What Happened in Vegas

Kristin, aka Miss Perpetually on the Ball, scooped me on my trip to Vegas last weekend. Maybe that's because she didn't have to sit in traffic for 8 hours to go 288 miles when the weekend was over. Yes, that is an average of 36mph.

Before the worst road trip experience of my life, though, there was a lot of fun to be had. Kristin shared the basics, so let me clue you in on the details...

Kristin, Will, Holly & Jim Beam welcomed me to their Vegas mansion just like they used to in the Dirty Dirty. In the olden days a house the size of my entire apartment complex and a yard the size of a house would have seemed like business as usual, but since moving to LA, anything that is free standing, has extra rooms and has more than 8 feet of grassy area around it, it's like a domestic playground. I had my own room... not an office that is converted for guests, but a room dedicated to hosting guests. Awesome. And I can also now vouch for the number of mirrors in her house. Holy cow. Every time I left the bathroom I felt like someone was following me, but it was just... me reflected 3000 times.

Visiting Kristin & Will is as fun in Vegas as it ever was in Atlanta. On Friday, we woke up and started cooking Thanksgiving dinner. The turkey Kristin bought came with gravy, but the smell started to react badly with the night before that was still in our heads and stomachs so she tossed it and crafted her own recipe. All you really need to know about Thanksgiving at Kristin's is that it comes with gravy. I could have just eaten the gravy and been satisfied. I put gravy on everything on my plate, then put another layer of gravy on my plate, then sopped up the gravy on my plate with gravy soaked deviled eggs. I know, it sounds gross, but it was sooo good. Gravy.
Games are always a part of visiting Kristin and Will, and since they had the foresight to bring cornhole with them out West, I was able to fine tune my skills so that this year I can scream, "FOUR IN A ROW" in Lisa's ear while she's pregnant and trying to sleep. She loves when I do that.

Before we could get started though, Kristin had to go on a massive crap expedition and pick up a year's worth of Holly poo. Holly is in her grandma stage of life and putters around the yard with an expression on her face like, "What is that smell?" and we're all like, "Hollins, that's you!"

To keep things fair, Will brought out the rules from the American Cornhole Association, which he has assumed the presidency of. There wasn't a clause that said anything about how to play when the beans have absorbed rainwater and are more like beef bricks than bean bags, which is probably why I was able to kick Will's ass. I'm just sayin'.

We also broke out Jenga, which I lost, and A to Z, which I perfected when I used to play teams with Sarah and, thus, won. Man, Kristin is so cute when she's mad that she will never beat me at A to Z.

Now that Kristin & Will live in Vegas and since there are more amazing things than Dave & Busters to go check out, we headed out to Red Rock Canyon. There's a loop you drive around to all the main attractions, but there was one hike in particular that was just off a "dirt road" that we decided to check out. The hike was described as having the "most significant feature" in the canyon and didn't require 3 hours to do. Sounds perfect, right?

So we headed down this "dirt road," which was really a rocky mess that made it painfully obvious I've eaten too much gravy so far in this lifetime and that gave Kristin an opportunity to hone her off-roading skillz.
We made our way up the trail, trying to keep our pre-death panting under control so as not to worry those around us. It was beautiful.

We finally came upon some red rock which was dramatically different, and the trail sort of ended. After much discussion, we all agreed that this does not qualify as "significant." Pretty, sure. But significant? No.
We asked some other hikers who were coming toward us if there was anything good up ahead and discovered that there was a 400 foot drop off that wasn't too far and that was worth the extra walk. We decided to go for it, and it was definitely worth it. Sure the cliff thingy was nice, but watching Kristin butt hike to the top was the highlight for me. I had no idea she was so afraid of heights.
We did the obligatory timer photo to commemorate our cumulative efforts, in case the hike back down killed us. We had to do two because in the first one, Kristin had her arms around Will and I and she didn't want to "be the armless person" in the photo. You can't argue with that. So instead we look like the people who aren't sure what to do with their arms while Will looks all Obama-esque and like he just had some tea.Visiting Kristin has always been one of my favorite ways to get the hell outta dodge. I've visited her in her dorm room in Athens, in her houses in Atlanta and now in her new home in Vegas, and every time I visit I have an absolute blast. Thanks for being such good hosts and for letting me eat all of your candy, Kristin & Will. I love you and am so glad you're within driving distance!!

Something to Be Thankful for

The day before the day before Thanksgiving it rained here.

The day before Thanksgiving I got out of work while it was still daylight and decided to stroll to the beach to see how it behaves after a day of rain. Here's what I found out.

They bring a dune's worth of sand to the beach in the winter to keep it from washing away and it makes a beautiful place to stare out at the ocean.

The tide surge looks like it doubles in size.

You can actually watch weather come ashore.

People can still swim in late November.

It practically rains rainbows.

In a lot of ways, I prefer the bad weather beach.

Dulywed: Year 2

Dear Mack,

It's fitting that the second anniversary has a gift association of cotton. Because by the second year, you sort of feel like a slave.

I'm not just saying this about me either. Sure, I feel like I am the designated master of every dirty dish and needy bathtub that comes into our lives, but you are the one who must deal with the wrath of that master. I get annoyed by the obligations of life, and you, in a happy choreless oblivion, have to be my whipping boy.

I think this is what people mean when they say you've got to "figure it out."

We've been quite literally consumed by life the last year... you are a genuine nerd majoring in the all-important subject of biology and I am unrelentingly surrounded by egos I resent and emotional responses from women. None of this is bad, but it makes for strained dinner conversation when one wants to discuss mitochondria and the other wants to discuss feelings.

Last week, when we went out for your birthday dinner, I told myself to just shut the hell up and let you talk about whatever you wanted to talk about. I told myself that no matter how boring it was, I would listen. I would listen attentively. And I would participate in the conversation. The first 11 minutes were, at best, painful, but once I broke through that initial barrier, my god. You are fascinating.

It's like that dinner we had at Dudley's when we were dating. Beth's son was our bus boy and we ordered champagne and you told me about Beethoven and Chopin and their struggles and brilliance. I loved you that night for being more incredible than any man I've ever met, and last week, as we sipped margaritas and ate chips and salsa and I listened to you go on about science, I felt that familiar feeling of adoration. Your mind is a gift. It's all consuming and intensely focused and sometimes so in its own world that it doesn't remember the vomit you left on the shower curtain, but it is enchanting. You're a little mad scientist prince charming, my own personal Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

Last year I was all about money (isn't the first year paper?!!), but it seems that this year, I'm all about chores. Some may say that is a deflection of a chronic personality disorder, but I think it's progress. I've given up the fight over funds and, even though your mom has to give you allowance because she saw the text message where you had to ask for $4 for El Pollo Loco, I'm settled into our financial position. Because all the times I thought it'd collapse, we made it through. And better than that, we're getting ahead, little bit by little bitty bit.

With the financial strain off my mind, my next wifely focus is the home. You want to preserve white walls, so redecorating is out. I want to keep my waistline from breaking a personal record, so cooking is out. It's no wonder I get batshit insane when the trash needs to go out for 4 days running. I'm trying to find the balance between nice and nag, but since I've only been practicing a year, I hope you'll bear with me until I get the hang of it. Or just buck up and take the trash out when you see it's about to attack you.

Speaking of attack, this teabagging phase you're in, it can stop any day now. And even though I may be laughing when you do it, I'm screaming bloody murder and crying like a baby on the inside.

Which is exactly how I've felt these last two years. A mix of damaging shouts, manic laughter and penetrating tears. You are a hurricane of a personality, a force to be reckoned with, a brilliance that can only be absorbed. You make every day positively worth living and a little bit suicidal. And while some days I want to kill you, you are the reason I want to wake up on most of them.

I love you. Pop. Happy Anniversary.

Makes me embarrassed that I sat in line for hours to get midnight tickets to Episode 1

A Family Tradition

Lately, Mack and I have been going to a little diner up the road from our house called Cafe '50s. It's got a jukebox and records on the walls and shakes with whipped cream on top. It also has an egg scramble called the La Bamba for $5.95 which can be credited with my recent 5-pound weight gain.

Across the street from '50s is a little pet shop, so after we eat, we've been stopping in to look at the corn snakes and pistol shrimp and snapping turtles and little baby bunnies. During our first pass through it was a pretty typical pet shop, but on our most recent visit, we started to notice its creepy underbelly.

Like this thing.
Know what it is?

Would it surprise you to know it's a freakin' shark egg? Because it blew my mind.

Here I'd gone 30 years thinking sharks were mammals, believing that they shot out baby sharks like killer whales shoot out baby killer whales. But no, they're egg layers. Just like a bunch of chickens.

As if that wasn't enough to make me stand there slack jawed in the middle of the pet shop, then I looked more closely and holy crap. There was the egg yolk, an umbilical cord and a little shark swimming around in that sack acting all frustrated that it couldn't get out.

Dulywed: What's Beneath All Those Vows (a series)

One of my favorite things to do is watch television. Shocker, I know.

I like to lounge on the couch, relax into reality shows and feel good about myself. Being married has made my television indulgence even better.

See, now I have a handsome man to fetch me things.

He comes out of the bedroom and heads into the kitchen. The words, "Will you get me some water?" come out of my mouth as he makes his way.

Normally he's very accommodating, probably because I feed him. But the other day, in the midst of my completely relaxed state of mind, he revolted.

I tried to use a whiny voice to sway him, but that only escalated the revolt. Next thing I knew, he had me mounted, arms pinned, and he was scaling up.

Up toward my face. With his crotch. In boxer shorts.

Yes, my husband decided to settle the score by teabagging me. I am as horrified as you are.

Just another Friday in Los Angeles

Woke up to shout of husband's phone alarm.

Curled into his armpit to get a few more minutes of sleep.

Felt morning wood in my butt cheek.

Forced my way out of bed and into the shower.

Hated getting wet and starting all over with self maintenance.

Called Leiah and listened to Ben yell "MOMMY!"

Felt love surge.

Climbed onto scooter to head to work.

Gloated internally that it was Nov. 13 and warm enough that I'm riding a scooter to work.

Worked.

Suggested Freedom Friday lunch break to colleagues.

Headed to lunch of jerk enchiladas, fried plantains and cantaloupe juice.

Walked along the beach.

Practiced tight rope walking.

Came back to work.

Worked.

Had tea.

Scooted home.

Ate veggie lasagna.

Sipped wine on the porch.

Enjoyed my lot in life.

Huxtable Residence...

I grew up watching Thursday night TV back in the '80s. Instead of Friends, ER, or My Name Is Earl, Thursday night's must-see TV back in the day was Family Ties and the Cosby Show.

I gave up on the Cosby Show in favor of Roseanne in the '90s (she came on at 9pm, so I credit her with getting my bedtime extended to 9:30)... probably because in my mind I was Darlene and Shannon was Becky and FINALLY SOMEBODY KNEW WHAT IT WAS LIKE.

No, I'm not gay. Still.

The Cosby family was sort of off my radar until Liz moved to Kentucky. I was used to going to sleep to Law & Order or Forensic Files, but when Liz would stay the night, she'd ask, "Can we please fall asleep to something that's not murder?"

Fair enough. So we watched the Cosby Show.

Tonight, after I came home from 13 hours of work during which I got absolutely nothing accomplished, I turned on the TV, tried to forget that tomorrow will be just as annoying, and settled into that old, familiar family.

The Cosby Show should be on TV today. As should Family Ties and Roseanne. Dirty, Sexy Money and Lipstick Jungle just don't make kids the way the '80's lineup did.

How did this happen?

The last time I saw Renee she looked like this.
Now she looks like this.
Where is my niece and what have you done with her fat stores?

What I Did While Obama Made History

After Mack and I did our civic duty at the polls and collected proof in the form of a sticker, we came home to watch as the first African American in the United States became the leader of the free world. And this is what happened...

Kitty tried to kill me and steal my Obama-Biden t-shirt.
Obama supporters cheered and chanted at Grant Park in Chicago in the brisk November weather.
McCain supporters listened to the guys from the FreeCreditReport.com commercials perform at the swanky Biltmore Hotel in Phoenix.
Kitty tried to drink my beer.
Wolf Blitzer said, "Bonanza."
A panel of 5 white people discussed how having a black president will affect race relations in the United States.
Kitty stole Mack's breath and he went unconscious.
Paul Begala said, "Peace out, Cub Scout."
McCain's extra neck skin started to be a distraction... and has he always had stroke eye there on his left?
Obama wins Ohio. I got jiggy with it.
Dana Cash said they've turned off the news at the Biltmore, likely to preserve what's left of the "festive" atmosphere since they opted NOT to have an ice luge.
Guy Working the Map said, "I wouldn't bet a dime on McCain winning New Mexico."
Mack ate some pumpkin chili and broke out his Quantitative Analysis homework.CNN's graphics officially went over the top with the Capitol Building in the middle of the table and the rainbow of seats over it.
And then they hit the ridiculous mark when they HOLOGRAMMED IN Will.I.Am... as if he was Princess Leia.
Finally, the polls closed on the West Coast, and my candidate was awarded what he had worked his entire life for.
Let us never underestimate the power of a community organizer ever again.

R.I.P. Halloween 2008

Somehow I managed to turn October (the entire month) into Halloween. I unintentionally used the same tactics I use in May for my birthday, and now I have no money and had way too much fun.

This Halloween was bigger and better than any I've ever had before. And by bigger and better I mean we had an ice luge.
For those of you past fraternity rush age, an ice luge is a block of ice carved with a little trail through it that you pour shots down and then catch in your mouth. I'm not positive, but I think it's what inspired the Beastie Boys to fight for their right to party.
Since I am past fraternity rush age, I concocted a "witch's brew" to save myself from having to succumb to peer pressure and ingest shots of actual liquor. And no, I did not go as a wimp this year. I went as Regan from The Exorcist.
The ice luge was a centerpiece of the crime scene we set up in the carport. In anticipation of my best Halloween party yet, Sandra and I did a few rounds of crime scene photos that we used to create creepy ambiance on Friday night. Being on the verge of death is never really as much fun as we had faking it, a fact Jen can attest to.

In addition to mandatory costumes, I insisted every guest try the ice luge and get their mugshot taken. Because what fun is Halloween without a few requirements? And photographic evidence of poor judgment?
Since my neighbor does construction we had actual coffins -- one grown up sized and one baby sized. And we had a graveyard. To all the poor homeowners who hired my neighbors, thanks for the plywood and the styrofoam. They really made my month.
Hope everyone had a Happy Halloween. Or at least lived through it...

Waasssuuppp... the last 8 years

Remember that Bud commercial (back when Budweiser was an American beer) where all the guys "Wassup" each other? No? Well, here it is.

It's been 8 years since those guys made that commercial. So, they reunited and made this one. And they are not looking so good these days.

Not exactly Mr. Rogers... but then he was creepier than anyone thought he was.

I talk about my neighbors a lot. Partly because they are in such close proximity all the time and partly because they have sort of become my surrogate family.
They drive Harleys and they have a dozen snakes living in their house. Their baby girl wears skeleton clothes and sports a mohawk. They cuss like sailors and drink Jack Daniels. They have a pit bull. They decorate our garden with jawbones and skulls that Sandra got during her career in taxidermy.
At first glance, they seem like a scary lot. And until Halloween last year, I doubted that we had anything in common. I mean, I'm sure it's quite a sight to see me in my heels heading to work on a scooter while Bill in his tattered blue jeans heads to work in a truck I'm not entirely convinced isn't my grandpa's.

But Halloween, that time of year when people are allowed to let those dark parts of their personalities come into the light, showed that we are more alike than I may have realized. I love horror movies, they love horror movies. I love carving pumpkins, they love carving pumpkins. I love to be scared, they love to scare people.

Whenever I talk about my neighbors to my more "contained" friends, they seem to feel for me that I live by these people. But I love it. I've lived by people who were far worse (Roy, the mailman who nagged me about mowing my yard even when I was working three jobs to pay my mortgage, comes to mind) and by people who we far more secretive (I've lived by some people for years without ever seeing their faces, which made asking for a cup of sugar seem like an offense). With my neighbors now, what you see is the worst of what you get.

Most days, when we're not playing with blood and pretending to kill things in the name of Halloween, they make me coffee and share their pumpkin muffins. They plant colorful mums and water my plants. They bring down a bowl of veggie chili and invite us up to watch them feed their snakes. At the risk of softening their edge, they're really the best neighbors I've ever had.

(* no one was harmed in the making of these photos, except the pumpkins)

Dulywed: What's Beneath All Those Vows (a series)

I sat working on my Halloween shopping list, sipping a latte he made from our new espresso machine -- an indulgence courtesy of his first med school acceptance. He danced his fingers across the out of tune piano in the living room, creating an ambiance that echoes the one I want to have in the house I get with secret passageways and hidden rooms.

And in a few harmonious seconds, I forgot all about his facial hair wallpapering the sink, his obliviousness to the dishwasher and his post-judo practice smell perfuming the whole house and remembered that this is why I love him.

That is when he switched tunes and replaced Chopin with Kung Fu Fighting.

Adventures in Babysitting

On Saturday night I was trusted with the life of another human being... that of my neighbors' baby to be precise.

Which seems even more remarkable considering that they know I sent my dog to a retirement home and that my cat has been on her last legs for two years now.

I was all prepped to give my full attention to something the size of a pumpkin, was all ready to read books full of one syllable words and was totally committed to doing the same thing over and over again so she could give me a few good chuckles before she gives me that look that tells me I went just a little too far into crazy.

And then she fell asleep. Before her parents were even gone. Without even one game played.

So I laid on the couch next to her and watched The Devil's Rejects while she made little snores and no doubt had sweet dreams.

Miss Kitty's seen better days...

Like when Jen was here. Not only did Jen make our house literally smell like roses, she also did the dishes, groomed the cat, and made the bed. And now, Kitty is once again thinking she's royalty, this is her kingdom and I am here only to serve her Iams and make Mack's life better suited to lounging with her.

Fine then...

Apparently my challenge wasn't very... well... challenging. My mind is busy being creative about other things like HALLO-FREAKIN-WEEN!

Anyway, here's the real reason Jen posed at Muscle Beach. I think his name is Dark Sexy, but I'm not positive. Jen was the one who got his number...

Extreme Tourism...

Jen is a tourism super model. She does all the right poses and is just so when it comes to getting her travel pictures taken. This makes assembling Martha Stewart-esque scrapbooks much easier.

But in the case of the photo below, Jen played up her tourist persona to bring you a very special glimpse of Muscle Beach. Can you tell what it is? Leave a guess in the comments and then I'll do a big reveal in a couple days. The first winner gets a trick or a treat... I get to decide.

A little toupee experiment

Jennifer is here. Suck it to the rest of you who want her. I won this weekend.

We've had oodles of fun that involves bicycles and margaritas and ravines and minimal blogging, but for now, I offer you this: a segment we call "uh, what's up with the hairpiece?"
Hey, we tried to be perfect, but alas, Mother Nature issued other mandates. Since it's been a losing battle, we've instead opted for perfect fun, which, to quote my future president, makes us potentially a little "too awesome."

Lisa, this one's for you...

Just about a lifetime ago, I had the privilege of being an observer of "A Summer of Staches." The "SoS" was a season of change for several of my guy friends, wherein they all agreed to grow mustaches and wear tank tops.

Lisa asked earlier this year if anyone had photographic evidence of this event, and while I had a mental picture, I just could not find the physical one. I pulled out boxes upon boxes of photos, making Mack think I'd caught the crazy that Barbara Hershey gets in Beaches when she's all, "I've got to find the picture of my mom's hands or else my daughter will die!"

I gave up and assumed it'd been lost in the move. Until last night.

While tidying up for Jen's visit (just 10 more hours!!!), I was trying to toss Mack's microphone to the top of the bedroom closet. It decided the top of the closet wasn't where it wanted to be, so it took aim at my head. I fell into the shelves where I keep my hot rollers to dodge its attack, and in my state of grace, I knocked a decorative photo box off the shelf. Photos spilled out chronicling misplaced moments from my life, and there, at the bottom of the pile of memories, folded in half, was The. Stache. Photo.

Dulywed: What's Beneath All Those Vows (a series)

Sitting in our respective spots in the living room, after watching a thrilling episode of Project Runway and eating pumpkin muffins for dinner, Mr. T looks my way with a glint in his eye that means he's thinking about something not related to judo.

"We've had some great adventures," he says.

"Season Finale, part 1...," I remind him, ruining the sweet moment that's about to slap me in the face.

"How many other couples can say they've been to Africa and to a McDonald's diner together?" he ponders.

"Or to jail."

No, this is not "baby fever"

But, come on, when meat collides as it has in this photo of my neighbor Sadie and her cousin, it needs to be shared with the world.
So as not to explode your mind, I cropped out the BABIES KISSING, because that would have been cuteness overload and the kiss was really not letting the meat have its moment.

Now, if I could just get my chub to look that cute...

Riddle me this...

Right, so, okay. There's this thing. It comes once every four years, but it lasts only about two minutes. And basically. Yeah, basically, people have died trying to get this thing. Uh huh, they've died. Like more people than have died in Iraq have died trying to get this thing. And now EVERYONE has it. Everyone. They've given it to Every. Single. Person. It's doesn't cost a penny. But it could cost you everything if you don't do it. So, what is it?