20 Questions - Part Three - Travel Edition

When I decided to steal Gwen's 20 Questions idea I was expecting a slightly different outcome. First of all, I thought for sure there would be a slew of raunchy inquiries about my sex life and B, I thought there would be many more inquiries in general. I was a little let down until I tried to answer the STD and pick-up line questions posed by Pistols and realized that I am sadly lacking in the kind of bawdy material that would have made the asking and the answering of such questions worthwhile.

I was more pleasantly surprised by the number of questions you asked pertaining to travel adventures. There were enough of them (well all right, there were only 3, but still) that I decided it would be appropriate to save them for this travel-themed edition of 20 Questions.

Those of you who may have been reading my blog for awhile know that I used to travel extensively around North America for work and also that the primary source of delight in my personal life is traveling just about anywhere with my husband. It's what we do, so I know a thing or two about a thing or two when it comes to travel.

My long time blogger friend, the prolific Miss Tara asked:

Where's the best place you've ever traveled to and why?

This is a tricky one because I rarely have a bad time anywhere. Also I've been so many places it's hard to nail it down to just one best place. So true to form I'll break it down into two separate categories, the United States and abroad, thus causing the answer to this question to be much windier and wordier than necessary.

United States: I love Chicago. We are one quick train ride from where we live (Dullsville) and boom - big city. We try to mix it up and focus on different neighborhoods when we visit, see live music and eat ourselves silly. Chicago is great because it's familiar and yet a completely new experience every time we go.

Abroad: I love Paris. I've been twice, once when I was a teenager I was there for a couple of days and once with MDH for our honeymoon when we stayed for an entire week. I would go every year if I could. It's the best place in the world to eat, drink and people watch, two of my favorite activities. I realize that that is 3 activites, but I didn't notice my error until I had already hit the publish button.(Here's a photo of our last night in Paris, wining and dining it up.)

Churlita over at Churlish Figure, another of my long-time blogger friends, and the first blog I ever put in my Favorites folder, by the way, asks:

What would be your dream vacation if you could go to a place you've never been before?

I've always wanted to go to Portugal and the Azores. Well, not always, but since I met MDH because that's where his family is from and also because before I met him I didn't think it was possible to meet someone who wanted to travel as much as I did. Prior to that Portugal was not even on my radar. Anyhoo... I love the idea of his exotic, ethnic background and the fact that his family has an "old country". We'll get there someday. It's on the agenda.

One could argue that my family has an "old country" too, but I've already been to Kentucky several times and it's just not the same.

Speaking of travels to exotic lands, this next question is from the only regular reader that I have in a foreign country (that I know of - otherwise reveal yourselves!), the lovely lipped Australian, Sparsely Kate:

Have you ever been on a plane with terrible turbulence? What is the worst air plane experience of your life? What flight was it, where were you going and what happened?

Sparsely the answer to your first question is yes, I've experienced terrible turbulence, but after so many years on the road, during which time it was not usual for me to be on up to 6 flights a week (that's including stopovers folks, so don't get too excited), I have become jaded. It's true, I am entirely unfazed by turbulence. Typically I fall asleep as soon as the engines start up and the plane backs out of the gate. Something about that low, constant humming is as good as 2 Ambien and a lullaby to me.

I do, however, remember once being sharply awakened by the screaming of the other passengers during a particularly bumpy red-eye while coming home from Phoenix. I hazily looked about and after establishing no sign of flames, box-cutter wielding terrorists, or that the little oxygen thingys hadn't popped out of the ceiling, I rolled my eyes and went right back to night-night time. Totally jaded.

The worst airplane experiences for me have nothing whatsoever to do with the flight itself and more to do with a lack of tolerance and over all bitchy attitude toward the more dim-witted of my fellow travelers. You can read about it here if you like.

In case you were wondering, the photo at the top is for Evil-E over at Random Crap, another long time blogger friend and constant cataloger of random graffiti. I took it for him on our trip last month to Philadelphia. I meant to post it last night, but MDH was hogging the office and I couldn't squeeze in long enough to make it happen. Better late than never! Anyhoo... looks like Dean was either outed by another tagger or became a little unsure of himself and decided to add a more readable signature to his handiwork.

20 Questions - Part Two - STD's & Personal Care Edition

Welcome back! Glad to know that I haven't driven all of you away with my recent severe hatred of over used trite phrases, tales of long ago unsatisfied promiscuity, and crazed obsession with the direction of the toilet paper roll. I'll have to try harder from now on. (I'm just kidding, please don't leave me.)

Ummm... what was I talking about? Oh yes, today's installment of 20 questions. Here we go...

Pistols at Dawn, self-professed jerk, and one of my all time favorite bloggers, writes:

Please tell me the best STD story your "friends" have ever told you. Wait, that's not a question. Can you make it one? That's a question.

I know many of you will find this hard to believe and don't give me any shit about it because it's the truth, but I personally don't know anyone who has fessed up to ever having anything worse than a yeast infection and unfortunately (for the purposes of telling your requested story) those are not typically transmitted sexually.

Try again Pistols:

What was the worst pickup line ever used on you?

Strike two Pistols. I don't have much experience in this arena either. I never really got hit on very much, so my collection of cheesy pick up lines that guys have tried on me is limited to the standard kind that we all have heard, were so bad as to be completely forgotten or simple, brutish references to my rack or his cock.

When I used to go out a lot the bars I frequented were pretty clique-ish so most of the people at these places knew me or knew of my reputation as a "nice girl" - it kept me out of trouble, much to my chagrin. I also had a lot of male friends around which tend to fend off advances from potentially interested dudes.

Moving on...

CDP, who has a lovely blog with some fantastic writing over at (parenthetical) asks:

What cosmetic/skin care/hair product or products are you currently obsessed with?

Excellent question. This is a topic that's dear to my heart - Potions!!

I'm all over Kiehl's Abyssine line of anti-aging goop. These products have allowed me to fool myself, much more easily than similarly priced products, into believing that they are actually working. I have been buying these products on line and using them for years without having ever stepped inside a Kiehl's store, so I was thrilled to disover that limited items from this brand are available at Target.

Lean in a little closer so that I can tell you all about how I snagged what is normally a $32 jar of eye cream that was mismarked on a clearance end cap for $2. Score! God I love Target.

Also - keep your eyes peeled for a hair care brand called Davines (Dah-Ven-Ess), I hereby predict that within a year it'll be all the rage.

Our last question in this installment is from Chris over at The Radloff's Random Midnight Thoughts who wants to know:

What's your favorite drink recipe? I have a new blender, you see, and not much imagination. I needs help.

Fear not Chris. I may not know much about STD's or pick-up lines, but I do know my way around blender drinks. Here are two of my favorite recipes:

Non-Alcoholic:

Lady's Gotta Smoothie

1 banana (peel it first silly!)

1 juice of one lemon

1 cup of your favorite frozen or fresh berries

1/2 cup ice

1/2 cup orange juice

Add all of that shit to your blender, slowly. Blend and add more shit as the stuff gets blended. Look at you all healthy and shit!

Lets get drunk now... here's a good one for summer:

Watermelon Sloshy (like a slushy, only with booze)
2 cup watermelon (seeded, cubed)
1/2 cup pomegranate juice
1/2 cup ice cubes

1/2 cup vodka (add more if you want, it's your liver)

Blend until slushy. Hammer time.

More questions answered - coming soon!

Over Used & No Longer Funny (if it ever was). I Know! Right?

Dear English Speaking People Everywhere,

Please be done saying the following:

I know! Right?

I understand. I get it. It has become your habit to use this little 3-word gem at the end of another person's every sentence during a conversation in which you wish to convey understanding and a certain trite fellowship. Could you please, just for the rest of this week (and there are only a couple of days left so I think you could at least try) say something else? How about vigorously nodding your head or saying something straightforward like, "I understand", or "Yep".

Also would you please stop saying:

I just threw up in my mouth a little.

I'm sure that whatever someone is saying is somehow disgusting. I get it. I understand. But what you must understand is that when you use this charming little phrase it makes me want to shit in my pants a little and throw it at your head.

Sincerely,

Lady

PS - This is all you get for tonight. A reprimand. Project Runway's on. I'm busy. More answers to 20 Questions on tomorrow night's post.

20 Questions - Part One - C'mon people...

Well perhaps I was a bit optimistic yesterday when I said that I would only choose 20 questions to answer. I was cock-sure that my inbox would be filled to the brim and nearly bursting at the seams with your inquiries about the glory and wonder that is me. Umm... maybe I have already given away all the goodies on this blog and lost your curiosity completely as my inbox is quite flaccid. I've only gotten 10 questions asked so far and one of you (Thanks Gwen!) asked two questions.

I'll start with Gwen's questions because not only did she devote a great deal of her post to me today and I'm a huge suck up, but also because it's a topic that causes great debate between me and my mom.

Gwen asks:

Are you particular about the direction your toilet paper goes on the roll? You know, the end of the paper on top of the roll vs. on the bottom of the roll?

Yes Gwen. As it happens I am quite particular about this. My mother thinks that the paper should go under, which is clearly insane. Have you ever been drunk and spinning and spinning that goddamned toilet paper roll all around trying to find the end until you're dizzy and ready to cry? Then you end up all angry, scratching and clawing at it like a wild animal? My mother is quite the lush so I'm puzzled that she continues to place the paper in the dispenser this way. She says the end of the roll is "unsightly". (Cu-koo!)

I am a firm believer that the toilet paper end should be prominently displayed for the next potential wiper and not hidden away like some secret treasure. It should go over. Go to any hotel worth a damn and you will find it displayed this way, sometimes in a tidy triangular fold. Some of the swankier hotels will even fold it in a festive and easily grasped fan shape. This pleases me greatly.

We don't argue about it anymore. She goes her way and I go mine, but secretly I know in my heart that I am correct because if the Four Seasons is doin' it my way, then it cannot be wrong.

Gwen also asks:

How did you and YDH meet?

MDH (My Darling Husband) and I met on Match.com almost 9 years ago, before most people were calling themselves McLovin* or putting pictures of themselves on their profiles. You can read some of our correspondence during the early days of our budding romance here.

Speaking of pictures, Linka72 over at Stop Looking At My Screen. Nosy, a frequent commenter and very funny blogger, asks:

Have you ever taken a photo such as that for your husband (or any man for that matter)??..

I'll assume that you are asking if I've ever had a sexy-ish photo taken of myself in some kind of nudie, glamour shot type of situation and I'll start off with the short answer which is - not on purpose.

I normally don't give out a lot of information about things that occurred of a sexual nature before I met my husband, but I'll make an exception, because I promised I would. Here is the dirt:

Once upon a time when I was single and in the throes of a serious drought I deigned to go out with a man who was a total cheese ball. I gave him a break because he had a cool job as a photographer for a local newspaper and he started to look a lot more appealing after I let him get me shitfaced. Fast forward to what was probably only an hour or two later, in a whirlwind of desperation to get laid, I allowed this man to whisk me back to his place where we proceeded to make out on his sofa.

One thing lead to another, as can happen sometimes when an unattached young lady hasn't had even the slightest prospect of a high hard one for several months, and I found myself sobering up and nude in his bedroom. In the nick of time apparently, as we had broken ranks for a moment so that he could dig around for a condom - so there wasn't yet any penetration. I trotted hazily off to the bathroom to collect my thoughts and along the way discovered a hallway plastered with framed photographs of kittens.

Kittens in baskets, kittens in teacups, kittens wearing tiny straw hats and overalls. There were photographs of kittens all over the fuckin' place. It was a kitten decor from kitten hell. I thought maybe it was his idea of kitch, so I yelled out "Like kittens much?", to which he replied in a completely serious tone, "You know? I really do."

Needless to say, after some witless blathering about having to get up early the next morning, I started to high tail it out of there. I rushed back into the bedroom to scoop up my clothes and as I was doing that jumping dance, trying to get dressed and run away as quickly as possible at the same time, I bumped into something.

It was a tripod.

With a video camera on it.

The red light was blinking.

For all I know there is some horrifying video out there showing all of my pink giblets to the world, making out in the nude with some random shithead. I don't know. I don't care. I never looked back. I never returned his calls. The end.

Stay tuned for more of your burning questions answered (that is a clue for you Pistols). Meanwhile the comments box is open folks - let's see if we can't get to at least 21 questions asked - so that I will feel as though I have some options here. Humor me.

*A friend at work just joined and is continually disgusted by the overwhelming number of men using the handle "McLovin". If a McLovin sends her a message she automatically assumes a lack of personality and imagination and deletes it.

Silence Is Golden, Duct Tape Is Silver

Hey! Today marks the one year anniversary of my first post on this blog. I knew it was coming up but I didn't realize that it was today. I would've planned for something special, but alas, I've got jack shit to talk about today.

Instead let me just say thanks to all of you who bother to come here and read my crap. Thanks guys!

When I started this blog I was 2 months out of work, living in a city where I didn't know a soul, and had a head full to bursting with random thoughts that had just been rolling around in there for years with no where to go. There have been some times when I have doubted the wisdom of spilling my guts out on the internets for random strangers to read and wondering if I shouldn't just keep my trap shut - and then you people started leaving comments. And I liked it.

At this point I can't imagine there is any topic about my personal life that I haven't covered on my blog, but just in case I thought I would steal an idea from one of my favorite bloggers Gwen and leave the comments open for your questions. Ask me anything I promise to give the most honest answer possible without naming real names. Following Gwen's example I will choose 20 questions.

The title of this post and photo at the top (No - it isn't me - so don't include that in the questions, asshat) are totally random and unrelated to anything in particular. They were sitting unused in my "blog fodder" folder. I had been saving them for a rainy day and so far haven't come up with a reason to use them in a post. Maybe Fawless can use it in her Monday caption contest someday. There you go Fawless, Happy Birthday!, don't say I never gave you anything.

The Dodgin' Bullets Hokey-Pokey

MDH came home from Texas on Friday only to leave me here all alone again this morning.

I don't mind. Go my darling. Have fun.

Yes. He rented a car and is driving to Cape Cod. Without me. Go my darling. Have fun.

I don't mind because first of all, that's a long fucking drive and quite frankly I've had it up to here with traveling (envision me holding my arms up to the ceiling, but not too close to the ceiling fan), as we have already been on 3 long weekend jaunts in the past 5 weeks.

Secondly, this trip to Cape Cod is occurring during week days and I have to work.

Thirdly, MDH is going to sleep on the sofabed of the cottage my brother-in-law Syracuse has rented for the week in Eastham. As glorious and high-falutin' as that sounds, I don't sleep on sofas, even if they do have the word "bed" tacked on at the end.

Now, to be totally honest, the real reason that this adventure is wholly unappealing to me has to do with my unsavoriest of brothers-in-law, Knucklehead, who has for the past several months been safely tucked away, enfolded in the gentle, loving arms of the Massachusetts penal system.

At first MDH and Syracuse were not worried about inviting my mother-in-law to the cottage because Knucklehead was otherwise occupied making license plates. But then after the plans had been made and Ma was already invited, Knucklehead was somehow released, all charges, having something to do with beating a co-worker senseless with a brick, dropped. He was now running loose once again in the world. At any rate he was back to using Ma's tiny apartment as a flophouse and she cannot be invited anywhere, let alone to a beach vacation by her other sons, without being upset if Knucklehead is not also included on the invitation.

So as much as MDH and Syracuse would have liked to treat Ma to a nice couple of carefree days at the beach it could not be done without Knucklehead bumming along for the free ride.

Then a miracle happened. Knucklehead, within no less than a week of his release from the pokey, was arrested and jailed yet again for beating someone senseless. I think it was someone different this time and I'm not sure if it was with a brick, but whatever it was I've never seen one family (minus Ma) so excited to have one of it's own behind bars. This time when Ma called around crying for bail money, nobody was putting up.

MDH and Syracuse were gleefully back to high spirited vacation planning. It was going to be great. MDH would drive to Boston to pick up Ma and then drive her up the Cape for a fabulous 4 days of relaxing on the beach, eating steamed lobsters and quality family time spent huddled around the TV watching the Red Sox.

Last Saturday however, a scant week before Cape Cod go-time, Knucklehead was released yet AGAIN !

At this point it is too late and let's face it you can't uninvite your Ma from a trip to the beach now can you? Well, if it were up to me I could, but I have chosen to distance myself from this situation by having said no from the start.

In Knucklehead's defense, after the moaning and grumbling from MDH and Syracuse about how he's such a free loader, Ma has offered this delectable tidbit - that Knucklehead will pay for all the food for the trip with the food stamps that he has been collecting and unable to use since he's been locked up. Fabulous. Wonderful.

How this is supposed to make up for the fact that my darling MDH is now going to be sharing the sleeper sofa of the cottage with Knuckehead, a deranged and dangerous criminal, instead of me, a person who has never been arrested for any crime or beaten up anyone with a brick (as much as I have wanted to I was able to restrain myself) and has never once threatened to kill him in his sleep however loud his snoring was, I have no idea.

So this is what I'm missing out on. Go ahead my darling. Have fun. Without me. Just don't turn your back on this guy or leave any sharp objects or blunt ended building materials within his reach.

My Big Gay Post

Ever since middle school, when I fully began to grasp the concept of homosexuality, I have prided myself on my excellent gaydar. Not that I haven't ever been wrong, like the first night I met my friend Nature Boy, I totally thought he was gay, but in my defense he is very good looking, almost pretty you might say, into art and at the time had longish hair that was being held back away from his face by a headband. Oh, and I was drunk.

Over the years some of my good friends have been gay so I guess that this makes me feel entitled, however mistakenly, as if I have some kind of connection to gayness that has made it OK for me to immediately peg a man who works several cubes down from me as being gay. He's not overtly gay and no one that I work with in such a conservative workplace in such a conservative city is openly gay. This guy is very manly and if he were straight and I wasn't married I would be all over him.

Anyhoo... I was delighted to find this gay man at my place of work because I feel, even though I am not gay, that gay people are my people. I get it. I'm on their side. I feel their pain. I've danced in their bars. I've voted for their civil rights. I've seen Queer as Folk.

I'm sure that gay people have no idea that I feel this way about their gayness, but since we work together (and he is so cute) I want this gay man at work to know that I am totally gay friendly, so I began to send off little cute signals to this man so that he would know that I knew that he was gay and that it is totally OK with me.

I'm not sure why it is important for me to get this message across. Pehaps because I'm in the awkward position of being passionate about gay rights without actually being gay.

This man is not someone that I have a lot of interaction with, so the cute little signals I give off are limited to things like smiling really big whenever I see him in the hallway or lunchroom and giving him the occasional eyebrow raise or knowing wink whenever there is a cute guy around. As if to say, "Yeah, baby I'd totally tap that and I know you would too!" I also call him by his longer full name rather than the shorter more masculine name that everyone else at work calls him, like David instead of Dave. And when I see him and say his name I say it all high pitched, sing songy and girly - like "Hiii Day-Vid".

In short, I treat him just like one of my gay friends. He eats it up and gives it right back to me.

Well I'm a big giant idiot because I just found out this guy is into chicks and now he probably thinks I like him and am some kind of chubby cougar.

He's not gay and I'm an idiot.

I'm a big flirtatious, over the top, winking idiot. I found this out because he stopped by my cube yesterday to ask me how old one of my female co-workers is and whether or not she was attached because he thinks that she is really cute and might want to ask her out.

It took me a minute to get over my shock, but then my gaydar started to pulse even harder as he crossed his legs at the knee, leaned in closer to me and then proceeded to dish the juiciest workplace gossip I have ever heard, and let's face it the man has a certain je ne sais quoi and he smokes Newport Lights.

I'm so confused.

A Good Time Was Had by One

Hello! Thanks everyone for your birthday wishes. I debated a bit about whether or not to let anyone know that it was my birthday, and when I say "a bit", what I really mean is about half a second, but I figured why the hell not? and ended up getting all of your lovely comments sent to me by email throughout the day while I was at work. It really brightened this aging lady's spirits.

I've spent my birthdays alone for the last few years. Not intentionally, but either I was on the road working or, like this year MDH was on the road working. I'm a big girl and it's OK to spend my birthday alone. Really - I don't mind. Besides our trip to Toronto was part of my birthday celebration and MDH and I will celebrate my birthday yet again with dinner at a swanky restaurant this weekend. My darling also left me some presents before he jetted off, including but not limited to:

• The new book by David Sedaris called When You Are Engulfed In Flames, which may be the best title for any book ever.
  
  
• Dirty coffee cups and errant socks strewn about the house for me to find throughout the week like an Easter egg hunt. So thoughtful.

Ever thoughtful Amy sent me a box of presents early last week that I patiently waited to open until it was my actual birthday:

• A bag of candy orange slices (my secret favorite).



• This framed photo of her and Ted from the Phillies game as a memento of our trip to Philadelphia a few weeks ago.

I have many little ways to make things feel special, even if it is just me and the cat, not the least of which was having a Thin Mint Blizzard from Dairy Queen for dinner, as inspired by my newest favorite blogger Fawless over at Lots Better Then Your Blog*. Thanks Fawless! If it wasn't for your informative blog posting I wouldn't have known such a delicacy existed - and I didn't have to give anyone a blow job to get it.

What really made my birthday great was realizing that last night began the new season of Project Runway and having the house to myself so that I could enjoy it with no interruptions. It was my birthday wish come true. God, I fucking love that show.

*I've been meaning to include her on my blogroll for months and I swear I didn't just now do it because she put me on hers.

I Am 41 Years Old Today

That is all.

Amy's Hernia

My best friend Amy is a delicate flower.

She was that girl in middle school, you know the one that was always fainting and had to breathe into paper bags, sit with her head between her knees and be excused from dissecting things in biology and watching films in health class. Amy gets light headed when exposed to all things involving blood, guts, pus, vomit and spiders.

Poop for some reason doesn't bother her, but all the rest, forget about it.

She can't take extreme changes in temperature either and gets heat stroke when it's hot and chilblains when it's cold. She's kind of like a Chihuahua. Being extremely fair skinned (her nickname in middle school was Maalox - because she was chalky - get it?) and weighing no more than a buck and half haven't done much to toughen her up.

I was never like that. I was of a heartier stock or have a stockier heart or whatever, and tended to be the robust, husky girl who escorted the fainting, pukey girl to the nurses office. Probably because I was the only one big enough to pick her up and carry her if she collapsed on the way (perhaps my nickname in middle school should have been Butch).

Amy and I didn't meet until we were in our early 20's, so we didn't know each other in middle school, but if we had, you get the picture.

Over the years I have carried her to the proverbial nurses office many times and killed a spider or two for her along the way. I've seen her through sinus scraping, placenta-previa, childbirth, numerous root canals and various other assorted revolting dental surgeries.

Mostly I'm just there for moral support, to keep her calm and try to fatten her up with Big Macs and Nerds. Of course girls that are delicate flowers seldom have much of an appetite during times of physical crises and the snacks were really for me.

Anyhoo... now we live really far away from each other and last week she had surgery and I'm not there when the girl is down for the count. She's got Ted now and he does a good job I suppose, but it's difficult knowing that I can't just pop over with McDonald's and sour candy and make it all better.

((WARNING - If you are a delicate flower, have a heart condition, any characteristics resembling a Chihuahua and are under the age of 18, DO NOT CLICK on the link in the paragraph below.))

I mentioned in an earlier post that Amy had a femoral hernia. She walked around like this for weeks, frightened out of her mind that she was growing a wiener, before finally going to the doctor.

She had a lot of other things going on at the time, namely that her ex-husband Assface's unemployment ran out and he took her to court for child support and now she has to pay him. Turns out that with shared custody the parent who makes the most money pays. His unemployment check was more than her salary as a teacher, by the way.

By the time she made it in to see the doctor she was feeling very world weary and downtrodden. When the doctor asked her what was going on she described her ailment, namely the large bulge that seemed to be sprouting from her groin-al area and proudly announced, "I think I'm finally growin' a pair."

Did you have a good time? It depends...

My darling has but one weekend a year to forget that he is an uptight corporate slug. He trades in his starched button down shirts and neatly pressed khakis for old gnarly tee shirts, over sized cargo shorts, and turns into a drunken slob hippie for 3 straight days and nights. He rolls around a public park, drinks gallons of draft beer and smokes god knows what from various lit objects that get passed around by god knows who.

He lives for this shit, but it's not my scene.

It's one weekend a year, so I am able to ignore his disgusting smell and beastly behavior and know that the lovely, reliable, non-hippie type guy I married will come home to me. Meanwhile, Comfest has become my excuse to drive to Columbus and spend time with my friends - husband free. I drop him off at the park and head off to the suburbs.

The short version of my trip to Columbus can be described in two words - Laughing Jag. I don't think that I have laughed so much in the last 4 years as I did in the 2 days I spent hanging out with my friends. The long version is described in bullet points below.



Friday:

• Met my friends Becky, Amy and Amy's daughter LBL for 2 hour lunch at a favorite old haunt, a Turkish restaurant in a local mall. If there is a better way to start off your Friday afternoon than with a little babaganoush, a lamb kebab and a lot of gabbing with old friends, I have yet to hear about it.
  
  
• After lunch we did a little browsing around the shops, but mostly we just walked around and made fun of people.
  
  
• Later that evening Frenchie and Nature Boy hosted a little soiree. I brought all the fixin's for guacamole and chopped up everything and made it on the spot, while standing in the middle of Frenchie's kitchen. Awesome. I love to make food while hanging around with my friends.

Saturday:

• I drop kicked a hung over MDH out of bed, reminding him that he had made plans for us to have brunch at a greasy spoon with our friend S.
  
  
• After brunch I rolled MDH out of the car in front of Comfest and drove straight to Amy's and hung out with her until it was time for us to meet Dan and Becky at the movies. We saw The Love Guru and were the only people in the theater. The movie wasn't that great, but we laughed our asses off anyway.
  
  
• Dan, Becky and I headed back over to Amy's and spent the evening eating pizza and chicken wings and watching back to back episodes of Flight of the Conchords. Like I said, laughing jag.

Sunday (in the wee small hours of the morning):

• MDH came crashing into our hotel room at around 2:30am, rudely awakening me from a blissful (sober) slumber.
  
  
• He continued to talk to me at full drunken hippie volume about his wondrous day at Comfest, as if I had not moments before been soundly asleep.
  
  
• As I became more aware of my surroundings and how much I hate hippies, I noticed that the previously pristine and perfect white hotel bed linens had become soiled and brown at the foot of his side of the bed.
  
  
• Now fully alert, I could see that the source of the filth was MDH's giant sandled feet and that he had lain in our bed after apparently wallowing through a muddy cow pasture.
  
  
• I screamed at him to go and wash his feet.
  
  
• After some grumbling and cursing he washed his feet and I allowed him to come back to bed.
  
  
• He fell immediately asleep while I lay fully awake, wild eyed and fuming.
  
  
• I got up to go to the bathroom and when I returned a few moments later found him sleeping spread eagled, hogging up the entire king-sized bed and all the pillows. Even the decorative ones.
  
  
• I shoved him all around until I was able to squeeze in back in, but that's about the time the drunken snoring began. Oh joy.
  
  
• At around 3:15am I packed up my shit, and drove home.

Two clarifications (so you won't think I'm an economy sized asshole):


1. We were planning for me to leave on Sunday without him anyway, just not quite so early. He made other arrangements to get home because he likes to stay for the entire Comfest event. I, on the other hand, could give a shit and was hoping to get home early enough to do some laundry before work on Monday morning.



2. I woke him up and kissed him goodbye before I left.



One realization (about making rash decisions while tired and angry):
1. My decision to begin a 6 hour drive through mostly rural Ohio all by myself at 3:30am was probably not so smart. I realized this about 2 hours into my trip home when it was pitch black, there were no signs of civilization, no other vehicles on the road, and the urge to pee suddenly became excruciating. That crazy astronaut lady who wore the diaper on her attempted murder spree through Florida started to seem not so crazy as I pulled into a dark and empty roadside rest.



One more realization:


1. I probably shouldn't have gulped down a giant cup of gas station coffee on my way out of town.

Planes, Trains & VW's

Gracious me! It's been awhile since I've checked in with my blog. MDH and I have been traipsing all over North America for the last 3 weeks. A veritable whirlwind of romantic and exciting locales.

OK. So it wasn't exactly all over North America.

Or romantic.

Or exciting.

It was mostly locations within a short driving distance or train ride from our home, like Columbus and Toronto. But - there was lots of hotel sex (OK, we did it once) which counts as both whirlwind, because it was over pretty quick, and romantic, because we brushed our teeth first.

Also we did fly to Philly using up the very last drop of the frequent flier miles I accrued from 5 long years of life on the road. I thought something on my boarding pass looked amiss and soon realized that there was a big giant empty space where it used to say "Silver Elite".

That's right.

I'm no longer Elite and am now one of the teeming masses. It's nothing but coach class for me from here on out. Before you know it I'll be standing around looking clueless, joking with TSA agents about having bombs in my luggage and generally annoying the crap out of savvy business travelers at an airport near you. Watch out.

And OK, we weren't exactly gone the entire 3 weeks. We were just away on the weekends. But they were long weekends, like 4 day weekends and I worked every day that we weren't gone off somewhere.

Anyhoo... I'm home now and lucky you I'm going to post some of my vacation photos, starting with our trip to Philadelphia where we met up with my best friend Amy and her lovely husband Ted*.

Philadelphia is known for it's murals - here's a jazzy one (har-har).

And now up close.

Amy got trapped on the wrong side of the turn styles in the subway... it's a long story. Why doesn't she just squeeze her bony, size 2 ass thru or climb over, you may ask? Surprise! She has a hernia and is only weeks away from surgery. I told you it was a long story (I will tell you more about it in an upcoming post. Hurray! Hernia stories. I know you are thrilled. Try to contain yourself. Seriously. Pipe down.)

A groovy newel post at Independence Hall.

A statue of some guy. Fen Branklin or something.

Ted enjoys a steak sandwich.

Amy & Ted at the Phillies game.

*There are no photos of me from this trip posted here as there is not one in the entire bunch that I approve for public viewing. In fact in every photo taken of me on this trip for some reason I look like a goddamn dairy cow, albeit a dairy cow with very expensive blond highlights. I posted the picture at the top, taken the day before we left for Philadelphia, in which I look somewhat normal just to prove to myself that I don't really look like livestock.