Archive | November, 2011

The signs above grocery aisles are always amazing to me. Not only do they serve as a highlight reel for whatever is located in that aisle, but they also provide me a brief glimpse into whatever corner of the world I’m in. The items listed on those signs sustain the population of that area. These are the things they fill their carts with, what they pop out to grab in the middle of the night.

And occasionally, those signs are hilarious.

According to this one, spotted in a Portland drug store, a lot of folks in Oregon are searching for douches (I know of several in Seattle I would be delighted to send their way). And a good number of folks in Idaho are evidently looking for beverages whose popularity peaked sometime during the Reagan administration:

I can't decide if this is brilliance, or madness.



The inner workings of my soul and a dark and hostile place. My husband has been with me for nearly 10 years, and there are still times when I will say something so full of vitriol and spite that he will look at me, his eyes wide, and whisper, “Jesus Christ, Geraldine.”

My response to this is usually to giggle, because it is always a comfort to know you can still surprise your husband, even if that surprise stems from his shock at how evil you are.


To the little blond kid on Alaska Air Flight #232,

It seems we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.

I see this as largely your fault, of course. When you saw me quietly sleeping in my chair, you – for reasons that defy logic (Was it curiosity? Thoughtlessness? Demonic possession? I’m leaning towards the latter) – decided to shake the back of my seat vigorously until I woke up.


Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and it is with no small measure of shame that I realize I haven’t even talked about Halloween. Or last summer, for that matter. I’ve fallen so behind on my blog I’ve become unstuck in time. So much so that I didn’t realize how bizarre this next photo was. I came across it while going through a set of pictures from a trip to New York and New Jersey.


Naturally, I’m intrigued by the premise. Watching a dinner theater show called Gilligan’s Island of Death sounds like a great way to spend an evening, and not just because I always kind of wanted the Skipper to choke Gilligan for ruining their chances of salvation YET AGAIN (I only hope the food is on-theme – plentiful seafood entrees and a slice of coconut cream pie to finish it all off?). I figured I must have taken this photo in September or October – and that the show was intended for Halloween, right? Nope. Not all. Look closer at the dates.

Because May to August is really the spookiest time of year in the Northeast.


A creepy horror dinner show that runs from MAY TO AUGUST? Does the entirety of Bucks County has some sort of seasonal jet-lag? (Because if so, I totally understand. This year, summer did not come to Seattle).

For some reason, the elaborate Christmas displays that have already gone up, and the 12-decibels-too-loud holiday music that’s currently being pumped into every public space in America suddenly doesn’t seem so strange. In the spirit of the season, I’m going to go hang some mistletoe, dye some Easter eggs, and pass out candy to trick-or-treaters. Because, really, I have no idea what’s going on anymore.

And with that, Happy Thanksgiving, folks. Don’t eat too many of those candy conversation hearts, okay? You’ll get a tummy ache.

On occasion, I like to think of myself as a badass.

I’m not, mind you, but I like to think of myself as one. I also like to think of myself as elegant, demure, clear-skinned, and clever. Compared to those far greater delusions “badass” doesn’t seem so unreasonable. Especially when it comes to food.

A few weeks ago, I stood on my soapbox and prattled on about this precise subject. How I fearlessly gobbled guinea pig in Peru, and how in the past I’d tackled tripe without thinking about it, polished off pig’s feet with panache.  Food, it seems, is the one area of my life in which I’m not a coward.

In fact, when it comes to cuisine, I may actually be a badass. A little bit, at least.


Rand thinks I’m overly superstitious. I, in turn, think that he’s constantly tempting fate into screwing with us.

Take the following scenario, which happens at least once a month:

Rand and I are driving to the airport. We are almost running late, but not quite. If we are able to keep up the miraculous average speed which we’ve attained, we’ll be fine. If not, we’ll have to engage in that awful sport, long forsaken by the Olympics:  The panicked running-to-the-gate dash (in this race THERE ARE NO WINNERS). As the surprisingly light traffic rushes along, Rand will often say something like,

“Man, I can’t believe how light traffic is.”

At which point I will scream like mad woman, because really, WHY WOULD YOU EVER SAY THAT?

He has to know how physics and the universe works, right? The second you say something like that, the exact opposite will happen. Comment on light traffic, and you will find yourself in a parking lot in the middle of I-5. Make a crack about how you can’t believe that the dress you wore to last year’s holiday party still miraculously fits, and you will instantly gain 15 pounds (I’ve seen it happen. TO ME) It’s not luck. It’s science.


I’ve spent the last week at home. It’s been all kinds of fabulous, really. I got to do laundry. And sit on my own couch. And sleep in my own bed, never once waking up to wonder where the heck I was.

Fabulous, I tell you. Of course, it’s only temporary, but I’m going to enjoy it. And have another slice of cake, which I baked myself in my very own kitchen.

While I do that, take a gander at the week that was …


Seattle’s own Octogenarian activist Dorli Rainey was pepper sprayed by police at an Occupy Seattle protest. In an interview with Keith Olbermanm, she talks about her experience with wit and grace. To quote The Stranger, Ms. Rainey really is a civic treasure.


Famous album covers, recreated with kittens. It’s just as awesome as it sounds.


This week, the motherboard on my computer broke.

I’m not even sure what that statement means. Not since I cracked my ulna the summer after second grade have I broken something, suffered a large amount of inconvenience as a result, and still barely understood what was broken in the first place. The good news is that the motherboard is now fixed, and waiting for me at Rand’s office.

And no, I still don’t know what a motherboard does.

Since my computer has been out of commission all week, I haven’t been able to post about any of my most recent trips – to London, New York, or Barcelona (I’d yet to upload the photos to Flickr when my computer died. I reacted to this like any reasonable adult would. I cried and then ate a bunch of Oreos). This initially stressed me out – Have I been rambling on about Peru for too many weeks now? Are my readers getting incredibly bored of hearing me talk about eating guinea pigs and not flushing my t.p.?

Hopefully not, because there is still so much I have yet to tell you about our journey to South America. And so many photos to share – ones that, thankfully, made it up to Flickr in one piece. Here are ten of my favorites from the trip.

  1. Creepy little skull sculpture, the Larco Museum, Lima.

    Doesn't he TOTALLY look like the guy who was guarding the Holy Grail in the third Indiana Jones movie?

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