I recently -- say, in the last year or so -- came out as an atheist. I was raised as a lackadaisical Catholic by humanist-leaning parents who taught me to ask questions and think for myself, so it wasn't really a big surprise* to anyone. I had always had a big problem with the Angry Daddy In The Sky model of creation, which got me in trouble in more than one CCD class, and I'd bounced around the usual Wicca/Tarot/Buddhism/blah art school girl "spiritual searching" stuff in my teens and 20s. So, what I mean is, I don't really believe in a lot of that woo-woo shit. The sort of comfort lots of people get from worshipping the deity of their choice, I derive from knowing that we live in a universe of natural laws; that we are natural beings connected through common ancestry with every other living thing on this planet, inhabiting a system that can be known and understood.

I have always felt like a "lucky" person, though. Like, I have a lot of luck --- not necessarily good or bad luck, just interesting luck. Weird shit happens to me and around me on a pretty regular basis, and it isn't always unicorn farts and rainbows, but it is often sort of incredible.** I often get panic attacks right before weird life events ramp up, and over the years my best coping mechanism has been to just hang on and ride whatever weird wave is coming my way. I know a belief in synchronicity and karma is pretty much indefensible to a rational, scientific mind, but we are all just slow-moving energy when you get down to it anyway - its not entirely outside the realm of imagination that we can be drawn to particular energy patterns over and over, or that particular sorts of people are continually drawn into our kurass... Whatever, it's a stretch. But there you have it: if I believe in anything, I believe in surfing the Chaos, and trying not to mow anyone else down while I'm doing it.

Kansas City felt like a big, extended stretch of weird-bad. We had a wonderful support network of friends and compatriots, which was good, because boy did we need them when everything else was going to shit all the time. I didn't write much, except around the wedding, because who the hell wants to read post after post of, "Yeah, pretty depressed these days. Money's really tight. The Boy and I are fighting. I'm miserable at my job. Waaaah." (Not that I didn't do a fair amount of that, just that it was with months and months in between, to space it out.) I made some art that I'm pretty proud of, and there are people back there that I hope remain in my life forever, but things have been continually looking up since we moved. Sorry, Midwest. I do still believe in your awesome potential, and I wish my pals luck in remaking their patches of the prairie. That direct sunlight and 90% humidity just beats you like a stick, though.

Anyway. Lately I haven't been writing because things have been good, for the most part, just really eventful. Due to a fortuitous sequence of events, we had the opportunity to get ourselves into serious trouble, in the best way possible. We're closing on a house on Tuesday, a 104-year-old lady in a convenient part of town, with lots of original woodwork covered in thick lead paint, some ill-advised carpet in the upstairs bedrooms, and buckets of charming details. She needs a new roof, her backyard is overgrown, there is some sagging ceiling plaster and missing light fixtures and unfortunate popcorn texture on the walls that must be dealt with --- but there are also built-in cabinets and window seats and new appliances in the kitchen, and nice wood under the ugly carpet and aforementioned lead paint.

When we first started looking at houses, his parents were advising us to try to find a "starter" home --- something finished in the suburbs, that we could do a little work on and sell in a few years when we wanted to move someplace nicer. I haaaaaate moving, though, and don't drive, so that plan sounded pretty horrible to me. In talking it out, we both realized that what we really wanted was a more self-sustaining life in the city, and that was going to take significant amounts of time and labor to achieve. It made more sense to us to pick a place that we really liked, that we could imagine taking on and making our own over the span of many years. We never thought we'd get so lucky as to find a little gem of a dream house, just a few blocks from a BART station, both less expensive and more lovely than anything we saw out in the suburbs. We have a budget for repairs built into our mortgage, and we will still be paying significantly less than we have been in rent.

It's weird and exciting to be setting down roots someplace, on the opposite coast as where I started. We have big plans for the house, and our little plot of land.  There are fruit trees in the backyard, so we already have a head start on growing our own food. We're finally going to get to compost! We will have windows! We're getting a puppy! It's all happening so fast! Whee! I don't believe in any gods, but I do believe in feeling grateful for the good turns in life. Things are chaotic, but good*** right now.



*except maybe my extended family, Southern and much more devout than our little oddball branch of the tree. I am sure my Grandma prays in fear for my eternal soul nightly, and I sometimes feel badly that she feels the need to do that.

**which is not to say that this cannot be said of pretty much EVERY OTHER PERSON ON EARTH. I am not so vain as to consider my experiences more or better than anyone else's, I just mean that it has been noted by others in my life that very odd occurrences happen along my periphery, almost as if a crazy screenwriter is throwing weird plot points in all willy-nilly. "Okay, and then she finds a dead body in the subway! And then a car crashes into her apartment building! And then she gets a job in California OVER THE PHONE!"

***always my favorite D&D alignment, anyway.

And another two months passed, and lo, it was boring to tell of so she didn't.

Seriously, so boring. I went to work and ate some food and slept and watched TV shows* over the internet.

Want to know what I didn't do? Um, lets see: finish unpacking. Finish my thank-you cards. Organize my studio area. Get my bike fixed. Have more than one area of the loft clean at any one time. Put my clothes away. Make some art. Go to yoga class. Achieve any of the short-term goals I set for myself back in January. I started feeling frantic. Enduring a mini-meltdown every weekend for six weeks led The Boy to suggest (gently) that y'know, we had health insurance now, and the folks at the adult behavioral health center were "really nice, and easy to talk to". (Or in other words, GRL u trippin LOL >_< srsly tho get help)

So I have a shrink now for the first time in years, and he's alright. Kind of a thinner, California-casual Santa Claus. Is big into neurochemistry and talks a lot about the brain. Anyway, it'll be interesting to see whether the short-term boost I'm having from seeking help in the first place can be sustained as forward momentum. Really, I just want to figure out why I am a gloomy, nervous space cadet, paralyzed by indecision and always hiding from the wolf at the door. I don't think that's a lot to ask, but perhaps I am overly ambitious. The last time I had a real shrink there were puppets in her office.



*Speaking of which, have any of you been watching Dollhouse? This week it finally got awesome. Thanks for kicking it into gear, Joss. Fuck yeah.

What's up? I know it's kind of a blog cliché to start your first post in months with an apology for being away for so long, like all three of your regular readers were waiting with bated breath because you didn't tell them how your new job was going. So I won't apologize, though I will say that one of the unintended consequences of getting rid of our TV was that the computer became our TV, and also I will say that getting a moment alone to get all diary with it is tough when you live in 400 square feet with another person who is always all up ons. Unintended consequences, man.

Anyway, we are in California now, and I am almost afraid to say how well we're doing. As if by naming it, I shall render this good time lifeless. But shit, things are pretty okay right now, and it's nice to let people know that for once we're doing okay. D is working his second two-week contract for a gallery in San Francisco, and has been getting his resume out there for other contracts. My job is quite alright: I work in a small, ultra-specialized archive with three other pleasant (and quirkily amusing) people, getting to use enough of my brain that I feel valuable and competent, but not so much that I am sapped of my desire to work on my art in the evenings. I find working around archival material to be pretty inspiring, though I will confess that the last few months have been rather slack when it comes to artwork. The 400 square feet thing is continuing to be a challenge.

Right now our apartment is kind of like a large, beautiful storage cube with a skylight, though little by little we are trying to fix that. We've been rearranging furniture for the last two weeks, and I just spent my birthday IKEA gift certificate on a new bookshelf and a plastic container we can use for our recycling, so we can finally stop just piling it around like MONKEYS do with THEIR recycling. Anyway. We're making headway, but are realizing that we have too many things like tables and not enough things like shelves. We are both beginning to see the utility of rugs, now that we have concrete floors. I have MLK Day off and D doesn't, so along with a rare day by myself in our little house, I get to rearrange furniture and hang artwork and take measurements for hypothetical new shelving units that D is going to make during his lunch breaks this week, huzzah!

That I am actually looking forward to all of this surprises no one more than it does me. Wow, motivation. I has it.

The moving preparations are many, and daunting, and overwhelming. My first day is one week from now (!!!) so I'm leaving on Monday, and handing the packing and cleaning yet to be done to my husband. Then it'll be another month of separation, as he gathers up our life here, and I look for a new place to live there, and we meet back up at Halloween to load the truck and the cats and get the hell out of Dodge. I'm excited to be someone new, but nervous, too. Worried about making a good impression, hoping they aren't disappointed in me once they meet me...it's all a rich tapestry of anxiety.

I'm still trying to convince the Lad that we should just GET THE HELL RID OF most of our shit. Our furniture is really nothing special, most of it having been scavenged from various friends' moving sales and the sidewalk on big trash day. There is IKEA where we're going. I am totally willing to toss like 60% of our stuff if it means that moving day won't suck so hardcore. The Boy is quite resistant, though. He gets very emotionally attached to things, and finds it really hard to let go of them. He's been trying to be good, so sometimes he'll hand me a big box of random crap and say, "go ahead, toss stuff out, just don't show me what you're getting rid of."

Some things I can't WAIT to get rid of. I decided to take this opportunity to sell off a lot of the artwork I have just sort of lying around. Some of it I've had for over a decade, and it's time to let it go to someone who'll love it instead of tolerate it. Some of it I'm just sick of looking at. Some of it I recently painted and figure, why not make a couple bucks? Anyway, if you or anyone you know is looking for some art, you can get some right here, baby: http://jenfridy.etsy.com

And now back to my regularly-scheduled packing extravaganza.

So.

I have been pretty honest about our job situation here in KC. For the most part, Lo Has It Sucked These Many Years. I have been looking for a better, more lucrative, more satisfying job since last year – but in July, when the Husband lost his position at Local Cultural Institution, we started casting a wider net.

Like, a really wide net.

I sent resumes all over, with my only criteria being that I felt I could learn something and be effective in the job I was applying for. For a while, it looked like my old hometown was where it was at: I interviewed at the main library back in Pittsburgh, and it was very hopeful, but I lost out to an internal candidate. Then there was nothing but silence on the job front. I followed up on my applications and sent new ones out every week.

All the hard work paid off. Last week, I had a phone interview that went really, really well, for a job that I am very interested in, in a city neither I nor my husband has ever lived before. This week, I got the call officially offering me the job. As of October 1st, I'll be working for the Water Services Archives at UC Berkeley, in a position that will be a lot more in line with my skills and experience than what I'm doing now. There are benefits, and paid vacation time, and on-campus gym facilities, and good public transportation waiting for us. Even better, my best friend has a list of contacts for the Husband to call in his own job search – any one of whom D would be thrilled to work for.

We're moving to the Bay Area, y'all.

As nervous as the thought of moving over a thousand miles away is making me, I can't stop smiling. This feels like it's going to be a great move for us.

I stoled this from agent-mph
The Omnivore's Hundred is a list of foods the gastronome Andrew Wheeler thinks everyone should try at least once in their lives.  The rules: 1) bold those you have tried, 2) strikethrough those you wouldn't eat on a bet, 3) Italicize any item you'll never eat again, 4) Asterisk any items you'd be interested in trying but have not yet.
 
1. Venison (Sausage only, but it was weirdly gamey)
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare
5. Crocodile
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses*
17. Black truffle (Just the oil, but it was rather an intriguing flavor.)
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters (SO funky, sandy, bouncy, and GROSS. Aphrodisiac MY ASS.)
29. Baklava
30. Bagna Cauda*
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. Clotted cream tea*
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat*
42. Whole insects
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more (Such delicacies are wasted on someone with my gag reflex for alcohol.)
46. Fugu*
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin (In sushi! It was delicious!)
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone (Do Abalone and Superballs come from the same place?)
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads (Guys, it's called offal for a reason.)
63. Kaolin (Wait, isn't this CLAY??? I think my mineral foundation is made of this shit.)
64. Currywurst (Never had it in Germany, but have made it at home many times.)
65. Durian*
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis (I know it's just a big loose sausage, but just the thought of it nauseates me.)
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette (Again, I make it a policy to never eat the Poop Chute of any creature if I can at all help it.)
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe (They aren't kidding about those Green Faeries.)
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill* (Never say never, in these exciting times!)
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant*
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
87. Goulash
88. Flowers
89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake*

I was surprised by how many of these I'd already had and enjoyed. Of course, it's pretty clear how far off the vegetarian wagon I've fallen these days.

There is lots of other stuff going on, in development, but I don't want to jinx anything by mentioning it here. Suffice to say, please clap for Tinkerbell, she's expecting a phone call this week. :)

The Husband left on Wednesday evening, and I've been coming home (or staying home) to an empty house every day since. It's been okay, I guess. I've done some chores and some reading, and I've got some resume-updating to do as well, so I might as well be alone and undistracted. It's a little sad having no one to share my weird thoughts with, though. iChat is cool and all, but there are limits. I don't want to hug or make out with my webcam, for instance.

One of the ongoing busywork projects we started before he left was a big purge. We're both pack rats, him even more so than me, so we tend to hold onto things long past their expiration dates. It was time to be brutally honest about those books I was never going to read again, the records in his collection that he couldn't really care less about, and the broken machines that we both knew were never going to become an art project. We managed to separate out about 25% of our records, most of our old stereo and computer equipment, and about 10% of our books (I know, I know,) for an eventual yard sale.

During the first attack wave, we noticed that we had a metric shit-ton of cds that we pretty much never listened to, since the iPod and computer replaced our cd player two years ago. Most of them weren't digitized either, so the music they contained was fairly inaccessible to us, practically speaking. $100 later, and we were the proud owners of 250G of extra storage space, in a stylish black casing about the size of a deck of cards. Since its baptism, we've been systematically ripping our whole collection and saving it to the new drive, which has been sort of an Adventure In Sound for me. Going through our sizable collection and listening to at least a little bit of ALL OF IT has been a really interesting trip down memory lane. I've got a decent chunk of middling-to-poor goth and industrial music, for one thing. But I've also discovered some gems I haven't listened to in years. (Nevermind is a really solid album, you know? I kind of wish I hadn't gotten rid of the rest of my Nirvana discs on a whim back in college.)

We've probably finished about 80% of our collection, after nearly two weeks of daily ripping. As it stands now, we could have a party that lasted 76 days, and never hear the same song twice.

- The Husband was given an unceremonious lay-off last week, slashing our home finances by two-thirds and thoroughly pissing us both off. He got 24 hours' notice that he (and everyone else hired in January) was not going to be staying on after his contract was up --- a complete 180 from what he was told only two days previously WHEN HE SPECIFICALLY ASKED ABOUT IT. They had been reassuring him for WEEKS that he would be kept on to fill shifts, and it was all a lie. Consequently, he is leaving for a month starting next week, to do remodeling work at his parents' house and earn some money so we can move away from this fucking town which continues to fuck us over in ways big and small.

- I interviewed for a new job in a different city, and it went really, really well, but I lost to an internal candidate. The people I interviewed with were very nice and encouraging and all, but it was sort of a whoosh of disappointment to have things be seeming to go so serendipitously and then...nothing. I mean, they called all my references and everything.

- I got into a bad altercation with a coworker yesterday, a sweet grandma who is a page at our branch, and it all started with Jodi Foster. We sometimes talk about movies in the morning, Sweet Grandma and I, and she asked if I'd seen The Brave One. Which I hadn't, because I'm not really a Jodi Foster fan. Whatever, lots of people like her, that's cool --- I'm just not one of those people. (I know she's supposed to be a really good actress, but every time I see her in a film, I find myself wishing they'd just gotten Holly Hunter.)
  So Sweet Grandma says, apropos of nothing, "Well, did you see that Jodi Foster movie, The Accused?" I told her yes, but on TV and it had been a long time ago. And she looked at me, and said, "Well, you know that lady, she brought it on herself."
  Meaning the gang rape in the bar.
  A WORLD OF WTF.
  I was kind of surprised by how quickly and shortly I snapped at her. "I don't care who you are or what you're doing, you NEVER deserve to be gang-raped, in a bar or anywhere else. No one ever, ever, EVER deserves that!" And she stammered something about "flirting" and I cut her off with, "I don't care if she was dancing on the table with her dress pulled up over her head, that is an unacceptable thing to do to another person, always." And then I walked away to cool off.
  "I was just talking about a movie! We were just having a conversation! You should listen to yourself!"
   I looked at her and said, evenly, "This is something I feel very strongly about. I think you should really listen to yourself." Sweet Grandma didn't talk to me the rest of the day, and while I feel sorry that I hurt her feelings because she is (mostly) a nice old lady, I should really be able to come to work without having to humor rape apologists.

- Our neighbors on all three sides have dogs that are rather barky, to various degrees. One seems to have separation anxiety, and basically sits in his back yard and howls all day. When the other dogs hear him, they have to sound the fucking Dog Alarm, too. I am generally an animal-loving pacifist, but Jesus Christ those dogs remind me EVERY DAY of why I am a Cat Person.

In other news, I have been thinking a lot about weight and food and eating and feminism lately, but you should be glad I deleted my half-chewed brain spew before I hit "post". Both times.

Happy goddamn Fourth, y'all! Woooo! The neighborhood was popping with quasi-legal fireworks all day, and at 1 am (when I was trying to sleep off my food coma) there was still a staccato of explosions every few seconds. AWRIGHT USA!!!!

Still, though, I can't complain about the overall tone of yesterday's festivities. The Mister and I took advantage of a rare day off together to laze around in bed all morning. I made blueberry corn muffins with carrot and lemon zest (which fucking ROCKED, thank you for asking,) and we ate them hot from the oven and slathered with butter while watching a Doctor Who we'd missed this season. (YAY for geek love.) The next three hours were spent prepping food in the kitchen whilst The Man of the House cleaned, oiled, and seasoned our new cast-iron hibachi in preparation for its maiden voyage. Charcoal was lit, applewood chips were smoked, and we grilled the shit out of some tofu steaks, vegan bratwurst, almost-ripe avocado halves, and pineapple slices. I used beer in place of half of the soymilk in VeganDad's recipe, and marinated the freshly-steamed brats in an emulsion of beer, pineapple juice, olive oil, and Korean hot sauce before grilling them --- they were fucking transcendent.

Things that were Unequivocally Awesome:

- Hibachi: made of win. Heats like a champ, it's sturdy as hell, and the cook surface was the perfect size for the two of us. Thanks to the Husband and his obsessive-compulsive cleaning and seasoning of the thing, it's already fairly nonstick, as a bonus. A+++ WOULD GRILL AGAIN.

- Dulce De Leche ice cream, with cookies. Oh mama.

- Watching Hellboy: The Director's Cut with full bellies, geeking out together over the awesomeness that is sure to be Hellboy II.

- CORNWANG!!! Behold!!

It was shriveled and dry, so we broke it off before we cooked it. Doug made me do it, though. He said he couldn't bring himself to, even though it wasn't really a wang. Dudes are so weird about that shit.

Not Awesome was the continual pop-crack-woooot! of cheap-ass fireworks going off all night long. Seriously, neighbors, if a string of fucking Jumpin' Jacks is enough to keep you shouting into the wee hours of the morning, then you need to get out more. Jesus Christ.

I woke up this morning with a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. The generalized anxiety left over from this morning's vivid dreams (involving serial killers, a plane crash, and something unseen chasing me through a desolate urban landscape: the holy triumvirate of Suki's Nightmare World) has given way to a persistent, nameless dread and a jumpy/sick burbling that won't go away.

I hate feeling like this. I hate being such a wimpy, sensitive person that one bad dream plus a little bit of job stress can turn me into such a quivering marshmallow. I feel like my guts are melting into my core, my middle becoming a gooey, undifferentiated mass of jelly. It's warm outside, and rapidly becoming warmer, but I am shivery and covered in goosebumps.

It sometimes feels like I do nothing but worry. I bite my nails down to the quick and then start gnawing on my cuticles, as I mentally rub the worry stones in my head. Every decision, every plan, I worry: Am I doing the right thing? What if I'm not? WHAT IF I'M NOT AND EVERYONE HATES ME NOW?

 Anyway, I'm having a hard time shaking it.

If you love scorching heat and 100% humidity, Summers in the Midwest are excellent. By July, it's usually 90 degrees in the shade, and sweat simply does not evaporate in the heavy, stifling air. As someone who appreciates a temperate climate and plenty of cloudy days, this place sucks from June-August. Every year, I've considered digging a hole into a hillside and living in the cool earth, like a Hobbit. This year is different, though. Our area hasn't been devastated with floods, like Iowa, or flattened by tornadoes, like Kansas, but we've still gotten more rain this year than any year on record, and that's kept the days in a relatively balmy temperature range (though it hasn't really helped the humidity level.) Last week I took advantage of the warm-but-not-too-warm day to walk to Local Cultural Institution and surprise the Boy with a picnic lunch, and then take in some of the Institution's exhibits, a much-needed creative recharge.

Last night brought a showing of Incredible Hulk and The Strangers at Boulevard Drive-In, over the border in KCK. We managed to gather a posse of folks and a shit-ton of snacks for tailgate goodness beforehand, while the owners of the Drive-In played pretty decent 50s music over the speaker system. Before the show, we were treated to a classic 10-min cartoon reel of the "Let's All Go To The Snack Bar" variety, wherein various food items performed in a semi-horrifying Circus of Snacks. (At one point, an anthropomorphic hot dog bun was performing in a ring with a trained hot dog --- the wiener was eventually rewarded for its obedient back flips by the bun opening itself and allowing the hot dog to nestle itself deep into the split of the bun. Unintentionally kinky, and hilarious!)

As far as the movies themselves went, they were pretty much secondary to the experience. Hulk was workmanlike and predictable, but enjoyable for what it was. Edward Norton and Tim Roth are both my Hollywood Boyfriends, so I was relatively entertained by the man candy aspect of things, but frustrated with Liv Tyler's character (supposedly a highly-competent Ph.D, but you'd never know it by how she frets, cries, and faints through the whole movie) and the clunky CGI. However, at one point during the climactic battle scene, the sound from the booth completely cut out, and the whole carpark erupted with impromptu Hulk impersonations: Hulk smash projectionist!!! Where Hulk's movie?! Aarrrgh!   ...That was seriously worth the price of admission, alone.

(The less said about The Strangers, the better. Psychos With Knives is pretty much my least favorite film genre anyway, and while I appreciate that this one wasn't full-on torture porn, it somehow managed to be both boring and tacky nonetheless. The plot development was lazy and incomplete, and the ending was a tasteless cheese-fest. At least it was too dumb and slow to give me nightmares, though...I'll say that for it.)

Today brought a high of 86 and a trip to the farmer's market. The weather has definitely taken its toll on the crops, and prices were up by at least 50% at some booths. It's still cheaper/tastier than the grocery store fare, though, and I feel a lot better paying farmers directly anyway. Tonight my husband and I are celebrating "Date at Home" night with a bottle of wine, a Hitchcock flick, and maybe some Scrabble. I am more excited about that than any of the other excellent things I've done this week, and that's saying something.

Hurrah for small pleasures. I think I might survive Summer this year.

So, this has been going around lately. And this is how I did, apparently:

45 As a 1930s wife, I am Average Take the test!

I was certain I would rate as piss-poor, seeing as I cook breakfast in my pajamas, use profanity, and wear red nail polish. Plus, although I do bathe regularly and wear scent, I don't really know if I qualify as "dainty, perfumed, and feminine" by 1930's standards, since that was back when they recommended you douche regularly with Lysol. (True story.) But in the end, I guess that my frequent writing to his mother, regular home-cooked meals, and willingness to tighten my belt and work outside the home (ha ha) pushed me solidly into "average". Plus, I do try to compliment him on his manliness in front of others. I know how much he likes that.

Of course, I had to take the husband test. Despite my unwillingness to shave on Sundays and leaving my shoes all around the living room, I am a rock star:

91 As a 1930s husband, I am Very Superior Take the test!

YEAH! GO DOUBLE STANDARD. I guess I shouldn't really be surprised, as my husband already refers to me as "the head of the family" (and sometimes, as "the Boss of Him"). But I suspect a large part of my rockin' score stems from the question about making sure the wife has an orgasm during "marital congress".

Aww yeah, I keep my lady happy, son. Congressionally. Ifyouknowwhatimean.

(Edited 'cause that pretty code don't work so good in the Rich text.)

"So many social engagements, so little time." *

Apparently, we are neither hermit crabs nor Coelocanths, so leaving of the house has been accomplished this week! As well as some social mingling and beer consumption! Tuesday, a lovely friend of ours celebrated her birthday in Loose Park, one of the prettiest parks in KC. Despite threatening to storm mightily all day, the weather held through sundown, and much fun was had flying kites, discreetly drinking beer, running barefoot through the grass, and hooping. I made L a hoop for her birthday, and I brought the three that I practice with as spares, and they were a big hit! At one point, a friend of ours was hooping with a beer in one hand and a Camel Wide in the other --- I wish someone had taken a picture.

Two different people stopped us on the way to the park to ask where they could get "grown-up" hoops like mine. The Mister was disappointed I didn't just sell them mine for $20 apiece, since I can make more when I want to. I wanted to bring them to the fete, though, and I didn't feel comfortable selling hoops that I'd already scuffed up and marked during practice. A few other friends have expressed interest in having hoops of their own after trying mine, so it looks like I'll be in Electrical Tape Hell this weekend, but it's all worth it. Maybe after making my friends' hoops, I'll be comfortable enough with my taping jobs to sell a few on Etsy or something.

Last night, we met up with several of our favorite people at McCoy's, for pitchers of microbrew and tasty eats on their outdoor patio. The Boy and I split an order of black bean and veggie fajitas, and still had more than enough food in our bellies at the end of the night. We decamped back at our house and spent the rest of the evening on the porch, drinking IPA and talking in the balmy evening air. It was really one of the nicest nights we've spent out in awhile, with some of the most excellent people we know.

The best part was, I managed to work out drinking a couple of beers without either puking, or waking up with a hangover! Boooyakasha! I felt so great, I trudged out into the soupy humidity right before lunchtime, and took the bus downtown for the farmer's market and Chinatown Food Mart. Bought lots of interesting-looking organic greens that I've never tried before, some onion shoots, some free-range eggs, heirloom tomatoes, and a big bag of cherries, among other things. Chinatown yielded a big bag of this snack that the Mr. likes, a fried corn and garlic mixture from Indonesia called "Cornic". (The Boy likes to do a really bad Dr. Dre or Snoop Dogg impersonation as he waxes rhapsodic about "The Cornic", which is hilarious in its awfulness.) I took a break from washing our produce and wiping down the fridge surfaces to have some green tea and write this, so I'm feeling mighty productive today.

I've got a lot of goals for this Summer. I definitely plan to keep developing my hoop practice (so much more fun than my yoga practice ever was!) I'm going to work on making some kind of art, every day. I'm going to finish the long process of cleaning and organizing our home, and purging all the unnecessary stuff we're keeping around. And I'm definitely going to get out more, and spend more time with the people I adore. Even though the Summer is bearing down with hot dragon breath (oh delicious Spring, where did you go? We went straight from March to July here, it seems!) I'm not feeling as wiped out as I was last year at this time...I feel rather refreshed and excited by what's to come.


*Can you identify this movie quote? Bonus points for knowing the character/actor who spoke them!

Every time I pick up a new hobby, I want to be good at it RIGHT AWAY. I don't want to waste my time learning stuff when I could be fuckin' doing it, man!!! I don't need no lessons, just gimme the thing and let me go to town, yo.

Except, HAHAHAHAHA, a cosmic joke, she is played on me! Because despite my impatience and best intentions, I am clumsy! Uncoordinated and klutzy and prone to falling, bruising, and excessive sweating. Which means that LO AND BEHOLD, after a whole FIVE sessions with the hoop, I am still not an expert! (NO SHIT WOW WHAT A SURPRISE.)

And it's frustrating. It's frustrating to feel sort of "trapped" by the hoop. This may surprise you, but I'm actually a pretty decent dancer. When a beat hits me right I get all gyroscopic with my hips and am able to lose myself on the dance floor. I've got an okay sense of rhythm for a dorky white girl, and friends and strangers have told me I'm fun to watch. I guess I thought that once I got the waist/hip hooping down alright, that it would be second nature to let the rhythm take over and start dancing with the hoop.

Except, no. It's ten times harder to dance with the hoop than it is to *just* hoop or *just* dance. Every step I take shifts my core, I lose the spin, and the hoop inevitably drops. Trying to spin it around my legs and knees has been a laughable exercise in either chasing the hoop into the next room, or dodging it after it ricochets off one of the walls. Also, I am covered in bruises.

So, yeah. This new thing I'm obsessed with is kind of a pain in the ass. If it weren't the most fun I've ever had while exercising, I would TOTALLY quit.

The hoop is boss, but the BRUISES* are not. Ow. Arnica gel, you can only do so much!


*No pictures --- if you think I'm going to show you a picture of my bruised and dimpled belly, you have LOST YOUR FUCKING MIND.

Some recent purchases which have been surprisingly satisfying:

The $14 Deodorant
During our honeymoon in Amsterdam, I went into Lush for the first time. (Yeah, I know we have them in the US, too. But not here in America's Bellybutton, and the one in Boston opened after we left. So sue me, it's not like we were in McDonalds or anything.) Anyway. It was our second day in town and our bags had still not yet arrived. After three days in the same clothes, both of us were feeling pretty bedraggled and rumpled, and The Boy was encouraging me to get something to make myself feel pretty. I decided that it would be nice to not stink so bad, so I picked up a bath bomb and the Aromacreme. At 5 and 9.5 Euro, respectively, I was kind of like, "what the hell, it's our honeymoon. And not having endless BO in my polyester shirt is totally worth it." When I got home and bothered to work out the exchange rate, I was sort of horrified at having spent over $14 for freaking deodorant. (I didn't feel bad about the bath bomb...that shit was frivolous no matter how much it cost, so it was sort of justifiable as a rare girly indulgence. It had glitter in it, therefore it was supposed to be overpriced. My rationalization engine is a little weird sometimes.)

Well, one month later, and I am here to tell you that deodorant was totally worth $14. It works better than pretty much any "natural" deodorant I've tried, it smells great, and it lasts forever. I think I've got at least a couple of months' worth left in my jar. Even better? Ordering it through the US website, it's only $12. I think I'll save up for some more of those bath bombs, too. I liked smelling like a candy-coated geisha.

The Soymilk Maker
This was my husband's favorite item on our registry, and he seemed a little crestfallen that no one got it for us. So I got it for him as a birthday present. If you've never seen a dude's eyes light up at the sight of that retro-futuristic little bad boy, you're missing out. It arrived two days ago and we've already made two batches of pretty tasty soy milk, plus a quart of pecan-almond milk, and some very useful okara and ground nutmeats. Given how quickly we go through the milk substitutes, we figure this thing will save us about $10 a week, give or take. Supposedly it'll also make pureed soups and mochi and stuff, and if we get some nigari and a press, we can make fresh tofu, too. But for now we're still enjoying knowing that we can make milk pretty much any time we want to. God as my witness, I'll never drink black coffee again!

The Hoop!
A long torso, big boobs, and weak abdominal muscles are my parents' genetic legacy to me. It used to mostly just mean that I avoided crop tops and had to buy my bras at the old lady stores, but lately, the price of holding up my own knockers has been increasing back pain and poor posture. Thus, over the last few years I have been searching for some sort of core-strengthening exercise that will not bore the ever-loving shit out of me, like Pilates, or bankrupt me, like yoga. During one of my marathon procrastination sessions last year, I came across footage of hoop-dancing, and was intrigued. Also, a little turned on. But that's neither here nor there.

Yesterday was my first *real* session with the hoop, and after an hour of dogged practice, I was able to get it going reasonably well, and keep it going for as long as my energy/rhythm held up (about 2 minutes was my record.) Plus, it was hella fun. And this morning, when I woke up, my abs, thighs, ass, and arms felt as though they'd been beaten with sticks. I still wanted to hoop today, despite it hurting every time I cough, laugh, or breathe too deeply. (Though, 15 minutes was about my limit before my sides began screaming at me.) Will I stick with it? Who knows? But it's fun now, and the equipment's cheap, as long as you don't count the furry platform boots or tickets to Burning Man.

...So, yeah. We did the thing, where we got hitched and stuff, and went on a trip, and came back and had to adjust to being regular people again. It was sort of hard at first, because getting married was such a whirligig of activity and energy and EVENTS. Despite the fact that it was crazy and chaotic and a little fraught at times, I kind of loved it, too. It was like, I always had a project that needed doing, I could ignore shit like cleaning the house and doing laundry and cooking nutritious food because I HAVE SIX HUNDRED THINGS TO DO AND THEY AIN'T GONNA DO THEMSELVES, NOM NOM M&MS FOR DINNER WHILE I MAKE TISSUE FLOWERS!!! And never before have I been pampered over several days, by a team of experts whom I was paying to make me purty. All the attention I was getting was a little intoxicating sometimes.

So, yeah. We've come home to a gross house and some bad habits. But let's not talk about those! Let's look at how bad-ass our wedding party was!

L to R: my sister-in-law Freya, chief guru Lisa, my new sister-in-law Leeanne, my sister Jess, best lady Jaime, me and my rather handsome groom, dude of honor Bryan, the awesomeness that is Hector, and my brother JP. Photo by Rick Szymanski

Quite a handsome bunch, no? I told everyone that their outfits were pretty much up to them. I asked the women to wear an outfit that made them think of water, and the menfolk to wear a dark-colored suit with a cool-toned shirt. (We gave them silkscreened ties bought on etsy as their groomsmen gifts, a big hit.) Anyway, nobody "matched" but everyone still looks great together in the photos ---- and, most importantly, everyone felt comfortable and attractive in their clothes. Awesome.

Speaking of awesome, my whole ensemble turned out pretty fantastic:

Photo by Rick Szymanski

I was happy that it all came together in the end, and I didn't need to run to the mall and buy a prom dress at the last minute because it all got screwed up. I was pretty thankful that I got real with myself about my sewing skills, too, and farmed the bodice out to a professional. No way I could have made something so gorgeous and flattering. Dianna was great to work with - professional, friendly, and exquisite work. If you desire a custom corset, I highly recommend her. I wish I were independently wealthy, because I would totally buy an assortment.

Anyway, my father wrote us a sonnet that he read during the ceremony, and all three of us (he, The Boy, and I) got a little weepy:

Photo by whoever was holding Hector's camera


Photo by Rick Szymanski

My dear friend Lisa, whom I've known since eighth grade, read us a beautiful hindu-inspired blessing that she had written herself, and it was touching and eloquent and amazing:

Photo by Hector's mysterious cameraman. Going back to my dress, please note the awesome plum burnout velvet train, which I designed and burned-out and dyed myself. I also spent sixteen hours beading that damn thing, and it doesn't even show up on camera. Bastards!

Doug and I were both witnesses to Lisa's handfasting to her husband Ian nearly ten years ago, and it was so fitting to have her bless our union. What an amazing gift for words this woman has! She and Ian looked so great, and they still just awe and amaze me as a couple who have stuck with each other through good and ill.

After that, we said our vows to each other. We kept them short and sweet, so we could memorize them. Nevertheless, The Boy got a bit verklempt as he was saying his, and lost his train of thought. I had to quietly prompt him under my breath before he got too flustered. It was so adorable I nearly died.

Photo by Hector's Camera of Mystery.

We were total dumbasses and forgot to ask if we needed a special license to perform a Quaker marriage. As a result, we got the wrong kind of license and needed to find an officiant, STAT! to pronounce us husband and wife and make it legal. Fortunately, Hector's glorious partner in crime (and one of our dearest and most highly-regarded friends) had been ordained as a ULC minister some years before. Renée stepped in to deliver a heartfelt and lyrical pronouncement of our love and union:


A quick swipe of the pen, and we were official!

Photo by Hector Casanova

After that, there was drinking and food and merriment of various kinds. The groom and dude of honor got to get a little funky:

Photo by Michelle Quigley

The photographer had a lot of ladywrangling to do:

Photo by Hector Casanova

And we were presented with our honeymoon tickets, guidebooks, and a wad of spending dough for Amsterdam:

Photo by Michelle Quigley

A few photos can be found on my flickr site, as well as on various friends' photostreams. We haven't gotten most of the pro shots yet, but those are coming soon. One thing I love about all the photos: We look really happy.


Photo by Hector Casanova