Got My Bling Back!

Remember a few weeks back when I lamented the broken side diamond in my engagement ring? Yeah, well - Jason and I stopped into Snow Owl Design a few Fridays ago, convinced that we'd have to rebuild or redesign my ring in order to fix that pesky baguette. I'd printed out a variety of pictures to share with the jeweler, and felt quite confident that he'd be able to create something gorgey for me.

I stepped up to the counter, explained that I had a broken diamond, and showed him the ring. He took a quick look and said, "Oh yeah, I can fix that. Come back next Friday."

Whuuuuuut?

Uh huh. That's right, I've been waiting to get this ring fixed for forever because I thought it was going to be a big hassle. Turns out, it took just over a week and cost a pittance, A PITTANCE to fix. And I am thrilled with the results!!

I am so going HERE

I journeyed out to Troutdale on Sunday afternoon to meet up with Melissa for lunch at Edgefield. She was having herself a lil' spa day courtesy of her husband's Valentine's Day gift and so she fit some girl talk time in between her massage and mani/pedi. She simply raved about the new soaking pool partially encircling the Ruby's Spa building, so I went over to take a peek when she checked back in after lunch. So pretty!

Backyard Bocce

Jason and I went over to Bill & Sheila's house Saturday night for a BBQ dinner and general tomfoolery. It was a gorgeous night, so we enjoyed drinks and homemade peach salsa on the deck and then busted out the bocce ball set. To add to the challenge, we created rules for each toss. Bill insisted we do some southpaw overhand tosses, while Sheila challenged us to a shotput-style toss. Jason's contribution was a through-the-legs toss, which he demonstrates here:

He was not as impressed with his shotput-y toss, which he demonstrates with a sourpuss look here:

I took several silly pictures of Bill and Sheila, but because I would like to remain friends with them, I've decided not to post said photos. I'm fairly certain that our wedding vows included allowing me to share various and sundry photos of Jason doing silly things/making an a$$ of himself/looking generally unsavory - so he's got no protections in this matter. Poor Jason.

Plants and Plans for the Backyard

Despite my black thumb, the stuff we planted in the backyard last year appears to be coming back. It's been pretty exciting seeing all the changes in the yard. We tried to go for a mix of deciduous and evergreen, but found the yard looked pretty barren during the winter because all the large plantings lost their leaves and the smaller ones retained theirs. We'll do some filling in this time around to ensure a little more winter interest.

After taking the pictures above to prove that I can actually plant something and keep it alive, Jason and I did some brainstorming on how to create a bit more privacy in the backyard. Our long-term plan is to build something like this (but larger):

And outfit it with retractable, weatherproof fabric panels like this (but without the dorky people, of course):

In the meantime, however, I wonder whether I could get my HOA's Architectural Review Committee to sign off on something like this:

Meadow has a problem (and quite possibly so do I)

Late Sunday afternoon, I took my book outside and did a little reading on the patio. It was overcast but warm and I felt a deep need for some fresh air. I could hear the kids playing in the park, a few small planes flew overhead, and I enjoyed a delicious sidecar cocktail. Once it turned a bit chilly, I went inside and discovered this:

Meadow was watching television. Yes, that's right - Meadow the babygato was entranced by some nature program on the telly. She's done this before, particularly when birds or fish come on the screen. The other gatos will glance up as well, but Meadow's got exceptional powers of concentration. She stayed in place long enough for me to grab my camera and snap a couple pics - an eternity in pet photo time, I'm tellin' ya.

But I grew even more concerned this morning. I walked down the hall to check on the kitties' food bowl in the craft room and found Meadow sitting on the table, her wee kitty face just a few inches away from the blank TV screen. Now, this may not seem alarming to you, but speaking as someone whose childhood was tainted by a single unsanctioned viewing of Poltergeist - this was freaky business indeed. Granted, she wasn't watching snow on the telly like little Carol Anne, but c'mon - everybody knows cats are a little supernatural - and who are we to say she wasn't somehow communicating with the trapped souls of the people buried under my house?!?

Whoa...perhaps that extra shot of espresso wasn't what I needed today. Mayhap I'll investigate whether the employee assistance program has some sort of treatment plan for people that scare the beejeezus out of themselves using nothing but their own imaginations.

Or maybe not.

Gettin' High on the 'Nip

I bought the babygatos a new supersized cardboard scratcher this week and loaded it up with fresh catnip. In no time at all, they swarmed the scratcher and started fighting for dominance. For a little while, Dozer and Meadow shared the scratcher as Palmer watched the action. After a bit, Twink took over and seemed to get a little annoyed that I disrupted her from her serious task of drooling all over the cardboard.

Later in the day, as the initial buzz started to wear off, I loaded the scratcher up with a fresh batch of the 'Nip. The babies started getting a little slaphappy with each other, and I considered taking their new toy away for a while. But alas, Kedzie was happy to play herd-doggie and mediate their little scrapfests, so I was content to let them have their fun...

Weird Wild Weather, Part 2

Ugggghhhh...will spring never arrive?! This was the scene outside our front door last weekend. That's right, snow in late April! Insanity!!!

27

Today at work, the coolest lawyer I know inadvertently lumped me in with a younger, faster crowd o' civil servants. I pointed out that they weren't exactly part of my posse, and when I asked him just how old he thought I was, he considered it for a moment and pronounced "27." My reply? Thank jebus for you and your nearsightedness. The thing is, I saw the back side of 27 a waaaays ago. I maintain it's my outstanding immaturity and fascination with reality tv that keeps me young and fresh.

But one fun thing about being part of the younger generation at work has been learning to respect my elders - and by this I mean not pointing out the difference in our ages. It seems people get a little sensitive about that kind of stuff.

Shortly after starting at the county almost nine years ago, a coworker of mine let slip his age and the fact that he was the oldest (eldest?) one in our work group. I pointed out to him that he was four months older than my dad - and the news didn't exactly go over well. He and I laugh about it now, but whoo boy, you know? This same guy has a couple of daughters in high school now and a few weeks ago, he mentioned to me that he was thinking about the fact that he could have a daughter my age. He said, "Honestly, I just wouldn't know how to parent you." WTF? What does that even mean? That I'm an awesome force of nature that cannot be controlled? Perhaps. But seriously? I was the good kid back in the day. Just ask my mom...

But my favorite coworker comment on workforce age diversity came from another guy who, on finding out that I was born the same year he graduated from high school, told me:

"Wow, if prom night had gone differently, I could have been your dad."

Yikes.

We had a DEAL!!!

On my drive into work this morning, I had a close encounter with nature. And I didn't much like it.

I was just drivin' along, singin' my lil' heart out to my Across the Universe soundtrack when I cruised across this crappy little bridge. There were a pack o' birds roostin' up on the sides of the bridge, and as I approached them, they took off in a creepy mass of flapping wings - and one flew right into my windshield! Horrors! WTF, bird? Don't we have some sort of treaty between our species that states "Humans drive cars and birds stay the eff outta the way?"

Though I did let out a high-pitched girly scream on impact, I managed to not spill my coffee or drive off the bridge. I checked my rearview mirror and didn't see a pile of ruffled feathers anywhere, so it seems both the bird and I survived our close encounter. Or at least, that's what I'm telling myself.

Three Things

Firstly, I neglected to mention our close encounter with a famous person on Friday night. As Jason and I waited for the elevator in the lobby of the Brewery Blocks parking garage, we heard all kinds of tomfoolery noises coming from the elevator. As the doors opened, the volume seemed to hit 11 and a crapload of people spilled forth through the doors. Right front and center was Bret Harrison, star of two shows that have become recent favorites of mine, Reaper and The Loop. I'd read somewhere (I'm not cyberstalking him, promise) that he's from Tualatin, so prolly he was home visiting and gathered together his entourage to act all bigshot-y around town.

Secondly, I finished Extras and An Idiot Girl's Christmas this weekend, and started and finished two books by Melissa Lion, Swollen and Upstream. Loved Upstream in particular. But I'm getting concerned about my addiction to Young Adult books.

Thirdly, I am a multi-genre laughing idiot. When I first discovered the Ricky Gervais podcasts a few years back, I had to discontinue listening to them on my MP3 player whilst waiting for public transit because inevitably I would start laughing hysterically. I'd get those "check out the crazy lady" looks from people around me, since they couldn't see my itty bitty earbuds and therefore would assume I was cloud-cuckoo-crazy. Anyway, I learned of this multi-genre thingie a little bit ago at lunch. I treated myself to a delicious sushi platter and brought along my new book, Ricky Gervais presents The World of Karl Pilkington. The book includes text of the podcasts I used to listen to. And I can tell you this: It's incredibly painful to shoot wasabi-laced soy sauce out your nose.

Sandy & Ryan Hit PDX!

Our friends Sandy and Ryan came to Portland this weekend to celebrate good times. Ryan and his fellow bank manager types won some kinda award and were being treated to a weekend in the big(ger) city. They were put up at the Marriott, given some fun money and got to attend a big gala event with dancing and free booze and such.

Friday night we met up with the two of them and a bunch of other bank folks at Henry's for dinner. Ryan and his boss Dan fully entertained us with tales of tropical adventures (also bank-provided outings) and Ryan's interesting habit of always using his cell's speakerphone feature, which he was happy to demonstrate for us:

After dinner, we journeyed across the street to Aura, where we grudgingly paid the $10 cover to see what we missed out on the night of Faith and Alex's wedding - when Damion got in a fistfight with the bouncer on the street and we were therefore barred entry. Ahem...that is a story for another time, however.

The club was practically deserted, but almost all the tables were reserved. The bartender told us that the place would be packed shortly with lots of "Paris Hilton-types." Lovely. Sandy leaned over to me at one point and said "God - it feels like we're on that show The Hills!"

Eventually, the joint got to hoppin' and a few of us brave souls (all of us but Jason) headed out to the dance floor to get our dance on.

Sandy & Ryan

And then some of us (not me or Jason) did some tequila shots

And then some of us (just Ryan) made silly faces while sucking on a lime

I'm the Crazy Cat Lady - and I Embrace It

Just watched this vid, and given my deep affection for cats, engineers and ironic home furnishings, it should be no surprise that I thought it was HI-FREAKIN-LARIOUS!

A bit long, but ohsoenjoyable. Therefore, please enjoy:

Guess I know what I'm doing Saturday

One of the members of the PBGG sent this out today (And it was not me - imagine that!):

Well, ladies, I am taking the bull by the horns and issuing some edicts about tomorrow's gathering.

1.) We will meet at Jackie's at 2:30 to watch various television shows. We will enjoy them and each other's company.

2.) There will be no fruit. I don't like it. Scurvy be damned.

3.) After we have enjoyed said shows, we will go out to dinner for Indian food at Swagats in Beaverton.

So I have written & so it shall be done.
(unless of course no one wants to do anything that I have ordered and wants to propose an alternate idea.)

And today I begin my takeover of the world...

Last night I rambled down the street (does it amuse you to picture me rambling? I thought so.) to the neighborhood elementary school for my monthly homeowners meeting. And when I say monthly, I mean that in only the loosest sense of the word - as does my HOA board of directors, it seems.

We held the neighborhood turnover meeting last June to switch over control of the HOA from the builder to a 3-person board that we elected that night. Since that time, there's been an orientation meeting for the board only and perhaps one official board meeting towards the end of 2007. The first meeting of 2008 was held last month on our anniversary, so I skipped it. Last night was my first big chance to see what goes on during these meetings.

I showed up at the school and two of my neighbors were standing outside, trying in vain to raise the janitorial staff or security guard or somebody to open the door. See, that's why I hate any kind of meetings in schools - there's always some damned snafu trying to get into those locked-down buildings. Turns out the two people waiting with me were the sole surviving board members, and one was serving an interim post because the secretary had resigned! Tumult on the Oakhurst board, perhaps? Hmmm...

Anyway, we couldn't get into the school so the interim chickie invited us back to her house for the "meeting." Yeah, that's right. The HOA meeting consisted of the acting president, the interim secretary, and ME, the lone resident that gives a damn. I couldn't get over it. We live in a community of 180 houses and three people is all we could scare up?

I sat across from the two board members in a room with some of the most jacked-up feng shui ever and spent the next hour and a half trying to follow rapid-fire, heavily accented English (I seriously needed subtitles) and breaking every public meeting rule possible (interrupted several motions to ask "Now why are you doing this?").

When it was finally time for "open communication" (as if that mattered to me), I got to raise my hot-button issues. They were:

1) What the hell is going on with my lawn? I don't pay $64.75 a month in dues, which includes front lawn care, to look at bald brown patches, damnit. (Answer: a cranefly infestation is sweeping the neighborhood - but they're planning to have it treated)

2) What's the deal with the Honey Bucket container/trailer thing near the southern entrance to the neighborhood? I was damn near wiped out by some jackass tearing around the blind corner there a few weeks ago (Answer: they think the builder forgot it. Seriously? How do you forget an 8'x10'x12' metal box?)

I am really tempted to wrangle that third spot on the board for myself, mainly to see how big a pest I could make of myself. But there's also that Architectural Review Committee, where I could rule with an iron fist on proposed sheds, gazebos and fences. A very tricky decision, given my penchant for using my powers for evil rather than good...

Cake Tasting!

Mom and I had a fun afternoon at Cakes by Creme de la Creme in Renton on Sunday, where we tasted a variety of delicious wedding cakes! By the end of our visit, we'd designed Mom and Mike's wedding cake (2 citron layers and a layer of red velvet!) and I was able to cruise back home to Portland on one heckuva sugar high.

Pretty cakes!

The cake-tasting bar



Delish!

Thank you, Mom, for playing along with my reindeer games

Meeting Macie

This weekend I got to meet my future stepniece (yeah, that's not a mouthful), Macie. Macie is the brand-spankin'-new daughter of Michael, Mike's son. Macie and momma Sara joined us for dinner on Saturday night and I've gotta say, that's one chilled-out kidlet. She was just 16 days old on Saturday and she pretty much slept the whole night (despite my mom's repeated pleas to "wake up Macie!").

Those of you that know me are fully aware that I'm not one for the babies. And sadly, this experience didn't exactly change things. Mom tried to hand little Macie to me at one point, and I think I put a gouge in the kitchen linoleum in my haste to back away. No offense to Macie, but these teeny ones? They're creepy. Their itsy little limbs look about as sturdy as a pencil and the wee pointy heads are just, well...off-putting.

I've included a pic for those of you that are into such things. As for me, I'll re-evaluate matters in a couple of months when the little one seems a little less flobby and fra-gee-lay.

Mom & Macie

Sunny in Seattle

Mom and I went on the hunt for lunch after finishing our visit with ze Romans at the Seattle Art Museum. Since it was such a lovely day, our goal was to find a place with outside seating. We ended up on the Harbor Steps but nothing caught our fancy (we did manage to find a pack of full-figured women in hot pants and high heels, but that's an entirely different story).

We headed down a crapload of stairs towards Elliott Bay and I saw this sign on the bottom floor of a new high-rise condo building. It made me smile, but I can't explain exactly why:

We wove ourselves through the masses of touristy types down by the water to Fisherman's Restaurant, put our names on the list for an outside table and proceeded to enjoy a couple of vodka tonics while we waited. At one point, Mom pointed out a young couple sitting across the bar from us. She asked me whether I was glad to be out of the dating scene - and I really had to think a minute...I mean, what's wrong with a cute guy taking you out on a gorgeous day and getting you loaded on fancy martinis? I'd have to say not a gol-darn thing.

Elliott Bay with the Olympic Mountains in the distance

Shrimpies

Because Mike was slaving away at home on a big dinner for us, we just had a little nibble and enjoyed the sun for a while. Our server informed us that the patio opened for the season just that day - lucky us! After a little bit, the couple from the bar was seated nearby and I was treated to a fantastic show. These two went from flirty to suckin' face in no time at all. I looked away in order to give them a little privacy and to keep myself from gagging on my shrimpies. The next time I glanced over, the guy was crying! And he kept repeating "I can handle it. I can HANDLE IT!" WTF? What just happened? Everything was fine, and now you're crying? Seriously?! Perhaps leaving the dating scene behind does have its benefits.


On the way back to Covington, things went a bit sideways when we didn't make the turn to I-5 near Safeco Field. We ended up in a skerry industrial area where we got a glimpse of a fine lodging establishment:

OMFG! Robots! No thank you very much...

Traffic on the way home, but Mt. Rainier sure is pretty

Visiting ze Romans

Mom and I headed into Seattle on Saturday to visit the Seattle Art Museum and specifically, the Roman Empire exhibit. It was amazing to see centuries-old sculptures, jewelry and glassware. I mean, glassware? How does that survive the ravages of time? Pretty sure it had something to do with being stored around dead people or something.

We couldn't take any photos, as security was locked down tighter than the Portland Airport during spring break, but I did pick up a couple of postcards to share the sights with you all:

My Ghetto Engagement Ring

A couple of years ago, I chipped a baguette diamond in my engagement ring. Since I'm super observant, I noticed it after about...oh, three months or so. I immediately visited jewelers around town to see about replacing the side stone and was met with universally bad news. Seems the thing that makes my ring relatively unique, the half-bezel setting, makes it really difficult to fix when something goes wonky. The center stone is set within the half-bezel, but the tapered side baguettes are channel-set. In order to replace one of the channel-set stones, the ring has to be heated up, pulled apart, then heated up and put back together. Plus, finding the perfectly tapered replacement stone is going to be a real beeyotch. I sorta got overwhelmed and decided to put off a decision on what to do until our ten-year anniversary. Which happened approximately a month ago.

So before heading into Seattle on Saturday, Mom and I stopped into the Shane Company to look at a ring for Mike. And PS? Who knew men's rings were so damn expensive?!? I'm pretty sure Jason's two-ring combo cost me less than $250 back in the day. While there, I endeavored to find out whether there were any rings I liked. I checked out a bunch, but no dice. There are plenty of pretty pretty rings out there, but none worth throwing over my current ice. There were a few that could potentially be customized to become something I'd enjoy, but what a freakin' hassle. I walked out thinking, "I really gotta find myself a good jeweler." I'm pretty sure I'm going to just have my existing ring repaired, maybe just redesigning the side stones if the baguette replacement thing goes sideways.

Later in my stay, Mom opened up her jewelry drawer to show me her wedding band. I went ahead and peeked at some of the other goodies, explaining to Mom that I needed to survey my "inheritance." Turns out, I'm scheduled to receive a pretty sweet diamond pendant that used to be the stones in my great-grandmother's wedding ring. Yesssss...

Before I left, Mom handed me a small, black velvet box and explained that the item inside was another item I'd inherit, but that I could take this one home today. I got real excited, and then opened the box to see this:

Whoa. I wasn't totally sure what I was even looking at. Mom explained that the necklace was handcrafted by my dad, and that the pendant was made of deer antler. Hmmm, I thought. The closest I've ever gotten to deer is that deer carcass that I stepped in while on a potential parkland purchase ramble for work a few months ago.

I certainly remember my mom wearing the necklace back in the day, and we even found this photographic evidence of her sporting said necklace. Be sure to check out my rockin' mom, but also - HOW CUTE AM I as a wee one? Sooooo cute:

Not real sure what I'm gonna do with this bit o' deer skull and turquoise, but it is evidence of my dad's crafty creativity, so I've clearly got to celebrate that.

How sweet is this?

On my way up to Seattle yesterday to spend the weekend with my mom and Mike, I checked my e-mail and found this little gem from The Lovely Dana:

Hi Aisha,

I just wanted to drop you a note to say I was thinking of you. It's been too long since I have had my required dose of Aisha charm! Hope that your week has gone well and that you have fun with your mom this weekend.

Hugs,
Dana

So very sweet!

Never fear, Dana - I will return soon to entertain you with my own personal brand of jackassery!

What did we do before cell phones?

I bailed from work at 4:30 on Friday afternoon to head downtown and meet up with my planner pals Mike and Joe for J-A-M Happy Hour at the Brazen Bean. I took the scenic route up and over Skyline Road and through Macleay Park to best appreciate the utterly gorgeous day. After finding myself a parking spot and ramblin' over to Glisan, I was met with a truly unwelcome sight.

The Brazen Bean was closed. Forever.

We were aware the joint was closing, but as far as any of us knew, we still had a few weeks to enjoy the delicious martinis and happy hour pricing til 8pm. The boys weren't there when I arrived, but one poor soul was - I heard him talking on his phone, and it sounded to me as though he was going to meet a chickie. He so very forlornly said, "Well, tell her I was really looking forward to meeting her, and I'm sorry we weren't able to hook up..." So sad.

Unfortunately, I was unable to place a similar call of woe to either Joe or Mike - 'cuz we've never exchanged phone numbers. How asinine is that? Very, it seems. We met back in November at a conference and we've gotten together once a month since, always planning our outings over e-mail. And our events have gone swimmingly. Until now.

Joe showed up a few minutes after me and we quickly programmed each other's numbers into our phones in order to prevent this horrible travesty from occurring again. After trading "What the hell?" and "But I was just here a few weeks ago!" comments, we moved across the street and grabbed a sidewalk table at Bartini and kept our eyes peeled for Mike.

We never did see him, but we did get a chance to do some serious people-watching. Perfect Portland Days really have a way of bringing out the freaks, so there was no shortage of entertainment. We played several rounds of "Is That A Guy or a Girl" and "How The Hell Did He Get That Haircut - Was Battery Acid Involved?" Fun for the whole family, I'm tellin' ya.

Let's talk about chicks, man...

Jason informed me earlier in the week that he was heading over to Bill's house on Thursday night for a chick party.

Whowhat?!

I knew for a fact that Bill's lovely wife Sheila was out of town, and c'mon now - if it's a chick party, shouldn't us XXs at least be invited? He quickly reminded me that it wasn't going to be that kind of party. Bill was simply heading out to pick up their wee chicks - the ones that would provide them with a future bounty of fresh eggs.

According to Bill, they've got themselves a Rhode Island Red, a Silver-laced Wyandotte, an Araucana and a Sex-link. I'm almost positive they chose that last one based on its name alone. Kinda how I pick my wine based on the pretty label designs. Sheila plans to give them names like "Esther Rose" and "Mavis Lucille" and such. Jason told me they spend most of their time trying to peck each other's eyes out. Sounds like my kind of party.

The wee chickies all kitted out with a heat lamp and feeding station in the garage ( you know, 'cuz keeping chicks in the house is kinda like, crazy or something...)

Rant of the Week

Lemme ask you a favor...when your phone rings, or vibrates, or both - and you're in the middle of something, DON'T FREAKIN' ANSWER IT!!!

At least four times in the last week and a half, I've called someone only to have them pick up the phone and - either immediately or shortly after I've explained my request - tell me "Yeah, um...I'm in a meeting/talking to someone/in a class right now. Can I call you back?"

Hellsyeah! I'm not here to cramp your style or anything. Do what you've gotta do, don't let me get in your way. But seriously. SERIOUSLY? How ridiculous are you? If you're really that busy, then don't answer the damn phone. Let me leave a nice, brief DIGNIFIED message and you just go ahead and get back to me at your convenience.

And don't mind me, I'll just be over here, seething silently...

Silly Signs

I took one for the team on Tuesday night and staffed an open house for one of my colleague's projects at work. It was fine for the most part, but can I just say?...some rich people really suck. This wicked annoying chick in her camel hair coat and authentic Uggs spent a half hour blowing her rancid wine breath all over me, telling me that the worst thing that could possibly happen is if we "let the apartment dwellers and renters in."

Good grief, you'd think we wanted to plunk down a community of meth heads in their subdivision or something! What's gonna be awesome is when this same chick's kids go to buy their first homes and they can't - because they jacked their credit all up after college, trying to have all the flat screens, BMWs and vacations that their parents had, but on their piddly salary writing for free newspapers or working at Trader Joe's.


Anyway, the high point of the night was that the open house was held in an elementary school. All the restrooms were labeled "Boys" and "Girls" and they had the most funnest signs posted.

Behold:

Wait - pushing what your hardest?

What's not clear to me is what is thrown in the garbage versus what is thrown in the toilet...and such enthusiasm!

Ummm...so does that mean spray paint is okay? [Shelb might say YES!]

Melissa's public service announcement

My friend Melissa is one of very few people that I've managed to stay tight with after she went to the dark side, I mean - had a kid. She often likes to make her little jokes about how I want a lil' ankle-biter of my own. But I think she's also fully aware that her "mommy tales" about Ryan and other kidlets are the best birth control I could ask for. The following text conversation went down yesterday and I just had to share:

Melissa: we’re in seattle. Where r u? Ballard & nearby hoods r cool. First real visit has been cool, except ryan vomiting 4 times as we arrived. R u sure you don’t want any?

Aisha: Totally sure! Why r u up there?

M: “get the knuckleheads to work 2gether” conference (coaching) for joe. Whaddya do this weekend?

A: Cleaned house, pastini & powell’s with the girls, cal pizza kitchen & the hammer movie with J and Tiffany, read three books. Sure YOU don’t want to be HERE?

M: Well, my house is disgusting, last movie I saw was Horton hears a Freaking Who, I read 2 pgs a day in my novel, it’s 10:00 pm & my kid is snorting repeatedly & humming in our bed – on purpose. Ya, u r right. I’d rather b there. Have a great Monday & use some solid contraception.

Melis - you are one of the coolest mommies out there...

Lazy Saturday

Early Saturday morning I woke up with a mission. I was ready to move on to my new Pretties book, but I was still midway through two other books. I like to read a couple of books at a time - I find it works quite well with what I jokingly call my "adult-onset ADHD." If I get bored with one story, I move to the other for a while. Or maybe one's a good book to take along to work and the other's great for unwinding with as I cuddle down into my comfy bed.

Anyway, the first book I powered through Saturday morning was The Stylist. The first part of the book fairly bored me to tears, but it got pretty interesting halfway through. The author is a writing professor at University of Oregon and - good gravy - seemed like nothing but an outlet for using all her big fancy words for a while there.

The second book, a memoir titled Beautiful Boy, was written by David Sheff and described his son's battle with meth. The book was incredibly heartbreaking. His son has also written a book, giving his own account of the whole getting high-rehab-relapse-theft-arrest-rehab-relapse cycle. That one should be coming to me soon through the good ol' library system.

I settled into the couch to get started on my reading marathon and was soon interrupted by various members of the menagerie. I snapped this pic as I tried to read while Meadow made my blanket-covered legs into her own personal hammock. I'm pretty sure Kedzie was trying to send me a message telepathically, perhaps something like "Dammit woman - take me to the dog park!"

Books and books and books

Friday night I met up with Sharon and Jackie at Cedar Hills Crossing for a little noshin' at Pastini followed by some browsing at Powell's Books. I have a stack of about eight books from the Hillsboro Public Library that require my attention, but I've got a thing for bookstores. Don't you judge me.

I could lose a half-day in Powell's, easy. I mean, how fantastic is it that you can buy used books?! Superfantastic is the correct answer. I don't generally buy too many books since I go through 'em so quickly, but there are certain exceptions to this rule. On that night, I was on the hunt for a particular book. It's the second in a series of four - I just finished the first one and checked out the third book from the library last week. For some reason, about 83 people have the second book on hold. Rather than wait my turn, or (heaven forbid!) skip right to the third book - I elected to hunt down my own copy.

I managed to locate a copy of the desired book in the Young Adult section (again - don't you judge me) and snapped it right up. And can I just ask...? What's the deal with European versions of books getting cooler, edgier covers? That's just weird. The book I bought has two vacant-eyed teenagers, but the UK version is way more awesome. I mean, HELLO?!? Barbies!!!



I also picked up an Anne Taintor magnet in the nifty gifty section at Powell's. I plan to display it proudly in my cube, right next to my poster that reads "Before speaking, consider whether it's an improvement upon silence":

Jason got his hair did

The current Battle Royale in our household is Jason's hair. When I met him 11 years ago, the boy had one close-cropped 'do. But I was made to understand that was a recent change. Pictures of him just six months earlier showed an entirely different sitchy - we're talkin' mullet. M - U - L - L - E - T. Long, flowing locks of love-style. I hated it on sight.

Just recently, he's been growing that biznazz again. At first, I took the gently mocking route, I was all "Lookin' a little fluffy there, pal!" But as it grew longer - ever longer - I decided to distance myself from The Hair. I pretended it wasn't there, and no longer invited it to parties.

Last night, my shunning of The Hair finally paid off. And here, for your viewing pleasure is Jason's transformation from Fluffy McTuff, on his way back to my sweet baby: