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.