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…

Almost Heaven, West Virginia...

Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River….

Hot Damn, isn’t it great that just the thought of John Denver can put a smile on your face? What? It didn’t put a smile on your face? Okay, just the thought of John Denver puts a smile on MY face. And probably Anne’s. And Kari’s too!

I was a real live Mountain Mamma this weekend- I went to West Virginia!! J and I went skiing at Snowshoe for the three day weekend and had a lovely time. I was prepared for crappy ski conditions, as I was advised that all snow on this side of the country is pretty much 100% pure garbage, but really- it wasn’t too bad. Not great, but ski-able. The double black diamond runs were closer to hefty blue squares in my book, and there was a fair amount of man-made snow, but it did the trick.

And here’s what put me over into the “I’d ski there again” category: The West Virginians.

Seriously the nicest people- as a whole- that I’ve ever encountered. Real salt of the earth types. Sure, our waitresses generally had sideburns that reminded me of my grandfather in the early 80’s, but what they lacked in fashion and dental hygiene, they made up for in good-hearted wholesomeness. No other way to word it.

I’m looking forward to going back there in summer- I predict that it will be a beautiful drive when everything is alive a green. Daphne will also appreciate a return trip to her homeland. I don’t know that she really has roots in WV, but I’d like to think that she does.

So aside from skiing, there was soaking in the hot tub after said skiing (much needed), Trivial Pursuit Pop Culture (at which I totally RULE!), eating of good food, and watching of Olympic level curling, bobsledding and ice dancing.

Ah- there was also a flash lesson in auto care and maintenance, as my car wouldn’t start on Sunday or Monday morning- well, it did start, but not without heavy prompting, channeling of positive vibes and looking through the owner’s manual with a crooked brow. I think it was one part old battery that “needs replaced” (as they say in WV) and one part FRIGGEN FREEZING cold outside in the mornings. As in… my entire car was frozen solid because I parked in the shade. So cold that when I released the clutch after trying to start the car, it stayed completely engaged. Guess that’s why they plug in their cars in Alaska… Or maybe my battery just never fully recovered after “The Great Stuck- on-Snoqualmie-Pass-With-Lisa-Whilst-Running-All-Accessories-on-Full-Blast Capers of ‘05”??? The world will never know…

In any case, a trip to Sears is in order this weekend. And not the Softer Side. I hear DieHard’s are the way to go.

Is this irony or just plain crap?

J is supposed to be driving a desk these days, pushing paper etc. We just got to DC about a month ago (well, I did at least, he's been here for about 2 months). We're finally unpacked for the most part, I found a job that I like, things have been going swimmingly. This was supposed to be our time to finally be normal young people in love...

But he found out yesterday that he's getting deployed again. For a year. And he leaves soon. I have milk in the refrigerator that expires after he leaves. This time, he won't be on a ship traveling around through bad-guy waters, but actually on land in bad-guyville. You can imagine how thrilling this is to me.

As much as I've been wanting to scream "BUT YOU CAN'T DO THAT- THAT'S NOT THE WAY IT'S SUPPOSED TO GO!! HE JUST GOT HOME!" I realize that it really doesn't matter how/why/who this is all coming from. Regardless of why its happening, or how incredibly... not fair... it is, it's happening. And it very well could turn me into a bitter, bitter person. In theory, I should get pissed, I should be bitter, I should lead the protest march. I should help stick the "Step Down Bush" stickers all over DC.

But I don't want to be bitter and mad because that's not who I am. I like being happy. And I need that trait right now more than ever. I'll be damned if THIS ("this" being a very broad term here) is going to change my core. I've learned that, for me at least, having the capacity to be pissed at "The Man" is a luxury I don't have. For now at least.

And in response to a comment left on my last entry, yes, I did like McDreamy when he was just a nerd in Can't Buy Me Love. Duh...

Valentine's Day Observation

I stopped into Rite Aid today on my way home from work today(Oh yeah, the new job is going really well by the way- totally overwhelmed, but in a good way. I think.) to get a card for J. Granted, tomorrow is Valentine's day, but really, who needs more than a day of lead/prep time to buy a card?

I was irked to see that all of the cards for men including the "Love, for him" and "For Husband" etc were pretty well picked-over. Only some cheesy ones left. Then when I did find one that was okay, I couldn't find a matching envelope for it... (It was oblong).


Interestingly enough, the cards "For My Wife" "Romantic- For her" were completely well-stocked. And looked as though they hadn't been touched.

Not entirely surprising.


So readers, what are y'all doing for Valentine's Day? And if you respond with "Nothing- its just a holiday created by the greeting card industry to make us feel that spending money on our loved ones is the only way to show how much we care!" Please, be honest- do you really feel that way, or is that the opinion that you've had to adopt in order to avoid pending disappointment?

Huh. that was uneventful

Okay we lost, even though we played what many would consider, a better game. I found the whole thing entirely anti-climactic. Perhaps a product of being a Cougar fan where we blow big leads in the last minute in heart-breaking, but exciting (for the other team) losses.

I found myself saying, "well, there are 3 minutes to go and... looks like there's no way we could win. Darn."


But how 'bout those Stones?!? Sheesh! I never thought I'd say this, but I think Mic and Keith might be in better cardiovascular health than me. Or anyone I know for that matter.

Even the commercials weren't all that glorious. I did like the streaking lamb and the little colt trying to pull the Budweiser wagon. What was your favorite?

Off to watch Grey's Anatomy.

Future blog topic: Saw Brokeback Mountain this weekend and fear that my new fascination with Jake Gillinthal might be stronger than my feelings for Dr. McDreamy. I'm shocked.

Kidding!!

Perhaps I should have clarified in my most recent post...

Of COURSE I'm kidding about my money being transfered to a no-access-by-me account! It was just a little joke... perhaps not so funny in some situations, but when we're talking about gina-money-maven-palooza, its at least... silly.

Now I really want to comment about me starting to assume responsibility for his child-support payments- at least until he starts working again, or collecting on that disability claim... But I won't. Becuase some women really DO do things like that.

And no, he doesn't have any children... That he knows of.

The end is near

The end of sleeping in everyday and not having to go to work every morning that is.

It looks as thought I'll be starting a new J-O-B next week, and while I'm happy about it, as I think its a good fit, I'll miss my early DC days, and all of the long walks and daytime television programming that it brought to my life.

I was even able to watch Days of Our Lives two days in a row, and (not) surprisingly enough, was able to pick up right where I left off back Junior high... And yes, it seems that Marlena Evans is once again, brainwashed. Not sure if it (again) was all the work of The Evil Stephano (who has likely died and come back to life at least a few times in the past 10-15 years) but its still the making of good TV.

On a seperate note, J and I have recently opened a joint checking account with which to pay our joint expenses, (he's having me do direct deposit of all of my pay check into it, and is taking out about 90% of it each month and putting it into a special account I don't have access to "for our future," this is a good idea right?? No silly...) and the checks arrived yesterday. The first set was free. This sounded fine until I got them, looked at them, and found that the free checks are kind of a sample-pack of about 5 popular styles that we can choose in the future. A good idea in theory, until I realized that an Anne Geddes design is included, which means that every 5th check we now write will have BABIES IN GD FLOWER POTS on them...

Hey, that sorority girl from 1998 called: she wants her checks back! Good lord...

So on that happy note, here's a little somethin' for y'all. Have a super day. And remember, shoot for the moon. 'Cause even if you miss, you'll still be among the stars!!

When it's good, it's good

I was reading the DC City Paper a couple of days ago and had to tear out an ad that really spoke to my heart. It was a small black and white ad in the corner of the page for Madams Organ, a bar that I've been to only once, but liked quite a bit near our place in Adams Morgan. It caught my eye because I'd been there before and recognized the name. But it captured my heart when I read:

"Rolling Rocks 1/2 off for Redheads Everyday"


Thank you world, for understanding the plight of the American Redhead.

Not trying to jump on the anti-corporate/Supersize Me band-wagon but...

I think I have the short answer to America's weight problem: Let's start looking (with both eyes)at how much food we're eating! As a Registered Dietitian, I feel that it is necessary to stay up-to-date and current on availability of fast food at popular American franchises. So I went to Popeye's Chicken the other day for an evaluation. Which involved eating a three piece chicken strip meal...

Which enjoying my meal (which ironically, I didn't enjoy at all because, well, it was pretty gross- I honestly don't know why I went there, other than I remember that the biscuits were really tasty when I went there in New Orleans... which is about all I remember. Which should have told me something.) I was reading through the flyer on my tray and discovered that it contained 4 columns of coupons for use at future visits. What I'm about to tell you is not an exaggeration, I'm reading it as a type (yes, I took it home because I planned to mail it to Kelly, who I knew would appreciate the insanity of it).

column Number 1 "Snacks": 3 pieces and a biscuit

Does the world need a reminding that HALF of a chicken is a bit more than a snack? Maybe this is why people think that a dietitians mantra of "at least three meals and two snacks a day" sounds so impossible. At that rate, there would be no more chickens pecking this earth... A string cheese and some raisins... celery and some peanut butter people... THAT is a snack!

Column 2 "Meals for 1": Free 2 Piece Meal with the Purchase of 2-Piece Dinner.

I hope for the sake of our nation's total LDL levels that they're considering this for a total of 2 people, but I fear all 4 pieces will head toward the same mouth...

Column 3 "Meals for 2": 10 pieces, 1 Large Side and 5 biscuits $9.99

That's it, no buy one get one free, just 10 pieces of deep fried chicken, a large bucket of side dish, and 5 biscuits. Between 2 people though, I'd hate to see the fight about who gets a third biscuit, and who gets stuck with only two measly biscuits, (plus 5 pieces of chicken and about 2.5 cups of mac and cheese, baked beans or mashed potatoes...)

And yet, as a nation, how much do we spend on the diet industry???

Column 4 "meals for the family": Buy a bunch of chicken and then go hide the bones in the cracks of the sidewalk for the neighborhood dogs to choke on!



Alright, that's all for now. I'm going to go drink some water and maybe have an apple. And 15 pieces of chicken. Cause I'm trying to watch my portion sizes.

The things I like, the things I don't care for.

Because my mother always said that its more polite to say "I don't care for XYZ" than "I don't like XYZ". She was referring to food at the dinner table, but I'm hoping it’s still the case here.

So- it's been a week and two days, and here is what I have gathered so for about DC:

Top 3 Things I don't care for:

1) The unbelievable number of chicken bones that litter the sidewalks of this city. I can honestly say that not once in my life have I ever felt the urge to eat a piece of chicken while walking down, or sitting on the street. But if pressed, I suppose I can see a certain appeal in such a mobile snack. But when finished sucking all the meat off the bone what kind of person says to him/herself, "Self, I think I'll just drop this chicken bone right here on the street, after all, the rats are looking awfully skinny these days, I'm sure they could use a nice meal. Or may it will just biodegrade?!"

To and/all people who may assume the above: In reality, the fate of your chicken bones is a little different: Here's the real deal- the bones don’t just disappear, they get kicked aside and slough off into the cracks of the sidewalk, the medians, or the strips of dirt that run between the sidewalk and driveways, and share their new home with broken glass, dirty band-aids, and a plethora of other unsavory human waste items. Then, when people are walking down the street with their dogs, specifically, dogs with extra keen senses of smell...the hound group for instance... their dogs take great joy in finding the bones and stealthily snapping them up in the mouths. Unfortunately, cooked chicken bones splinter, and are a big safety no-no in the world of domestic dogs. Because of this, the owners have to pry open their dogs' vice-grip jaws, reach their hand into the dogs' mouths and fish around for the bone fragments, pull the dog-saliva coated hand/arm out of said mouths (all the while cursing and rumbling things like "son of a BITCH! Where the HELL are all these GOD DAMNED chicken bones coming from?!?!?"). Then the dog owners are sitting there with shards of dog and human chewed chicken bone in their hands, and wander around like that until they find a proper trash receptacle in which to toss the bones.

So my proposal to the world of chicken-bone-throwers is this: I'll continue to pick up and throw away my dog's poop, if you drop your bones in a trash can instead of the sidewalk. Deal? Great, thanks.

2) Customer Service Attitudes (or lack thereof)
Wow. I'm only basing this on my experiences at the DMV, the grocery store and the Vet's office, but g-wiz, the only thing I have in my memory bank to compare it to would have to be... Eastern Block Europe- in the early 90's.

Granted, DMV employees are typically not known for the outstanding personalities, but these folks were real peaches. But I suppose I did eventually get my car registered and get my license. But I did a lot of research online and got all my ducks in a row before stepping foot into their offices, (and I only got sent home once to get more documentation...) I felt really bad for the other people I saw there who needed some help figuring out how things worked, and they clearly were not going to get that help. Ever.

As for the grocery store and the vet's office, its just a general feeling of apathy toward long lines of waiting customers, and an "I'll get to you when I get to you" type of attitude that I -now that I think about it- rarely saw in Seattle.

3) Our downstairs neighbor that started pounding on her ceiling last night with a broom handle (in what I can only imagine was an aggressive attempt to tell us to be quiet) while J and I were quietly filing papers and organizing our book shelves. It was about 9:50 PM. We finally realized that it was Daphne. She was on the floor, chewing on her new bone that I got her at the pet store after her trip to the vet. Apparently the sound of her chewing was just too much for this lady to handle.

Am I a bad person if I am eagerly awaiting her next session of (what is routinely audible) sexual intercourse during which I plan to jump up and down on the floor?

Payback can be a bitch. And sometimes, so can I.



Things that I LIKE!

1) The Metro.

I just can't help it. I think its fun, exciting and just so damned great!

2) The insanely aggressive driving. I was toying with putting it on my things I don't care for list, but in all honesty, I think I'm growing to like it. At first, getting honked at for not driving like a total spaz make me nervous and defensive, now it just fuels the fire that is... me. Now that I have my DC plates, I feel more justified in honking at people with out of state plates when they say… need to get out of a turn lane and the last minute, or take more than 1/8 of a second to accelerate when the light turns green. Kind of like hazing...

3) The best things in this town are all free!

All the sights, museums etc- all free. America: Membership has its benefits.

4) This is where its ALL HAPPENING. And its not like I'm part of it, heck, I'm really not involved in any of it. But it feels more real. And I have a front row ticket.

5) I'm on the East coast, but I don't feel like an alien. Everyone is from somewhere, and there is a little bit of everywhere somewhere.

6) I can see the Capitol and the Washington Monument every time I take Daphne out for even the quickest walk.



So- for now at least, there are more things that I like than I don't. And you can't ask for much more than that. I'm off to dabble in the job hunt... which I admit, is still half-hearted, as there is so much to do here, that who really has time to work?

...until I run out of money...

Abrir la ventana

Or... "Open the window" to those of you who not in the Spanish-know.

It's something that I can do now. After living in a 420 square foot studio in Seattle for over two years with NO windows (which I really didn't realize until after I signed the lease- that's what happens when you find a place that allows big dogs, has a washer/dryer in the unit AND is in your price range- you just TAKE IT.) It had French doors that led out to a little patio, so I didn't feel boxed-in, but you can't exactly leave those all night. Well, okay, I did all the time. And I'll publicly admit that now, since I no longer live there and feel fairly confident that no one will come looking for me there anymore, but really- that was right up there with driving drunk as far as risky behaviors go.

Anyway...

Now we have more windows than I can shake a fist at. And we're on the 4th floor, so I can leave them open at night, during the day etc without worrying that someone is going to meander into my place unannounced.

So let me just say, after not being able to open a GD window for so long, I am loving fresh air... while I'm inside! Without fear of being stabbed to death by a night stalker!!

And as it were, its unseasonably warm in DC right now, so its just delightful. Until I start thinking that its due to the effects of global warming, and that my grandchildren will have to wear space-suits on the playground to avoid having skin cancer and growing tails by age 3 1/2 if we keep going at this rate...

But hell, for now, I'm a happy girl.


That's about it for now. On a side note, I'd like to throw this out there: I'm thinking about referring to Daphne as "My Bizo" from now on. Thoughts?

Ummm... Chili Mac for Breakfast...

Here is the scene. Its a little after 10:30AM, I've just woken up and have already done some preliminary e-mail checking etc, Daphne is still asleep in her bed in the other room. I've just pulled some re-heated left-overs out of the microwave and I'm trying my best to enjoy the "5-way Chili Mac" from last nights trip to Hard Times for Wing Night, and type at the same time. A challenge, but if anyone can do it, a Registered Dietitian can do it. After all, we ARE experts in food and nutrition...

We got into DC on Tuesday night, arriving from State College. The trip to Pee Ayyy was unplanned and somewhat last minute, but I think it turned out nicely. But lets start at the beginning.

Loyal readers know that I stopped in Ashland, OR on night one. This was somewhat uneventful, as I simply drove down I-5 all day until I got there. I did make one two stops in Oregon. 1) Barnes and Noble in Portland to pick up some books on CD, and 2) Burgerville for a Hazelnut shake, which was fabulous, though technically it was a "Smoothie" because it was made with frozen yoghurt instead of ice cream. All I wanted was a kid's size shake, but they only do those in boring flavors. A full-on Hazelnut shake while delicious, can be a bit much on a poor souls stomach if you know what I mean...

So the girl at the counter swore that the smoothies were easier to handle. The jury is still out on that one.

So I stayed at a Super 8 because they allow dogs for a small fee, and that was that.

Woke up early and made it to Mountainview, CA to stay with Beth and Tim that evening. It was great to see them, even if it was just for a short night. Beth and I took Daphne to a California Dog Park. Daphne felt hip and trendy. Beth felt normal, as she was finally at the dog park with a real live dog. And she make Sloppy Joes from a recipe that someone gave her at a Bridal Shower that were- no joke- out of this world. Pretty sure I've never used that term to describe any food item with the name "sloppy" in it before.

The next morning I was on my way to Nevada or Utah (whichever I could make it to) via Reno. I crossed over the Sierra Nevada Mts with little in the way of ice or snow, but as soon as the coast was really clear and you could actually start driving again, I got a speeding ticket. I was speeding. And it was in Truckee, CA, so I guess I just have to accept it. But now I can say I was pulled over by a CHiPs officer. Would have been a whole lot more fun if it were Ponch and/or John though.

After Reno I had a decision to make: stay on the slightly longer more northern route on the major interstate (which was advised by mapquest), or go in a straight line to Denver, on a state highway through Nevada...

I probably should have chosen the interstate, even if it was a little longer, but I didn't.

About 100 miles into it, having seen absolutely NO signs of life other than the white steaks across the sky from airplanes that let's face it- Could have been on military training missions about ready to drop dummy bombs on me- I started to panic, as I only had a 1/4 tank of gas, and the cell phone reception was spotty (at best).

A few broken/panicked calls to J (as we will now call my live-in life partner, since he has a super secret job and can't be tracked online...) which had me explaining that I was probably going to run out of gas out in the middle of NO WHERE and would then proceed to shrivel up and DIE, also helped me to learn that there was a town with gas about 50 miles away. He even called them and confirmed that they were open...

But would I make it 50 miles... No.

So by the grace of god, after about 20 miles a tiny little middle-of-no-where motel with a gas pump appears in my line of vision... And it was real!

I practically had to pump the gas manually, but I was happy to oblige, and happy to pay the $3.60 a gallon that they were charging. It was there that I learned that Highway 50 is also nicknamed, "The Loneliest Highway in America" and rightly so. Needless to say, I nearly learned the hard way that when driving in unknown places, fill up at every opportunity.

The gal at the motel/gas pump (it really wasn't a gas station, it was just a pump) gave me a map and tried her best to tell me about each bend and turn in the road that was coming up until the Utah border. Which was actually quite helpful later on when things got dark and icy and really curvy.

Her last words were, "And keep an eye out for cattle, because they're really out there!". The entire area was open range land, which gave me a better appreciation for the Old West, and make me understand that the "cow catchers" on old trains were not in fact, just for show.

I made it to Ely, Nevada that night, which I assumed from its bold type on the map was going to be a thriving metropolis. When I got there, it seemed to me more like a Ronald, WA. Only not conveniently neighboring the bustling Rosyln and CleElum.

But there were a few hotels, a some places to get food, and the next town over in Utah was over 100 miles further, so that was my stop for the night. I stayed at a small but clean/comfortable Best Western, and it was so late when I checked in that the gal at the counter didn't even charge me for Daphne. Gold Star for Ely Nevada!

From there I made it all the way to Denver, which was a great drive until the very end, which had me dealing with the Rocky Mountains at night (I had to pay so much attention to driving, that I couldn't even get my John Denver CD's out!) and navigating unexpected exact-change-only toll roads after I got into town.

It is here that I met up with J, we stayed at his sister and her husband's house and I met a large portion of his family. This was largely a blur, as I was really tired from driving, and trying my best to keep track of everyone. Also by the time, Daphne was starting to give me the "Do we live here now?" eyes every time she got out of the car. We stayed two nights in Denver which was a great rejuvenator, and were back on the road again to Kansas City, KS for the next night.

I ate a lot of beef in Kansas City. On recommendation, it was steaks the night we got into town, and a copious amount of BBQ the next day for lunch. Very tasty, but way too much of everything.

The next day, we were likely still in a Beef-Induced haze, as I had the hair-brained idea that maybe we should drive to Chicago after all! Visit Jennifer, have deep dish.... I wasn't noticing however, that it was already 2PM.

So we both agreed it would be fun, and set out toward Chicago. About 3 hours in, we realized that it was going to be another 9 hours of driving, which wouldn't put us into town until well after midnight, and Jennifer had to work the next day. So with great sadness, we aborted the Chicago mission and pressed on to Indianapolis where we found another Super 8.

J and I both agreed that this had to be the worst hotel either one of us had ever stayed in. Period.

It was a non-smoking room that smelled like an ashtray, with cigarette burns in the sheets, pillow cases and curtains. The sheets were threadbare and yellowish, and the towels were just as bad. If it weren't already 2AM, we likely would have had more energy to get our money back and move on, but at the time, it just seemed like too much work. No Gold Star for Indianapolis.

From there we probably could have made it to DC, but we'd already thought about going to visit Lisa in State College, PA as part-two of the "let's drive to Chicago to see Jennifer and get deep dish!" plan, so we continued toward PA, arriving that night just in time to catch the end of the Golden Globes, and get some cheese steaks. We stayed at Lisa's (yes, Daphne stayed there too- unbelievable!) and had breakfast at the Corner Room the next morning before Lisa had to get to work. There we met Lisa's friends and fellow bloggers Josh and Emily (in real life!) and then got back on the road.

We arrived in DC on Tuesday afternoon, hauled my things up to our place and cleaned out my car. So now here I am... Still surrounded by boxes, but making some headway. We bought some hangers last night, so I'll be able to unpack clothes today and hopefully feel a bit more settled in.

Okay- Daphne is officially awake and giving me "let's please go outside.... now!" nudges. So I'm of to walk around the block with her and get some fresh air.


One of these days I'm going to have to actually get a job and go to work everyday. Until then, I'm going to enjoy these lazy mornings :)

Landed... Finally!

I made it! I'm all the way on the other side, in the "Other Washington." I thought I'd be sprightly and full of vigor, ready to take on the world, but after a week of driving and far too many mediocre audio books, I'm just tired and need an actual night's sleep (free of the ash trayesque odors of the Super 8 rooms that claim to be "non-smoking" though they certainly were, at some point, rooms that housed many, many puffs.)

I've got my first load of integrated laundry (AKA "our laundry") going now, and lots of bags/boxes that await the unpacking process that I hope to tee off tomorrow morning at some reasonable hour.

Daphne is tucked-in to bed, sleeping like she's lived here for years and I am going to follow in her foot steps shortly.

Good night from the east coast, I'll write more soon about my first experiences with co-habitation!

Alpen-G

That's from last weekend's quick trip to the Alps. Or Maybe it was Plain, WA? Regardless, the sledding was fantastic.

Just a little reminder that I'm still here, but I've been a little frazzled with packing/cleaning/trip planning in the last few weeks.

But I'm officially on the road now. Dialing in from the Ashland, OR Super 8 to be specific... They allow dogs, for a very fair price. What can I say, Daphne loves this chain.

Off to grab some take-out at an Applebees-like food establishment. My only obligation for the rest of the evening is to be back by 10PM for the premiere episode (and certainly the most dramatic premiere yet...) of this season's Bachelor....