There and Back Again

Almost 3 weeks to the day from when I left, I return safe if not completely sound (but more on that later). I've been to some places I never imagined I would actually travel (Iceland, Estonia...) and some that have been on my list for quite a while (Amsterdam, Russia). It seems strange to be back among the familiar when the different and unusual became the norm. But I have a ton of stories to share, not to mention the pictures. Over a 1000 in fact!

As a wise woman once said "let's start at the very beginning, a very good place to start...."

I suppose a good first step is to introduce the travelers. There's me, of course. Everyone's favorite accident-prone, sassy ginger. Also coming on the trip were Chris and Kent, a couple that is no stranger to world travel. Several years ago we all went on a trip to the Mediterranean and discovered that we travel really well together. Chris and I have known each other since freshman year of college at William and Mary, and he and Kent have been together almost 9 years. Which means Kent has been my friend for just about that length of time.

The first stop on the epic Scandinavian and Baltic vacation seems at first glance a bit random. "Iceland?" you ask. "Why Iceland?" Turns out the cheapest way to fly to Amsterdam (where our cruise ship was docked) was to take IcelandAir. And to promote tourism, the airline provides for free multi-day layovers to give people a chance to visit Iceland. So there you go. When someone offers you the chance to spend a couple days in Iceland you don't say no.

Things, however, didn't get off to a great start. There were thunderstorms the evening we flew out of Dulles and our flight was delayed 30 minutes. There was a bit of a silver-lining though; we lucked out when checking in and were able to select first class seats without an extra charge--it was just the style of first class seats and not the first class service, but it definitely made for a more comfortable flight. I managed to get probably about 4 hours of sleep on the plane (which is pretty good for me) so I wasn't quite the walking dead when we arrived.

Unfortunately when I roused myself from sleep and stretched in my seat I noticed something was amiss. My gold and garnet pendant (which most people know I wear ALL THE TIME) was missing. The clasp had been slipping every so often, but I never imagined it would actually fall off the chain. After landing a frantic search ensued, with Chris, Kent, my seat-mate, and almost the entire flight crew pitching in with no luck. I reported it to the Reykjavik police and to Dulles, but it wasn't ever found. My vacation had claimed its first casualty. But I was determined to not let it ruin my good time--after all, it was my fault. If I loved it so much I never should have worn it. Live and learn, right?

After giving up the search on the plane, we walked through the small airport to the small baggage check and the small ground transportation area. Our plan was to grab the bus to the Blue Lagoon spa, but alas, we had just missed it and the next one wasn't coming for an hour. For the record, it was 7:30 in the morning in Iceland which meant our bodies thought it was 3:30 in the morning back at home. So we splurged on a cab and had our first view of the Iceland countryside.

In short: it was rugged, wild, and rocky. The entire island is volcanic and the ground is littered with black aerated rock. There aren't really any trees to speak of, but there are green scrubby plants covering the rocks. There are also beautiful blue lakes and mountains with huge geothermal steam vents. Oh, and active volcanoes. Including the one that erupted last year and made it impossible to travel to and from Europe for several weeks. The Blue Lagoon was only about 20 minutes from the airport, and the cab dropped us off at the main entrance. Well, I should say the walkway to the main entrance. We, along with our luggage, had to to wind our way through the path between huge piles of volcanic rock. It was pretty cool.

Steam vents on the way to the Blue Lagoon.

Blue Lagoon from afar

This path either leads to the Blue Lagoon....or Mordor.

But then we hit a snag. The spa itself didn't open until 9:00--but they offered a buffet breakfast starting at 6:30. We had made a reservation and made it there right on time--but the main entrance was locked tight with nobody around. Since it had taken us awhile to lug our luggage to the door we didn't relish the thought of heading back. Kent to the rescue! He wandered off around the building, found the kitchen entrance, and walked around until he found an employee to come let us in. Success!

I should point out that this was so typical Kent. While Chris and I became completely befuddled by a snag in our carefully thought out plan, Kent just surges ahead with a brilliant and totally unconventional idea that saves the day. After we were let in the door and made our way to the restaurant, we ate some yummy food (seriously--some of the best bacon I have ever had) and got a moment to decompress.

An hour later the spa opened and after stowing our luggage in a locker, we changed into our swimsuits and got into the lagoon. The water originates more than 6000 feet underground where it is infused with minerals and all other kinds of good stuff. The pump it up into the lagoon and it's like being in this milky warm hot tub (but without the bubbles). They have boxes of salt scrub that you can run on your face and then wash off, and then we also purchased an algae mask. So basically our faces felt awesome. After floating around the lagoon for a few hours (and getting a drink at the swim-up bar, natch) we headed to the relaxation room to lounge in some anti-gravity chairs. You recline on your back with your legs at a 90 degree angle above you. It takes all stress off your back and feels so good that we all fell asleep for about an hour. But hey, we needed it, right?

Blue Lagoon at dawn.

Right before opening....

Kent and I take advantage of the salt scrub.

I claim Iceland in the name of Maggiedom.

At that point we got our stuff, changed, and were able to get the bus back to downtown Reykjavik. But since it's us nothing is ever simple. Turns out today was Iceland's annual "Cultural Day" where the entire downtown area is closed to automobile traffic. This meant the bus couldn't take us to our hotel and we had to (again) lug our luggage from the bus depot. It took about 10 minutes, but thankfully the sidewalks were relatively even and there was only one hill. We arrived without incident and checked in to our hotel, which was actually an apartment so we have a lot of space. And after all, it isn't a real vacation until the three of us have to lug our bags through a European city.

The interior of our Reykjavik apartment.

By this point we were of course exhausted, but hey, how many times are you in Iceland? So we rallied and went wandering around the city. It was pretty easy since all the roads are closed to traffic and we went in and out of shops, around to the Parliament building and the new Harpa building, a theater and convention center with some interesting architecture. There was also a beautiful waterfront area with mountains right across the bay.

Wandering the street festival in Reykjavik...

Me and Kent and the gay polar bear.

People gather on a grassy lawn for the upcoming concerts.

We headed back to our apartment and while Chris and Kent went back out to see the fireworks at 11:00 (when it still wasn't fully dark) I tucked myself into bed and got some shut-eye. The next day would dawn early and would be jam-packed as we were taking the typical Icelandic tour called The Golden Circle. Geysers, waterfalls, and mountains...oh my!

Where in the World is Maggie?

Did you hear? That I'm going on (another) epic vacation? Cuz I am, you know, just in case you hadn't heard.

People keep asking me where I am going. And since there are a lot of places I figured I would cut out the middle man (me) and just post an itinerary. This way you can follow my trip like the crazy stalkers you are.

Seriously though, I am super excited. This is a trip that has been more than a year in the making and the fact that it is actually here is kind of hard to wrap my head around. Maybe when I am sitting on the plane tomorrow night it will actually hit home....

Friday, August 19: depart from Dulles at 8:40pm

Saturday, August 20-Monday, August 22: Reykajavik, Iceland

Monday, August 22-Friday, August 26: Amsterdam, Netherlands

Friday, August 26: Board the Celebrity Constellation for cruise (I've listed our ports below, all other days are days at sea)

Sunday, August 28: Outside Berlin, Germany

Tuesday, August 30: Stockholm, Sweden

Wednesday, August 31: Helsinki, Finland

Thursday and Friday, September 1 and 2: St. Petersburg, Russia

Saturday, September 3: Tallin, Estonia

Monday, September 5: Copenhagen, Denmark

Wednesday, September 7: back to Amsterdam

Thursday, September 8: come home!

Monday, September 12: back to work (cue sad trombone)

So I'll see you all in September and try not to miss me too much!

Take the Canoli

We must have been crazy. It seemed like a good idea in theory: we're only 4 hours from New York City by bus, so going up for the day seemed easy peasy. But when you take the 6:30 am bus up and the 10:00 pm bus back, you are looking at a long day.

But let me back up. There's a little thing called Harry Potter: The Exhibition. Basically, it has tons of costumes, props, wands, and other delights used during all the Harry Potter films. The exhibition has been making a slow tour of North America since 2009, but has only been in 5 cities, none of which are particularly close to DC. I always figured the exhibition would come here, after all, DC is the home of the Smithsonian and lots of Potter nerds. I kept waiting for them to announce a DC date but alas, the latest news from the website indicated that the show was leaving North America and heading out for international stops in September.

What's a girl to do?! I had to see all that Potter paraphernalia! There was only one choice. Hop the bus to NYC and make a day of it.

I am a big fan of the Bolt bus--for about $20 each way you get a ride up to NYC from downtown DC and for the most part, it's a smooth easy ride. Notice I said "for the most part." But more on that later.

Fellow Potter pundit Chris was up for the adventure, so we got up at the crack of dawn and convinced Kent to drop us off at Union Station at 6 in the morning. Kent's price: a doily. Yeah, I know. Apparently they are good for sidetables. Anyway...

Things got off to a poor start. The bus was about 20 minutes late, but when it did arrive our driver was in a REALLY bad mood. But here's the thing. One man's horribly bitchy is another man's delightfully bitchy, and Chris and I thoroughly enjoyed watching the bus driver yell at those who didn't have their shit together. When she calls boarding group A and you come up there with your boarding group C ticket...bitch, please. This driver was having none of that. And when two latecomers tried to board the bus without having their tickets already loaded on their phones...we thought their asses were going to get left. And frankly, I wouldn't have had a problem with that.

The ride up was mostly without incident and we arrived at 33rd and 7th (near Herald Square--and Macy's!) around 11:00. By this time we were starving, so we decided to just strike out for Time's Square (where the HP Exhibition was stationed) and just stop to eat at some random place along the way. We ended up wandering into a place called Ben's Kosher Deli which had some amazing looking traditional jewish food in addition to your typical sandwiches and such. They also had the biggest potato pancakes I have ever seen.

After lunch, we joined the tourist throng in Times Square to kill time (and on the way walked past Parsons School of Design of Project Runway fame) until it was 1:00 and time for the exhibition.

And you thought I was a shitty driver.

I'm not going to take the time to list everything in the exhibition (for a nice little tour check out the wiki page), but let me just say it was infinitely cool and made for a remarkable experience where you could get up close and personal with the props and really appreciate the detail that went into every aspect of the movies. Unfortunately, there was no photography allowed, but here are a couple of fun bits of trivia (pulled from my observance and the audio tour):

1) everyone in the movies is smaller than you imagine. Seriously. Emma Watson is like 5 feet tall. Also, the adults are all way skinnier than I imagined. They just seem so much larger than life on screen!

2) Despite being complete CGI creations, the filmmakers made incredibly detailed mock-ups of the house elves, Buckbeak, and the Hungarian Horntail. For Buckbeak, every feather on that thing was hand-dyed and hand-glued. Pretty impressive for something that would never even be on screen. And I also can't help but think it was a big waste of money.

3) Voldemort's robes were green, not black.

4) You would not believe the detail and easter eggs contained in every textbook, newspaper, or really anything printed that appeared on screen. There were even some things that I never even saw in the movie--like study guides for the O.W.L.S, but even those were amazingly detailed. Basically anything paper = amazing.

After exiting to the gift shop (duh) and breaking my baked goods embargo for a slice of cake from the Cake Boss bakery annex at the exhibition place, we hit the subway and headed for the Natural History Museum. Turns out Chris and I are both big planetarium buffs and our college friend Alyssa just so happens to work at the museum. Although she was out of town and we didn't get to hang with her (bummer) she had set tickets aside for us at will call and we got free admission to the museum and all the special exhibits. Dinosaur bones and planetarium, woot!

Raaaawr! T-Rex doesn't give a shit, T-Rex is HUNGRY! But T-Rex hates push-ups.

After getting our fill of the secrets of the universe, we met up with another William and Mary grad, Sarah. The museum is located on the upper west side which is rife with amazing restaurants, bars, and cafes. Next time I go to NYC for the weekend, I am definitely going to try to stay in that area--if just for the food alone. We grabbed some drinks at a great divey bar called Prohibition and then walked down a newish Italian place called Celeste. We managed to avoid the dinner rush (and over an hour wait) and indulged in some homemade pasta, pizza, and yummy bread. Make a note for the care and feeding of your Maggie: carbs are always a good thing.

But then! We had to get dessert, right? So we walked around the corner (dodging the raindrops that had started to plop down) and went to Cafe Lalo which is famous for its amazing desserts. It's also famous for being in the movie You've Got Mail. Remember that scene where Meg Ryan's character is waiting in the little cafe for the guy that she met on the internet (and doesn't know is Tom Hanks) and she's got a copy of Pride and Prejudice with a rose in it? Yeah, that's the place. And it's just as romantic (and delicious) as it looks in the movie.

And they have like 25 types of cake. ROCK.

By this point we had managed to stretch out the evening and it was nearly 9:00. As our bus departed as 10, we cabbed back to 33rd and 7th Avenue and said hail and farewell to Sarah.

Since the ride up to NYC was pleasant, we never imagined that the ride back would be anything but the same. Oh, boy were we wrong. First, the seats were some of the most uncomfortable I have ever sat in. I'm not sure what made these so different from the seats on the way up, but it was literally impossible to find a comfortable position. Second, the driver kept the temperature at around 65 degrees (not exaggerating--I could see the digital thermostat). Even after I went up there and begged him to warm it up--no dice. Finally, the woman in front of us spent a lot of time chatting on her phone.

WHO TALKS ON THEIR PHONE AT MIDNIGHT? I had earplugs in and I could hear her. I finally stood up, leaned over, and asked her (politely) to keep her voice down. That kind of shut her up. Bitch.

I can't remember ever wanting to lie down in my own bed as much. But finally, after 4.5 hours of hell, we made it back to Union Station. A quick cab ride and ride in my car later, I was finally home.

A super fun day, but maybe just a bit too long. Next time I will be taking an earlier bus home. I think Harry would understand.

Chocolate Party

Two things I like most in the world: chocolate and parties. So what happens when you combine the two? AWESOMENESS.

My friend from law school, Kristine, is a hard as nails criminal law attorney down in the Newport News area by day. But by night she sells Dove Chocolate products at parties. So basically you get a bunch of your friends together, you sit around, and she gives you samples of chocolate: chocolate truffles, covered nuts, martinis (yes, chocolate martinis), mousse, fondue, etc. etc.

I can't really think of a better idea for a party. It's funny though, by the end I experienced something I never thought could happen. I was chocolated out. But when you are eating such rich stuff, a little can go a long way.

I know, I know, you want me to stop babbling and get to the good stuff. Pictures!

Those chocolate martinis might have been my favorite thing. YUM.

Here is the party and fondue aftermath. It was kind of like a pack of wild dogs got to it...but that's what happens when you put a bunch of chocolate fondue in front of some ladies on a Sunday morning. CHOCOLATE RIOT.

Rednecks Love Ke$ha!

....except they actually don't. As I discovered, much to my chagrin, while indulging in my favorite sport (karaoke) at the Macado's in Radford, Virginia last weekend.

Ok, so here's the story. My friend Carl was (until recently) a DJ in the Radford area and also an employee at the Radford college bookstore. We first met about 7 years ago (holy shit it's been that long?) when we both worked at the William and Mary bookstore when I was law school. Since then I have moved to DC and he moved to Radford. Unfortunately it had been a long time since we saw each other, but when I went down to Blacksburg to visit Andi and Jeff we were able to meet up. And it wasn't a moment too soon, because Carl got a sweetass job at a college bookstore in a small town in West Virginia and was leaving literally the next day.

Of course I had to put in an appearance at his Saturday night karaoke. Especially since Carl credits with me with introducing him to karaoke during our Williamsburg days, it seemed to make sense for me to be there for his last Radford karaoke night. But! This was my first experience with karaoke in a real redneck bar. Sure, I had been to Rock It Grill in Alexandria a lot, but come on, this is northern Virginia. Radford is the real thing. I was not surprised by the amount of country music (duh) but I was a bit taken aback by the prevalence of angry 90s grunge. Who knew people in Radford were so angsty. I mean, if I loved there I would be probably go crazy and start throwing chairs, but I figured all those folks were used to it. Maybe the grunge rock was a way for them to express their rage in a healthy manner.

This one guy, he would sit at a table by himself with headphones in his ears. At first I thought he just didn't want to hear anyone else sing, but Carl explained that he was actually listening to the song he was planning to sing to make sure he got everything right. Seriously? This is karaoke at Macado's, not American Idol. Chill, dude.

Carl and I brought the house down with some duets (Summer Nights and Fat Bottomed Girls), and I kicked things off with a rendition of Alone by Heart that wasn't too shabby, but yeah. Ke$ha. Carl requested that I do Your Love Is My Drug, so I got up there and to break the ice I made the Glee joke. You know, "this one is by Ke dollar sign ha." I swear, you could hear crickets chirping. So then I started the song, and yeeeeeeeeeeah. Let's just say this was not the crowd for Ke$ha. I'm not sure if I was just sucking at the song or they had never heard it or what. But it was not good. Probably one of my #1 most awkward karaoke moments EVER. And that's saying a lot. I mean, I once did I Touch Myself.

So the moral of the story is: when you go to a redneck bar, go for the classics rather than the latest pop hit. And apparently you can't go wrong if you channel your inner angry white suburban white boy.

All was well.

Last night, I attended the midnight showing of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2. This blog post is about the experience of watching the movie and what it meant to me. If you aren't a fan of Harry Potter, 1) why are we friends and 2) this is clearly not the blog for you. Just stop reading, go in the corner, and look at your life, look at your choices. Seriously. Communist.

I know objectively it might seem kind of silly. After all, it was just a movie, Harry Potter is just some books...but honestly, if that's the stance you take than I kind of feel sad for you. Because life is a whole lot more fun when you fully embrace the things you care about and take joy in the community they bring. I was at that movie last night with 10 great friends and while we were all looking forward to different things and had different expectations, it was the whole experience that made it something I will never forget.

Last night was special, and not just because it was a great movie and a fun time. Harry Potter has been part of my life now for about 10 years. I received the first three books for Christmas in 1999 when I was in my sophomore year of college. I remember hearing stirrings about the series before then, and the son of my choral director dressed up as Harry for Halloween (complete with a golden snitch tied to a stick that he could swing around and catch), but I didn't really know anything about it. As usual, it was my Stepmom who gifted me the books (she also got me hooked on the Wheel of Time series--again, as a Christmas present) and when I sat down to read them over the holiday break....that was it. I was a goner.

When the Goblet of Fire came out in the summer of 2000, I inhaled and it then had to settle in for the long wait for Order of the Phoenix. By that time in 2003, I was working at the William and Mary Bookstore and actually worked the midnight release party. I remember walking the store, seeing all the kids, students, and grownups in costume, listening to readings of the previous books and just feeling privileged to be a part of something that was fun, had real depth and resonance, and best of all: encouraged kids to read. As soon as we started handing out the books at midnight, kids all over the store plunked themselves down on the floor and started reading. As someone who spent most of my childhood summer split between the library and the pool (where I would read the books from the library) it was one of the most thrilling things I have ever seen.

Half-Blood Prince came out in July 2007, when I was studying for the Virginia State Bar examination. I had pre-ordered it from Amazon.com and spent the morning waiting for Felicia, our mail carrier. As soon as I saw her walking from the house next door, I ran out the door to meet her. That entire summer I took one day off from studying--the day I got my hands on that book. For Deathly Hallows, it was more of a party. A group of friends and I drove down to Richmond where a friend owned a bookstore and was having a midnight release party. We snagged our books, and I think I made it to 4:00 that morning before I had to get some sleep. The next day, I read the book in my condo--lying in bed, sitting in a chair, lying on the couch...just picture a montage of me reading in various places.

My point is that despite my life taking me from college, to law school, to the bar exam, to an actual job and my own home, there has always been Harry. And of course, there has always been the movies. It became a tradition in my family to go to the Harry Potter movies and since the Rileys all have red hair we definitely got some "it's the Weasleys!" comments. Half-Blood Prince was my first midnight show, and the mixture of excitement, exhaustion, and adrenaline was kind of addicting. Attending a midnight show of Deathly Hallows: Part 2 wasn't just a sure thing, it was a damn requirement.

Because in a lot of ways, it's an end. Sure we have Pottermore from JKR, and maybe some supplementary stuff coming in the next few years, but the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 movie represented the last of the things to look forward to, the last thing to speculate, argue, and dream about. No more countdowns to something new and no more attending midnight show. It definitely doesn't mean Harry Potter as a fandom is over--I fully intend to keep having those Harry Potter themed parties and discussing the books and movies with my friends. Harry will live on in conventions, fanfic, and fan art. There's really no limit to the creativity that people are capable of once you give them a little push...and JKR has done that and more.

So last night was fun, unforgettable, but also a little sad. After all, it was an end. I always try to keep my expectations low when going to a movie like this--as a huge fan of the source material, it sometimes feels that you are setting yourself up for disappointment. I was so nervous through the entire movie that my legs would occasionally shake and I had to let out deep calming breaths. I think the reason I was so tense was first, that it was great movie that made the stakes feel real, but also that I wanted to love it so much, I wanted everything I loved from the book to be there, and I was scared (yes, actually scared) that the filmmakers would, at least from my perspective, "mess it up."

I won't give any spoilers here...but let me just say that there was not one instance where I was disappointed. Everything I wanted was there. All the moments, all the words, everything. This movie used the most of JKR's actual text than any other, and it made a huge difference. It was just...perfect. I can't say if I will feel that way in a few years, after I have seen it endless times and analyzed it from every corner. But right here, right now, I can say that it was one of the best movie-going experiences I have ever had. But not just because it was a great film: because it meant something to me. I felt that the movie makers really respected the material and the fans. That they loved it as much as we did, and that it meant as much to their lives as it has to mine.

So in the end...all was well.

The Yard Sale Whisperer

I love running yard sales. Why? Because it allows me to indulge in three of my favorite things:

1) planning/organization

2) getting rid of crap

3) capitalism

So when my Aunt embarked on an epic clean out of her house (that contained, let's be honest, about 70 years of accumulated stuff from her and my Grandmother) I immediately suggested a yard sale. That was back in March. We set the date for the first Saturday in June so my Aunt Kim would have a goal for going through the stuff, and I immediately began designing the perfect yard sale sign in my head. It had to be on bright posterboard of course, so people could easily identify it, and it needed to contains the words "big" and "yard sale" to bring in the crowds. yes, I design posters 3 months in advance, and no, I don't care what you think about it. From there the hard work belonged to Kim who had to wade and sort through the flotsam and jetsam of decades.

I think she must have put on her superhero pants because by the time Saturday, June 4th rolled around, there was a whole garage full of stuff waiting to be sold. Furniture, cookbooks, appliances, tupperware, DVDs and VHS, linens, pots and pans, baskets, and table after table of knick knacks. Basically anything you can imagine we had it--it was like Portobello Road in that yard.

Luckily, Kristin, Selvi, and Chris had awesomely volunteered to help us lug things out to yard (and into people's cars) and from about 7:30 to 11:30 we had a steady stream of people buying things big and small.

Now if you are thinking of putting on a yard sale here are some things you should know:

1) Never underestimate the cheapness of people. Seriously. A never used bread machine is listed for $1 and you are really going to haggle with me to get to $0.50? REALLY? And 15 pairs of shoes, with name brands like Cole Haan and Ann Klein, and you think you are going to get all that for $10? No way, sister.

2) The things you think are going to sell right off the bat are going to stick around forever and the cheapest crap will go fast. I think the problem here is that there is a disconnect between the type of people who have yard sales and the type of people who shop at yard sales. I have a yard sale because I am a victim of our consumerist society and am lucky enough to have a good-paying job and disposable income. Which means I also have a lot of crap. Other people come to a yard sale because they need to get things for cheap. This type of person doesn't really have need things like a bread machine (which literally sold at the last second of the sale...for $0.50. Dammit!), but you better believe they will get in a bidding war with someone else for some 20 year old used tupperware with no lid. Because that shit is actually useful.

3) Have someone at your sale that speaks Spanish. I'm not making any kind of comment on the socio-economic demographics of the Alexandria area, but I've planned approximately 5 yard sales in the last 3 years and at every single one the majority of shoppers are native Spanish speakers. And you as a seller are a severe disadvantage for haggling when you don't speak the language of the person you are bargaining with.

4) You will quickly learn to spot the hoarders. Again, not being mean or anything, but when an older single white lady shows up at your yardsale and carts away 5 boxes of cooking magazines, you kind of get the feeling those boxes are going right into her living room where they will sit for the next 10 years. And be peed on by her 20 cats.

All in all, the yard sale was a complete success, we got rid of about 80% of the stuff (the rest got donated to the church), and Aunt Kim made a nice chunk of change. We lucked out and had GORGEOUS weather, and it was great fun to sit around and talk with my friends, Mom (who stopped by to help with the money collection) and Aunt. We also got to meet a bunch of the neighbors, because nothing brings people crawling out of the woodwork like a good yard sale. Maybe we'll do it again in the Fall, goodness knows there is still a lot of stuff in that house...sign up to volunteer now!

Max and Me

Spoiler alert: this is not one of those stories where someone spends time with an adorable dog and learns lessons about life and love just in time for some horrible accident to occur and the dog to die. I DO NOT watch, read, or write stories about that kind of thing. This is blog post about the week I spent dog-sitting Max the Beagle, and while there might have been lessons learned, rest assured that everyone survived the week fully intact.

My friends Scott and Lis were going to Belize with both their respective families and a whole bunch of friends. While this was good news for them, it did present a problem. What to do with their adorable beagle, Max, while they were gone? If I have the story right, Scott's Mom was the one who came up with the solution. "What about that girl Margaret who always comments about Max's pictures on Facebook?" Scott and Lis asked me if I would be willing to watch Max while they were gone, and after about .028 seconds of consideration I enthusiastically answered yes.

Perhaps you are not familiar with my love for beagles. My family had two beagles when I was younger, first Truffles who was the most mild-mannered sweetest dog ever and had to be put to sleep due to old age (18 years) and failing health when I was about 8. Our second beagle was named Pooch (original, right? But hey she came with the name from the shelter) who was with us until my college years. She also lived to the ripe old age of 18 and had to put down due to liver failure associated with Cushings disease. So basically, my family loves beagles, and Mom and I always root for the beagle in Westminster and will kind of lose our minds whenever we see one on the street. When the chance presented itself to spend an entire week with Max the beagle, I couldn't resist.

Remember those lessons I mentioned having learned earlier? You're probably wondering what they are. First, I learned that Max is basically the best dog in the whole world. So chill, so affectionate, and so happy to just to be close to you. He hardly ever barked (unless there was a big dog nearby) and he would happily cuddle with me at every opportunity. He loved going for walks and I would try to take him for at least one long walk every day and even throw in a little running.
Which would immediately tire him out. Wuss.

But the second thing I learned is that having a permanent dog in my condo is just not practical. 16 floors up in a one bedroom condo is a little hard for a dog, and everytime I needed to leave the house I felt guilty. I was able to work at home more days than usual so Max wasn't alone a lot and I stayed home more on the weekends (which was pretty awesome for me since I got to relax more), but I don't think I am normally home enough to have a full-time dog. Especially since I am typically gone for almost 12 hours at work and that doesn't count the days I go out after work.

It's a shame really because I loved having Max around and I found myself looking forward to getting home and being with him. In fact, I wondered how much having Max around was like being married. I loved having someone to hang out with every night, he hogged the bed, was a loud eater, and would get restless during Top Model. I never wanted to leave him, and I wasn't happy unless we were snuggling on the couch (he is a great snuggler).

In fact, I got to love him so much, it was hard to say goodbye. The day Scott and Lis got back I was bummed all day and when I took him for his last walk I teared up (yes, I am emotional but I don't care) and when they came and got him I had to kind of push them out the door so I didn't cry. I really didn't want that little guy to go! I was gratified that Lis said he seemed to miss me the next day, but still, I was Maxless. We've discussed visitation rights, and that shit better happen because I got attached. Maybe I can convince them to take more fabulous vacations so I can have more dog-sitting opportunities. I sense a plan forming...

After Max left people would ask me, "so you getting a dog now?" And the answer was always no. Like I said, I don't think it's practical with my living situation and my current lifestyle. I don't miss having a dog, I miss having THAT dog.

Cupcake obsession

I've been on kind of on a cupcake kick lately. I'm not sure what it is...but I have a funny feeling that I like it because it appeals to my OCD. Think about it. A cupcake is a perfect cake in miniature--it provides the golden ratio of icing to cake to flavors. All within a handy little cake. I appreciate thing that have a great balance of taste and textures.

I've said too much.

Point is, I've been making a lot of cupcakes. The first new recipe was also my most ambitious. My stepmother copied it from a cooking magazine for me and it was a great spin on a S'more Cupcake.


What made this one different was the actual cake. It was a graham cracker based cake, which I thought was really unusual. It's basically your typical white cake, but you leave out some of the flour and sub in graham crackers bits. You end up with a really moist cake infused with graham cracker-ness. Then, you cut a hole in the top of the cake, and pipe marshmallow fluff into the cupcake. Put a layer of chocolate ganache on the cake and top it with a toasted marshmallow cap (put some marshmallow fluff on a cookie sheet and then put it under the broiler) and you got yourself one awesome cupcake.

And I secreted some of them away into the freezer so I can have them for those emergency cupcake moments. You know: a break-up, death in the family, rainy weather, a day that ends in "day," those kind of times.

After the success of the S'more Cupcakes, I tried another new recipe, this time I utilized my Williams Sonoma Star Wars Cupcake kit. Oh, yeah you read that right. The kit basically consisted of cupcake wrappers and these little characters on sticks you could stick into the cupcakes, but whatever. The point is Star Wars + cupcakes = AWESOME.


I went with a very light, very moist chocolate chip cupcake recipe; the batter contained whipped egg whites so it was very fluffy. One problem, the batter was so light most of the chocolate chips sunk to the bottom of the cake during the baking. But whatever. Still yummy. Oh, and the Hershey kiss on top was just for funsies.

My final foray into cupcakes was a bit of a departure. I had a box of Thin Mint girl scout cookies, some peppermint extract, and a dream. You put those Thin Mints in a food processor, make a few tweaks to a dense chocolate cupcake recipe, add some mint flavoring to icing and you got yourself some bangin Thin Mint cupcakes. No picture for these, mostly because they didn't stick around long enough for me to even take one. Also, I think I lost my camera.

The quest for the perfect cupcake doesn't stop here, so if you know any good recipes send them my way. I can reward you with, guess what, cupcakes!

The Saga Continues

Remember all that bitching I did in the last post about a clogged drain and how much it sucked and how much it ruined my day and blah blah blah?

Oh, honey, I so did not know what I was talking about.

Because a clogged drain is nothing, NOTHING, compared to what was waiting for me a few days later. I'll start out by noting that all you have to say to a condo high-riser owner is the word "leak" and it can be enough to prompt a panic attack.

There I was on Wednesday night around 8:30. I had just gotten home from dinner at my Dad's and was going through the usual nightly ritual...packing my lunch for the next day, brushing my teeth, etc. when *knock knock* at the front door. I opened it up and standing there was one of our building's security guards who said, "I'm here about the leak." "What leak?" I responded (but I was already freaking out inside). All he responded with was some crap about someone in a lower apartment reporting a leak. The guy didn't even know where it was, so I checked around the bathroom and the kitchen, but didn't see anything. And that was the end of that.

Or so I thought.

Long story short (too late), it turns out the drain pipe behind my kitchen sink (in the wall) was leaking into the apartments two floors below me. I don't know why it would be two floors down, but whatever. Dammit I'm a doctor, not a plumber. Actually, I'm not a plumber either but whatever. The thing took 4 days to repair, involved tearing out the back of my (relatively new) kitchen cabinet, and completely ruining my day.

The good news? I didn't have to pay for anything. Not the repairs to the pipe or the damage to the other apartments. THANK THE LORD. I have been down the road (with the great New Years Eve toilet leak of '08) and it is not one I am eager to revisit.

Happily, the kitchen sink drama is over, and the next blog post will be about something much more exciting: chocolate and cupcakes!

Surprise! You are an adult.

Sometimes, you're going along being yourself, acting all happy, and all of a sudden adulthood slaps you in the face. Just in case you needed a little reminder. It's like the universe wanted to say, "you are acting far too happy and fancy free. Remember how this thing is supposed to work: life is hard, yo."

I was having a really great weekend, I helped a friend move and at the same time got to hang out with a bunch of other friends, went out for an awesome dinner (where I had some of this, which is one of the best things I have ever eaten), and then got to hang out with friends and watch a movie, some episodes of Veronica Mars, and drink Bailey's and cherry whiskey. Fun, right?

And then the next morning I was confronted with one of the grossest things I have seen: at some point during the night, the kitchen drain backed up and the entire sink was full of nasty, weird colored water and strange floating things that might have been bits of cereal but easily could have been any other non-identified icky organic matter.

If you've never had a backed-up kitchen sink you are lucky; this was my first and it's not an experience I am eager to relive. I tried everything: a home remedy made up of baking soda and vinegar, plunging the drain, and even two whole bottles of Drano. Nada. Tito suggests emptying the trap with a bucket, but first all all, I don't know where the trap is, and second, that sounds gross. I'd rather just pay the 30 bucks to have the maintenance guys come in an snake the drain or empty the whatever-it-is-trap.

As of this morning, the drain was still clogged (but the Drano must have had some effect because the sink had drained of water during the night--although an almost inch deep layer of DEAR GOD WHAT IS THAT was left behind) but I had been told a maintenance man would most likely come by today to take care of it. So fingers crossed. It would certainly be nice to do dishes and not have my sink resemble the Bog of Eternal Stench from Labyrinth.

Also, thanks for reminding me of my responsibilities, universe. Just when I thought I was on a roll and could indulge in some fun, I get a helpful little reminder that I am over 30 and a homeowner. Bright side: no kids were involved in this message from life. If there had been, I am sure the issue would have been bodily fluid rather than appliance related.

Things to do in DC: Eastern Market

I have lived in the Washington area for 31 years, but have never been to Eastern Market. I always thought that was kind of sad. I know people who live really close to Eastern Market, I remember being bummed when I read about it burning down and being happy when it was built back up, but still. I just never got my rear in gear enough to head down there on a weekend and check it out.

Enter JR from stage left.

JR is a friend I have known since my freshman year at William and Mary. We were instantly drawn together through our love of theater and the absurd. Also, he likes to read about economic theory, European philosophy, and Proust and if you ever meet someone who actually likes Proust you must remain friends with them FOREVER.

Anyway.

JR is one of my peeps who lives around Eastern Market and we had met for dinner in his neighborhood to celebrate my birthday. As we chatted about a myriad of topics including politics and astrology, somehow the subject of how I have never been to Eastern Market came up. "We should go sometime," he said. "I'll have to look at my planner...maybe sometime in March?" I responded. He then gave me a look that filled me with guilt. I mean, it's kind of sad that someone who used to be Miss. Spontaneity is reduced to having to plan something at least three weeks in advance since I'm so busy running around.

"You know what?" I told him. "Screw it. Let's go tomorrow morning." And we did.

Outside Eastern Market

I drove into DC and met up with JR at 10:30 the next morning. We then fought our way on foot through one of the most windy (but sunny!) days this winter to Eastern Market. It wasn't really what I had expected; I had always pictured a huge warehouse full of vendors along the lines of Portebello Road from the movie Bedknobs and Broomsticks. Instead, it was a smallish place where purveyors of excellent foodstuffs including meat, fresh vegetables, and homemade pastas and baked goods hock their wares to an audience of yuppies. There were a couple antique and furniture sellers at a lot across the street, but Eastern Market itself is pretty much all food all the time.

And there ain't nothing wrong with that. I got some spinach fettuccine and marinara sauce that made up my dinner during the week and it was fantastic. Also a loaf of fresh ciabatta bread. Next time, I think I will get some pork loins and maybe try a cupcake or two from the great bakery stall.

So, to conclude: Eastern Market equals fun, but not quite as quirky as I had imagined. But right when I was lapsing into some yuppie-induced despair, JR walked me around the corner and showed me one of the most awesome book stores I have ever seen--book were literally stacked floor to ceiling. FINALLY. It was like a bookstore straight out of my turn-of-the-century steampunk dreams.

Going Gaga

It's rare these days to go to a concert and really feel a connection between yourself and the artist. After all, you're surrounded by thousands of screaming people and (if you're me anyway), the performer is usually far away and little more than a speck in the distance. But every so often, you can just feel that a person is giving 100% of themselves to the audience, that their sole purpose is to put on a great show, and that they would run themselves into the ground just to make sure you get your money's worth. What's even rarer is the combination of this feeling along with the sensation of being absolutely blown away by a person's talent. Sure, a lot of people can work hard during a performance, but to do it and just be really really great is kind of the perfect storm for a concert experience.

So when people ask me, "how was the Lady Gaga concert last Thursday?" I guess I should just point to the above paragraph and say "right there. All that. Only with profanity, lots of flesh, wacky outfits, and a great self-esteem boost."

Because if there is one thing that going to Lady Gaga concert will teach you is: DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE THE GAGA.

I've had a lot of conversations with friends where I try to explain why I love her. Sure, she's got great catchy pop tunes that are fun to dance to and sing along. But if that's all it was, I don't think people would seriously refer to her as The Next Madonna or really care. I mean, Ke$ha makes catchy songs, but does anyone really think she is a cultural icon or will be around for more than a few years (except for maybe Brittany on Glee)? No.

But there is something about Gaga that I think will guarantee her a place in the pop pantheon for the long haul. She is amazingly, sickly, grossly, talented. Say what you want about her being wacky and crazy yadda yadda yadda, that bitch can SING. For 2 straight hours she sang completely live, danced, and rocked out on the piano, standing bass, keytar, and organ. Oh, and she just happens to have written all those great catchy pop songs. And you know what? She sounded even better than on recordings. And trust me, that's rare.

But whatever, you want to hear about the concert, right? There was a kind of basic plot to the proceedings, I guess. Gaga and her friends (i.e. scantily clad dancers) are trying to get to the Monster Ball, but along the way they have all these mishaps and adventures. These provide opportunities for set changes, costume changes, and of course Gaga sharing with us her philosophy...which as far as those go, is pretty awesome.

"What is the Monster Ball?" someone asks. And Gaga answers, "it is a place where you can be free." You can be as strange, as weird, as YOU as you want, and you belong. "I don't want you to leave here loving me more," she said. "I want you to leave here loving you more." And that's basically what she is all about: no matter how much of an outcast you feel, Mama Gaga loves you. And remember: she will always be weirder than you.

The show opened with Gaga silhouetted against a dark backdrop singing Dancing in the Dark. We then cut to a large city set, with a truck in the middle of the stage. During Glitter and Grease, Just Dance, Beautiful, Dirty,Rich, and The Fame, we learned that she was on the way to the Monster Ball, but oops! Her truck broke down. Cue discussion of what the Monster Ball is and why it's awesome. And why we as the audience were awesome.

Then we get a new set: this one of a subway. I guess since the truck didn't work out, Gaga and her friends decide public transport is the way to go. She goes right into Love Game (dressed in a nun's habit, natch), and makes her way through Boys, Boys, Boys, before rising off the stage with her huge keytar for a little bit of Money Honey. After that, she called a fan in the audience (seriously) to thank her for making a huge donation to her tour-sponsored charity (a halfway house for LGBT teens who have been kicked out of their homes) and invited her backstage after the show. The woman gave $20,000 and seemed excited, but her teenage daughters were seriously freaking the fuck out. As anybody would. After finishing the call, Gaga performed Telephone and the rocking out got really under way.

Dorilyn: What is she holding?
Me: A disco stick?

At this point, Gaga was in a black and sparkly bikini so I guess it seemed like a good time to settle down at the piano. Which was on fire. She performed a song from the new album called You and I which was along the veins of Speechless, meaning it was more of a singer/songwriter kind of vibe rather than glam pop. And this is where she is really impressive: for most of the song it was just her and piano and it was awesome. And in her own words, "I hate having to cut my nails to play the piano...so I don't."

She was on fire! Not literally though. But she did play the piano with her feet.

Gaga then got sucked up by a tornado (just go with it) and performed So Happy i Could Die dressed as a cracked out Glenda the Good Witch. The tornado ended up dropping her in a dark and very expensive forest, where her dancers promptly ran away and left her alone (those bitches). But they were back to help out with Monster, Teeth, and Alejandro. And to smear fake blood all over Gaga, of course. Another great quote from this set: Gaga stretches out on the stage covered in fake blood and notes, "I was bullied a lot in high school....some people thought I was strange." Finally, she went into an awesome version of Poker Face which took us right into....

Paparazzi. And a giant freaky angler fish that is set up on stage and eats Gaga. I guess the fish is what gets her to the Monster Ball? Because the next number finds us at the Ball with Gaga encased in a shiny metal ball thing (just go with it again) and bringing down the house with Bad Romance. This was clearly the song of the night, or would have been, except for the encore of Born This Way. I don't think any other song really encapsulated the theme of the night as much as Born This Way which is basically saying, let your freak flag fly. Gaga and three of her back-up singers came out and sang some verses a cappella before busting into a recreation of her recent Grammy performance minus the egg and ponytail.

All in all it was probably one of the best (if not the best) concerts I have been to and was more than just a show. It was kind of an experience. If you get the chance to go see her, DO IT. At the very least you will get the chance to say you saw Lady Gaga live, and I have a funny feeling she is going to be around for a very long while. Even my Dad admits that she's talented and for us to agree on something like is amazing in and of itself!

Oh, one last quote. Before the show, you could text a message and it would appear on large screens around the arena. Most of the texts were things like, "your little monsters love you!!1!" or "Mama Gaga you are the best!"But one text really stood out. "Where are my keys? I lost my phone" Guess all you can do is just dance.

PS: Thanks to the Gagapedia for the set list!

No wonder they call it La-La Land.

People in LA are crazy. And I have documented proof. Don't get me wrong; I love visiting Los Angeles, especially now that my brother and sister-in-law live there. And I can't complain about the 75 degree sunny clear blue sky weather in February, but seriously folks there are CRAAAAZY.

How do I know? They are trying to live in a Dr. Seuss-land.

This is a typical tree on a typical street in a typical LA suburb. And yet, it looks like it belongs in Whoville or the like. Sure, you see other plants that have a lot of Asian influence and other interesting shapes, but this? This is just ridiculous.

Also, people there like to sculpt their shrubs into shapes. In a single yard, this is a delightfully quirky expression of creativity, but when it comes a full-blown epidemic it just gets kinda creepy. This one house that I walked by was working on some huge shrub swans, and had the beginnings of a giraffe in the works. Weird.

When swans attack...

Another house (which alas, I forgot to get a picture of) had its front yard shrubs in some vaguely humanoid blobby shapes. It looked like something out of an anime...something that starts out cute but then quickly morphs into something that bites your head off.

I think this is all a function of the weather in Southern California. After all, when flowers can bloom all year round and every day is perfect (well, almost perfect), your yard becomes more than a hobby and is a full-blown status symbol. I don't think anybody there does their own gardening; everyone has a service that includes some hardcore landscaping. Bushes and trees in ridiculous shapes are the new SUV.

Coming up next: more adventures in LA including LEGOland and a vegan night out.

XOXO

Ah, Valentine's Day. The one day a year dedicated to love--when you are supposed to shower your significant other with chocolate, flowers, hearts, balloons, wine, and kisses and hugs. Oh, and don't forget the greeting cards. Well, I say screw that. Except for maybe the chocolate. And also the wine.

I am not, however, one of those bitter single people on Valentine's Day. You know what I mean--the ones who sit around kvetching about how it's just a corporate holiday meant to boost sales at Hallmark Stores and for chocolate companies and how it's all a scam and dumb. Maybe it is, I dunno. But I guess I can't really find anything wrong about setting aside a day to make sure you let the people you love how much you appreciate them. But that doesn't mean I am going to get all weepy about not having any Valentine's Day plans. Actually, I should clarify: I had a plan, but filling in for a significant other was my couch.

The point of Valentine's Day is to do something you love, right? So I came home from work, watched Supernatural and Vampire Diaries. And it was awesome. I also made sure I told my family I loved them, sent internet hugs to my friends, etc. etc., but really the best part was the pizza. And the couch.

So happy (belated) Valentine's Day, everyone! I hope you had a wonderful day and spent it doing something (or someone) you love or at least like. And just remember: any holiday that uses chocolate as its main means of celebration can't be all bad.

My new survival strategy: run away!

Around New Year's time, I joke around with my friends that I don't make resolutions, as I am constantly striving for self-improvement. If there is something you see about yourself or your life that needs changing, why wait until the New Year to go for it? I'm thinking most of it has to do with procrastination or with the new year being the time for beginnings, but personally, I take a "no time like the present" attitude. So when I needed a way to step up my workout routine last November, I didn't put it off until January 1. I just dove right in and started the Couch to 5K program.

Now I have never been a runner. Like most pudgy smart kids, my least favorite part of the school day was Gym. Running around the track for 20 minutes was not my idea of a good time, mostly because I hated running. First you start panting, then your legs start complaining, then you get that "my tongue is bleeding" sensation in your mouth until you finally have to stop because you are gasping for air. I've never had a problem walking; stick me on a treadmill and I'll go until next Tuesday, but I have never ever been a runner.

Which made my secret adult goal all the more unobtainable. Because I was always so lousy at sports (or really any physical activity), I have never been able to run a mile. Since so many of my friends consistently participate in 5Ks, marathons, and even triathlons, this wasn't a goal that I went around sharing. After all, it's embarrassing--never in my life having been able to run a mile. But when I started working out a lot last April, in the back of my head I always had a little voice saying, "wouldn't it be nice if I could one day run a whole mile?" So when my friend Andi suggested that we start the Couch to 5K program I was up for it. I needed to up my game, and maybe, just maybe, I could get myself to that mile mark.

Those first few weeks were hard. When week 3 demanded that I run for 3 minute increments, I thought I would fall right off the treadmill. But slowly, my body began to build up its endurance. Soon I was running for 5 minute intervals, then 8, and then, this week, I did the impossible. I ran for an entire mile! Sure, I'm not going fast (it took me 13 minutes), but you know what? I don't care! A year ago, I never would have thought I would be able to go that long, and the weird thing was, I felt strong. As in, physically strong. I have NEVER had a lot of confidence in my body's strength, it's always been my brain that I relied on, but at the end of that mile (despite sweating like crazy and doing the panting thing) I felt good. I felt strong. It's always great to achieve a goal, but for some reason this feeling of accomplishment is one of the best ever.

Next up: getting off the treadmill and running that mile outside. Let's just say that hills are not my friends, but hey, no time like the present, right?

The case of the missing iPod

Well, I thought things were off to a good start. I had remembered all the usual important things: federal ID badge (a must when travelling for work), rubber fingers for flipping through page after countless page of the claims files, my phone, my sleepmask and ear plugs...I thought I had everything I would need to make my week-long work trip in Waco, Texas go without a hitch. But I had forgotten one thing.

My iPod.

I know what you're thinking. "Oh, what a tragedy," you say with your eyes rolling. "To be without your iPod for an entire week. How will you possibly survive? Might as well just go back home and give up since there is no way to function an entire week without an iPod." And it's true that an iPod is not really one of the basic necessities of life. Not like water, or clothing, or chocolate. But as soon as I realized I had forgotten it (it was still sitting in my living room inside the bag I had taken down to the gym), I started thinking of all the things I needed it for. Listening to podcasts at the airport and on the plane. Keeping my brain entertained while running on the treadmill. Cutting out the ambient noise when I spent 8 hours a day briefing cases in a windowless room at the Regional Office all week. And without my iPod, I was also missing the most important accessory: my headphones. All that careful planning to bring my netbook and an attachable DVD player...for naught. For one cannot watch movies on an airplane without headphones.

I responded by taking the action any thirty-something yuppie would--I posted about my problem on Facebook. Within a few minutes, my friend Moe had replied that at least I still had Pandora on my phone. And all of a sudden, my situation was not as hopeless as it seemed! I could still listen to Pandora (an internet radio station) and then I remembered that I had moved my workout mix over to my phone so I could listen to it while using the Couch to 5K app. Things were looking up! Add in a quick trip to the airport store where I procured a pair of purple headphones and we were back in business.

Except the headphones didn't work. Well, I should clarify. One of the ear buds worked, but from the other? Nada. I couldn't get the volume up loud on the netbook enough to make it audible out of the one ear bud, and OF COURSE the shows I was trying to watch didn't have captions. Which is really ridiculous when you consider that they were both British and you would think they would assume us yanks would have no idea what they were saying. Stephen Fry, I am most disappointed in you.

I also thought that perhaps there would be headphones available on the airplane, because it's an airplane, but nope. Apparently American Airlines doesn't bother to equip their flights from DC to Dallas with any kind of audio or video entertainment so that was a no go.

So here I am, at 25,000 feet, composing a blog post (in Microsoft Note Pad because my netbook doesn't have Word), trying to kill the remaining hour of time until we arrive in Dallas. Soon I'll go back to reading my bookclub book (The Help, which is actually quite good), but for now I will just keep typing in the hopes it will make the time go by faster. Look at that, 12 minutes gone by without me even trying.

This is going to be a long week. Also, I want my money back for these damn jacked up headphones...but I'm not really sure how to go around it. After all, I'm about 4 states away from the airport store by now. And I just learned that it's snowing in Texas. Snowing. IN TEXAS.

Simply having a quiet Christmas time

Come closer, gentle readers. I am going to tell you a secret of blogging that most people never learn.

Seriously, come closer.

I SAID COME CLOSER. ARE YOU DEAF??

Ok, that's good.

The great irony of blogging is that to have something to blog about, you have to go out and do fun and awesome things. But if you are out doing fun and awesome things, you are not blogging. You see? Catch-22. I suppose you could have a blog that is about sitting at home on your ass watching Netflix movies through your Wii and drinking $5 wine, but how many people do you think really want to read that. Answer: none.

So my blog has basically gone dark for a few weeks, but the reason is because it was the holidays and I was, you know, out with my friends and family. I can promise that you that I was not sitting at home watching Netflix movies and doing nothing. No, that's only what I have done since New Years.

So how was my Christmas? It was nice and quiet, thanks for asking. My brother and sister-in-law were not at home this year, so it was just us local folks. The holiday followed its usual schedule: Christmas Eve with Dad and the Rileys and Christmas Day with my Mom. My Mom chose not to do a tree again this year, so we had Christmas at my place. We tried to class things up by making cinnamon rolls from scratch and drinking pumpkin martinis, but really it was just hanging out all day. Until the evening when we went out to dinner with my friends Chris and Kent.

And before you ask: no, we did NOT have Chinese food. We went to the Chart House in Old Town and defied the Jewish stereotype thankyouverymuch.

The real highlight of Christmas this year owes a thanks to the wonders of technology. Even though Bill and Amanda couldn't be home, we all signed for Skype and were able to open presents and hang out a bit over the internet. If you haven't used Skype, it's really quite amazing. The other person can be on the other side of the world, but it does feel like you are sitting together chatting. Except for the whole not being able to hug them part, which is kind of a bummer. But it's better than nothing!

So that sums up Christmas. I might do a post about New Years, because there were many shenanigans, but I've been feeling the midwinter blues lately so we'll see if I get around to it. But I do promise to post about adventures in making cinnamon rolls since I took pictures and everything!

The Oregon Trail

I didn't know much about Portland before I headed out there for a work trip last week (remember that horrible flight? Portland is where I was going). Actually, the extent of my knowledge was limited to what I had gleaned from The Oregon Trail, that old PC favorite. Let me assure you that I did not die of a snake bite, or dysentery, or anything else. Oh, and I didn't have to ford any rivers. Although sometimes it felt like I might have to, especially since it pretty much rained every day of my trip. But I wasn't going to let that stop me.

Portland has a very East Coast feel. In fact, it reminded me of Old Town Alexandria. Brick sidewalks, lots of great small restaurants and boutiques, and very walkable. But the people in general seemed a lot more relaxed than us East Coasters; walking around I felt like I was always in a rush and they just seemed to be strolling. The downtown area is full of one way streets, and when there was nothing coming, I would just cross against the light. And those Portlanders looked at me like I was a crazy woman and a lawbreaker. What, I couldn't wait just 30 seconds for the light to change? Well, no actually. I had places to be!

Like Voodoo Doughnut. I first heard about Voodoo Doughnut from the television show Man vs. Food. With sexually explicit doughnut names like chocolate triple penetration and cock and balls, not to mention the overall yummy appearance of their doughnuts, this place was at the top of my Portland To Do list. So one afternoon after the hearings had been conducted, one of the judges and I walked over and got our doughnut on. And let me just tell you. SO GOOD OMG. I started with their signature Voodoo Doll doughnut and it was seriously the best doughnut I have ever had. The shop is open 24/7 and they have numerous and unusual doughnuts to choose from. So I bought 6. You know, in case of doughnut emergency.

Voodoo Doll doughnuts (one missing a bite). And yes, that's a pretzel stick stake through it's heart.

In fact, the best thing about Portland, at least to me, was the food. Every restaurant we tried was delicious with special and unusual menu options, and there is a big focus there on sustainable and organic ingredients. So everything was really fresh. And amazing.

The second best thing about Portland is Powell's Books. It's the largest bookstore in the United States. And seriously, you guys? It's freaking HUGE. It takes up an entire city block (or more) and the different departments are organized into rooms with bookshelf after bookshelf that reach right up to the ceiling. You have to get a map when you get in, or you can get hopelessly lost, which honestly might not be that bad since there are so many awesome books everywhere you look. And stuff that you can't find anywhere else. Powell's sells both new and used books, so any random thing that someone decides to bring to them ends up on the shelves, which means there are lots of gems just waiting to be discovered by the wayward book wanderer.

Inside the Science Fiction/Fantasy "room" at Powell's Books.

After spending the week at the Portland Regional VA Office, I had all day Saturday to myself to sight-see. I was supposed to meet up with my friend Wendy, but she got called into work on Saturday, so I had to amuse myself. Despite the pouring rain, I made it across the river to the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry (OMSI) to take a gander at their planetarium. I'm kind of a sucker for planetariums and astronomy. I think it has something to do with my love of Greek mythology, since so many of the stars, constellations, planets, etc. are named after myths. Anyhoodle, planetariums are my thing, and while at OMSI I got to see the Holiday laser show (I have always wanted to see a laser show) and a short lecture/show on the December night sky. In a cool twist, I was the only one at the night sky show, so I basically had my own personal planetarium presentation. And the guy doing it was kinda cute, so, bonus!

Luckily for me, Wendy decided to drive down to Portland after work on Saturday and we got to spend the evening hanging out. We got the best Italian food ever (at Mama Mia's on 1st Avenue), a bottle of wine, and then just hung out in the posh hotel watching Indiana Jones. It had been too many months to count since I had last seen her, so basically, it was a great Saturday night.

And you'll all be happy to know that my flight home on Sunday was completely uneventful without a hangover in sight. And thank god I didn't come through Chicago. Because that place is just a mess.

The Christmas Tree at Pioneer Courthouse Square.

The lobby of the Hotel Monaco, where I spent an entire week. Good thing it was so posh.

The Worst Flight Ever

Before I launch into my sad cross-country adventure, let me just say, it was all my fault. I knew that I had to leave for the airport at 6 in the morning. I knew that Selvi's birthday party was the night before. I knew that drinking that many rum and cokes was probably not the best idea. But still. WORST FLIGHT EVER.

Here's the whole story. As noted above, Selvi's birthday party was Saturday night, the night before my flight to Portland where I would be spending the week for work. To celebrate her natal day, we had a 1920s murder mystery party (more on that next week when I get home and get the pics uploaded) and it was an absolute blast. Everyone got dressed up, acted in character, and the booze was flowing. Perhaps flowing a bit too liberally for me. And unfortunately, it had been a really busy week, so that whole packing thing hadn't really happened. Which meant when I got home around midnight it took me another hour to throw all my stuff into the suitcase. I finally got to bed at 1.

And the alarm went off 4 hours later. And then the hangover hit me. I had the shakes, was completely nauseous and just all around felt like crap. After vomiting a couple times (not kidding), I cowboyed up and went down to meet my cab. Then I got the call. For some inexplicable reason, the cops had decided to shut down the road by my apartment building. On both sides. Going both directions. So the cab was not able to come get me. So me and my luggage dragged ourselves down the street and up the hill to the church parking lot where my cab was. As you can see, things were not going well.

After arriving at the airport, my nausea only got worse but I managed to hold it together. And of course, I ran into one of the judges I was traveling with while going through security and found out we were on the same flights. So I had to fake it. And I thought I did a pretty good job...until about 30 minutes into the flight to Chicago. When I had to get up, make my way down to the lavatory...and get sick. Yes, folks, I have never had motion sickness in my life, but I was defeated. I spent the rest of the flight huddled in the last row clutching a barf bag and trying not to get sick again. Sigh.

Worst. Flight. Ever.

Eventually, I managed to sleep a little while, and when I got to Chicago and walked around a bit (and ate a bagel) I actually started feeling better. I slept more on the flight to Portland and 5 hours later felt human again. I even walked around the city a bit when I arrived and got an early dinner. But dear god, that was one of the worst mornings of my life. My friend Mac asked me whether the night before was worth it, and at 7 am I wasn't sure...but upon further reflection, it totally was. Nights that fun don't come along every day.

Next time I just need to remember, every action (i.e. rum and coke) has an equal and opposite reaction. Or, what goes down must come up.

Do you like my pants?

Because guess what? I hemmed them with my OWN TWO HANDS.

That's right. I have finally demonstrated a useful adult skill. It only took 30 years. And trust me, any woman will tell you that being able to hem a pair of pants is of far more practical use than say, stopping a leaky faucet, fixing a dishwasher, laying hardwood flooring, or installing custom bookshelves. I mean, how many times do you really do those things? Whereas you constantly need to hem pants.

Combining this skill with my excellent baking and burgeoning cooking abilities...there may be hope for me yet in the event of a zombie apocalypse. Because the survivors are not going to need lawyers. But they will need properly fitting pants.