Vince and Owen

... make a brilliant pair. Wedding Crashers, despite its cheesy and predictable ending, was one of my favorite movies of the summer (actually, it's only one of two that I've seen, but that shouldn't count because it's really funny). And if you like the Vince Vaughn ramble, this is a must see. How does he do that?

I found the film especially hilarious sitting next to KC (that's her in the movie theater bathroom stall with its own sink -- which just makes the rest of us wait longer to pee after drinking very large beverages). She laughs hysterically at every kick in the crotch and borderline inappropriate joke even though she's one of the smartest and most sophisticated people I know. Maybe in my old age I've started to overlook the beauty of such raunchy art forms, but not KC. Her appreciation runs deep.

I Heart Montana

That place calls to me when I'm not there.

And it doesn't help when my sister sends pictures like this one.



Oh, man. That nearly breaks my heart.

But having missed this...



most definitely does.



P.S. I promised to mention that these two usually make quite an attractive pair (but between you and me, I plan to think of them like this anyway).

Doing My Part

I never know what to say when I get asked a question like this: "Would you like to help stop mercury contamination today?"

Hmm.

I know if I say, "Yes. I would. What can I do?" it will take 5-10 minutes of my time and $15-$30 of my money. Not that this isn't a good cause or that my time is more important than cleaning up our environment, but what the college student standing outside my co-op doesn't understand is that I have given a fair percentage of my income to every other volunteer with a worthy cause who stops me to ask if I'd like to help fix our broken, broken world. Who says no to that?

So instead of turning the canvasser down after learning the severity of the mercury problem and doubling my guilt, I say, "No thanks. Not today." As if she just asked on my pro-choice day instead of my cleaner environment day of the week. That doesn't really get me off the hook for not supporting a good cause, but it sure beats answering plain out, "No. I would not like to help stop mercury contamination." Because I would. But for today, the trash I picked up on the way home from the store will just have to be enough.

The Day After

It’s 4:30 in the afternoon and I am sitting in my pjs completing my usual morning coffee and internet routine. The signal that I steal from someone else’s wireless is never as strong at this time of day, but if I wave my laptop around the room a bit, it usually picks it up. This only mildly alters my AM ritual, which is good, because I can’t start the day without it.

I didn’t plan to have a late night that would require me to take a nap in the afternoon hours, but when it’s summer and you don’t have to work on your thesis the next day if you really don’t want to, why stop the fun simply because the sun is coming up?

The answer to that question is probably so that you don’t feel like ass, sitting around grossing yourself out with the sweaters on your teeth at an hour when most people are driving home from a day’s work. But the mind is funny a machine and if I don’t look at any clocks or pay attention to where the light is coming into the apartment, it feels like I have the whole day ahead of me.

Tough Crowd

I wasn't prepared for the blog critics.

Recently, someone suggested that my overuse of pictures is somehow cheating or slacking off.

Maybe. I like to think of it as a shift in style.

Within the same twenty-four hour period someone else suggested that I proof my entries more carefully for spelling and grammatical errors.

Ouch. That one hurt.

As much as I want to please my readers, here's what I have to say:

Tough.

a) I like the pictures, and 2) I am heman.

It's All Over

Finished the latest Harry Potter book last night and now I’m D-pressed. This post-reading melancholy happens every time, but this one is particularly difficult due to much shock and grief experienced in the last chapters. Here’s how I tend to deal with my post-HP-traumatic-stress:

a) Cry. I don’t mean to, but dammit, I’m a weeper.
b) Call everyone I know and leave a message telling them to hurry up with the book already and call me back.
c) Talk to Moviegirl who, thank god, finishes the books before I do. What is 30 peak minutes on the cell phone compared with the agony of not dissecting the book or predicting the next one with another HP enthusiast?
d) Divulge, with permission, the secrets of the book to best girlfriend, jm, who is not an HP reader, but is there for me when I need her and knows to react with the appropriate degree of flabbergastedness (which is not a word, I know).

In the end, it’s probably for the best that the whole experience is over. I don’t know if this happens to anyone else, but reading HP books disrupts my sleep.

More than once this week I awoke in the middle of the night and was startled by the light coming from my charging cell phone. Each time I determined that the light was Lord Voldemort waiting to kill me. Shaking that off and reminding myself that I was still dreaming, I determined instead that it wasn’t the Dark Lord, but my own Patronus emerging from the phone/wand – because that makes more sense.

After I shake that off, I trudge to the bathroom and return to my bed only to lie awake for the next ten minutes contemplating the shape of my Patronus. I’d like it to be something elegant like a unicorn or phoenix, but figure it’s probably something clumsier like a monkey. How could anyone sleep before solving this problem?

As much as those dreams make it seem like a good thing to be done reading, I can’t help but feel that I’ve lost something or someone. And I hate that.

Ellie

I was prepared to write about her as the Holy Terror that my parents recently decided to raise, but when she looks at you like this...



it's easy to forget the jumping, chasing, shedding, sniffing, and shouting that have marked my weekend at home.

Instead, I'll remember that Ellie and I both like to watch the rain fall outside the screen door and that she always brings the tennis ball back to me, even when I don't want it any more.

My Republican Father

My sister, Cassie, doesn't drive the most reliable car. Some of the problems stem from the minor improvements that my dad has attempted to make over time. Now the power windows work backwards and the radio doesn't work at all, but those are small compared to the oil leak that might have it broken down on the side of the highway.

My parents worried so much about her driving it out to Montana for the summer that they made her take their own, dependable vehicle instead. This didn't seem like such a huge sacrifice for them to make until I saw my father driving her car today. He's a republican, you see. The only one in the family. I thought that our efforts to bring him to our side weren't working, but he is driving this car to work every day.







The guys at work give him a lot of shit for it too. Either the winds are shifting or he really loves his daughter.

Linden Hills Live

Went to neighborhood gathering with M-Ko and Will-Ko last night.



Will-Ko was sleeping...



Despite the old rockers and their loud music.



Eventually, he awoke and practiced his smiles with me. This isn't his best work, but there's a hint one lingering there.



M-Ko and I ate an entire bag of kettle corn. Not unusual.



Then we sampled some cookies that strangers had left on the bench next to us. Unusual.



M-Ko advised that I NOT post all of my pictures from the evening on the blog. Seems I had gone a bit overboard. And the universe agreed.

A Haiku

Evening summer light.



Hard to capture, but I try.



Makes me taller, too.

Typical...

I didn't mean to, really. Just had to run a few errands, and it seemed like a good idea to check on dresses for An-G's wedding at the mall. I like to be efficient, you see, and since my errands were taking me that way anyway, it all made sense. Besides, summer dresses were bound to be on sale at this point. Turns out, they are. I just didn't buy one.

Started out in Marshall Fields, willpower in tact, and walked on through without checking out the shoe sale. Banana Republic was next door, and it wasn't beyond possibility that they would have the right kind of dress. No dresses located, but they did have the right kind of t-shirt for $5.99. And the right kind of pants for quite a bit more than that. I can't resist a good sales lady who knows just what to say (sister size all over again). Turns out that BR will shorten pants for only $10 -- free if you buy them full price, which I can never do, having taken after my mother.

Anyhoo, a shirt and a pair of pants later, I was on my way to J. Crew, where they carry the dress I want. Sadly, it wasn't in my size, but the green pants for $19.99 were. All willpower gone. Why the hell not?

It's not over yet. Innocently, I drove past my favorite consignment shop which is having its summer half-off sale. Didn't really think they'd have dresses, but I was on a roll at this point. A pair of jeans, shoes, and a purse later, I was on my way home, feeling surprisingly good about how I had spent the afternoon.

This bubble was destined to burst. The mail held my credit card bill and the bill an amount that far exceeds my current financial capabilities. Shit. I still don't have the dress for An-G's wedding, but I do, at least, have the new digital camera to document my tragedy.

A Thousand Words...

Cannot express how excited I am to have my very own digital camera! Shout out to Shef who let his mom steal the Olympus D-520 Zoom from his toy box (don't know if he really let her, but she is bigger, after all). Here's a shot of K-sadilla checking out the number of hits on her own blog. She's nearing 10,000, which is inspiring to burgeoning bloggers like myself. Quite a mentor, that one.

When I forget that I once felt good about this project, someone, please, remind me.

Had a very successful meeting with my advisor today, and finally, I feel like I know how to start this paper (which I like to call a thesis because that's what it feels like even though it's officially called MA plan B final paper, but who the hell knows what that means).

I love my advisor. Instead of letting me figure out how to approach researching and writing this paper on my own, she says, "Here are the questions I think you'll need to answer 1...2...3. Your sections will look like a...b...c. And you'll probably conclude with blah...blah...blah." That may seem like cheating to some, but she assures me that since I'm doing all of the work, it's really not. Plus, these are just ideas to get started and it'll all change along the way.

The best news was that she decided it was silly for me to try to write two papers as I had first planned. She knows me well enough to realize that I'll kill myself over one paper. And besides, dying twice is really impractical.

There's still one small problem. Now that I have this process figured out, I feel that I have license to spend the afternoon reading the new Harry Potter book in the rose garden instead of reading articles at a table as I had planned. No worries. I'm sure that I'll make the right decision after my nap.

Valleyfair at 30

My memories of Valleyfair as a kid are good ones. The whole family loved water rides and we'd start the day by getting soaked in our jeans and t-shirts. There's just something about walking around wet all day long that makes you feel that you are living.

My memories of Valleyfair as an adult are less exciting. They involve chaperoning teenagers who are mostly good, but are sometimes interested in stealing or showing excessive amounts of skin or making out or all three. And it's my job to stop them, even though I just want to eat cotton candy on the Ferris wheel where I'm too far up to witness any rule violations.

So even though I had free passes to Valleyfair, it seemed to me that perhaps my chances for fun at such a place had long since passed.

I was delightfully surprised to learn that wasn't the case. First of all, best girlfriend, who was in a particularly hilarious mood, offered the perfect sarcastic company. She was making fascinating speculations about the teen workers who live in the Valleyfair dorms over the summer. Given what she suspected might be going on, I was decidedly pleased that I didn't have to chaperone them. Secondly, how can anyone go wrong when soft serve and corndogs are available (although somewhat hard to find). One can sit and eat while doing some fine people watching. Since it wasn't my job to ask anyone to cover up excessive skin exposure, I could merely critique it and move on. Finally, a ride on the carousel is still exciting even when you are 30. It's even better, really, because you are faster than all of the little kids and can get to the horse of your choice before they do. But I did wonder, why do all the horses look so angry?

All in all, I had a grand time at Valleyfair. And to commemorate the trip, best gf bought barrettes for us both with our names on them. She wanted to swap one each so that she'd have one with my name and I'd have one with her name, but that's where I had to draw the line. We are adults, after all.

Ukemochi

In the end it took an offer of a glass of wine, but best girlfriend, jm, finally has her own blog.

And it's damn good reading so far.

See for yourself.

Learning Life's Lessons

Although I've been a student there for over three years now, I haven't mastered using the services on the U of M campus. First of all, there's parking. Or lack thereof. Dollar-an-hour lots are as good as it gets, but on the West Bank (or at least I think it's West -- I get them mixed up -- again, over three years) $2.50 an hour is standard rate. That wouldn't be so outrageous if I could complete anything in less than an hour.

Next, there's the library, which isn't so bad really. Unless copying is involved. There's this system where you can put money on your U Card and save five cents per copy. I've done it before and felt confident going into it today. I had $20 in my wallet. Five for parking (ugh) and fifteen for copies (ugh, ugh). So, I put my twenty into the machine thinking that I could get change back to pay for parking. Not the case. All $20 was added to the card. I wanted to keep a positive outlook, but when will I use $23.85 on my copy card? And I had to find an ATM (with a $1.50 service charge) to get cash for parking. Ugh.

Like Oprah, I assume that everything happens so that a lesson can be learned from it. But after spending $26.50 during one trip to campus and finding that the periodicals carried volumes 1, 2, 4, and 5 of the English Journal when all I wanted was volume 3, I wasn't sure what there was to learn.

But never doubt Oprah, for on my way back from the cash machine I was drawn to a light glowing from around the corner. A Coke machine. And on that Coke machine, a slot for the U Card. And I, with $16.20 left to spare, figured out what my lesson was for the day: The U Card works on vending machines and Diet Coke makes everything better.

Oops

Although it doesn't look like it here, Heather's daughter Olivia had a lovely time in the pool this weekend.

Until I held her.

Let me start by saying I'm not tall. For most people, four feet of water is a wading pool. For me, it's tread worthy. Sure, my shoulders are above water, but holding a child in that depth isn't necessarily smart. And I didn't just decide to hold the baby. I wanted to play motorboat and twirl her around in a circle.

The first couple of rotations were successful. She was wide-eyed and smiling. But during our last turn, I (apparently) held her too close to the water and she swallowed a minuscule, albeit significant, amount.

Water is a new concept to Olivia who has, in her young age, only been exposed to breast milk. Pool water shoved in the face does not mimic breast milk, and she responded with severe coughing that seemed to halt all movement and sound at the pool. . .or so it felt for a moment. Luckily, Heather was nearby and with her magic mommy embrace she made it all better. Still, I had nearly ruined the baby.

During the teasing that ensued, I tried to hide away in the deep end of the pool. When that didn't work, I suggested that Olivia was thirsty and dove for the water with all her strength. Although those who bore witness were laughing, their gazes made me feel a bit like Carrie in Sex and the City when Charlotte questions her ability to take care of Brady, Miranda's child.

Luckily, Angela was tuned into my horror and dismay and she knew just what to say to make me feel better.

"That could have happened to anyone," she whispered. "Besides, Olivia didn't need to be such a baby about it."

Exactly.

Fabulous Footwear

Notice how far it is from camera to toe. With three inches of heel, I was particularly tall (and wobbly) at this weekend's wedding. Took this shot just before changing into more danceable shoes.

This is all you'll get to see of the outfit, but trust me, it's the most fabulous part.

And speaking of fabulous...



How lovely are they?

And here's a sample of just how much fun was to be had:



Quite sad it all had to end.

Wiscansin

Lovely location for a wedding. Who knew Wisconsin was so beautiful?

Wedding Weekend Recovery

I started to write about the fantastic fun that I had this weekend at a-dub's wedding (most beautiful bride anyone has ever seen), when I received an e-mail from best girlfriend, JM. Surely, I can't capture the essence of the event better than she has (see italics below), and frankly, I'm too tired to try. Although I should note that I did get to spend considerably more time at the pool than she and am feeling, perhaps, more rested. She does, without question, deserve an award for most dutiful and eloquent bridesmaid. So thanks, JM. Hope this isn't cheating:

I am back at work, missing you all, and walking with a severe limp! My calves are so sore and swollen from dancing like a maniac, and why I thought it was a GOOD idea to head bang to Pour Some Sugar On Me I'll never know! Unable to move my neck or walk up or down stairs (I hold onto the banisters and swing my legs down 3 steps at a time).

yuk - just took a sip of coffee that was, most unfortunately, NOT the coffee I purchased this morning, but rather the one I bought and didn't finish on June 30th! (complete with cream -now sour).

So, as we go back to our respective lives - we bear the scars of the weekend and I wish I had a beer in my hand and an afternoon to lazily hang with you in the sun.

All very worthy of her own blog, don't you think?

My Lake

Although I love my lake, I will be leaving it for a different one this weekend. Another blog break begins. Forgive me.

Type A. . . You think?

I am a big fan of the to-do list. In fact, I like to think of it as a genre in which I excel -- especially when I successfully check off all of the items on a list. It's an added bonus when I can knock off most of the tasks in a couple of hours. The trick is to start those things that take some time, like laundry and one-hour film development, and then continue down the list while other items take care of themselves. There's no more satisfying feeling than to know that two things on a list are being done at once. Perhaps I take greater pride in this achievement than seems normal, but we've all got our quirks, don't we.

I admit, I haven't perfected the art form just yet. Without intending to, I always make the mistake of adding one bastard item that is near impossible to complete.

Here's yesterday's list:
groceries
Target
post office
develop film
renew passport
pay bills
laundry
thesis work

Seems like a reasonable list. Most of the errands were in a one-mile radius of one another so I could save both time and gas. Two of the tasks could be started while I moved on to other items. Not a bad list indeed.

Until. . . thesis work. Seriously. Why did I write it down? Do I subconsciously enjoy the guilt that comes from leaving one item on the list? It's not like I don't already feel the pressure of not having worked on the thesis in weeks. The worst part is that I really believed myself when I wrote the words. Such disappointment no one should have to feel.

So, here's today's list:
pack
paint toenails
thank you card
blog

I'm sure I'll add something later like "begin novel," but for now, crossing four little letters off the list feels pretty good.

Wish I had something more profound to say...

As I sat in our closing circle at diversity camp, I was overwhelmed with pride in the community of remarkable educators with whom I had spent the week. I am emotionally and physically exhausted from the experience, and there are no words I can use to explain it without giving away just how cheesy I am at heart. So instead, I'll just say, I am changed.

And I will also say, for those of you who checked my blog religiously during my absence (particularly the sister who has been working ridiculous hours and has been in need of many breaks), I am back.