Archive | March, 2013

I’m out of town yet again this week and next – I will sincerely try to get some posts up and ready to go for that time, but if I don’t, I have a reasonable excuse:

I was in the Great Barrier Reef. Snorkeling. With my husband.

Yeah. YEAH. I know. I’m probably snuggling with a wallaby right now as you are reading this. Life is grand.

While I’m off getting a tan and befriending a koala or three, you enjoy these links:

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This video, of two teenagers rocking the Beatle’s Let It Be (on the cello and violin) is nothing short of amazing.

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A collection of some of the greatest senior portraits, ever. (Note: I really wanted senior pics before I graduated, but they cost something like $300, so I just got one snapshot of me wearing a crocheted rainbow top and a choker. Because that’s how we rolled in 1998, apparently.)

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Leaving the Kloof was hard. I’m not even going to pretend otherwise. It was blissful and beautiful and it pulled at my heartstrings a little to leave. Driving away, it felt like it was the last day of camp, or the morning after a really great slumber party (you know, the ones where no one breaks down crying and the first person to fall asleep doesn’t have peanut butter smeared on her toes by the other guests).

We’d had a lovely time, and we were happy about that, but damn it, it was hard to see it end. It was tough to say goodbye.

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Going through my photos from South Africa, I noticed that a large number of them featured our friend Kurtis. Sometimes this was intentional. Other times, it was not:

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Phil shows us how it’s done.

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Remember episode of The Simpsons where Marge decides to take a vacation by herself and ends up at Rancho Relaxo?

Most of you are probably nodding enthusiastically. Others might have vague recollections of it. And a select few might be shaking your heads and saying, “I’ve never really watched The Simpsons.”

That latter group, of course, belongs under glass, so we can inspect and examine them, because they are the modern day equivalent of children being raised by wolves. I mean, we’ve heard rumors of it happening, we suspected it was possible, but … really? Never seen The Simpsons? I … I just can’t right now. It’s too early.

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When I first starting dating Rand, during my junior year of college (for those of you keeping track at home, it was approximately a lifetime ago), I lived in a windowless apartment.

I may be exaggerating slightly. It wasn’t exactly windowless – it had three, to be precise. But each and every one of them looked out on to an air vent, and beyond that, into my neighbors’ apartments. Never mind having a view; to even see sky, I had to stick my head out the window and crane it upward.

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The first day of spring was on Wednesday, and Seattle’s weather almost seems to be complying with the season. Which I guess means I’m going to cave and shave my legs. Probably. Maybe. Eh … there’s a fifty-fifty chance.

You know what? I’m just gonna wait it out. If it gets warm, I can wear long pants and tank tops.

Which means, dammit, I’m gonna have to shave my underarms. Probably.

While I contemplate these difficult decisions, you enjoy these links.

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I really need to start using some of these wonderful obsolete words. Spoiler: “spermologers” and “queerplungers” are not as interesting as they sound.

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Oh, man. Once again, The Onion hits the nail on the head, and reminds me of just how damn lucky I am that I can spend so much time on this silly little blog of mine: “Do what you love … in between work commitments.”

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Last month, we popped down to Portland for the weekend, with our pal Chrissy in tow. We’d been meaning to head down to PDX together for a while – our friend Skye had moved back out west after living in Baltimore for the last two years. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d all been in the same place at the same time. I think it was a few years ago, at least.

It was a brief but fun trip. We wandered around, without any destinations or plans. I didn’t even bring my camera.

That’s right: I didn’t take a single photo. Not a one. But Chrissy did. She was only armed with her phone, but the results are pretty damn great. She snapped this one of her and Skye, which I adore:

Yes, it was taken on Instagram. Quite, you.

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Rand, just prior to our miracle berry dinner.

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The other day, I was lamenting to myself (and by extension, to my long-suffering husband) about the death of wonderment in my adult years. How there were now so many known variables in our lives, so many answered questions. There were very few decisions to make. Very little was new.

“I just remember high school, and thinking I had all these opportunities in front of me, and all these choices to make. And now those choices have been made. And I’m not upset how life turned out, you know? I’m happy with the decisions I’ve made. I’m just sad that I don’t have all of that in front of me anymore.”

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