Explanation

I should have mentioned- that video is of my grandparents on their wedding day. And they're both still going strong, this summer will be anniversary number SIXTY SEVEN and my grandpa still calls her "my girlfriend."

My mom converted an old reel to reel tape to VHS for their 50th anniversary (in 1990!). Now that VCR's are going the way of the buffalo, I had it converted to DVD last week. And because I was feeling especially techno-savvy, I converted THAT to a .wav file so I could post on the web for those of us who are hooked up to the inter-web :)

Sooooo young!

My first YouTube experience...

Okay Anne, here's the whole story about my near miss at the spelling bee.

Well, truth be told, I didn’t come in 2^nd place in the spelling bee. Far from it. I DID however, make it to the 2nd grade class finals, and won for my class. I beat a little boy named Keith (I think that was his name…) because I seemed to be the only kid who knew that the word Grandmother did indeed, contain a “d”.

So- as the winner for my class, I got to go to the all school spelling bee, where I had to compete against 6^th graders! I knew I would have a limited lifespan from the get-go, but I did it anyway (said as if 2^nd graders really have a choice about matters of being in the school spelling bee if they make it…). My first word was “be” and I remember being paralyzed with fear, knowing that this was one of those words that could have more than one spelling. And I actually clearly remember thinking "well self, I can ask them to use it in a sentence, but that won't buy me anything but time, because I don't know which way to spell it for any particuar meaning..." After what seemed like thirty minutes of stalling, I said “…..B…….E…. Be.” Here is where I should add that I had NO idea if I got it right or not until they flashed me the little green card. I sat down and waited- petrified- for my turn to come again.

On round two, I got “House”, and I don't know if it was all the German school finally rubbing off on me, or early signs of a what would be a life of poor spelling, but I busted out a “H-A-U-S, House”. Red card. You’re out Gina. So, long story short, I didn't come in 2nd place, I simply got out on the 2nd round.

And I never spelt right again!! The End.

No More Drama in my life.

Sometimes I really love my life. Like right now. Cause while I'm sitting on my couch with a glass of wine and a good CD, about to start a new book, the sounds coming from my neighbor's place are decidedly less loving than normal. Girlfriend number one is finally starting to ask the tough questions. And I've learned that my neighbor is a very smooth liar.

Choice lines of the night: "Of course I like her, yeah I spend a lot of time with her, but we work a lot together- I spend a lot of time with everyone I work with." followed up with "Well, all you can go on is what I'm telling you, so I can't control weather you believe me or not."

I'm sure my marriage will have plenty of fights and tears in the years to come, but all I can think right now is: Being boring married girl is WAY better than being THAT girl. I'm also thinking right now how thankful I am that my husband is just as bad at lying as he is at singing. But I love his singing anyway.

Open Letters...

Snagged from Tracey’s Blog… The challenge: Write 5 open letters. People, places, objects, animals. It doesn't matter. Write 5 succinct letters and express what you can't express in person. Strangers? People you'll never see again? People you're afraid to be completely honest with? Corporations? Celebrities? Your sister's cats? Write to 'em.

Dear Monique Lhuillier,

Congratulations on becoming the next big thing in the wedding gown design world. I realized who you were when I saw a picture of a friend of a friend's wedding the other day and said "THAT's the dress I want. Can you ask here where its from?" Sadly, I then realized that all of your dresses are in the 6-10K price range, which is just so ridiculous that I could spit. No WONDER I like them so much. Even more sad is that I keep looking for other dresses that are similar, and when I finally find one, bang- your name is on the tag again. So cripes, what's a girl to do? If you think of it, could you maybe send one some of your free leftover dresses? Preferably something in Ivory (because as my friend Michelle would say "the jig is up"). And if it could be the one with the cool straps and lace overlay from the Fall 2005 collection, that would really rock. Thanks in advance, and again, congratulations, you're a star! -Yours Truly, Gina

Dear Husband,

I can't wait for you to come home! But the closer that date gets, the more I worry that I'll really have no place to put you. Really. We might have to rent out the soon-to-be vacant upstairs apartment so you'll have somewhere to put your toothbrush and razor. I hope you don't mind. And I also hope you don't mind that I might get cranky about having to pick up my things all the time... I've become re-accustomed to living alone you see and... well- I'll just do my best.

Love- Me

Dear Daphne,

What the heck is up with the snoring lately?? Seriously?? Do we need to get you some doggy Breath Right strips or something? I'm sorry that I have to drag you out to the living room by your collar in the middle of the night, but good lord dog- the snoring is shaking the house! Also- what gives with getting up in the middle of the night EVERY SINGLE NIGHT?? You manage to stay inside for 8 hours everyday without potty breaks, so why the need to poop every 4 hours once it gets dark? While I'm at it- why are you STILL scared of the nail clippers?? I've had you for what- 6 years now? Not once have I nicked you, and I've got to ask- have we ever had a nail-clipping event where copious dog treats weren't present at the end?? I don't understand why you don't salivate every time I get the clippers. So why do you still cower in the corner? I still love you very much and you're my favorite living thing in the world- in addition to the husband (but honestly, I kind of only say that so he doesn't feel bad- I'd be hard-pressed to make a decision on who to pull out of a burning building...). Love- Me

Dear Neighbor,

I know it's none of my business, but I can't help but observe that you're into serial monogamy. With two women. Meaning- two separate relationships that seem to be -outside of each other- fairly "steady."

Don't you ever just want some alone time? Do you also think that it's insane that they drive almost the exact same car? Maybe I'm just lazy, but I can't, for the life of me, imagine having the mental wherewithal to be in a relationship with TWO men at the same time. I mean, sometimes I can barely remember my OWN name and birthday. And that's MEN. And most men are EASY. WHY are you trying to make two WOMEN happy at the same time? Blech- sounds like a nightmare. If neither of them is "enough" why not just ditch them both and look for someone who is? Oooo... and if you already know in your head that girl #1 isn't floating your boat, and that's why you've taken up with girl #2, you should think about ending things with girl #1. Call me old fashioned, but it's kind of the polite thing to do. I know that means getting rid of something (or someone or maybe someones in this case) that you like. Sure, that can be scary. But as it stands now, you have NO time to date or meet anyone who might potential be your "enough" woman.

So neighbor, I give back to you something to listen to- my advice and life observation: With the right person, monogamy is fun. Go find her.

-Your Neighbor, who's trying to mind her own business, but finds it increasingly difficult with the thin walls etc

Dear Friends,

I'm just letting you all know that I'm probably not doing Christmas and/or holiday cards this year. With all of the addressing and envelope-licking of the wedding announcements, and frequent visits to the post office to mail things to Iraq, I'm just kind of over it. Please know that I do indeed with you a Happy Holidays and a safe/fun/fabulous 2007.

Love, Me

Nothing says "holidays" like... Regis Philbin?

Huh. I just discovered that Regis Philbin has a Christmas album. I've been listening to pandora.com all day today (note to self, get some headphones that don't leave ears burning in pain after a few hours. Ouch!)and got a good Christmas music station going when typing in "Christmas Island". Lots of good old timey Christmas songs (Johnny Mathis, Breda Lee etc), and then out of the blue, 'White Christmas' by Regis Philbin.

And for some weird reason, I didn't give it a thumbs down to make it go away. Is it that I'm mentally conditioned to enjoy only the cheesiest of cheesy Christmas music?

It was followed by the Carpenters (frighteningly endearing)Winter Wonderland/Silver Bells/White Christmas medley, which totally redeemed pandora.com... in my opinion at least.

So. Happy Holidays everyone. What's on your Christmas list?

"A pony" is making its 28th repeat appearance on the top of my list.

Palomino.

One of the funniest SNL sketches I've seen in a while. I like this "new" gal- I think she's been in the cast for a year or so, but I haven't been keeping track.

Go Cougs!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It's officially time to start smack talk with any and all fans of the University of Washington, as this Saturday is not just Cougar Football Saturday, but THE APPLE CUP!!

Let the jokes begin!! I'll start with this one, which I found on a delightful little spot on the world wide web called... HuskiesSuck.com.

It's the night before the Husky season opener and the Husky coach gets a call from UW's sole math professor. He tells the coach that his quarterback is academically inelgible because, shockingly enough, he missed his math final from summer session.

In true Husky fashion, the coach asks for a bending of the rules and like a usual UW professor, he agrees and they decide on a one question, all or nothing math final at the 50 yard line in Husky Stadium on Opening Day.

So there's the quarterback at midfield, the entire stadium becomes dead silent, and over the PA system, the math professor shouts "Okay, what is 2 + 3?"

The quarterback furrows his brow, sweat drips down his rather large forehead and he racks his brain with all his might before letting out a hoarse "5?".

The entire stadium erupts in a huge roar with every husky fan jumping up and down screaming "Give Him another Chance!! Give Him another Chance!!"







Good stuff.

Nobody pinch me.

Maybe I'm just dreaming, but I can't decide if the primary cause of my big dumb smile is either:

1) the latest Tony Bennett Duets CD that I finally bought today, and his version of Lullaby of Broadway with the Dixie Chicks, in which the girls sound a lot like the Andrew's Sisters. (Very smile-worthy)

or


2) Rumsfelt just resigned.

George W. Bush, KFed awaken to joint stark realities.

Okay, all I've got this morning is that million dollar headline.

My #2 choice was "KFed, Republicans shown the door"



But I should mention that living in DC in a time like this is, to say the least, pretty neat.


(oh yes, and Daphne has not conceded any races yet. She's holding out for recounts.)


My challenge to you all: Send me your catchy headlines that shed light on both politics and KFed.

Daphne, have you been campaigning or what?

11/6/06 6:15 PM, Washington DC, Corner of 10th and N Street NW. I'm walking Daphne.

Guy I've never Seen Before Walking Past Me on the Sidewalk(GINSBWPMS): "Wait- is that...Daphne?"

Me (out loud): Uh...yeah?

Me (In my head): what the Hell?

GINSBWPMS: Yeah! I thought so. You take her to Wagtime?

Me (out loud): Um... yeah?

Me (in my head): seriously... what's going on here.... How does this guy know the dog day care I take her to?

GINSBWPMS: (sensing that I'm starting to think he's a stalker) Oh- I worked there for a few months, she's a cool dog.

Me: Ah! Okay- yeah, well- thanks!


And so, on this election eve, I have once again been faced with the reality that Daphne, as an institution, is just about as recognizable as the Golden Arches and the Elvis. So I officially announce that she will be using this to her advantage, and is throwing her hat in the ring for Mayor of DC. So go ahead DC, write in Daphne for Mayor 2006.

I honestly think she's has just as much of a chance as anyone at beating Adrian Fenty, so why not?

Forget a meat grinder, I need a silencer attachment for my Kitchenaid Mixer...

I went candle shopping for J on Saturday morning, as he has requested that I send him some Christmas Tree scented candles since he'll still be "beyond" the tree line for the holidays this year.

"And I want really good ones. None of the cheap candles. You know what I'm talking about..."

That was his request, worded in a way to admonish me for my purchase of generic mouth wash last month. I brought some on the trip, and he was less than pleased with it. In my defense, I'm not a complete cheapskate, I just figured I'd try the generic brand first. If it was, in fact just like Scope only cheaper, why pay more? Alas, it was not just like Scope. Live and learn... But come on, wouldn't most men appreciate having a wife that doesn't put value in brand names unless deserved??

ANYway... I bought him the "Mistletoe" scented candle from Yankee Candles. They're among the most expensive I could find, so I figured he would be able to more clearly see my love and devotion that was poured into the wax (and so obviously devoid from the mouthwash). And I have to admit, the candle smelled good- actually smelled more like a real tree than an air freshener, which was surprising.

While quite literally "sniffing around" in the candle isle (sorry, couldn't resist), I found one called "Buttercream" with a piece of frosted cake on the label. I sniffed. Yum. Cake batter and vanilla frosting. And none of that homemade shortening and powdered sugar kind. This smelled like the fabulous stuff I can eat by the spoonful from out of the tub by Duncan Hines and Betty Crocker. So I bought a small "Buttercream" candle for myself, thinking it might create and inviting and "homey" feel in my apartment.

I brought it home, lit it and left it burning all day and went about my business. About 8 hours later, I realized that I was having the biggest craving for CAKE I'd ever had in my living years.

But what's a girl to do when she lives along and has a hankering for cake? And not just any cake. Going to a restaurant and buying a piece of fancy delicious cake from the menu would not answer this calling. This candle had a distinct aroma of homemade cake, from a mix. With Betty Crocker frosting.

I tried all afternoon, and into the early evening to resist these overwhelming urges. Really, I tried. Until about 10PM last night when I made a break and skipped off to the nearest grocery store for cake mix and tub of frosting. But clearly I wasn't being irrational and going to the store as the first steps toward baking a middle-of-the-night-cake, as that only happens when one drives to the store. And I walked.


Damn Yankees.





PS- This might be the beginning of a fun challenge- to try to end each post with a word or phrase that not only captures the essence of the post, but is also the name of an 80's hair and/or power ballad band.... me likey.

Question del dia

Why is it that 9 out of 10 people who display t-shirts or bumber stickers that say "Stop bitching and start a revolution" do a lot of bitching and very little revolutionizing?


Discuss.

España! .... now what's the html for the upside down exclamation point??

On advice from newly aunted Amy B, to “work less, blog more,” I have been looking for a moment to make a quick post to say hello and… “I’m baaaaack…” (read in a creapy horror movie voice).

In three words, Spain was great, and I’d love to write an essay about my fabulous fall vay-cay, but in the efforts of sparing my fingers so that I can reply (AKA: hit delete) to the massive amounts of e-mails that are still lingering in my inbox, I’ll resort to a bulleted list of trip highlights:

• Getting to the Madrid airport within an hour of J’s arrival. Which, given the amount of potential chaos in coordinating our travels, was a small miracle.
  
• Having my purse stolen while checking out of our Madrid hotel the next morning, bound for La Coruña. Yes, my phone, camera and passport were in there. In addition to my sweet $5 aviator gafas del sol (sun glasses!) from Eastern Market... More of a low-light really…
  
• Learning all about filing police reports and finding the US Embassy in foreign countries. The embassy was a bit of a let down, I was hoping the experience would be akin to that scene in Not Without My Daughter where Sally Field finally catches a glimpse of the American flag, but in reality, it was a lot like going to the DMV...
  
• Arriving in La Coruña and finally meeting my mother-in-law for the first time.
  
• Having quality family time with my new family- it’s just like quality time with my own family, except with this one, I can relax and enjoy the ride of their craziness rather than get too sucked into it. An excellent concept really, and for the naïve life of me, I can’t see how in-laws have a universal bad rap.
  
• Realizing that I have the cutest nephews on the planet, and they are highly entertaining. I heart them.
  
• Getting to smell my husband, which God-willing, is enough to tide me over for another 6 months.
  
• Taking several day trips around Galicia. A chance to connect to my Celtic roots... (yes, the Celtic people stomped around much of this part of Spain. And you thought the Irish had the monopoly on the Galic people… Eh, that’s okay, so did I.)
  
• Learning that mullets have come back, in a big way in Spain (and I’m guessing most of Europe). Again, more of a low-light. See for yourself. I was standing as a decoy- the real subject of this photo is the mulleted Spaniard behind me…
  
  
• Putting faces to names of some of the people in Spain on our wedding announcement list… then realizing that we’ll need to send some sort of Spanish translation of said-announcement….
  
• Coming face to face with some scary foods. Some I could deal with, some I could not. Such as…
  
• Missing my flight home from Madrid after being stuck in traffic for three hours. It ended up being a bonus night of vacation, as J wasn’t to leave until the next morning anyway. However, not knowing if I would or wouldn’t get on the next day’s flight on stand-by left me a bit nervy (in light of the fact that J would soon be on a flight to Kuwait, and I had only a temporary passport, a MasterCard, 20 Euros and the language skills/vocabulary of a 3 year old, and the American Airlines gal in Madrid said the soonest flight with seats available was November 7th. “What? That’ won’t work for you? Okay, I have something on November 11th?”).
  
• Coming home to find that the wedding announcements had arrived from the printer. Then asking myself “why the hell did I think it would be a good idea to hand mount 275 of these sonsubitches onto not one, but two panels of (beautiful espresso brown and Tiffany blue) cardstock??? And why does my mothers Big Sister from her Sorority (actually named Dixie- no joke) who I have, until now in my life NEVER HEARD OF, merit reviewing one of these hand-adorned crafts?
  
• Getting to miss out on nearly three weeks of Virginia Senate race campaigning. Came home to find that George Allan has done what I thought was impossible: made himself look like a bigger spaz in the public eye than he did at the beginning of the month. Ha!

And now I’m back to real life, and trying to catch up with everything else…including reading my voters guide. I’ve accepted that my bank ofsocial capital in DC is a barren wasteland, as I can’t recite every states senator and representatives (worse yet, I don’t know who’s secretly creepy –a la the early Foley years- or who is probably gay!), but I figure at least I can attempt to show up at the polls with some sort of recognition of who is on the ballot, and how much I like the sound of their names…

But in my defense man, I know some things about music... and I knew about Windows Vista YEARS ago, when it was still in beta!! Okay, maybe that’s just because Ken and I would routinely crash the “Fun Friday’s” at the PR firm officed on the next floor in my old office building. And okay, maybe our cover was that we were from “the Portland Office, on Kathy’s team. We’ve been swamped with the Vista beta… Hey- is that Doug over there- I’ve got to catch him…” But hey- they had free beer. At work! Yeah, that’s right kids, in Seattle, I was cool. I had social net worth…I wasn’t just some lonely dietitian Navy wife who works at a library… Ah, the good old days.

Which reminds me: I was at the Wonderland Bar one night having a beer with Laura before I left on my trip, and this couple (who looked like they both tried REAL hard to look like a cast member of “Reality Bites”) was sitting next to me on their picnic style tables. And I seriously overheard things like, “Man, that would be so awesome… cause Microsoft is still like, innovative. And to work for them before they turn corporate would be amazing… I wonder if they like, hire people? What would be cool would be to like, work for them as a contractor, or a temp or something. Do they do that? That would be cool. I think it would be cool to work for like, Amazon too…”

I nearly spat out my beer. But I bet they knew gobs about all sorts of bills and pending acts… sigh.

Okay, I’m off to read Wonkette in a desperate attempt to figure out what the hell is going on in this town. But yeah, by the time I’m reading it, it’s likely already jumped the shark.

A call for good vibes...

for on-time flights and reasonable connections...

I'm T minus 6 days for my flight to Spain to meet up with J for our 15 day R&R/vacation/see each other for the first time in 6 months. He is taking a helicopter from where he is now to some other base in Iraq, then a military flight to Kuwait. From there, another military flight to Frankfurt, and from Frankfurt he'll fly commercial to Madrid. Or something like that.

In other words, there are SOOOO many opportunities for a mess-up somewhere in his itinerary. So if you could all send me some smooth sailing vibes, cast any spells for happy traveling or otherwise channel your good ju-ju and sent it our way, I'd really appreciate it.

As while I'm sure I'd love a solo trip Madrid SOME day to explore the city and soak up the culture of Espana all by my lonesome, that time is not now. If I end up spending this entire trip by myself because of some Military Powers That Be, I will probably have to promptly moon the White House upon my return (while wearing my tacky yet poignant "sexually deprived for your freedom" t-shirt). And that might get me arrested.

Just a little space to say what I’m really thinking.

I need to lay it out on the line. I need to come clean with a few things. I’m not really sure where to start with this, but I’ve been thinking about a couple of topics that have really hit home lately. No, it’s not about local government, it’s not about how I sometimes feel that I have no social capital here in DC, as I’m not able to incorporate political banter into cocktail party conversations. It’s not even related to my fears about the repercussions of America’s burgeoning sense of elitism in its foreign policies. It’s about TV. And toilet paper. I want to talk about it. And I want to do so using bullet points.

• After watching the new season of Dancing With the Stars, I’ve realized that my husband kind of looks like Mario Lopez (yes, as in Saved By the Bell’s A.C. Slater- yeah, the hot one. Zack was the cute one, and Slater was the hot one... yeah, that's what I'M talkin' about...), and I like it.
  
• I discovered that as of this weekend, I no longer have free HBO and Showtime (I had a sweet deal there for a while), and I’m fiending… hard. I’m like a crack addict searching for my next fix. I’m almost to the point where I’m willing to pay gobs of cash for premium TV just to get my weekly “Weeds” fix. And I don’t even want to think about not being able to watch the upcoming season of Big Love. It hurts too much to “go there” mentally.
  
• Lately I’ve been wondering what would happen if, while at work after each trip to the ladies’ room, I started folding the end square of toilet paper on the roll into points, like they do in hotels. I work at a federal library, so this little detail, however minor, would be very out of place. Would the next woman to use that stall think we upgraded out janitorial contractor? Or would she just start to freak out a little, thinking that she worked with someone with a secret toilet paper hang-up? Perhaps she would wonder if she was on candid camera? How many days in a row would I have to do this before I’d start hearing people talk about it in the kitchenette?

Will I ever outgrow thinking of things like this? I have a strong feeling that the answer is NO. And I have a strong feeling that this is why people say things like , “Wow, I just don’t feel like I’m 87 years old…”

The secret power of weddings

I have this funny feeling deep inside of me that makes me kind of think that.... I have the potential to be a Bridezilla. Two things gave me the feeling that this could never happen. 1) I'm already technically married, so this wedding-like event/reception that will take place in about a year really shouldn't be that big of a deal. Right? 2) I've never been the "wedding I've always dreamed of" type of girl. Or is it that I never had a concrete vision of what I'd want my wedding to be like??? Perhaps.

I've been married since April. Apparently I have not "officially" announced this to the world because I have not officially sent written announcements to billions of people I've never met (yes, "Dixie", my mom's Big Sister in her sorority* is on the list to receive one).

Can you tell by my sarcasm toward wedding announcements that this is not an item that I've been dreaming about since girlhood? So this should be no big deal right? I should just pick a cream colored card out of the book, put our names in the blanks, ask my mom really nicely to help me address them, slap some stamps on and call it done eh?

So why is it that I want my announcement to be Beautiful with a capital B? Why have I been scheming and drafting and toying with color swatches for the past 4 months? Why is it that I instinctively wanted to slap my father when he suggested that "people are going to look at them for 30 seconds and then throw them away!" ? Why do I so desire to have people open these announcements, take them from their beautiful deckled edge square flapped envelopes, gasp while covering their mouths and sigh "My gawwwd.... she has exquisite taste! What a lovely couple."

Is it only going to get worse from here? I've already gone on the record as saying that I don't want a fancy foofy dress. Will that all change once I actually start looking for one? I even joked about silly center-pieces. Will I soon discover that I simply must have fabulous centerpieces, for they are the heart of a nuptial table?!?

Am I really that concerned with what other people (who, for the most part, I don't even know) think of me?

I've come to accept that there is a part of me who does care about what others think of me, and because I'm a brassy blue-state girl, I try like hell to hide that. I think Ann Coulter would say that is part of my Liberal faith.

But there is one great equalizer in this world. One thing that can bring even the MOST self confident, not-giving a rat's ass what Dixie thinks of her-type of girl to her knees.

Her wedding.


There it is. That's the secret.


* I can make fun of sorority girls because I am one.

An Accidental Boot Camp

I have a membership at the YMCA near my place here in DC. They have personal training available, and I've been thinking it might be a good idea to sign up for a few sessions, as lately I feel like I'm accomplishing nothing at the gym, and not making the most efficient use of my time there. They also offer this team fitness program, where you sign up to be on a team that meets twice a week for training with a "strength coach." Its only 15 bucks per session as opposed to about 120 for an hour with a personal trainer, and you're in a group with about 4 or 5 people total. Figuring that I really don't need someone to stand there and watch me do sets, and that I wouldn't mind sharing a trainer with a group of people, I signed up for this team thing and had my first trial session yesterday.

Oh My Heck.

I meet with the group and introduce myself and we're off. I met the coach, and as we're heading upstairs to the free weight room (which I've never been in because its scary and full of men who are grunting and sweating) he explains that the strategy is simple: Work every muscle group to failure. No sets, no increasing weight gradually, just start big and go until you absolutely can't go any further.

At first its great, because he assigns a weight/lift/exercise to each person (Yay! No requirement for me to think!), gives you whatever weight he recommends, and you go until you just can't. This was fine for like, one or two exercises. And I was feeling all great about myself because he's buffing my ego with things like "You've got really great form- do you lift a lot on your own? No? Oh, are you an athlete?" (clearly he's buttering me up because this is my free trial session) But after my entire upper body was dead, and he's like, "Humm, Okay, Gina- shoulder press- Go!" and I wanted to kick him in the nuts, it just stopped being fun.

It was the same story with lower body, which was great, until we were "done" and then moved onto lunges. I swear to God we did 110, and I could barely walk afterward. And the sweet part was ending the night with a nice long round of wall-sits. And then abs. I really don't think I'd ever worked my legs to failure before- I seriously thought I was going to fall over, my legs were shaking like I'd had a stroke.

The only time I've ever felt something similar was in my triathlon, when I got off the bike and tried to run, only to find that my legs were still trying to peddle. It was like the connection between my brain and my muscles was severed. Weird.


So naturally I've now signed on for the entire 13 week session. It was all I could do to utter "where do I sign up?" So I fill out the paperwork and only AFTER I pay, does he go into the whole schpeal about how its also expected that I will do at least 4 hours of cardio per week in the gym in addition to these two hours of team trainings. And that I need to log my cardio in the book with the rest of my team so they can make sure I'm sticking with it... (And I'm thinking... Buddy, this wasn't in the brochure...Oh, wait it was in the brochure, I just didn't read it.)

Me: "So, can I count swimming or jogging with my dog as cardio"
Him: "well, you can count it every once in a while, but we really prefer you to stick to the cardio schedule that we'll create for you, because we really target anaerobic cardio.... blah blah blah... so rather than say, jogging with your dog for 30 minutes, It would be better to break it in to interval workouts with wind sprints..."

Can you not just see Daphne and I sprinting across the National Mall?

So I guess I've signed on for quite the proram. Wish me luck!

A blog lightening round.... Go!

A couple of quickie updates then I'll send you back in the world knowing a little bit more about the silly things that have happened to me in the last week or so.

1) My 10 year high school reunion came and went two weeks ago. I was off frolicking in Nova Scotia at the time, and was unable to attend, but there were some photos posted so I was able to live vicariously through the experiences of others thanks to Snapfish. I was thrilled to see that one of the little pip-squeak kids who was in my Advisory (AKA: Homeroom) class turned out to be quite a looker after growing up. Good for him.

2) I now unequivocally accept that my neighbor is not, in fact, gay. I thought he was for a the longest time. I mean, his place is immaculate, he has a baby grand piano in his office (the same room that is packed full of bikes, computers, filing cabinets, sleeping bags, tool boxes etc in MY adjacent apartment) which he plays amazingly well, and he's just such a nice guy. Always willing to help, seems very sensitive and genuine without seeming creepy or sleazy. He is also a "personal friend" (he says) of my landlord, who is gay. They talk a lot, they hug each other hello... if it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, I don't know, I just kind assumed he was gay too.

So this girl has started coming by his place every once in a while and often times she'll come over late at night. (I know this because then you ring the door bell for either of our apartments, you can hear it in the other's too, so we regularly open the door for one another on accident). It didn't strike me as odd, as he repeatedly introduced her to me as "This is Katie- we work together." Something about the "...we work together" added to the end of every sentence made it seem like, well, maybe they were just friends. And when I did think about it, I would come to the natural conclusion that it was none of my damned business, and I didn't really care which way his wind blew. So I continued along my merry path of "I have a lovely gay neighbor man." Until I got home from walking Daphne yesterday.

As I was fishing for my keys to unlock the (new and improved) deadbolts, I had this weird feeling that the upstairs neighbor was watching porn... I think I just assumed the sound was coming from upstairs because the upstairs neighbor guy (as opposed to this next door neighbor guy) does seem a little sleazy. But as I found my key (and the jangling sound stopped) I realized that the sound was in fact coming from the next door- which is approximately 12 inches from MY door.

It was Katie, in all of her splendor. And it was my neighbor (though Katie was certainly the more vocal of the two). They were "working" together alright. And it did NOT sound like this was his first time "working" with a woman. From the tone of her feedback, I'd say he knew what he was doing. It was ALARMING how clearly the sound of their "work" was resonating through the entire front entry way of our small apartment building. To be honest, it sounded like they were doin' it with the front door wide open.

Because I could hear them so well, I just assumed that they could hear ME just as well too (though on further reflection, I'm sure they were a bit too busy to be listening up for the random comings and goings of fellow building tenants). So I immediately was overcome with extreme embarrassment. My reaction was strange- I've had "noisy neighbors" before, and never had a big problem with it, but I didn't really know those people. These two? I feel like I know them. I feel like I walked in on two friends, and now I'm afraid that I'm going to trip over my words or just blush like crazy next time I see them.

Who am I kidding though- I'm actually just jealous. Good for them!

3) All this talk about Pluto being reclassified, and no longer being considered a planet got me thinking. What kind of criteria are there to be a planet? How might one submit an entry for consideration into this planetary status? And who the heck gets to make the final decision?? Are the people on this decision committee huge geeks? Totally cool science wizards? A little bit of both?? How much are school text book companies dancing in the street right now at the prospect that all elementary school science teachers are going to have to order new books for this school year? But my two key questions are:

• How cool would it be to have a band named "Planetary Criterion"?
• Will calling Pluto a "Dwarf" as opposed to a "Little Planet" soon surface as a Planetary Rights violation?

Any help with these questions would be greatly appreciated.

An Update

Akk! The following post was written several days ago... I hit "save to draft" instead of "post" so... its just been hanging out, waiting to be read!

Behold... the hidden post of yesterweek:

Hi blog friends!

For a most interesting retelling of my experience at the Dixie Chicks concert last week with Lisaopolis, please visit her blog for a fabulous and (predominately) accurate account. I would have written my own entry, but figured that since SHE was the one who was ensandwiched by two drunk Mommy’s Gone Wild, SHE deserved to recount the evening…

Mom and Dad came down to visit for a quick stop in DC last Thursday before we all boarded the Amtrak to NYC, the embarkation port for our cruise(apalooza) to Canada last week. I refrained from taking photos, as between Lisa and Carnival Cruises (which offered copious amounts of photo ops with people dressed up as Mounties, fishermen, Nova Scotian pipers, pirates etc), I figured that all photographic needs were more than covered. Because of this, I have no photos to offer you (yet) of the actual cruise.

However… I do have photos from CSI Washington. Taken by my camera phone. By me. In my apartment. Which was the crime scene! Yeah, I came home to find that my apartment had been broken into while I was away. Coming home to find my place robbed really filled me with that not-so-fresh feeling of an uninvited stranger lurking through my things- which he/she/they clearly did. I suppose they were looking for computers, cash and jewelry, as they got two out of three from me (please... like I’D have cash laying around?? I’ve been so debit-card-only for the past 10+ years that I barely remember what currency looks like!) Once again, the idiots did not take the road bikes. (Did I mention that my mountain bike was ALSO stolen about a month ago?? The $300 mountain bike that was RIGHT next to thousands of dollars worth of road bikes? Idiots.) So two laptops and one wedding band later, (Shoot. So much for the bright idea of leaving it here, safely tucked in the back of my dresser drawer for “safe keeping” wile he’s in Iraq…) I am once again, dealing with my fabulous insurance company. And when I say fabulous, I’m actually not being sarcastic. USAA is the greatest. I highly recommend them to anyone who needs insurin’.

So thieves, in case you’re reading this, I’m going to lay it on pretty thick now:

Dear Thief:

Thank you for stealing my husband’s wedding band. I hope you have absolutely no clue that it is platinum and let some pawn shop owner suckers you into taking 50 bucks for it. Stupid jerk! I also hope that you appreciate that it was in my drawer (that you pilfered through) because he is in Iraq fighting terrorism AND evildoers AND people who hate freedom, wearing a cheap silver band now, figuring it would get banged up, or lost, or (possibly even) stolen while at WAAAAAARRRRRR.


Love and snuggles,

Ginapalooza


Okay, okay, I know the stuff about the evil-doers and freedom haters was bit much… but if ever there were a time to milk the “my husbands in Falluja” card, why not now?

So in the interest of multimedia, here are some pictures of CSI DC…


Exibit A: Trying to snag a quick photo while the officers were working… trying not to be too obvious about it… while sitting on my couch twiddling my thumbs, wondering what the heck one is supposed to DO while officers are dusting one's residence for fingerprints... Make small talk? Offer a drink? (answers: 1. Yes 2. No)



Exhibit B: My door with the fingerprint dust all over it. Please note my new dead-bolt that my landlord had installed already before I got home. (Yeah, not much good to get prints off a door that had been handled by the locksmith, but heck, at least they tried.)

Okay- that's all I've got for now.

Hi Seattle, it's me.... I miss you.

When I moved to DC, people kept asking me: "Do you miss Seattle?" For a long time my standard reply would be to give them a thoughtful look into the eye, think for a few beats and then give an honest answer of, "You know, I really don't just yet."

Having grown up in the suburbs of Seattle, then returning from "afar" to spend the last several years living in the Seattle city limits, I'd had my fill of the great Northwest. For a while at least. To be honest, the city was starting to feel smaller and smaller each year. It wasn't too small, but it was getting more an more comfortable; more broken-in. The honeymoon was over and the little things were starting to bug me. Living near Capital Hill, every once in a while I'd find myself fantasizing about walking up to the dread-headed "People Now! Socialism Now!" sign holders and petitioners on Broadway to get up in their faces and throw out a sharp: "SERIOUSLY? Are you DENSE? Oh wait, you are! Okay, carry on." Or even walking up to a UW student shopping at Whole Foods and whispering into her ear: "Pssst... guess what? Just cause it's soy-based Mac and Cheese, doesn't mean its GOOD for you! In fact, a little bird tells me that over-production of soy is depleting ground water reserves in China! What are you gonna do with THAT?!?" then swiftly running away...

I loved (and still do love) Seattle, but I was ready for a change. Until a few days ago, the only things I truly missed about Seattle (besides the obvious of family and friends)
were (in ranked order):


1 Off leash dog parks in nearly every neighborhood
2 Taco Time
3 Decent customer service as the norm, not the exception
4 City streets that aren't littered with potholes (the streets north of Yessler at least...)

But now it's the dead of summer in DC, it's supposed to hit 104 tomorrow and stay nasty for the rest of the week. Thankfully, the peak season of mugginess here has corresponded nicely with my summer travel schedule: I will be on a cruise to Northern Canada all of next week, I spent time in mild San Francisco and Montana earlier this month and will be heading to Seattle twice in September (both trips are for weddings, and in the first one, I hope to attend to a few details of my own, as my marriage is somewhat of a 2 part mini series, with the "wedding" yet to happen...). Thinking about these trips made me realize that I really do miss Seattle. I love living in DC, and there is still much to-do on my list (which I don't anticipate ever not being the case), but I am very much looking forward to my visit home. I am also very much looking forward to the season to hurry up and get here... this humidity stuff is for the birds.

Things I want to do while I'm in Seattle (in no particular order):


1) Touch Yakima River, preferably while floating down said river in an inner tube.
2) Order a soft taco meal at Taco Time (I know, I have a problem)
3) Karaoke. Maybe even at the Rickshaw. But that's like, Varsity Seattle. See photo for example of my skills:

4) Go to any retail establishment and have employee ask me, "Can I help you?"
5) Surround myself with thousands of people who know what the word "WAZZU" means (AKA: go to Coug game in Seattle in the 16th)
6) Listen to KMTT, the Mountain. I admit, I really miss that radio station. I can listen online, but its just not the same.


There are many other things I'd like to do, but with a tight schedule, I'm trying to remain realistic in what I anticipate having time for. So... kayaking around the San Juans etc will just have to wait until retirement.

To all of you Washington State ex-pats, if there is anything you'd like me to do in your honor while I'm there, please advise.

Stop the Presses:

I agree with the Republican National Committee!

Here's a quote from the Associated Press:

"The Republican National Committee rejected Dean's criticism of Al-Maliki, saying, 'It is incredibly troubling that Howard Dean would seek to score cheap political points by attacking the democratically elected prime minister of Iraq.' "


And that's all I'll say about it. 'Cause I don't have the energy to make this blog a place of serious discussion. I much prefer to discuss locker room etiquette, the cuteness of my dog etc.

Erik, I dedicate this one to you.

I gave this entry the above title because I'm going to talk about women in a locker room, and I wanted to proactively address any
snickering or borderline inappropriate comments. After all, I am the Queen appropriateness.


I was at the YMCA last night swimming. It was a little crowded, so I had to share a lane with 4 other swimmers, but other than that, it was a fine swim.

As background information, I will tell you that the locker room attendants tend to be older ladies who seem to enjoy sitting at the counter reading paperbacks while handing out towels and mini soap bars on an as-needed basis. Another core function of their jobs is handing out keys for the lockers. You can't bring your own lock; you've got to check out a key for a locker. You give them your membership card, they give you a key. Easy as that.

Each key has its own locker, so the locker that you get (naturally) depends on the key that you are given by the attendant. This seems like common sense- but what I didn't realize before yesterday- is that this system completely removes one's natural ability to select the location of our locker.

Men: Imagine that every time you pee, you have to use a pre-assigned urinal. This would override any/all prehistoric instincts to go to the urinal furthest away from any other person.

I never knew that women had a variation of this instinct as well. To be honest, I'd never paid much attention to the logistics of changing in a locker room in front of other women... before yesterday. As luck (or some weird and somewhat skeezy plan of the locker room lady) would have it, all the keys distributed in the 15 minute window in which I was changing, were for lockers in the same bank. There are about 5 rows of lockers; usually there are one or two people in each row at any one moment.

But here's a schematic of what it looked like last night when I returned from the shower:




(I'm the one in pink- surrounded by the other naked pink dots all crowded into one small space)



It was weird. And judging by the looks of "uhh... where am I supposed to look?" on everyone else's face (as I had to make extra efforts to make either EYE or FOOT contact with everyone else there), I wasn't the only one who thought it was oddly uncomfortable.

A New Respect for Our Founding Fathers

Or anyone else who could handle living in this sweltering sweat-lodge of a city in the days BAC (before air-conditioning).


This Seattle girl would love to say that she admires Patrick Henry for his mad-skills as a statesman, or TJ (My nickname for Thomas Jefferson, ever since I hung out with his likeness in Williamsburg) for that whole "Declaration of Independence writing thing".. but honestly, I've got to say that any Virginian who was that convicted in turning this place into the next great nation (requiring SIGNIFICANT concentration and focus during the month of JULY no-less...) deserves some props from me.



So there you have it. My self-centered, hot n' cranky statement del dia.



Which reminds me... I've been wanting to go to Mt Vernon at some point. Perhaps I'll ride my bike there tomorrow. Or better yet, drive in my air-conditioned car!

Two more...

But I'm too lazy to make another table, so here we go:

Then: Celebrities Adopting Babies
Now: Celebrities Having Babies (seriously, has it ever been so hip and cool to be with-child?)

Then: Ugs
Now: Crocks (she says, while sporting a bright blue pair which, I admit, make me look like a complete spaz in my neighborhood)

Then: James Blunt
Now: Gnarles Barkley (as in: it used to be James Blunt who was interesting at first but bordering on annoying as all get-up due to BEYOND HEAVY radio play... We'll see if GB suffers the same fate... So far I hear "crazy" juuuust about every time I get in my car.

And to my commenter who thinks I shouldn't do "then" and "now" when the "thens" are so recent, well... that's kind of the whole point.... and we wonder were ADD comes from... look at the attention span of the general public!


And Lisa, if there IS a German translation of "Oh, SNAP!" you MUST share!

Am I up to speed?

Okay- just checking in to see if I'm up to speed on the latest. Please, someone let me know if I'm already out of date:

Then	Now
Y2K	Web 2.0
Friendster.com	MySpace ... okay, probably something newer. Facebook?
Dogster.com	Getting off one's ass and walking the dog
Reality Game Shows	Reality Talent Shows
Yahoo Groups, Listservs	Message Boards
Access Databases	php MySQL. Totally.
gmail	AOL, because I'm bringin' it back as a retro thing*

*okay, it's worth a shot. I think I'm the last person on AOL...

My friend...

I was going to YouTube today to find a clip of GW scaring the heck out of Angela Merkel via a presidential-personal-space-invading-back-rub, but decided to run a quick search for my friend Beth.... She found this lady on YouTube a while back after discovering that they had the very same first and last name. My friend Beth is a therapist. Wouldn't you know it- THIS lady is a therapist too! A LAUGHTER therapist. .. and she's got a whole serries of laughter therapy sessions for all to see online. I'm just glad that when my friends google themselves, they too find all types who share their names... But does this lady like Talking On the Phone and Boys as much as my namesake? Only time will tell... (Please reference my post titled "Oh Me, Oh My!" for more background info if you're lost here...)

The first I saw of Dr. Beth, she was doing a series on the sheer joy and laughter producing abilities of... pencils. Here she is jumping on the pirate bandwagon, complete with eye patch. I don't know why, but I hope someday she does a series as Sean Connery.



I don't know if I'm laughing at her or with her, but I'm laughing. Mission Accomplished Dr. Beth.

Making up for lost time...

In a desperate attempt to add more to my blog to compensate for recent shortages, I bring you- a silly little survey-like thing...

I am cuddler --- yes, but not if its too hot.
I am morning person --- nope.
I am a perfectionist --- uh, have we met? That'd be a no.
I am an only child --- no
I am currently in my pajamas --- no
I am currently suffering from a broken heart --- no
I am okay at styling other peoples' hair --- depends on how bad it was when we started :)
I am left-handed --- no
I am online 24/7-- nope... are we seeing a trend here? I'm usually not such a "no" girl.
I am shy around the same/opposite gender at first --- unfortunately, I tend to err on the other side. I talk too much.
I bite my nails --- problem solved through hypnosis. I'd love to tell you about it some time.
I can be paranoid at times --- yes, just ask my patient spouse.
I currently regret something I have said --- "regret" is such a strong word... I'm kind of embarrassed by some things, but not really regretful.
When I get mad I curse frequently --- Yes, but not as much as I used to when I worked with a bunch of boys.
I don't like anyone --- Eh? No! Who doesn't "like anyone"??
I enjoy country music --- yes
I enjoy jazz music --- yes
I enjoy smoothies --- not really.
I enjoy talking on the phone --- not usually. Unless its someone I haven't talked to in a while and I'm able to focus just on the phone conversation- I hate feeling like I'm multi-tasking while on the phone, which I'm guilty of too often.
I have a car --- Yes, Daphne and I travel by Subaru
I have/had a hard time paying attention at school --- not when I was in school, but my attention span is getting shorter and shorter each year...
I have a lot to learn --- yes, but I could teach a lot too.
I have a pet --- Daphne. She's more than a pet, she's a lifestyle.
I have a secret that I am ashamed to reveal --- I really don't think I have any 100% secrets. At least one person knows about each of them.... I think.
I have all my grandparents --- Two are still living, the other two are immortals.
I have at least one brother/ one sister --- two sisters
I have been to Europe --- not as often as I'd like. Going to Spain in October!
I have been told that I am smart --- Yes, but mainly by guys trying to get in my pants. Whoa- did I say that?
I have been told that I have an unusual sense of humor --- Yes.
I have broken a bone --- just a finger- while playing goalie. I was scared to death AND I got hurt. It sucked.
I have caller I.D. on my phone --- yes, so stop pranking me.
I have bathed with someone --- yes, but not for a while.
I have changed a diaper --- yes
I have changed a lot as a person over the past year --- Can I get an "Amen"??
I have friends who have never seen my natural hair color --- no, it's all natural baby.
I have had major/minor surgery --- only minor. Knock on wood.
I have killed another person --- with my stellar good looks? Nope.
I have had my hair cut within the last week --- No, but I need a cut. Haven't had one since April!
I have had the cops called on me --- Yes, but only because the people who called the cops were jealous of the amount of fun I was having.
I have kissed someone I knew I shouldn't --- Define "shouldn't." In any case, only in my past life.

Copy and paste as you will.

A sign of the times.

I don't know what all the fuss is about, it is clear from this graffiti that I found in a ladies room stall in the San Francisco airport that our education system is NOT in fact, letting our kids down.


In case you can't see the handwriting, it says "Semicolons are fun! Try them!" and the observer has drawn in her own semi-colon to replace the existing comma that was original to the sign.

As you were.

Quantity, not quality, is sometimes necessary.

Most of you are probably aware that the world has seemingly gone to hell in a hand basket since I last wrote. There’s a crazy little man in North Korea testing weapons, Israel and Lebanon are once again going at it, gas prices continue to climb and it all adds up to being over-my-head depressing. And my life goes on, and so does yours; filled with all sorts of inconsequential things. And sooner than later, I’m realizing that these inconsequential things are blessings everyday. I love being able to sit here and write about utterly non-important garbage. It has to mean that I’m high enough on Maslow’s hierarchy that I can sit here and dither about camping trips and conferences in Florida. And it’s a privledge that I do not over look. And with that….

Here are bullet points that Ginapalooza should have been covering over my last one month blogging hiatus:

I mentioned a camping trip in my almost-last post. It was grand. Learned the spray-on Banana Boat Ultra waterproof sun block is the way to go for all of my active, outdoor, water-logged sun protection needs. I am now a believer, and open to any spokeswoman contracts that may be available. And needless to say, the dough-boys were a hit.

Took a trip to Clearwater Beach Florida for a conference, where my stupid phone broke… and was broken way too many days before I even noticed that it wasn’t functioning. I just thought no one was calling me. A blog-worthy even in itself.

Took another trip (this time for pure fun and girl bonding) to Bozeman Montana to see Amy and Casey reaffirm their vows and soak up some Big Sky. It was lovely, as were all of my friends who attended. And unlike the normal post-wedding funk I go through- after I realize that the big fun event is now OVER and it will be God-knows-how-long until I see my girls again, this time I knew that I’d see most/all of them again soon at Erin’s wedding in September  Joy!

Followed up the trip to Bozeman with a road trip with Tim and Beth to visit Cora and Thomas at their home in Jackson Hole. WY. The trip included white water rafting, more fun in the sun (again, with above-mentioned banana boat sun block) and numerous jokes about being a Sister Wife and/or Second wife. Trust me, it was more funny than awkward at the time. I also got to see the very site where the Veep flies in and out of on his trips home from DC (AKA- the Jackson Hole airport) which was a thrill to behold.

Came home the night of July 4th, where I experienced my very first DC Independence Day… from the seat of my couch, home alone. It was pouring down rain so hard that the plans I had were sacked, making the whole event rather anti-climactic and alarmingly lonely. I seem to have bi-polar 4th of July’s. They’re either really good, or really bad. Sadly, the combination of foul weather and coming down from a high of being with the best group of friends a girl could ask for put this one into the “really bad” category. I threw a small pity party for myself and got over it.

Toiled away at work for about a week before having to head out again for another conference- just as I was finally getting my e-mail’s in-box cleared up. This time I had to head out for a trip to San Francisco for another conference. The conference was great, but my favorite part was probably just being in San Francisco- where one could actually drive down the street with the windows open and feel cool fresh air. Not like DC in the least, where the outdoors are the enemy these days. Where all efforts must be made to keep the outside… out!

Aside from a lovely little dinner party the night of the 14th, which was of great assistance in helping Ginaplaooza ring in her 28th year, I was able to snag one more night of girl time with Beth and Baum a few days later when they came up to the city for dinner and a movie. We saw the Devil Wears Prada (loved Meryl Streep in it, but ultimately left the theater feeling very dowdy, as my own lack of fashion know-how was made only more apparent…) and went to dinner at a little place called “Steps of Rome.” This place was fully staffed by young Italian men who, according to the one who spoke and understood English fluently (he was from Connecticut rather than the motherland directly) had all stayed up way too late the night before and were entirely hung-over. First there were forgotten salads, then there were way too many salads... We weren’t sure if Who was on first or if What was on second. Connecticut-guy explained to me that it was a combination of their lack of English (“these damned Italians don’t understand a word…”) and the fact that they’d all cracked open several bottles of vino in the back room in efforts to get a little hair of the dog from the night before. They were all so charmingly ineffective. I loved it. Lord knows I pity the foo’s who end up marrying these boys- as I highly suspect that they’d need their mothers to accomplish MOST tasks in life, but for a night, they were altogether lovely and delightful. Yes, it really takes very little these days.

Which brings me to the preview of what’s to come at Ginapalooza. I’ve been trying to build a metal Top 10 list of best things about having my husband in Iraq for a year.

I figure anyone can make a list of Top 10 worst things, so why not try to take the optimistic path and solidify some things that are actually good about our current situation? In three months, I’ve only been able to come up with about 3 things, so I’ll try to think on it a bit more and hope to have 10 solids red-checker items soon.

Oh Me, Oh My...

As if I needed proof that I should be blogging more frequently (I'm sorry- I know its been a long time, I offer no excuses), I just googled myself and
THIS is what I find...

I have no words for this.



I DO have an actual blog entry started, which I was working on while waiting for my plane to board for my flight back home from San Francisco- it's still in the works, but there will be photos of bathroom graffiti caught on camera phone, so get excited for THAT!

In case I forget, remind me to tell you all about my last two trips out west- once to Bozeman/Jackson Hole, and this last one to San Jose and San Francisco, where I discovered the male equivalent of the "Dumb Blonde" (which would be the "Italian Waiter") Something refreshing about people who are most likely incapable of doing anything of consequence, but look great doing it. This will most likely be the first in my "Little Miss Married's Chronicles of Looking But Not Touching."

With that, I offer one thousand apologies for my absences, and hope to get back into the swing of things shortly.

Chief Camp Rangerette, for the weekend at least.

So…. Guess what I’M doing this weekend? This afternoon I’m taking off for the high lonesome hills of the Shenandoah Valley (which is neither, high, extremely lonesome or hilly, but go with it) or maybe it’s off the Shenandoah River? Eh, I didn’t plan it, and honesty have no idea where it is on the map (note to self: get directions) but it’s about 1.5 hours outside of DC, somewhere in Virginia. All I know is that I’m bringing Daphne, my mountain bike, river shoes, a sleeping bag and about 8 gallons of sunblock of the SPF 45+ variety. And some beer.

I’m co-hosting the Saturday breakfast, and you can bet your sweet sit-upon that there will be dough-boys involved. No, that’s not the North Carolinian way of pronouncing the last name “Dubois,” but rather the warm and tasty campfire biscuit delights that I first discovered as a Girl Scout. I reluctantly admit that I have burning desire to bring my Brownie uniform that wore for Halloween a few years ago…

I went to Costco yesterday afternoon to stock up on food for my meal responsibility and also happened upon a couple of choice CD’s that will make the drive there simply divine. Duran Duran Greatest Hits AND a Johnny Cash three DC collection. How set am I??

Speaking of CD’s, I don’t want to jinx myself here, but the last 5 CD’s I’ve purchased have all turned out to be fabulous. I’ve come to expect a dud every few purchases, but for the life of me, I can’t remember the last DC I bought that I don’t totally love…

Keith Urban’s newest one, Imogen Heap, Dixie Chicks, Thievery Corporation’s newer one, and now this Duran Duran album (which truly IS a Greatest Hits. Every time a new song comes on, I think to myself, “no… THIS is my favorite Duran Duran song… and then the next song is Rio… Or Girls on Film! Too hard to choose just one.)

Even this Johnny Cash set is a good one. The last one I bought was notably lacking Get Rhythm, I’ve Been Everywhere, Cry Cry Cry, AND Hey Porter… which is asinine. This set however, doesn’t contain Jackson OR Ring of Fire which is both shocking and bewildering. But I of course already have those, so I’m not missing them too much.

So what do you think- why is it so hard to find a TRUE best-of/greatest hits/box collection for an artist with an extensive career?

Jackson Hole Wyoming... Is that in Ontario, Canada?

Thanks Kelly, for passing along this fabulous video to me. In the spirit of my recent transaction with www.cheaptickets.com, in which all I wanted was a flight out of Jackson Hole, Wyoming (yet the call center agents couldn't, for the life of them, understand that Wyoming was a State... in the United States of America), I'd like to share this video with all of you. I found it hilarious.

You'll need Flash 8 to play it correctly. If you don't have it, you can download it here...

Here's the link! http://www.callcentermovie.com/

Health and Beauty Products: Go Big or Go home.

I suspect that I’m like most other women in that it pains me to think about how much money I’ve likely spent on health and beauty products so far in my lifetime. From that first jar of Oxy 10 astringent pads which lived in my Caboodle with a myriad of flavored lip glosses, to my most recent purchase which reflect an affinity for any products that boast abilities to “reduce the look of fine lines and aging,” I’ve experienced my fair share of winners and losers.

In the spirit of sandal season, I’d like to take a moment of your time today to share with you a product that has been around for ever, but I’ve just discovered. A truly effective callus remover.

Ladies and gentlemen, please raise you hand if you’ve ever questioned the usefulness of a pumice stone. Who among us hasn’t sat in the bathtub, scrubbing away at their heals, building enough thermal energy to nearly start a fire, while wondering if all efforts were truly just in vain? Don’t be shy, raise those hands high. Nothing to be ashamed of. We’ve all been there.

Or how about the giant stiff brushes? Yeah, because if a porous brick won’t do the trick, surely a good foot brushing will magically slough off the dead skin. I even invested in a dremel-tool like electric device that essentially sand-belts the calluses away, but even that left me feeling short-changed.

I’ll be real honest with you folks. I gave up. Sure, I went through the motions; I’d continue with the occasional salon pedicure and interim home maintenance. But my heart wasn’t in it. I’d lowered my expectations. I’d accepted that I would always have calluses on my feet. Pretty feet and soft heals were for the other girls, not for me. I didn’t deserve true and lasting fulfillment. I tried to tell myself that it was okay, that it was an advantage, because in a pinch, I could walk across a gravel drive-way barefoot with slightly less discomfort than those other…. soft-footed girls.

But a funny thing happened to me the other day. A funny thing called “hope.”

While shopping at Target for a pair of cheap sandals to replace last year's cheap sandals which were behond trash-worthy and falling apart, I heard a little something from my inner voice. My inner voice said: “Gina, listen to me. Maybe this year things will be different. Maybe this time products will work. Maybe today you should let go of your fears. Your fears of failure, fears of disappointment, fear of unreciprocated devotion to nice-looking feet. Just PUT YOUR SLEF OUT THERE girlfriend! Do it! Try again! You haven’t lost until you’ve stopped trying! If you can believe it, you can achieve it!”

I looked to my inner voice, my higher power, and what I heard was “YES!”

So I did it. I zeroed in on the Sally Hanson product display like an elite member of the podiatric Delta Force.

Delta One to Inner Voice: “Same old shit Inner Voice, brushes, lotions, creams. This is child’s play. Abort and reroute to heavy artillery. I’m going to talk with The Good Doctor... Dr. Scholl that is.”

Inner voice to Delta One: “Excellent work Delta One, but you’re on your own now. Keep us advised here at Command Control. Good luck. Good luck and Godspeed….”

(in case you couldn’t tell, my Inner Voice went from resembling an Oprah/Dr. Phil hybrid to sounding an awful lot like Charlton Heston. Charlton Heston circa “Soylent Green,” sans the gun-toting NRA spokesman vibes. Hey- it was in my imagination, I’m allowed to mess with reality)

I repositioned and found myself uncomfortably juxtaposed with wrist braces, anti-fungal powders and bedpans. This was a different ball game. No longer was I shopping for a traditional health and beauty aid. No longer was I comforted by the proximity of my friends Bonny Bell and Max Factor. I was in the land of non-prescription medical assistive devises, drugstore reading glasses and adult incontinence aides. I was damned near the pharmacy.

And there she was. Right next to the Gold Bond Medicated anti-itch powder and bunion removal pads (still not sure what an actual bunion is, but the name alone makes them sound unfortunate enough to cast much doubt that a little sticky foam pad would be effective in removing them): a product that both frightened and fascinated me. Not just another “callus remover,” but a callus remover with the words “strong German blades stay sharp longer!” written on the outer package.

Was this true? A callus removing product containing actual razors? A tool that I could potentially REALLY hurt myself with?? How delightfully retro! The generic version’s $3.50 price tag only served to encourage my fascination, as I love products that reinforce my theory that “You get what you pay for. Except with health and beauty supplies.”

I grabbed the $3.50 store brand callus shaver thing, my $9.00 sandals and was out the door (after paying of course).


Fair reader, I’ll spare you the details of the actual callus removal process, but leave you with the following adjective that described my process:

Effective, gratifying, quick, thorough, fabulous, horrendous, shocking, intriguing, unexpected, liberating, frightening, joyous, fulfilling.

All for $3.50.

So today a part of me is gone. A dead and callused part of me, and I’m a better person for it. I thank you Inner Voice, for pulling me out of that foggy haze of foot apathy and depression, and I thank you Dr. Schol, for reminding me that like eye-lash curlers, sometimes the freakiest and oddest-looking contraptions make the best healthy and beauty must-haves.



End scene.


Topic for another day: I no longer have any respect for Paul McCartney, as he apparently turned down his then fiancé’s offer to sign a prenuptial agreement citing that it was “unromantic.” Nice move Paul. Maybe all those trips to the strawberry fields took a larger toll on your ability to perceive reality than one might have initially assumed. She’ll likely be walking away with hundred of millions. (of still valuable POUNDS). You’re a frigg’n BEATLE for the love of God. You have A LOT to lose. Did you learn nothing after teaching Jacko how to buy music rights? Sometimes reality interferes with an individual’s ability to be super nice. It’s the world we live in Paul. Welcome to it.

Once again, I've been peer-pressured into the Circle of Youth.

I’d been resisting MySpace. Resisting it like I’ve resisted Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings and Blackberries. I’ve been duped before by passing trends- I always seem to be on the losing end of them. I have an extensive Beanie Baby collection. I have a Palm Pilot with at leather Tumi case which is likely worth a whole lot more than the device itself. I have a page on Friendster. Heck, Daphne has more friends on Dogster than I have on Friendster. And SHE’S one of my Friendster friends…

I wasn’t going to spend my precious Gray’s Anatomy Watching Time on a MySpace profile. I mean really, It’s not like I’m looking for online MySpace love or anything, and certainly not looking for attention from old men who have grown a recent and unexplainable of fear of Dateline NBC.

But leave it to Jennifer to sway the Ginapalooza Opinion Poll toward jumping right into the BLEEDING EDGE of technology and all that is NOW and COOL and YOUTHFUL! (don’t worry, I was trying to be ironic by using the term “bleeding edge”, because it, and MySpace are no longer the newest/hippest/coolest). Because it’s true, everyone is on MySpace. Okay, not everyone, but enough people who I haven’t seen in years just to make it interesting. And since I won’t be able to make it to my High School reunion this summer (which is weird, because of all people, I never thought that I would be among the married people at my 10 year high school reunion. But hey, the world has its own timeline… which rarely coincides with my own. Okay, digressing again.), I thought this would be a fun way to sneak up on old acquaintances.

So once again, I’m jumping on a trend wagon. With this in mind, you can almost guarantee that MySpace will be “sooooo over” in about three months. The clock starts today.

The smell of Love and Sunshine...

Can be found by nestling your face up to the ear of a dog who has been lying in the sun on the back pouch napping.

I'm heading to the American History museum today, as it will be closing for renovations soon, (so I finally have a sense of urgency that will get my butt to one of the Smithsonians this century).

Knowing that this will be an all day affair (and its already noon...) I decided to take Daphne out for a quick walk around the block for a potty break.

Its a beautiful, sunny day out and when we returned home, I gave her a snuggle after taking off her leash. I had to linger there for a while, at the spot on her face just anterior to her ear. It smelled like a country dirt road on a warm sunny day. Dogs, dirt roads and sunny days. It reminded me of being little. I figured it out: it smelled like growing up.

So... if anyone is looking for smell of love and sunshine, I found it. It's on my dog.

Overdue, but here she is...

I know I said I'd post this "shortly" and its over a week later, but this girl has been busy with family in town, infuriating bouts of lower back pain, seasonal allergies and getting married etc.

While Lisa was in town she got to try on the ring and model it for all to see. Here it is:


The ring is still looking for a good home...

An Open Letter to My (old) Fake Engagement Ring

It’s been a good run old girl, but its time you moved on, you need someone who can love you and take care of you the way I can’t. You deserve more than to be shoved away into some storage box, never again to share your sparkle with the world. You have performed dutifully my comrade, and for that, I thank you.

And to think, I didn’t even know I’d need you until I moved back to Seattle and joined the Downtown 24 Hour Fitness. It was there that I learned that I do in fact, have a sign on my forehead that reads: “If you’re a guy who’s under 5’2” and you like to grunt while you lift weights which are far heavier than you can safely lift, I am totally in your league. Please come talk to me. Limited English skills a plus!”

So I did it. I bought you. You were an impulse purchase at Nordstrom Rack- you called to me while I was waiting in line to buy some shoes. You were hanging there on a circular display, surrounded by some of your friends. Your friends were gigantic. Like Pamela Anderson’s breasts, they screamed of fakeness. No- I was looking for something different. More of a Dolly Parton. Big? Yes. In your face? Yes. Somehow tastefully over-the-top? Exactly. And your $12 price tag was in my budget.

We set out from there together. You lived in my wallet’s change compartment and were happy there. Though you were only called to action a handful of times during our years together, you faithfully stood on-point, ready to serve around the clock.

You even helped my friends- which was perhaps your role which brought me the most joy. Like a ninja, I learned not only how to locate you and get you onto my ring finger in a swift and virtually undetectable motion, but also how to subtly pass you into the hand of a girl-friend-in-need. Drug dealers in South Central LA would envy my ability to make such a stealth transfer under the watchful gaze of a Mr. Wrong. You helped Allison that time at Lelani Lanes when even the presence of her actual boyfriend didn’t seem to discourage her pursuer. You helped Ann dissuade Mr. Important-Job-on-Capitol-Hill the at the bar in DC by acting as the ring that was not only her great-grandmother’s, but also a sign of commitment between her and her life companion. (All of this serving as the logical excuse for why you were visibly WAY too big for her).

But most importantly, you helped me. Helped me, and enabled me to avoid uncomfortable honesty. Have you essentially helped me lie? Yes, but have you helped me lie in a why that spares others’ feelings? Yes. In my opinion, the ends justified the means.

But now I have a real engagement ring. It is beautiful just like you. I hate to say that it is more beautiful than you, so I’ll spare your feelings. Besides, while you both feature impressive micro pavé set accent diamonds and a bezel-set center stone, you two are made of very different materials and have totally different reasons for being; This one is meant to stay on my finger- forever. I really shouldn't take this one off- even if I want to get hit on. So I won’t say that my new ring is better, I’ll just say that it’s different. In a good way.

I will always have a place in my heart for you, but we both know that its time we parted. I’m happy now- you deserve to be happy too.

So I’m having a contest write here on Ginapalooza. I want to find the best home for you, and I want to hear from each interested reader why HE OR SHE deserves to have you. I want to know what kind of home you will have, what kind of activities and jobs you can look forward to etc. Readers can comment below as to why they feel they are the most deserving of a new fake engagement ring. I will consider all applicants, and your full custody will be awarded to the winner. Special preference will be give to applicants who promise to send me pictures of you in action throughout your times together.



(note to readers: I will post photos of this beauty shortly...)

The Dixie Chicks strike again!

Hot digidy!

I’ve been out of the music loop lately (um, was I really ever in it?) but I heard from Darling Beth today that the Dixie Chicks are releasing their new album later this month so I did some snooping online and found that aolmusic.com released the video of the single, “Not Ready to Make Nice” today. Watched it. Loved it. Voted on the poll afterward expecting to see that most others loved it too. Wrong-0.
I was in the minority. About 30% of viewers loved it. The rest hated it. Someone must have organized some sort of a Vote “Hated It”-Clear Yer’ Cookies and Vote Again! Rally somewhere down in Texas, as there STILL seem to be some people who are pissed off about the Dixie Chicks. So much so that they can’t recognize a good song when they hear it. Oh, maybe that explains the success of Toby Keith…. Ah, I see. Now THERE’S Someone with good, strong ass-kicking American family values exemplified in these lyrics outlining the benefits to just knocking one out in a one-night-stand rather than dither about with all that relationship garbage (which apparently is “too demanding”.)


Sorry… back to the Dixie Chicks-The whole song was very angsty, full of emotion and a big old “Screw You!” to all who reacted so violently against them after they voiced their disapproval of GW however long ago that was. And when I say “violently” I mean it- the lyrics allude to death threats received by Natalie Maines received as a result of her opinions. Because God knows, there is nothing more un-American that having an opinion and voicing it. Sheesh…

So my plea to the people who are going to get all worked up again about the Dixie chicks and spend a bunch of energy hating them: just save it. It’s a great song, they’re great performers and they can rock their instruments and voices. Besides, as I’ve already mentioned, there are PLENTY of other country artists out there who will sing you nice songs about America Kicking Ass etc. Go listen to them if it makes you feel better. Or just, well, open your mind a bit.

For now, I'm going to go on loving country music among other genres, wishing that a lot of it was better, enjoying the good stuff when it comes around, and simply changing the channel when there's a song that I don't like.

Things that have happened since you heard from me last:

1. Had too much to drink at the Army Navy Club. I’m sure many people throughout history have said that, and now I’m proud to be among their ranks. Proceeded to go out for oysters at a near by restaurant and assume role of “Oyster Aficionado/Goddess” solely because I am from the State of Washington.
   
2. Went to see the WILD PONIES(!!!!) on Asseteague Island off the coast of Maryland.
   
3. Got a scoffed at by teen-aged waiter at a local crab restaurant because I’d never had soft shell crabs. (I mean he was really looking at me like I was an alien- I think he thought I was lying to him or something? His exact words were “Um, you’ve never had soft shell crabs? Um, that’s weird.” Regardless, I’m proud to say that Dungeness are way better. Soft shell crabs can get off their high horse as far as I’m concerned.
   
4. Learned that J will be leaving in 2 weeks. Then found out yesterday that he actually has to leave a week earlier than that to go to a class back in Washington State before he leaves… I swear.
   
5. Looked at a Condo for sale in a not great but not too terrible part of town that was tiny, had one bedroom, a den/office, kitchenette and 2 bathrooms that was selling for 360K. “Cozy” would be an accurate description.
   
6. Went back to the Middle Eastern restaurant with the great dessert- paid attention this time and learned that it is called “Namoura.” I think that is Arabic for “Best three dollars you’ve ever spent in your life- period.” The place is called Mama Ayesha’s and I highly recommend it on your next visit to The District.

That’s about it. What have y’all been up to? Plans for tomorrow’s St. Patrick’s Day? Me? I’ll probably throw on the trusty “Everyone Loves and Irish Girl” shirt, have a Harp or two and… end up singing Molly Malone until the downstairs lady calls the police again??

1) I totally forgot to mention that the downstairs lady called the cops on us last weekend at around 9:15PM on Friday night for being too loud. Lisa had just arrived for the weekend and we were playing Kareoke Revolution. I guess her version of Bobby McGee was just too good to ignore? Or perhaps it was me...
So my new mental notes to self: No bone chewing at after 9PM for Daphne, and no fun-having past 9:15 for the rest of us.

2)There is only one dog park in the DC city limits, and when we go there, we always park (illegally) in the neighboring restaurant’s parking lot because there is really no parking for the park- which is just a little quirk of DC... I always feel like a sneaky bad-ass with a guilt complex for parking there, but its usually just for 15 minutes or so.

Last night, knowing that there were no groceries in the refrigerator, we decided to have dinner there after the dog park. It is a really lovely Middle Eastern place. I just wish I would have known how great the food was a long time ago. The dinner was great (I had stuffed cabbage, very ugly but very tasty) but the dessert was out-of-this-world fabulous. It was kind of like baklava, but lighter- kind of fluffier, not quite as dense. I forget what it was called, but god-willing, I’ll be able to recognize it on a menu again some day. Essentially, I wanted to embrace our waiter for having recommended it to us in the first place. If I knew his name, I’d likely put him in my will (though Lisa already has first dibs on my most valuable asset: Daphne).

So- not only did I feel like I finally supported the restaurant at which I regularly park illegally, but I food that made me want to jump up and down and clap. All in all, a good night.

Hello Friends

Funny how things like oh, say, blogging just don’t seem as appealing when I am mentally taxed all day at work. Kind of says a lot about my last job eh? Just imagine that you are about a year old. You’re standing at one end of a hallway. Someone at the opposite end is standing there, looking at you and says “Walk over here.” Now, as a grown person (or even a 5 year old) you see no big challenge in walking across the room. But friend, you are only one. You can barely walk. This molehill seems like a mountain.

That’s how I feel at work now. I know that soon I’ll look back and realize how not hard this really is, its just all so brand new that I have to learn every tiny aspect from nothing.

So imagine me, as a one year old. When someone asks me to walk across the room, I want to do it. I see how easy it is. Millions of people do it everyday… it even looks kind of fun… But first I’ve got to figure out how to balance, flex my muscles, bend my knees and pick up my feet.

You dig?

Now let’s talk about my car:

I got a new battery at Sears for my car. While I was there, I figured I’d get new tires too, as I would be pushing my luck to continue driving on my old ones for much longer. And I mean really, what’s not to love about dropping $500+ on your car in an afternoon? But now I can stop each and every time I hit the brakes, which is good.

I thought I was driving a really hard bargain by opting out of the road hazard extended warranty after I noticed that it was automatically added to my work order and bill. (PS- if you want to really irk me, sell me something and charge me for it without asking me first- I love that!). So after opting out of said extended warranty protection (I mean come on, tires are thick and strong- and they have a manufacturers warranty in case anything major happens…) I promptly hit a massive curb/drain/pothole-like thing on the street when I was trying to park at night. And when I say “promptly,” I mean “the very next god damned night after buying brand new tires”. Huge gouge in the side wall of the new tire. Swear words were spoken. A guy in a wheel chair stopped on the sidewalk and told me I should have my alignment checked. I was furious. The kind of furious that you get when you have no one to blame but yourself, and even then, it really isn’t your fault. So to speak.

So with my head hanging low, I returned to Sears and told them my story, and fully expected to have to pay another $100 and some change on a new tire. But they guy said, ‘Oh, you might be okay- it’s probably covered under the warranty… (reads through paper work…) Oh shoot- looks like you opted out of the road hazard warranty. Too bad.”

We had a laugh about Murphy’s law and he was an agreeable enough guy. And then the unthinkable happened:

Guy at Sears: “Listen, why don’t I just charge you the $45 for the extended warranty as if you bought it yesterday, and then the cost of the new tire and realignment is covered under the warranty.”

Gina: ______________(that’s the sound of me being speechless with delight).


So- Thank you guy at Sears, you really made me feel like less of an ass for nearly popping my tire while parallel parking!

And advice to all others who live in cities with terribly maintained roads*:


Just pay for the warranty.



*I’m not complaining, just making an observation.


Car Topic 2: I took my car in for its 60K mile tune up today, and I get a call that both of my “marker lights” are burnt out. After a far-to-long conversation with the gal on the phone about not only what “marker lights” are (the lights in your head light unit that are neither headlights or turn signal lights…?) but also their function which apparently is to accompany the headlight and tell others that they are in fact, viewing the front of your car rather than the back (Which I was only able to ascertain after loudly stating “I understand that they are MARKER LIGHTS, I need you to tell me what they DO- what is their reason for BEING), she gave me a repair quote:

“that’ll run ya $154.”

I guess this dealership has a woman service manager available to speak with other woman clients so we don’t feel like we’re getting screwed over, but its hard not to feel like your village was just pilfered when someone tells you that they’re going to change two light bulbs, and charge you $154 (in addition to the super spendy 60K service, about which I am already conflicted, given that they’re really just changing the oil, checking the fluids and changing my spark plugs…).

She said that the parts are only $6, but the labor is what costs so much because they have to remove the entire headlight assembly.

Maybe I should have learned my lesson re. “getting what you pay for” with the whole tire warranty deal, but can you blame me for wanting to see if I can fix the damned lights on my own before I spend that much to have someone else do it?

And its not even for my headlights (which work fine) but for my MARKER LIGHTS, which truth be told, I didn’t even know existed before today.

So… anyone know how to take apart a headlight assembly in an ’02 Subaru Outback Sport?


And all this for a car when I’d just prefer to take the metro everywhere so I can listen to the Ricky Gervais Show Podcasts on my iPod…