't the stuff we know about more than enough to deal with?

Answer: YES.

The fact that Tattletale Coworker has now escalated to full-on spying is pretty much the living end.  I noticed her standing watching me today and then another temp came over to ask whether TC had needed anything from me since she saw her peeking over a cubicle wall at me.  (I wanted to give TC a nastier nickname, but if you think about it, how sad must her life already be if she makes it her personal mission to bust a temp for intermittent internet use?) 

Nevermind that I finished my entire assigned workload for the day by 12:30 and went back three times to get additional work.  No, the important thing is that TC most likely witnessed me printing off a copy of my Federal tax return from the H&R Block website since I forgot to bring it and didn't want to go home before the post office to mail my state return. 

(Yes, ok, I completed my state taxes in January, but I had to call to ask a question and I never, ever remember to make phone calls at appropriate times, which is one of the many reasons I vastly prefer email.  So I called last week and then mailed it today, complete with Ziggy return address label from the ones sent to me by The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.  Really brightened up the taxes, I thought.)

Fortunately, I will only be available for TC's surveillance for two more days this week.  On Friday, I fly to Texas.  I'm going all the way to Dallas on a teeny tiny plane, which is not the model that has been grounded, so I'm hoping that means I'll actually get there.  I'm pretty sure it's another little guy for the rest of the trip.  If my large plane back on Monday got grounded, well it sure would be tragic if I wasn't able to return to the watchful eye of my favorite coworker on time Tuesday morning, wouldn't it?

In the intervening days, there will be babies to snuggle and margaritas to drink, although I will not do both concurrently.  My brother told me that he probably has to work all weekend, but he knows he's not the important one anyway.  That's right, you're not.  It sounds like Owen will be able to catch a ride to me with his mom.  And I am assured that Allie's schedule is wide open for this weekend.

I also see that the pollen forecast jumps from HIGH on Thursday to VERY HIGH in time for my arrival on Friday.  Awesome.  I guess we'll find out whether my new friend Zyrtec is up to the challenge.

In the meantime, I better try to get my internet fix tonight, lest I make TC's awkward attempts at espionage fruitful again tomorrow.  I mean to stymie that woman, if for no other reason than it will provide me another opportunity to say stymie.

Because apparently I don't think you'll believe that I ever leave my house unless I prove it with photos

Spring break in Chicago.  Not so good for tanning, but at least you're safe from Joe Francis there.  We did go wild by forgoing hats and mittens for parts of Saturday when it was sunny and not snowing.  Friday, not so much.

What you see there is the reason we went ahead and spent most of Friday inside the Field Museum.  Here we have Holly and Sue, the T-Rex.

Later on, we met Jennie for Chicago style pizza.

Good planning when spending winter spring break in Chicago: pick a hotel with four bars inside so you can get your drink on without braving the elements.  We started with Daddy O's Irish Pub for the requisite Irish Car Bombs, then moved on to BIG Bar.  Guess what their gimmick is. 

They serve 48 ounce drinks that people can share.  Except no one told the three geeky boys at the table next to us that three boys attempting to flirt with girls should not share one BIG drink.  Spring for your own drinks, boys.  Probably it's better too if they are not so brightly-colored.  Smarter (if not entirely convincing) was the guy drinking his own individual beer who pretended to think that Holly and I were around 22 years old.  Bless you, strange man, even if you do intend to cast a symbolic vote for Ron Paul in the general election.

After sleeping in, we spent most of Saturday shopping on Michigan Avenue (total purchases: lunch) and seeing Navy Pier.

Although if we're being perfectly honest here, we also spent some of Saturday watching a National Geographic special about the difference between humans and apes on the giant flat-screen TV in our hotel room.  What?  It was cold outside and according to Holly's pedometer we had already walked about thirteen miles over the weekend.  Except for a brief trip down the street for dinner, we were finished with the walking and the seeing sights and the generally doing things that were not laying on our beds in a nice warm room.

The next morning, Holly got up at the crack of dawn to fly back to San Antonio.  In flagrant violation of Illinois state law, her flight left O'Hare on time.  Much later, I got up and caught the bus back to Madison.  Unfortunately, reality was still here, awaiting my return.  But at least Friday's snow had melted off the streets and parking lots.  Snow which, according to my radio this morning, put Madison's total this winter over 100 inches, for those of you playing along at home.

Ok, everybody say "Thanks, Holly!" for having a functional camera and getting her photos to me so speedily for your viewing pleasure.  And by "for your viewing pleasure" I of course mean "so I don't have to write a real post."  Thanks, Holly! 

Reinforcements!

This time tomorrow, I'll be on a bus headed for Chicago to meet up with Former San Antonio Roommate Holly.  (You remember Holly.)  She had been thinking of coming up here for the end of her spring break (Madison: The Spring Break Destination of...No One, Really.) but discovered that for the same price as a ticket here, you can get a ticket to Chicago and what appears to be a rather swanky hotel room downtown.  This way, we both get a change of scenery and yet I don't have to buy any plane tickets. 

Holly has never before been to Chicago, so we'll get to do some of the tourist stuff.  I think the last time I went to a museum in Chicago, it was a field trip and I was in middle school.  We'll also get to hang out with Jennie (you remember Jennie) and eat pizza (keep your fingers crossed for the imminent return of my appetite) and try to convince Holly that sunny and mid- to upper-30's is nice weather.

In case you're still not convinced that a visit from Holly is exactly what I need right now, please recall that Holly was the co-creator of Drinks Around the World!  I cannot imagine a city with more ethnic drinking opportunities than Chicago.  In fact, the one and only actual plan I have made is locating the pub where we will be throwing back our Irish car bombs.  Priorities.

And now I have an assignment for you, Internet.  I'm going to be spending roughly six hours round-trip on the bus for this excursion.  One thing that I meant to mention in that last post but didn't was the new challenge that music presents these days.  Love songs and break up songs are obviously out of the question.  Songs that are too sad depress me.  Songs that are too happy piss me off.  The radio will usually get you some odd stuff like Sunny Came Home (am currently neutral on the topic of arson) and Bette Davis Eyes (I have no idea what that song is even about, so I guess it's fine by me) but my iPod is sadly lacking in songs I want to listen to these days.  So, Internet, make me a playlist.  What should I get?

What I Did on my Christmas Vacation

by Lori Graham, age...whatever.

I went to Sea World.  Dawn and I rode in the very front of a fun roller coaster.

Owen and I spent some time chilling in our cool shades.  The chicks, they dig him.

Since it is my job to spoil Owen with sugary treats, I thought three months was totally not too early early to start him on funnel cakes.  Poor kid had been deprived of fried dough with powdered sugar for his entire life.

We went on the roller coaster again and saw Shamu.  It was a fun day.

The End

Merry Christmas, everybody!

Plus I got to wear flip flops today.

Yesterday, my day began at 4:45.  I am a firm believer that times beginning in 4 do not constitute Early Morning so much as Still Night.  But that's when I got up so I could be dressed, finished packing, and at Alan's by 5:45 for my ride to the airport.  Amazingly, we actually managed to have a conversation in the car at that unreasonable hour.  I think it might have even made sense.

Soon after, I boarded the tiniest plane I have ever personally seen.  We made it safely to St. Louis and were thanked for flying on American Connection, which we were reminded is part of the One World Alliance.  That name always sounds frighteningly Orwellian to me.  As if the One World Alliance, before too long, will be dictating our every thought and action.  The One World Alliance does serve Diet Dr Pepper on its flights though, making it the sort of totalitarian regime that I might be able to get behind.

In St. Louis, I had time to get an eggnog latte (see above re: getting up at 4:45) before boarding a normal-sized plane that would take me to San Antonio.  Oh look, I thought, I am in the window seat of the side with only two seats!  My favorite!  Except my row was full.  Full of a couple who gave me the puppy dog eyes about wouldn't I please trade seats so they could sit together.  Naturally, they decided to grab the aisle seat that one of them had and beg for my lovely window seat.  What they offered in return turned out to be a middle seat.  Directly in front of one screaming baby and one crying toddler.  And three rows back, which did not seem like a big deal until I was waiting for all eternity to get off the plane while needing desperately to pee.  At that point I began directing invisible hate rays toward the heads of the seat-stealing couple who were a good ten people ahead of me in line.  If you must sit together, couples of the world, you keep the crappier of your two seats and swap the better one.  Or you pull one over on a sleep-deprived sucker and just hope that karma isn't real.

As for me, I may not have gotten to look out the window or have access to either armrest for two hours, but I did get more than enough reward in the end.

Amy and Joe, sitting in a tree. Not literally, although it was not for lack of available trees to sit in.

Amy, my friend of almost 25 years, got married on Saturday.  She and Joe had their ceremony at Trillium Lake near Mt. Hood in Oregon.  It was beautiful, and more to the point, very much Amy and Joe.

Here's the wedding party at the ceremony site:

One of these things is not like the others, one of these things does not belong.  One of these kids is doing her own thing...

Failing to clear 5'6, that is, much less six feet like everybody else.  Amy's demand that I wear flip flops did not help matters in the height department.  Actually, this was an excellent idea on her part, seeing as how there was some trekking through the woods to be done.  They were sparkly flip flops, FYI, lest you think my feet weren't appropriately fancy.

It turned out to be well worth submitting myself to the iron fist of the bridezilla (she also MADE me pick whatever dress I wanted and do whatever I wanted with my hair) to get my bridesmaid gift, a quilt that Amy made for me.  I tell you, it pays to be friends with crafty people.

I considered bringing my new quilt along for the ceremony, seeing as how it looked like it might be chilly.  In fact, Amy and Joe prepared for all possible wedding weather scenarios:

Umbrellas!  Hand warmers!  Programs printed on fans!  All unnecessary, seeing as how it was sunny, somewhere around 70 and generally perfect.

After the ceremony, Amy's brother Jim and I discussed being the last two out of the Graham/Tessmer kids to be married.  We found it surprising, seeing as how we are clearly the best looking two.

Don't you think?

Amy and Joe's reception was at a restaurant at the base of Multnomah Falls.

We had lunch there and, in lieu of wedding cake, sunflower cupcakes.  This was an idea Amy and I discussed early on in her wedding planning and I was happy that she went with it, not only because it was distinctly Amy, but also because the frosting to cake ratio on a cupcake is much more favorable for a frosting fanatic such as myself.

The center of the sunflower there is fudge.  When I commented to Amy about how outstanding that was, she took a spoon, scooped the fudge center out of hers and gave it to me.  And that, folks, is called true friendship.

Happy wedding, friend, and a happy happy life with Joe.

That's Entertainment

Overheard while walking among the drunks downtown Madison around 10pm on Saturday:

How do I get to Madison?  Madison, the city.  Why are you running away?  Some people have no sense of humor!

Right.  Failing to laugh at your clever joke of asking how to get to Madison as you stand not fifty yards from the Capitol indicates that the rest of us have no sense of humor.

I AM TWENTY-ONE!  FIRST OF ALL, I AM @#$%ING TWENTY-ONE!

There didn't seem to be a second of all, and her compelling argument apparently didn't work on the bouncer since we saw her walking down the street later.  Surprising.

I can't believe you're still touching me.

Ummm...

I won't have my geekiness questioned.

Ok, that might not have been a random drunk person so much as it was...me.  Not drunk.  Also not tolerating any attacks upon the extent of my geekdom.

I know there were more that I'm forgetting.  Next time I'll be sure to take notes for you.  Except not this weekend since I'm off to the Pacific Northwest for Amy's wedding, and it's not going to be that kind of reception.  Although if it is possible to become inebriated off cupcake frosting, I will do my best to make it that kind of reception.

Exploring other cultures: educational and fun!

Welcome to a little thing we called Drinks Around the World!

Drinks Around the World! got its start on Wednesday when Holly and I had lunch at Carino's with my brother and sister-in-law (and, by extension, Future Nephew) and we remembered how much we love their tasty, tasty Italian Margaritas.  So after a stop at Target and another stop at SuperTarget (What?  I needed a dress for the rehearsal.  And the dress needed shoes.  And we needed coffee.) we went to a different Carino's and proceeded directly to the bar.  Bongiorno, Italy!

Our next country of choice, Mexico, was dictated by the dinner plans we already had with Krystal and Melissa, to go to Casa Rio.  One simply cannot eat Mexican food without a margarita.  Unless one is Holly, in which case one has a Dos Equis.  Or dos.

It was then decided that we needed this:

So Melissa drove us to Champps, where we expanded our cultural horizons with white Russians.  "To Mother Russia!" Melissa toasted.  Indeed. 

Much later...

 

...we headed home, where Holly and I made our last international stop: Ireland.  When Holly and I drink together, there tend to be Irish car bombs, and we happened to have picked up the necessary supplies somewhere between Italy and Mexico.

After all of that food, the idea of downing a pint of Guinness was less appealing than usual, but we soldiered on.  Sometimes sacrifice is necessary in the name of multicultural understanding, and we were nothing if not committed to that ideal.

This concludes our tour.  Until next time, this has been Drinks Around the World!  (Oh, there will SO be a next time.)

Best Wedding Ever.

I simply cannot say enough good things about Sharon and Eili's wedding.  But here are some of them.

First of all, there were the place cards.  Not normally note-worthy at most weddings, but Sharon and Eili made good use of all of their cards.  Even some spares:

Oprah, it is considered poor form to RSVP positively to a wedding and then not show.  I'm surprised you didn't know that.

We also picked up our copies of what Sharon termed the "goy handbook" which would explain all of the very Jewish stuff going on.  Wedding Cliff's Notes!  Brilliant!

Then we got inside where they gave us champagne and served us appetizers right away.  We didn't have to wait for the wedding or anything!  And here, by appetizers, I mean tables and tables of different stuff as well as waiters bringing entirely different appetizers.  How am I supposed to go back to having to wait until after the ceremony to be fed?

The pre-wedding excitement also featured getting caught up with old friends from back in my civics teaching days.  Here they are outside, where we went for the ceremony.

That's Jason, his girlfriend Beth, Emily, and Angela.  And here comes the bride:

Except not to that Here Comes the Bride song, so much as this classic from The Muppets Take Manhattan.  Honest to God, it was Miss Piggy, Kermit, and the bears and chickens and things singing her down the aisle.  Awesome.

Sharon in a dress and make up was quite a thing to behold.  Although, as beautiful as she looked, I have to agree with her niece who reportedly told Sharon "I like you better plain."

Then she married Eili.

After that, it was time to party.  We headed back inside and found our table, via the table numbers, which were all photos of Sharon and Eili in front of different DC landmarks.  For the civics geek table, Eleanor Roosevelt.

There we found our favors: a Sharon and Eili-themed crossword puzzle and puzzle pens with "I was puzzled at Eili and Sharon's wedding" written on them.

When geeks go to weddings.

But then it was everyone up for the hora.  Which, allow me to say, is pretty much the most fun you can have at a wedding.

You know you are having a good party when the floor is literally shaking.

And when you have a sundae bar, which includes not only chocolate sauce, caramel, and fun sprinkles, but also coffee ice cream, then you are officially having the Best Wedding Ever.

Of course, the best part was seeing my friend Sharon so very happy.

I figured I had better include this photo since I held up the entire reception to take it.  They were being called to the dance floor for their first dance while my camera took its sweet time.

Mazel tov!

Hey! I went to New York!

First, let me tell you that the flight was pretty stellar.  The getting delayed by over two hours, one and a half of which were spent sitting on the plane at the gate, I could have lived without.  That delay was caused by "some weather" over Pennsylvania, which was jamming up traffic over New York.  I think we have this same weather though to thank for the show I was treated to in my window seat.  We flew through the most amazing clouds I had ever seen.  It looked like the Grand Canyon if it were made entirely of snow and lit orange from underneath.  Really just indescribably beautiful.  Then we flew directly up the center of Manhattan, length-wise, and close enough to be able to identify individual buildings.  And that, my friends, was worth the price of admission.

Then Angela picked me up and we sat in traffic forever.  The end.

Not really!  We got to Jon and Vanessa's around 10 and they, God bless them, had ordered pizza.  Then Angela and I slept on their giant air mattress.  It was very comfortable, but sharing a three foot tall air mattress is an interesting business.  Because when the other person gets up, it feels as if you've just been deserted on the teeter-totter.

On Saturday, we went to breakfast at IHOP.  In Harlem.  No, Bill Clinton was not there.  I was surprised too.

Then we went to the Natural History Museum.  They have a suggested donation of $15.  They phrase it that way too: "Fifteen dollars is suggested."  Do you think people make them counter-offers?  "I suggest two dollars."  Could they argue with you? 

They have lots and lots of taxidermied animals, which makes it feel, as Vanessa pointed out, like you're walking through a zoo where everything is dead.  Less action perhaps, but none of that pesky animal stank.

After we left, we were quite sleepy and decided to seek out some caffeine.  And a Jolt employee boy on the street just handed us this:

 

Which just goes to prove that old adage: you should never drink things handed to you by strangers, you giant idiot.  It tasted like the syrup at the bottom of a blue snow cone and I still needed a latte in order to be any semblance of awake.

And then I died and went to food heaven.  Also known as Little Italy.

I honestly don't know how many chocolate cannoli I ate.  I tried to buy six, but when I said I wanted half and half of the two kinds of filling, the woman took that to mean six of each and I left with twelve cannoli, which we had for dessert and breakfast and dessert and breakfast and...you get the idea.

On Sunday Angela and I went to Sharon's wedding.  Which will get a whole post of its own.  Tomorrow-ish.

And when we got back, there had been an addition to Jon and Vanessa's family.  His name is Jasper and he is oddly fascinating.

And then, Internet, I fulfilled one of the three goals that I set for myself to accomplish before this upcoming birthday.  These goals were: get a job in my chosen field, skydive, and try Korean food.  I still have about a month on that job thing and skydiving continues to be put off until I have some good health insurance, but I have officially tried Korean food.  Mmmm...dumpling soup.

On Monday, I left and spent over 10 hours in airports and on planes going from New York to Chicago, Chicago to Nashville, and Nashville to San Antonio.  Every one of my flights were delayed and I seemed to have been perpetually seated in the Passengers With Crying Children section by mistake.  The best thing I can report from that trip is that none of those planes crashed.  But I got there and things happened and I will post about those things...eventually.

Start spreading the news

I'm leaving August 3 / I've got to be a part of it for a day and a half or so / New York, New York.

I haven't been to New York in three years, which obviously is unacceptable.  Sharon has been kind enough to get married in New Jersey this summer, giving me the perfect excuse to go.  What a pal. 

I'll get to the City Friday evening and spend Saturday there before leaving for the Garden State on Sunday for the noon wedding.  If I can get a double chocolate cannoli, some gnocci a la vodka, and a frozen hot chocolate in during that time, I will consider my trip a success.  (Ha!  I said A double chocolate cannoli!  As if I am only going to eat one!)  And, you know, Central Park, a Broadway show, and whatnot. 

I'm pretty excited about Sharon's wedding too.  Not only because I have never before seen Sharon in a dress, although that certainly sweetens the pot.  Mostly because Sharon has promised that this will be quite the cultural experience for me.  While I have attended roughly one million weddings, they have all been of a Christian persuasion.  This will be my first ever Jewish wedding and Sharon tells me that they are doing it "really Jewishly".  Awesome.

And then I leave New York the next day to fly to yet another wedding, this one in San Antonio.  In August.  So pleasant.  Sadly, I will not be flying for free, courtesy of the flight vouchers that Sharon generously offered me seeing as how Air Tran would only fly me to Dallas or Houston.  Stupid Air Tran.  Yeah, I said it.  But I will be dressed for free for this wedding since the red dress will be making its third trip down the aisle.  It is the Liz Taylor of bridesmaid dresses.

This wedding will also represent a new experience for me since it will be my first go at being a maid of honor.  There aren't, like, cleaning responsibilities associated with that, right?  Being maid of honor means that I will have fulfilled pretty much every female wedding role there is, except for bride.  I have also been a flower girl, rice girl (I handed out packets of bird seed), guest book attendant, reader, and bridesmaid.  If there were wedding action figures, I would have collected them all.

My second maid of honor experience will follow shortly thereafter at Amy's wedding in September.  Affording me the opportunity to fly to Portland, visit two new states (Oregon and Washington) and finally see the Pacific Ocean!

Really I am pretty much happy to be flying anywhere.  No matter how happy I may be with wherever I may live, I have a compulsive need to leave it fairly regularly.  But if my next friend who wants me to come to her wedding could get married in, say, Greece, all the better.

Painting the town pale pink or perhaps a nice shade of mauve

I thought that maybe I wouldn't be able to get this post to you until afternoon.  After all, I have been gone from work for five days now.  Surely some things would have stacked up.  Ha!

Having five days in a row off was pretty outstanding.  Having Katie to hang out with was also pretty stellar.  And we even got to do some fun Austin stuff that I hadn't quite made it around to yet.  All in all, quite the long weekend.

We focused our efforts in a few key areas: talking, shopping, eating, drinking, and Trivial Pursuit.  (It is not important here to note that I won two out of three games.  The important thing is that we had a good time and learned new and different useless information.  Also that I did not lose as much as she did.)  All of the talking made me realize how little I generally talk in the course of a day.  Not that I am not generally hyperverbal in the form of lots and lots of emails, but talking out loud, not so much.  My throat was actually sore by Thursday night.  Good thing I planned ahead and had something soothing on hand, for medicinal purposes.

We began the first full day of Katie's visit with a pilgrimage up I-35 to that venerable Austin landmark, Ikea.  Ok, really I just needed to go to Ikea and I imagined that going in the middle of the day on a weekday would mean that I-35 wouldn't be overly infuriating.  I was, of course, wrong about that, but Ikea was lovely as was its neighbor, the Round Rock outlets.  We dined at that noted Austin eatery, Ikea.

But day two!  Oh Internet, day two was an Austin extravaganza!  The UT campus!  LBJ Presidential Library!  The capitol!  The bats!  Lunch with Willie Nelson!  Ok that last one is not true!  But I did finally get to see the animatronic LBJ.

And then we ate at Cuba Libre, where the mirror in the ladies' room told Katie what she already knew.

Saturday was more shopping, but this time in hip and trendy SoCo.  Also Target and Walmart, but shut up, Internet, I had errands to get done and a Walmart giftcard from work which I would like to use on storage ottomans which I was hoping they would have in the store but which you can apparently only get online.  Katie bought some really cute shoes in a cute shop on South Congress which, when contrasted with the less cute but more walk-home-from-work appropriate shoes I got at the outlet, really just highlight the difference between us.

That photo also really highlights the way that my feet are three sizes larger.  Outstanding.  And yet, Katie's choice of airplane reading material, when placed next to what was on top of my mail pile proves that we're not so different after all.

Then came Saturday night.  We had plans for Saturday night.  Plans to dress up and curl our hair and hit the town for drinks!  In bars!  With people!  I think it was around the time that we were both falling asleep in our Thai food that we decided that pajamas and Trivial Pursuit were ever more appealing.  I would apologize for disappointing you and yet I do not sense that you are surprised.  I should emphasize here that there were chocolate peanutbutter bars at home.  You try talking yourself into going out under such circumstances.

I would just like to point out here that I was called a geek for turning on the History Channel after What Not to Wear was over on Saturday night.  I was called a geek by a person who was, at the time, reading a Newsweek.  I pointed out that if she watched more educational television, perhaps she wouldn't lose at Trivial Pursuit so much.

It was a good thing we stayed in since we needed our rest for Sunday!  So that Katie could get some Culver's frozen custard in.  (In true Katie fashion, she actually thought to check online ahead of time so that we could schedule our meal there to coincide with the best flavor of the day.  She's a planner.)  And so that we could go to the mall with Amy and also spend time reading in the sunshine in the back yard.  And, um, play more Trivial Pursuit.  And, uh, wow is that really all we did on Sunday?  I think there might have been a lot of HGTV.

So, ok, we needed our rest for yesterday when we covered ourselves in 45 spf sunblock and headed out to Barton Springs.  It is a natural spring and therefore VERY COLD.  Good thing it is already hot as hell here in Austin.  Katie and I took our time, inching forward and keeping each other posted about how we felt about the coldness of the water.  Roughly one hour later, we were in up to our shoulders (if I am exaggerating the time, it is not by much).  I would show you how tan I've gotten except you wouldn't believe that this current skin tone represents "tan" unless I showed you my tan lines and this is a family blog.  Sort of.

We later rewarded ourselves for our hard work with Mexican food and large margaritas.  One of us had a trendy frozen pomegranate margarita and while I promised not to name names, I will tell you that it was not me.  By the time we got home, Amy had freshly baked chocolate chip cookies cooling, and thank goodness, because we had finished the chocolate peanutbutter bars and had been suffering a critical shortage of homemade sweets for upwards of twelve hours.  (Amy: are you sure you do not want to move to Madison with me?)

I took Katie to the airport very early this morning while making every effort not to speed so that I would not be pulled over in my pajamas.  She had work with her and has no doubt already accomplished more work while on the plane than I will have to do all day. 

Seeing as how I have lately become unaccustomed to being awake at such a barbaric hour as it is now (10:30 am) and I therefore cannot think of a conclusion for this post and my public is anxiously awaiting an update (by "my public" I of course mean "Sharon") I will just say that it was a completely marvelous weekend and now I must go and caffeinate myself.  For tonight it is the finale of Gilmore Girls and Amy and I have tasked ourselves with finishing the bottle of vodka.  Perhaps some of Katie's goal-orientedness has rubbed off on me after all.

Bringing Sexy Back

So what if Amy is not getting married until September?  She leaves Texas next month, so we moved the bachelorette party up just a tad.

 

We had dinner at the house, Amy opened presents, and then we headed downtown.  I have to say that when you've known someone this long:

it is a little bizarre to then be buying that person a devil horn veil and other racy items.

 

But when you've known someone that long, it makes it all the less surprising that the person will accept a dare involving dancing on a platform, even if there is no one else on the dance floor at the time.

Sorry about the photo quality.  It was real foggy in there. 

That place gave us a free bottle of champagne for being a bachelorette group.  I have to recommend that on any girls' night out, one of you wear a cheesy veil.  It pays for itself in no time.

I also recommend, if at all possible, going out to bars with your twin sister.  It really messes with the drunk guys.

Hmmm...I am realizing that there is not so much else that I can actually tell you about Saturday night.  I will tell you that the person who sustained a post-bars walking down the street injury was, for once, not me.  I will also say big love to Melissa for being our d.d.  Way to take one for the team.  A note to all of the kids out there: always designate a driver and if she drives a Lexus, so much the better.

Anyway, here's to the happy couple.  Joe, best of luck to you and your blushing bride.

Happy, happy wedding, Amy.   (Please remember that if you kill me for posting this photo, you'll have no maid of honor and will have to get married at the prison instead of Mt. Hood.  AND you'll have to pay the entire May rent.  Is it really worth it?)

I don't really like to talk about my flair.

Count 'em - 15 pieces.

Lisa, Jenny, and Krystal hosted a party on Saturday which required guests to dress as a character from a movie. 

Here, Krystal demonstrates that a side ponytail is practical AND stylish.  I bet she's going to get some good use out of that imitation Caboodle. 

I didn't get a photo of Jenny, who in a bold move, went as Jenny.  From Forrest Gump, that is.

Remember how Penelope Cruz wore glasses in Sahara to demonstrate that she was a scientist?  Melissa wore my glasses on her head to demonstrate that she was Penelope Cruz in Sahara.  Based on this photo, you would have no idea that Melissa is suffering from The Plague.  People should not be allowed to look better sick than I do well.

Lisa went as Elle Woods from Legally Blonde.  I think she just wanted to look nicer than the rest of us.  Unfortunately, she was not able to convince either cat to dress up as a purse dog.

There you can see Matt and Marcus in the background.  Matt came as John Wayne and Marcus as an Urban Cowboy.  They quickly learned that showing up together dressed as cowboys would lead to innumerable Brokeback Mountain jokes.

Fewer people got Amy's costume, which is unfortunate since it was brilliant.  She is Olive from Little Miss Sunshine.  The resemblance in uncanny, except for the extra three feet in height.

And you?  Who would you have dressed up as, had you only been so fortunate as to have been invited?  Maybe you'll try a little harder next year.  We are not above bribes.

Give it away, give it away, give it away now.

Last Saturday was the Second Annual Post-Christmas Regifting Party.  Once again, there were some craptastic gifts to be had.  Let's start with mine, shall we?  I received this:

Yes, an entire CD of the Macarena!  It is non stop, people!  Eight entire versions of the Macarena.  And can you read there in the yellow where it says that it contains the longest version of the Macarena?  Because if you're anything like me, all of these years you have been thinking if only the Macarena were darn near eight minutes in length!  Now, my friends, that dream has become a reality.

But the hits just keep on coming!  If you read this post, then you know that Jenny had a spare wedding dress lying around, which she included with several other lovely items in the gift bag that she offered.  Seeing as how Amy just got engaged, she was very excited to try it on.  All set for your wedding, Amy!

The rest of the more, eh...interesting gifts of the evening shared a common theme.  I bring you the religious regifts of 2007:

Yes, that's right.  This candle has the aroma of Christ.  How does Christ smell, Blake?

Yikes!  Perhaps when it comes to religious gifts, it's better to stick with a nice action figure.  I suspect you can have this one when you pry it from Matt's cold dead hands.

It even comes complete with stats.  Moses had a terrible ERA.

And finally, a little light reading for Melissa:

Oh, comically bad gifts, how you never cease to entertain us!  And what did I regift?  I'll never tell.

Vegas, baby! Shibuya!

We arrived in Vegas Thursday night, immediately greeted on the way to our hotel room by two drunk guys shouting "Hello, hot chicks!"  We felt sure that we would enjoy our stay here.

Then, Friday morning, the two Hollys met.

The space-time continuum was not disrupted, so we celebrated with sightseeing and overpriced Starbucks.  That night there was a wedding rehearsal which was blessedly short as it was outdoors in the 20-something windchill.  Afterward we ate and drank.  And drank.  And possibly sent some text messages.  Oops!

Saturday was the wedding.  So I got my hair done.

It cost $75 and so let us look at it from another angle.

I think, for that price, we should all keep on admiring it.

Then Holly and Adam got married.  And ate cake.

 

After the reception, we changed clothes and went to the Big Apple Bar at New York, New York. 

 

Where the waitress asked me, despite the fact that I was sitting between two girls, whether I was the one who got married.  Then she carded me.  Apparently I appeared to be some sort of child bride who was in a pretty good mood after having been already deserted by her brand new husband.

Drinky

Drink

Drunk

Then, no longer minding about the cold, we walked to the Bellagio to see the fountain.

On the way back to New York, New York, I fell directly on my ass.  Holly and I were walking arm in arm at the time, so either I am a kind drunk and let go of her or she is a mean one and let go of me.  Not only were the red apple martinis interfering with my already subpar coordination skills, I was wearing irresponsible shoes and there was water on the sidewalk and one of those Slippery When Wet cones.  Normally this would have been a little humiliating, but there on the Strip I think it just really made me fit in.  So no harm done to my pride but I think I may have cracked my tailbone.  It didn't hurt until late the next day, but then it sure did make the two and a half hour plane ride less fun than it otherwise might have been.

Then back at our hotel, we watched The Dynamite Band.

 

Which was truly hilarious.  The Violent Femmes a la Kip.  Madonna as performed by Deb.  Good times.  Sadly, you can't see Deb's fanny pack in that photo or really see Napoleon on drums at all. 

When I woke up Sunday morning, I discovered that the $75 hair had not moved.  Naturally, I documented this for you.

While I am apparently not quite awake enough to be bothered with opening both eyes all the way, there is obviously no hangover.  Amy thinks it has to do with the extra oxygen pumped into the casinos, but I think I finally just learned my damn lesson about drinking enough water.  Either way, yay!

After removing 38 bobby pins and using an entire bottle of hotel shampoo, I was back to regular hair in time for sight-seeing.  SA roommate Holly and I visited many hotels on the Strip, including the MGM Grand, where we discovered a restaurant bearing the name that is our new favorite exclamation.

Shibuya!

That evening, we returned to our hotel for dinner before leaving for the airport.  We decided, what the hell, we would have steak since really what was a few more dollars and a little more cholesterol at that point.  We had spent the weekend discovering what the Vegas slogan really ought to be: What happens in Vegas stays ON YOUR ASS.  Seeing as how we had only each gambled $1 (we lost), the bulk of our Vegas experience revolved around empty calories.  Apparently we still looked good enough for the drunk men of the Orleans casino, judging by my favorite pick-up line of the weekend: "Hey!  I'm single!"  Can't imagine why, drunk guy, with smooth lines like that.

Then we came home. 

The end Shibuya!

Tonight we're gonna party like it's 1979

It's that time of the year again, folks.  That's right, company holiday party time!  This year was exciting for me since it was my very first fancypants big deal office holiday party.  Twice I went to work for companies that had previously had huge and legendary bashes every year, right up until the year that I started working there.  Then both instituted cost-cutting measures that led them to scale back to an on-site during the work day wine/beer/appetizer event.  So we got to leave our desks for a little while and socialize on company time, but it's not quite the same, is it?  Then for the past couple of years I was working at a business so small that our holiday party was a potluck held at the home of one of my coworkers.  Which was nice, but you know, lacking in fancypants accoutrements.

Then I got my invitation to this year's party: dinner, casino tables, a live band, FABULOUS PRIZES!  And the attire was listed as cocktail/holiday, giving me an excuse to finally wear the little black dress that had been passed on to me by my sister.  (One of two that she gave me, actually.  Need another fancypants event.)  I was also looking forward to the annual tradition of watching someone make a drunken idiot of himself, possibly by repeatedly embracing the CEO or by engaging in frequent and extensive PDAs with a date who was generally assumed to have been paid for her services.  Unfortunately, this year was drunken embarrassment free.  I considered filling the void myself, but the two drink tickets I was issued didn't quite do the trick there and I did not even see the CEO around.  Nor did I have the foresight to bring a prostitute to the party.  Foiled again.

But I did have the chance to practice gambling just in time for my rapidly approaching trip to Vegas.  I won big, Internet!  And let me tell you, if only my winnings had one single thing to do with skill or luck on my part, I would be feeling very confident about my ability to gamble my way to financial freedom.  But no.  The thing was, these dealers were being exceptionally generous to all of us, it not being actual money and all.  I, in particular though, could not lose with the one dealer.  And he possibly also dropped some extra chips in front of me when he walked by later.  Yes, the theory was advanced that perhaps he could see down my dress, but I don't really think that was the case.  Maybe he was just hoping that I would amend the drunken humiliation scene to insert "blackjack dealer" into the role of "working girl".  Sadly, I don't think just being the blondest girl at the table or the only one in a strapless dress is going to have the same effect in Vegas.  Not that it did me much good anyway because I still did not "win" enough to get any fabulous prizes at all.

Then there was the live band.  Oh, readers, the band.  I will say this for them: they committed.  They were doing cheesy covers of unfortunate 70s music but did this stop them from dancing around and really getting into it?  It did not.  Even when covering Air Supply.  Now that is showing some dedication to one's craft.

All in all, quite the evening.  You just can't beat some free wine, easy gambling, and the chance to watch your coworkers stuff themselves into dresses and dance around to the dulcet tones of a Carpenters cover.  Here's to you, office holiday party!  May your bands always be cheesy, your casino dealers dishonest, and your pants extra double special fancy.

In which it is revealed that I am a party animal

Ok, that is not true.  I am no kind of party animal nor (as this post may imply) am I an accomplished drinker.  But I did go out two entire times this weekend!  And consume margaritas all three days!  I know!  BEAT THAT, INTERNET!

On Friday, Lissa was in town to meet up with some college friends.  And since they are all happily coupled, she asked me to go along, and who am I to force a fellow single girl to go alone into an all couple social situation?  Plus she said she'd buy my drinks.  Starting of course with margaritas with dinner.  Followed by drinks at a bar which included, I kid you not, Jell-O shots.  I would have thought that there would be some sort of age ceiling on Jell-O shots at which point a person is too old to consume them.  Maybe it is 30.

The getting carded situation has developed a new wrinkle and I am not sure how to take it.  See, I still always get carded but now the bouncer/waitress/bartender looks SHOCKED upon seeing my birthdate.  Taken aback even.  Like the girl at CompUSA who kept remarking at how good my laptop looks for being SO CRAZY OLD!  (It is almost 4.)  Apparently all of the trips to Starbucks have kept my laptop and I extremely well preserved.  I guess that is only on the outside though, since my laptop is not currently working.  And clearly neither am I!

Anyway, Lissa informed me that Saturday night was Matt’s Bottomless Margarita Party, which we had been eagerly anticipating ever since Matt, having found out that a person can rent a margarita machine, decided to host such an event.  So I not only left my house on Saturday, I drove all the way to San Antonio!

(Short digression: While en route to SA, I was tailgated by a black Dodge Magnum which then proceeded to weave lanes, flagrantly tailgate everyone else and still not get any farther than me.  As I passed him while he was driving less than two feet off the bumper of the car in front of him, I was compelled to shout YOU ARE AN UNSAFE DRIVER!  Ooooh, that showed him!  Stay on my good side, Internet, lest I unleash such a caustic verbal tirade on you!)

I drove to Lisa and Krystal’s house to do my hair, pet the cats, and scam a ride downtown.  We arrived at Matt the Lawyer’s urban hipster loft where there were chips and queso and the margaritas flowed like wine!  Except frozen!  And from a machine!  So they flowed more like soft serve ice cream, but probably wouldn’t have been good in a cone.  Or with Lucky Charms on top, which is a dessert that I invented in college thanks to the proximity of the soft serve machine to the cereal dispensers.  Magically delicious!

There's no good story behind last night's margarita consumption.  Amy and I are still working our way through the leftovers from my Birthday party.  Apparently we vastly overestimated our friends' lushiness.  And since pre-mixed margaritas are a terrible thing to waste, we are now doing our part to reduce waste in Austin by finishing the bottle.  Bottoms up!

In which "drove a tank" is not a euphemism for anything.

I really did drive a tank once.

A friend of mine in college, Jason, was in the National Guard.  His unit was having a recruiting day and Jason invited me as well as our friends Heath and Kathy.  You should know that by inviting us, Jason was in no way advocating that we actually join the National Guard.  See, during Basic Training Jason developed some sort of foot problem which the Army doctors decided would be best treated by removing both of his big toenails.  I don't care who you are, that procedure is going to sour your military experience.  Anyway, Jason invited us knowing that in order to persuade us to join up, the Fort Atkinson National Guard was going to let us drive its tank.

So Jason and some buddies arrived at our dorms in a camouflage Humvee that Saturday morning to pick us up.  We were shown to the recruiter's office and he started out by asking Heath, Kathy, and I why we were interested in joining the Guard.  Crickets chirped, tumbleweeds rolled through the office, and finally I answered "to get money for college!"  Heath and Kathy audibly exhaled and then agreed.  Yes, Sir we were there for the college money. 

The recruiter went into his spiel which included explaining to us that we could be helicopter pilots in just 52 weeks!  Now, my math skills are certainly not what you might call "top notch" but even I realize that 52 weeks equals one year.  Is this fooling people?  Are there really folks three months into pilot school thinking, "Dagnabit, I thought sure I'd be a pilot by now!"

Then he asked Heath whether he liked to blow things up.  Heath surprised us all by answering no, he didn't really like to blow things up.  When I asked him about that later, Heath told me that if he'd said yes, the guy would have put him in the Infantry.  Yes, Heath, except WE'RE NOT ACTUALLY JOINING.  We kept a close eye on him after that, just to make sure he didn't accidentally sign anything.

So after our meeting with the recruiter, we got to throw some fake grenades and play a video game with a fake bazooka, and then finally it was the moment for which we had gotten out of our dorm loft beds before noon on a Saturday...time to drive the tank.  Actually I believe it was called an Armored Personnel something (Vehicle?  Carrier?  I don't know.)  We were loaded up standing in the back of the tank and given helmets and then driven through residential Fort Atkinson to a park.  And then they let us drive.

Heath went first and then I think I was next.  It's a pretty bizarre experience since you can't actually see where you're going.  Jason stood behind us and told us which way to go, when to speed up, slow down, etc.  It was fun.  Or at least we thought that part had been fun.  Then it was Kathy's turn to drive.

Kathy didn't have a car at college, so we hadn't realized that she was, in fact, the worst driver ever.  I know that you are thinking that I am only under the impression that Kathy was the worst driver ever because I don't know [insert name of person] whom you know is certainly a much worse driver.  I respect your opinion, and yet you would be wrong.  Kathy may be an excellent driver today (I doubt this) but we were 19 at the time and Kathy hadn't been allowed to get her license until she was 18.  And since she didn't have a car, she'd had gotten very little practice since that time.  With the result that when Kathy drove up the small hill in the park, she heeded Jason's advice to gun it going up and then ignored his advice to let off the gas at the top.

The tank was briefly airborne.  Yes.  Tank.  Airborne.  I shit you not.

Our feet left the ground and our helmets flew off.  Now that is fun in a tank.  Shortly after that, Jason told us that the neighbors had complained too much and they were no longer allowed to take people out tank driving.  I can't say for sure that it was Kathy's driving that did it, just that it is one heck of a big coincidence.

And that is the story of how I managed to drive a tank.  Coming soon...Birthday weekend photos!  I am a little disturbed now, realizing that my 30th Birthday is just 52 weeks away!  That's like, what, a couple of months?

I like cake.

This weekend I went to yet another wedding.  How do I do it?  This was my around my 30th wedding overall.  Apparently I'm a pretty popular girl among the about-to-get-married set.  And as I looked around at my friends as we danced to yet another Abba classic, I thought to myself, this is easily the 5th time I've danced to this very same song with these exact same girls.  Which is why I have nothing left to wear to these things. You San Antonio wedding people (you know who you are) will just have to deal with seeing repeat outfits from now on. 

Except I don't have another wedding until January.  It is the wedding of my friend and former DC roommate, Holly, hereafter known as the Turbo Coolest Bride in the World.  Why is Holly such a cool bride?  Well, to start with, she is getting married in Las Vegas.  (Extra points would have been awarded for a drive-thru and/or Elvis chapel, but I suppose this pretty lakeside thing will be ok too.)  I've never even been to Vegas, so I am extra double special excited about it.  Any Vegas-related tips or advice would be appreciated.  So far I've been told to get myself to the Paris bakery for some bread and if I don't hear otherwise, I may stay there for the entire non-wedding portion of my trip.  Mmmmm...baguettes.

Second, as a bridesmaid in Holly's wedding, I will be spending exactly $0 on my dress.  How is that possible, you ask! Because Holly has selected a color from David's Bridal and allowed us to choose our own dresses.  A color which my sister already has!  What are the chances of that?  Pretty good because she has them all!  And while Holly is all cool and "you can even wear it in whatever length you want" I'm thinking she didn't have "dragging several inches on the ground" in mind as an acceptable length, so there will have to be some hemming.  Or platform shoes.

But I digress.  A lot.  Back to last Friday's wedding and a picture of the cake which was baked, decorated, and constructed by my friend Jenny.  It astounds me a little that I personally know someone who is capable of doing this:

It tasted at least as good as it looked.  Maybe better.  And I bet most of you don't even know the best part of being friends with a baker, which is cake scraps.  There were three entire bowls of cake that was trimmed off this wedding cake to make it all flat and stackable.  And Jenny will let you eat these scraps with leftover frosting.  I reported for duty on Saturday afternoon.  (Warning: should you ever have the opportunity to partake of cake scraps and leftover buttercream, I guarantee that you will fill your bowl too full and as you near the bottom you will feel full and yet you will keep eating until you begin to feel quite ill and then you will KEEP EATING because it is just SO DAMN GOOD.)

Apparently cake baking is thirsty-fying work, as you can see in this picture of Jenny from the reception.

This was an especially impressive feat of wedding beverage consumption considering that it was a cash bar and Jenny only paid for one glass of wine.  The key here was to sit with a bunch of people who don't drink and then take their champagne and their wine that the waiter brought around.  Or to wait until they left the reception early and keep telling the waiter that they were there, possibly making him wonder how it was that these people appeared at the table just long enough to down a glass of champagne and then disappear before he came back around.  So maybe he thought we were sitting at a table with a bunch of cagey lushes.  In any case, free drinks were had and I was not forced to test the limits of wedding etiquette by asking if I could open a tab on my credit card.

So the wedding was a huge success, cake-, booze-, and dancing-wise.  Oh, and two nice people got married.  And here's to the bride and groom, now home in their large apartment in Manhattan.  May you have a long and happy life together and always let me sleep on your couch in New York for free.  Cheers!

To the batcave! Er...bridge.

Last week Amy's mom visited.  So we went here.  Voluntarily!

We did not realize that we would require supplies to stand around for 20 minutes watching bats fly.

Or that we should have dressed for picking up men!  Bats--the most romantic of the flying mammals!

Then the bats came out.

Lots and LOTS of bats!

Bats that peed on Amy's arm!

Oooh, they are spooky after dark!

 

I foolishly assumed that there was no need for insect repellent in a place surrounded by 1.5 million (seriously one and a half million!) bats.  Did I get a mosquito bite?  No, I got five.  Thanks a lot, bats.  I was actually a little concerned that they may dive-bomb me due to the mosquito swarm that had apparently enveloped me.

In unrelated news, I started the temp gig today.  Data entry, no problem.  The only thing is, the desk is so tall that in order to get in proper typing position, I have to have the chair so high up that my feet don't touch the floor.  Tres professional.  Also, I was told that I could bring my i-pod or mp3 player since the entering of the numbers gets a bit tedious.  But my mp3 player is broken, so tomorrow I will be kicking it old school with a discman!  A discman with a busted cover thanks to a treadmill incident.  Corporate ladder, here I come!

Holiday Weekend Photo Montage! (subtitled: Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater, too lazy to write an actual post)

Did you have a good long weekend, everybody?  I did!  First there was the luau:

With fancy food

and the limbo!

Here I am with my soon-to-be-roommate Amy

Gee golly I look short next to her.  Always have.  And then Sunday night there was farewell drinking at a nearby pub.  See how Amy and I, responsible designated drivers, are finishing a night of responsible drinking with very responsible ice water?

And Monday, the Memorial Day party, where normally we shake our heads as the boys injure themselves on the slip 'n slide. 

This year, for some reason, it was quite enjoyable.

What else did I do this weekend?  Oh yeah.

That vacuum there is a piece of history, kids.  Genuine vintage stuff.  It still has the sticker that says Thrift Town - Tested, Works NO GUARANTEE.  Yes, it makes a squeaky noise and sometimes smells like burning, but it works better than either of the two twenty-first century vacuums in our household.  And right in front, you see the final two boxes, the ones marked "Random."  I really wasn't kidding about that.  Add to that massive pile two end tables, one ottoman, one red table, and an inherited bedroom set complete with the world's largest dresser, and there you have my rather outrageously large collection of stuff.  Thankfully, we found out today that we've been approved to rent the house for which we applied, so we're good to go and as of Saturday will be doing our part to keep Austin weird.  (As opposed to what I've been doing here, namely my part to keep San Antonio fat.  Because the last I knew, we were neck and neck with Houston for Nation's Fattest City honors.  If I had my own restaurant or bakery here I would absolutely have bumper stickers made with the name and the catch phrase "Keep San Antonio Fat."  And now if you'll pardon me, I have to go trademark that phrase, just in case.  Because did I already get a google hit for animatronic LBJ?  Yes, I did.)

Oh, and last night was meatloaf night at my parents' house, which, yes, Amy, Holly, and I drove over thirty minutes for.  Laugh if you want, but it's really excellent meatloaf.  Sadly, I have no photos of that to share.

The Lion King: Now with Flying Sex!

We'll get to that in a minute.

Melissa called me yesterday morning (woke me up as a matter of fact, which I didn't end up minding since it turned out not to be Work calling to say "you have a student here waiting and despite the fact that no one told you that you had to come in early for a new student that we put on your schedule without telling you we are wondering why you are not here.") to ask me if I wanted a free ticket to see the Lion King with her.  And I said, "heck yes!" or the just-woke-up equivalent of "mmmmmm hmmmmm."  Turned out that she had also asked my sister Lisa and so we all convened at Melissa's at 7pm for our night at the theater (to be pronounced THEATAH!)

There we all were in our lovely black dresses or skirt ensembles.  Despite lugging my camera around all night, I took not one single picture, so you have no visual representation of the awesomeness that was my hair or of my skirt, which I used to wear to work at Ann Taylor and was constantly asked whether we had it in stock and I restrained myself from saying, "HECK NO!  I got this at SEARS on CLEARANCE for SEVENTEEN DOLLARS!"  Take that Ann Taylor and your $90 skirts!  (I don't mean it Ann Taylor!  You know I love you and your pretty pretty things that I can no longer afford without your rather generous employee discount!)

Anyway, we were all prettified and classed up for our big night out at the theatah which we proved by hitting up the concession stand at intermission for margaritas and peanut M&Ms.  Well, Melissa hit the concession stand while I stood in the never-ending line of eternal waiting for the ladies' room.  And to no avail because they started playing the warning mini-xylophone before I was even within sight of the entrance and so I gave up and went back to my seat to conduct my traditional scanning of the playbill to see what percentage of the actors list any franchise of Law & Order among their credits.  As usual, the answer was "most of them."

Before I get on with the mocking, I will say that yes, the Lion King is everything that you have heard: visually stunning, amazing costumes, excellent actors (including the kids playing young Nala and Simba) , and incredible music including the new songs added to the stage show.  Although there was one new song that the hyenas sang titled Chow Down which I believe Elton John probably wrote in about three minutes while waiting in the drive-thru at Burger King and jonesing for a Whopper.  All in all though, it's a thing to behold and you should go.

But yes, there were Chippendale hyenas dancing around with bare chests and several interestingly placed rips in their leotards.  Which seemed a little scandalous until the Can You Feel the Love Tonight scene in which three couples in exceedingly scanty outfits (as in bare butt cheeks, etc.) with strategically placed flowers or ribbons floated around and generally looked as if they were...you know.  Which I thought was a little distracting from the whole lion story.  However, the baboon was excellent throughout.

And after the show, we walked up six flights of stairs (in heels!) at the parking garage in order to avoid spending the night in line for the elevator.  (Which reminds me that a guy in my college screenwriting class was writing a movie script entitled "Line People" about the group of people waiting in line for a concert or something.  Sounds riveting, right?  Mine, on the other hand, was pure cinematic gold!  Unfortunately, we only had to write the first act for the class, so of course I never finished it.)

Which brings me to a completely unrelated topic and a question that I have for you, the Internet.  I am applying for a writing-related job for which I need to send an essay in lieu of resume.  This essay must be 500 words or less.  Let's say that I feel I have completed the essay in a mere 224 words.  Will this appear "terse" and "efficient" or "lazy" and "half-assed" do you think?  Little help here?

Note: credit for the title of this post goes to Lisa, from whom I can rip these things off since she has no blog of her own.

I rolled the mark of the beast, now give me my prize.

On Friday, I attended a mother-daughter salad night/Bunco tournament at my parents' church.  I thus fulfilled my yearly recommended allowance of Miracle Whip and learned a new game, which turned out to be easy enough since there are very few rules and no skill whatsoever involved with Bunco.  Which, of course, did not stop some of the women from treating it as if it were the International Championships of Chess and from letting me know that they forgave me if I had a bad roll of the dice as if I had any control over it at all.

Bunco, for those of you who don't know is a dice game in which a point is earned every time you roll a six.  You roll three dice and if at least one is a six, you get to keep rolling.  When you and your partner have earned a combined total of 21 points, you win.  You can earn six points in one roll by rolling a Bunco, which is three sixes.  That's right.  The ultimate goal of the game is to roll 6-6-6.  And here we were, a bunch of Lutherans, earning prizes for doing just that.  Even the children!

I'll have you know that I indicated my strong disapproval by doing very badly, and yet I was rewarded for being one of the least-winning participants.  In fact, I won a very nice set of wine glasses (yay Lutherans!) for rolling just one Bunco and winning a mere four games of, I don't know, 80 or 90 played.

And apparently, this goes way beyond the Lutherans!  My sister played this same devil game at her Evangelical Free church!  And my mom plays at her senior citizen subdivision!  I'm pretty sure that Bunco appears in Revelation or, at the very least, one of the Left Behind novels.  Can the apocalypse be far behind?

So don't say I didn't warn you.  But if you do decide to risk your eternal soul, make sure to scope out the prizes ahead of time so you can make a beeline for the wine glasses before another player or perhaps the Whore of Babylon scoops them up.

And in case of rapture, this blog will be unmanned.

When One Punk Is More Punks Than Enough

Did you want to hear a story about an interesting person I met in Europe last year?  Good!  Because nothing interesting at all is happening in my current life!

So there Angela and I were on an overnight train from Paris to Berlin.  We walked into our tiny little compartment where we found a middle aged and (as it turned out) extremely uptight Polish woman.  She spoke some English and was telling us about having been in Paris visiting a friend but how with George W. Bush as U.S. President it's not really safe for a woman to travel alone.  Angela and I, no great fans of the President and ready to assign a multitude of problems to him, couldn't quite lay that one at his door.  But we kept chatting as we waited for the train to depart, all hoping very much that we three would have the compartment to ourselves.

Enter Julian.  He was roughly 6'4, wearing black boots, black pants, and a black t-shirt.  And his long black hair smelled as if it hadn't been washed this millennium.  Julian had his walkman with him and a backpack full of batteries and tapes.  Cassette tapes.  (No shampoo was mentioned.)  Julian asked us to guess his age, which Angela did correctly: 22.  When he asked how she knew, I believe her exact words were "all guys like you are 22."

Julian asked how we liked Paris.  We loved it! we told him.  Julian hated Paris.  He had only been there for a day, just waiting for his chance to get on a train to Berlin.  He'd come from his home in Canada to Europe on a 1-year open ticket for the purpose of going to Berlin to look for a trailer park that he'd heard about which was rumored to be populated by 900 punks.  This was Julian's entire plan.  Ask around about the trailer park with the 900 punks.  Then go there, assuming it exists.

Julian's only concern with this plan was the problem of Nazis.  He asked the Polish lady (visibly squirming by this point) whether there were still a lot of Nazis in Berlin.  She was horrified by this idea and explained that all of the Nazis were either dead or in South America by now.  As Julian continued to question her, she got more flustered, claimed not to understand his English, then finally got up and told us that she was going to visit a friend in another compartment, which was of course code for "get away from scary Julian."

On this point, we also differed with our Polish friend.  Julian, while somewhat irritating and also smelly, did not seem dangerous in the least.  Sure, he'd had his brushes with the law.  In fact, Julian might still be blissfully living in the woods in Oregon or riding the American rails all hobo-like were he not prevented from further U.S. travel by outstanding warrants in several states.  But these were mostly mooning- and marijuana possession-related.  Julian is a pot-smoker, not a fighter.

By the time the ticket agent had come around, Julian had hatched a sure-fire plan for seeing Europe on the cheap: he would not buy any more train tickets.  At all.  Because by the time they check the tickets, you're out of the city where you started and what are they going to do but kick you out at the next stop?  Julian thus figured that when he got tired of punk park living, he could just freeload from stop to stop all the way to Norway.  Good plan, Julian.

At some point along the way, while walking around the train, Julian made a German friend and they made a plan to meet up later to smoke pot together.  Maybe he'll go smoke pot and forget where his compartment is! we thought.  No such luck since the smoke pot locale they had chosen was our compartment.  Angela put her foot down at this point, and they were forced to leave, but shortly returned.  As did our Polish friend as seats in the rest of the train had filled. 

Julian's friend turned out to be much more interesting and (dare I say) intelligent than our Julian and he filled us in on the political atmosphere in Germany.  Apparently Julian's fear of Nazis was not unfounded as there was a neo-Nazi movement among young people upset about immigration and unemployment.  He repeatedly urged Julian to "look where you're going."  Sadly, he had no information on the trailer park.

Julian's friend left as we were joined by a fifth ticketed passenger who really could have been a German-speaking Ralph Lauren model based on his looks and clothing.  So he and Julian didn't seem likely to hit it off.  As we approached Brussels, Julian expressed some interest in seeing it and we teamed up to urge him to hop off.  Carpe diem!  No time like the present!  We've heard there's a punk tent city there, Julian!  No dice.

And then we tried to sleep.  And Julian decided the best plan would be for him to stretch out on the floor.  So he did.  The remaining four of us tried to sleep curled up on the seats, including our poor model friend who had to be at least 6 feet tall and considerably less curl-able than we females.  So it was a long night.

And now we hope Julian is living in punk bliss in a nice German trailer.  Maybe he's even made it all the way to Norway.  But probably he's in German jail for something.  Look where you're going, Julian.  And for the love of God, wash your hair.

The Great Outdoors

Oh readers, I am peeling.  Really just on my shoulders and more so on my right than left.  But my how it itches.

But on to camping.  We camped at this lake.

Seriously, how are you supposed to see the sign if you can't see THE LAKE?!?!

Due to the dry and windy conditions, there was a burn ban keeping us from having a real camp fire, but we did manage to make s'mores over the grill.  Some people may have also eaten several Nutterbutters and Peanutbutter Oreos too.  And Cookie Crisp for breakfast.  I heard that those same people may have played MASH when they discovered that it was too windy to play cards.

Our accommodations were rather cozy with three people to each rather tiny tent.  And we shared a campground with many young and rude people who insisted on talking just inches outside our tent until the wee hours of the morning.  It's possible that the sleep deprivation may have affected our judgement.

If you ask Melissa, I'm sure she'll tell you the story behind this look.

So sorry if you were expecting zany stories involving wacky wildlife.  The trip was pleasantly zaniness-free aside from a flesh-eating bacteria scare.  Well, really only one person was scared and the trouble spot seems to have normalized.  I for one am glad to be back in civilization with a junebug-free bathroom.  But I do kind of miss the Nutterbutters.

Thrift

A tradition started a few years ago in our singles group whereby we mark the occasion of a certain February holiday with a thrift store party.  Actually it started as a way to have some fun on the actual day, but the tricky thing about these date-sensitive holidays is that they don't stay on weekends for very long. 

Anyway, the general idea is that everyone buys a wacky outfit at a thrift store and we eat and sometimes karaoke and generally ignore the reason for the party in the first place.  Until last year when it was hosted by a couple, who having married young, completely missed that point and put up red hearts everywhere.  We even had to play a game matching famous couples. 

So this year, we were asked to host it here and we declined to do any sort of Valentine theme (except for the conversation hearts which Holly required.)  We went over to Party City to see what we could see, and here is what we came up with:

Complete with novelty red carpet.  Here I am doing my best red carpet walk in my platform shoes and Jan Brady/Wednesday Adams/Nanny McPhee outfit (that Nanny McPhee reference was not entirely appreciated--I've seen the preview.)

Here we have Holly and Melissa who appeared ready for their Dynasty catfight.

Krystal (who is not a midget--just sitting in a weird wicker chair) got this classic homemade Noah's Ark jumper, accented by the pony tail/bangs look and authentic Keds.

Amy forgot to get an outfit.  She always dresses like this since she moved to Texas.

Jumpsuits are going to be huge this spring.

Kathryn makes a rather convincing hippie, for a Republican.

Say goodnight, Lissa.

Did anyone else notice the interesting placement of those sequined flowers?  Anyway, Happy Valentines/Thank God I'm Not in a Bad Relationship Day, everybody!

Yet another reason why I could never be a rock star

But we'll get to that soon enough.  First, allow me to present a pictorial summary of my trip to the San Antonio Stock Show & Rodeo.

Rodeo Queens!  (Thanks, Jenny for letting me borrow the hat.)

First stop at the rodeo.  [Insert Brokeback Mountain joke here]

Then we found our seats.  Here is a view of the opposite corner.  See the exit sign?  No, the one above it.  Look three rows above it, and there you have where we were sitting.  Sodas were $3.75 but the oxygen masks were complimentary.  And if you look about six inches above our seats, you will see the AC vents.  Brrrrrr!

Then we saw some team roping, followed by saddle bronc riding:

And bull riding.  This particular cowboy was having a bit of a rough time.

While this one had a slightly better time of it.

And then it was time for the main event.  Keith Rural in concert.  Wait...that's Keith Urban.  Ha!

But then, there he was in all of his Keith Urban glory.  Those arms, those eyes, that hair.  Seriously, the hair.  My hair has never looked that good IN MY LIFE.  I, however, have never in my life had a mullet.  Which Keith did.  Oh yes, we saw the picture of Keith rocking a bleached-blonde mullet.  So I guess we're sort of even, hair-wise, Keith and me.

Keith reminded us many, many times that he was aware that he was in SAN ANTONIO!, TEXAS!  He managed to work one or both into each and every song he sang.  Which is yet another reason why I could never be a rock (or country) star.  I have trouble keeping track of what day it is, much less in what city on a multi-national tour I currently find myself.  I would definitely be booed off the stage for shouting the name of the wrong locale.

Here is Keith taking a walk around the perimeter of the rodeo grounds, continuing to sing and play as he, I swear, tipped his head toward the fans so they could PET HIS HAIR!

And then he got in the back of a pick-up truck with his band and rode off into the...well, not the sunset exactly since it was only about 4:30, but into the other part of the AT&T center where we could no longer see him and his lustrous flat-ironed tresses.  Goodbye, Keith.  SAN ANTONIO! misses you already.

Also, yay Steelers!  And I am available for a trip to Disney World, should any of you need a seat-mate for Space Mountain.