Actual times may vary.

We woke up this morning, smack dab in the middle of our two months of mad travel, under the distinct impression that we were, for the first time ever, going to miss our flight.

Now, several hours later, we’re eating breakfast with my family, and I am doing my best not to ridicule my husband. Because, as my dear friend Lauren says about her boyfriend, “Well, at least he’s pretty to look at.”

We flew in from New Orleans last night, landing in San Diego to spend one last evening with my family before heading home (on a side note, I saw my brother for all of an hour before he pissed me off to the point where I stormed upstairs. But more on that later).  Before going to sleep (at midnight, which felt like 2 am on account of the time change between Louisiana and California) I asked Rand if he had set an alarm.

“Umm-hmm …” he said.

For future reference, answers given by your spouse when he or she is severely sleep deprived and laying in bed probably cannot be held up in court. (more…)

I, however, am still sick.

Despite spending much of the week on the couch (and offering up some pretty lackluster posts to show for it), I’m still not feeling 100%. I promise to be back next week with my same level of snark and general angst to which you’ve grown accustom, but today, I just want to reflect on how awesome my friends are. I’ve been home for the last month, and in that time, I’ve actually gotten to hang out and spend time with people in Seattle. It’s been amazing, and every time I decide I want to pack up and move someplace else, I think of my endearing group of stoners, entrepreneurs, and stoned entrepreneurs, and realize I could never leave.

For one, they seem to read this crazy blog of mine. Some of them regularly. Which is why my friend Vanessa immediately thought of me when she saw this:

This also came with a trading card that claims Apolo is 5'7". Maybe with skates on, kid.

(more…)

Children seem to like me. I don’t understand why. Half of the time, I don’t really know what to do with them. I have zero maternal instinct. I was the youngest in my family, and until Valeria came along when I was six, I was the youngest of all my cousins as well. I was never even around a pregnant woman until my cousin’s wife got knocked up (by then, I was in my twenties).

But, fortunately, I have a stellar memory, so I recall exactly what it was like to be a kid, and for this reason, I tend to get along with anyone under the age of 12. They want to stay up late, get cranky if they are tired or hungry or cold or bored, and would love nothing more than to eat sweets and potato chips for dinner. I fully understand all of these impulses.

This is doubly true for Rand, who deep down is 12. Children may like me, but they adore Rand. And vice versa. This was the case with our friend Lisa’s daughter, Lily. I, myself, had always suspected I’d lose my husband to a younger woman (and very likely a redhead). It was just a little sooner than I thought.

I hope you two will be very happy together, doing whatever the heck this is.

But let’s get to how this little British urchin stole my husband’s heart, shall we? (more…)

I feel like I need to start this off with some sort of caveat about my complex and often contradictory feelings towards vegetarians. Some of my closest friends eschew flesh, which I personally find insane but acknowledge it as a legitimate lifestyle choice for others (sort of like skinny jeans). After all, it literally leaves more meat for me. By pure definition of being my friends, the vegetarians in my life are understanding and non-judgmental (I seek out in others the characteristics I lack) and consequently would not dream of giving someone a hard time for being, say, an indiscriminate, blood-slurping carnivore.

It is the judgmental vegetarians with whom I have a problem. The holier-than-thou, that-thing-you’re-eating-was-once-alive, I’m-cranky-because-I-don’t-get-enough-protein jerks who I have had the occassional misfortune of encountering. Those vegetarians suck.

I would gladly take one of those vegetarians to Borough Market, because they would FREAK THE HELL OUT.

Oh, how they would freak out. Because Borough Market is a carnivore’s dream come true. An endless stream of meats culled from all sorts of magically delicious animals, prepared in every way imaginable, and served up piping hot. For a girl like me, raised on tripe and pig’s feet, and all manner of offal that I assumed everyone else ate, it’s like the lovechild of Disneyland and a slab of bacon.

In other words, if you are in London, go, go, GO. (more…)

Something is going on. It might be a conspiracy. It might be a plot to control the minds of the young, all across the globe. Or maybe it’s just a catchy tune or three. But for reasons I can’t quite figure out, I keep encountering children who insist on celebrating ABBA’s entire catalogue. It’s all at once frightening and magical. It’s enough to have you saying, “Mamma Mia!”

Too much? Sorry. I was going to go with “S.O.S.” That probably wouldn’t have been much better, right?

It started in California last Christmas. My cousin and his wife instructed his youngest to sing “S.O.S.“. And before I could clarify what was going on, little Laney was standing in front of us, shaking her little groove-maker and singing the song, in its entirety.

Then her older sister joined in.

And then, what the hell, my mom did, too.

This frenzied display courtesy of Benny, Bjorn, Frida, and Agnetha.

- (more…)

Many months ago, I lost our camera.

It absolutely sucked. We were coming back from Germany, and in my usual frenzy of documenting every damn thing I see, I had my camera out. I thought it was in my pocket when we deplaned, but it must have fallen out onto my seat, and the second we were past security, I realized it.

We immediately went to the NWA counter and told them what happened. I figured that unless someone had grabbed it off the seat, they’d find it. Hell, the camera was even a bit unique – it was blue, so it could be easily identified. The clean-up crew was currently going through the plane right now, but the guy at the counter told us they hadn’t found anything.

We filled out a lost item form and left. I felt awful, and not terribly optimistic. The camera was brand-new (I had only had it a few months), and if they didn’t find it in the minutes after it was lost, they weren’t going to find it later, it seemed. (more…)

photo courtesy of Darren Copley, via flickr.com

This post was originally about 4 different “Dick Moves!” but that was good for no one, and particularly not for my sense of love towards my fellow man.

I was a bit down this afternoon, frustrated with the rude folks I’ve encountered while traveling, frustrated with myself for not handling things better. I felt burnt out from the last few weeks of travel, and it might very well be that I’d lost my sense of enthusiasm and patience somewhere along the way. Quite possibly somewhere in Newark Airport. (more…)

The day that started with my trip to Roosevelt Island continued to be a good one. In fact, it might have been one of the best days I’ve spent in NYC in a long, long time. After all, when one day is so charmed that it spans TWO whole blog posts, well … you know you have it good. (more…)

I have a bit of a  love/hate relationship going on with New York. There are times when I truly believe (and could never be convinced otherwise) that it is the greatest city in the world, and everything beyond Manhattan is just one long suburb.

Other times, when the girl at the Zabar’s breakfast counter forgets my latkes, when the doorman at our hotel is a total d-bag, or when the umpteenth person has shoved past me at the subway station, I start to long for Seattle, and our passive (rather than outright) aggressiveness.

This, fortunately, is a story about a very good morning. (more…)

This happened:

I am currently in Ashland, OR, celebrating. Posting will resume as usual (a.k.a., sporadically) on Wednesday.