Tomorrow Is Another Day...

Crazy-Eyed Infertile Women

Kate is one of my dearest internet friends.  We've never met (something that I'm bound and determined to remedy some day), but I've always felt a strong connection with her (oh my god, I sound like a creepy girl on The Bachelor--I promise I don't have her face tattoed anywhere on my body).  We've talked a lot over the past few months about our struggles with fertility, and I am consistently amazed and inspired by the grace with which she has handled her journey and her ability to find the humor in some of the darkest corners of life.  I love you to bits, Kate, and am so, so honored that you're sharing your perspective with my readers today.

Ahem. Hi. I'm Kate. I used to blog a lot over at Walking Kateastrophe. Now I, um...sort of blog a little. I'm a feisty Irish Mormon redhead - I know, weird. I got my college degree from Brigham Young University in Music Dance Theatre and then proceeded to find my way into working my butt off in the Web Marketing Department of the world's largest Domain Registrar. I won't say who it is so I don't get all flagged here, but you're probably thinking of the right one right now. Yes, the opposite of Stop Mommy. I've been married for six years to the kindest, wonderfulest, QUIETEST accountant alive. I love musicals, food, traveling, singing, laughing, punk music, opera and my friends. I love everything about my life except for one fairly significant thing. I am struggling with having a baby.

As you can see, Angela and I have quite a bit in common. Musicals, food, traveling and that dirty 'infertility' word. My story is different from Angela's. She has the heartbreaking challenge of so far not being able to conceive. My heartbreaking challenge is that I lost three babies within a year. One June 30th, 2010 at ten weeks, the second October 15th at seven weeks and the final doozy on April 15th at 14.5 weeks. I've written in gory detail about all the miscarriages and their differences on my "baby" blog here, if you're interested.

I'll be the first to admit that being positive has been hard to do this year. On top of the personal struggles that come with fertility issues, there have been a lot of kind intentioned individuals who say the WORST POSSIBLE THING and make your already crappy day crappier. Most notably in my personal realm, someone I thought was a dear, dear friend basically told me that I was doing something wrong to cause these miscarriages and I needed to take a hard look at my life and what I needed to change.

*crickets*

Yeah.

My happy "BUT" is that, amidst all of this trauma, there have really been some funny moments. I'm sure those of you who have had children have similar experiences, but this whole miscarriage and fertility testing thing? Is weird and invasive and hilarious if you look at it the right way. As a quick note, I apologize in advance for the candor with which I'm about to speak. Feel free to abandon ship if you're easily woozy or don't want to know about "lady doctor" experiences.

My second miscarriage was a strange one. We saw a heart beat one day and the next it was like my uterus exploded. I bled non-stop for almost three weeks. It was traumatic but "life low point" took on a whole new meaning when I was at the doctor's office being checked out. I was pantless, in stirrups and my uterus decided at THAT moment to ...further...explode. I wasn't quite aware of it but all of a sudden the doctor is frantically saying "Donna. I need towels. TOWELS, DONNA! TOWELS NOW." And I was helpless. I just stared at the ceiling while DONNA WENT AND GOT SOME TOWELS, DAMMIT. Apparently THAT is why OB/GYNs are so well paid - they are good at uterus explosion clean-up. It was humiliating, sure, but now I have a new impression of a frantic doctor yelling for towels to pull out at parties. Ladies only parties, duh.

Another super hilarious, embarrassing moment came after the D&E Procedure for my third miscarriage. The baby was too big for a traditional at-home miscarriage so I opted for a more intense version of a D&C. The procedure was quick and painless but afterward I had some major cramping pain. Once I was un-sedated and able to walk on my own, the doctor came to say good-bye and then as I was leaving was like "OH. By the way, I gave you some medicine to help your uterus contract a bit more to get rid of any leftover tissue. It was administered rectally and sometimes the pills don't fully dissolve so don't be alarmed if...well, you know. They come out next time you go to the bathroom." I kept thinking "By the way there's a bunch of bills in your butt. BY THE WAY??!?!!?"

Next up, as Angela well knows, the fertility testing becomes really fun. First of all, you have to go at certain times during your monthly cycle for ultrasounds and blood tests to evaluate hormone levels, uterine tissue something or other, egg production, egg age, chromosome make-up...it goes on and on and on. The whole time you're relying on labs and doctors and people who don't seem to understand that this is the BIGGEST DEAL. It's got to be hard because it's their every day. They live fertility issues. They see the crazy-eyed women every single day. They draw their blood every single day. My experiences have luckily been good overall. I've just had a few little hilarious tid-bits. One particular day I'd had thirteen (yes, THIRTEEN) vials of blood drawn, then I was sent in for an MRI where they needed to give me an IV of contrast. One arm had already been used so they went for the other one. I bruise with IVs so for the next week I looked like a junkie with track marks and bruises on my inner elbows. The looks you get in that situation are priceless. And it's not like you can look at the stranger who's checking out your arms and say "I'm infertile" though now that I think of it, not a bad idea. Maybe I'll get a t-shirt.

I've gotten to the point where I can have a casual conversation with my fertility specialist through my open legs (Poor Angela is going to get the WEIRDEST keyword searches from this post). He is a very hilarious Indian man who shows and explains everything to me - almost to a fault. The last appointment I was told amidst a very uncomfortable ultrasound that included iodine and saline injected into you know where, that I had "Vun, two, sree, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, TEN eggs on sa right side! Dis is bery good!" This was followed by the same exact discussion of the left. "SO happy!" He exclaims. Then he proceeds to ask you about your day and your plans for the weekend while he continues to ultrasound away. No big.

Then there's the fun part the husband gets to do. It should be noted that if a man complains about his ONE JOB in this process, he should be punched in the face. Firstly, the last time I checked this was something men thoroughly enjoy. Secondly, it's ONE JOB. And no one is in the room asking you about your day while it's taking place or sticking anything that doesn't belong in their private places. Sounds like a freaking fertility testing party to me. I'll trade him any day of the week. Hearing him tell the story of the burly man who walked him down the hall, handed him a paper bag and said "there's the remote" and walked off IS especially awesome though.

Our particular barrage of tests found almost nothing. I have a slight chromosomal anomaly but it's not to the point that it would affect my ability to carry a baby. I don't have a luteal phase problem, I don't have a uterine anomaly, I don't have old eggs or no eggs or a disconnect between my brain and my uterus. We've been instructed for the time being to keep trying. It's been a weird experience because trying again is at once terrifying and exciting.

I think my point in writing all of this is that fertility issues are HARD. Having a baby is just something everyone expects they'll be able to do when the time comes - accident or not. When it doesn't happen you feel like a failure. Well, I feel like a failure. It seems like I've failed at the fundamental job of womanhood (Hi! Setting the feminist movement back 60 years! You're welcome!) and that I'm so, so broken. Seeing the silver lining of this big looming cloud and being able to laugh at the absurdity of what's going on has been my saving grace. Well, that and anti-depressants. My plea to those of you who don't struggle with fertility is to find a way to be sensitive. Always. Every time you complain about being uncomfortable or sickly pregnant or about your bratty kids, there's a good chance there's a woman in the room who would give ANYTHING to feel that way or to have kids to yell at. I cannot tell you the times I've wanted to jump out of my skin and strangle someone for complaining about the "longest 40 weeks of their life."

This challenge has made me much more aware of what I complain about across the board. I shouldn't complain about working long hours because there are people without jobs. I shouldn't complain about a messy house because there are those without...the list goes on an on. I think we could all be a lot more sensitive and a lot less whiny. I realize that's sort of a "no duh" moment, but it's really hit me lately.

My advice to those of you who are struggling with similar issues is this: Try to keep your chin up, even when you're crying and your heart is breaking. There will be days that it feels like the world is ending and as if there's no one who will ever understand. Trying to explain to someone what it feels like when you realize that, once again, all your hopes have been dashed, is impossible. But finding ways be grateful for the things that aren't wrong and laughing are not impossible and I promise, they help. I haven't yet gotten to a point where I can say that all of this pain was worth it. I cannot yet look back and acknowledge the strength I gained or the understanding that came from this trail, but I know someday it will. We are all told that no one said it would be easy, but that it would be worth it. I believe in that statement with all my heart. It doesn't make the journey any easier or the pain any less painful, but knowing that someday this will all be better, however it works out - gives me, and I hope in turn you, hope.

Thirty, Flirty and Thriving!

PomJob and I go way back in Internetland--I can't remember when we first ran across each other, but I know it's been years.  And I'm not even going to tell you how many of those years it took me to finally get the euphemistic joke that is her internet handle/real life nickname.  I tell ya, my mind is just as clean and pure as the driven snow.  (And speaking of snow, I've got to throw in my vote for Alaska!)

Hi everyone! I’m PomJob and I’m your guest blogger today while Angela is off gallivanting. Angela – hope you’re having a great time on your unstructured trip!

Last year, as an early birthday present to myself, I bought a house. Then I got laid off. So it’s been a long while since I’ve treated myself to something pretty. I recently celebrated the big 3-0 milestone (YIKES! How am I 30?)

Here’s my belated birthday wish list. (One drawback of being single is not having someone to buy me (and pay for) extravagant gifts. That’s OK, this way I’ll get what I want.) Which of these pretties should I buy myself?

Kitchen Aid Mixer

The wedding registry holy grail. Since I’m not getting married anytime soon, maybe I’ll buy it for myself.

Digital Camera

I have an SLR but my point-and-shoot was eaten my by parents’ recliner. I really miss a little camera to keep in my purse.

Wine Rack

Floor space is limited in my house but a wall-mounted wine rack would also help solve the pesky, “What do I put on my walls?” conundrum.

Dutch Oven

Yet another piece for the house. Isn’t this beautiful?

Plane fare to Alaska

A college friend moved to Alaska a few years ago and I’ve always wanted to visit. This could be the year!

Tiffany Necklace

Since those heart bracelets and necklaces became the status symbol on my college campus, I’ve wanted something in a little blue box. I love that this is simple and affordable. Give me monogram or give me death!

Speaking of birthdays, here’s a gift for you:
I designed this for a coworker’s birthday. He’s from Lancaster County, Pa., and I made him Whoopie Pies to match. You can download it here.

What was the last gift you bought yourself?

When Marriages Stop Being Polite and Start Getting Real

This is Kristina's incredibly wise, touching and amusing take on marriage.  What I've found most interesting about being married is the evolution of the relationship--how different feelings and emotions can ebb and flow, but beneath it all is a current of connection that has developed that wasn't yet present in the years that we were dating.  There are definitely times that it can be hard work, but we wouldn't have it any other way!

I am a relatively new reader here, so I am incredibly grateful that Angela is allowing me to post while she is on vacation!

My name is Kristina. I blog at Mommy Interrupted, where I chronicle my life as a working mom of two. I talk a lot about my kids, my husband, some tough things I've gone through in my life and a bunch of other randomosity. And because I absurdly believed that people would want to hear more about my life, I started another blog, Duplex Diaries, to chronicle mine and my husband's attempt to build a duplex and rent it out. I would love it if you dropped by!

My kids are 4 and 1 and I've noticed lately that the internet is awash with blog posts and parenting articles that claim they will tell you what it's really like to be pregnant, give birth, or be a parent. And a lot of the information contained therein is absolutely correct, but most of the time I giggle as I read them because HA HA. Becoming a parent is nothing you can prepare for. Now that I've had two kids, I feel like the only things I can say for sure about parenting is you just have to go with the flow, figure out what works for you and your family and enjoy every single second of it, because it’s amazing.

But for all the information out there about how many surprises a baby brings and how you can never prepare for how much it will change your life, I rarely hear anyone talking about how unexpected marriage can be.

I, like so many girls, had fairytale expectations for my marriage. I thought we would always be in love, we would rarely fight, we’d buy a house, have babies and live happily ever after. And a lot of that came true for me. I am lucky. My husband is an amazing man and an incredible father. But things have not been easy and I wish that someone, somewhere along the way had simply told me that sometimes, marriage was going to be just plain hard.

So, now that I have spent almost seven years with my frustrating, amazing husband, here is the list of what I wish people had told me about marriage.

You will fight. My parents never fought in front of me when I was young. I can count on one hand the number of times I witnessed them arguing when I was a kid. Which made for an idyllic childhood, but it wasn't very realistic (and I realize now, of course, that they did fight, they just never let us kids see it.) So I was rather surprised when Hubs and I got married and we fought. A lot. Or what seemed like a lot to me. We have said horrible things to each other. We have screamed and walked out on each other. I never envisioned I would have a three-day fight about a DVR of all things, but that has actually happened. Twice, if you want to know the real truth (I wish I was kidding). It's taken me even longer to accept the fact that it's normal, and even healthy to fight. You can't expect to spend a lifetime together and never disagree. At the very least, you have to fight just so you can make up.

You're going to annoy each other. A lot. Let's face it. You can't live with someone day in and day out without them becoming privy to all of your bad habits. Until we got married and moved in together, my husband never knew that I have ... trouble remembering to put things away in the bathroom. Hair spray, my straightner, make-up. What can I say? Those things like living on the counter. BUT! He, apparently, is incapable of watching TV with socks on so he takes them off and leaves them in the middle of the living room floor every single night. For SEVEN years. AND he doesn't close the shower curtain after his shower which makes it get all moldy and then I have to clean it and/or replace it and CLEARLY his habits are much worse than mine. Ahem.

Babies change things. A lot. Having our children added an amazing dimension to my marriage. It brought us closer together and watching Hubs play baseball with my son or dance in the kitchen with my daughter makes me melt. But babies are stressful. And it's hard to cooperate and work as a team when you're both sleep deprived, one of you is recovering from expelling a human being from your nether regions and all of this is playing out to the background noise of a screeching baby. Trust me, nothing tests your marriage like whisper-screaming at each other at 3 am. But it will get better and will eventually be able to spend time together as a couple again. And when that time comes, and our kids aren't demanding all of our attention all the time, we will wish for the days when they did.

Your idea of romance will change. I used to look forward to surprise flowers, romantic dates, and sweet words that made me melt. While those things are still great, and an awesome surprise if Hubs somehow manages to find the time to do those things, these days it takes something a little... different to get my attention. If he puts the dishes away, or takes over the bedtime routine, or even just catches my eye across the room as one of us is wrangling a diaper on someone's butt and the other is playing karate with someone else, it earns him extra brownie points.

Staying married is a choice. This is probably the biggest lesson I've had to learn since getting married. With the divorce rate skyrocketing and celebrity marriages popping up and falling apart every day, it's easy to think sometimes that marriage is expendable - that it either works out or it doesn't.

My little brother died in a car accident 5 1/2 years ago.  Hubs and I had been married for a year and a half. Everything changed that day. I wasn't the same person he married. I struggled with my grief and I was a pretty miserable person to live with for a while. I took my anger and fear out on him and there were days I wasn’t sure we were going to make it. But every single day since, Hubs and I have made a choice to stay together. We make a choice to work on our relationship, to get help when we need it and to not walk away when that seems like the easiest thing to do.

Marriage is hard work. But it's the most rewarding work I've ever done. Every struggle and every fight and every rolling of the eyes has made us stronger partners, parents, and individuals. I think I’ll keep him around.

But someone PLEASE tell me how I can get him to stop it with the freaking socks.

Molly's Dream (Nightmare?!?) Vacation

I must admit, when thinking about a title for this post I maaaay have let a little bit of my personal bias influence my final decision.  I can't help it, when I hear the word "cruise" my mind goes to some very bad places.  Even so, reading this post, I find myself missing those vast buffets and tasty dinners and the feeling of being waited on around the clock.  Not to mention sailing from one incredible port of call to another while the ocean rocks you into a blissful sleep.  And if I'm being entirely honest, the topic of a Caribbean cruise has come up between Colby and me from time to time, so I guess what I'm saying here is, Molly, I fully endorse this dream vacation!

When Angela asked for guest posters, I was more than excited to volunteer to write about my dream vacation. It’s been quite a few years that this vacation has been percolating in my mind, but it’s always been just a “someday” kind of thought. When I found this excuse to actually research the trip, my occasional daydreams quickly turned into a more-than-welcome assignment. Knowing that the divine Miss A is a seasoned cruise veteran, and knowing how her cruise went, I figured she’d definitely warn me off this adventure. But what can I say? I'm a glutton for punishment.

Now, I’ve only taken one cruise in my life. But let’s just say it nearly ruined me for vacationing any other way. For our honeymoon, the handsome hubby and I jumped on a big old ship and headed for Alaska. Even though we brought the median age on the ship way down, and I mean WAY down, it was a fantastic adventure. Not only was Alaska breath taking, the ship was luxurious, the food was belt looseningly outrageous, and we were treated like royalty by the crew. I realized that cruising, for me, is ideal in that it accommodates two conflicting character traits. I have a deeply engrained wanderlust and consider seeing more, more, more to be the best use of vacation time. However, I'm also a lazy bum and don’t really want to have to work too hard.

See where I'm going with this? By boarding a cruise ship I can unpack my bags one time (lazy bum) and wake up smack dab in the middle of another adventure (wanderlust) every morning. How perfect is that? Well, I agree it is totally perfect.

So, since I completely ignored Angela’s advice settled on a cruise, all that was left was figuring out which boat to catch. Enter Holland American Cruise lines (that’s who we went with for Alaska and they were top notch). After looking through pages and pages of cruises, but mainly focusing on the ones through Asia, I discovered the 32 day Grand World Voyage. For a large part of my life I’ve dreamed of travelling through Asia and this cruise includes Australia too! Ummmm, yes please.

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As I started looking into each of the ports my eyes widened and my jaw went slack. After researching five or six stops there was a bit of drool forming on my lower lip and I was utterly mesmerized. This cruise looks to be the absolute perfect combination of big bustling cities and quiet (semi) secluded beaches. There are thoroughly modern cities like Hong Kong and ports like Lembar, Indonesia that might require a bit of time travel to reach them safely.

Hong Kong
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Phuket, Thailand
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Colombo, Sri Lanka
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Goa, India
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Plus, can you imagine living in the lap of luxury for 32 full days? What if I threw in a few sea sick patches? Then is it sounding better? The cruise ship, the ms Amsterdam, holds about 1300 people but boasts a crew of more than 600. I kinda like those odds. While I haven’t traveled on the Amsterdam, I did get acquainted with her sister five years ago. I can assure you that the ms Westerdam was one bad broad. I'm guessing the family resemblance will suit me just fine. I hope so, because looking at the itinerary there are several days at sea. And I don’t want to be eating, lounging, reading, eating, spending quality time with the hubby, eating some more and otherwise laying around like a lazy bum on a ship that is less than top of the line. Can you blame me?

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Alright, so who’s coming with us?

I'm incredibly grateful to Angela for opening up this guest posting opportunity. Thank you, thank you, thank you, friend. Not only has it given me a chance to day dream a bit, it’s given me a reason to be excited about the budget discussions on the table with the hubby next week. When there’s something THIS AMAZING to look forward to, I'm willing to cut a few more coupons and scrimp and save where necessary. To see if I'm still excited after the budget discussions, come by and visit my blog A Foreign Land.

Until then, Bon Voyage!

The Joy of Books

Janine and I are literary kindred spirits--every time she talks about the books that she's read and enjoyed recently, the list is either chock-full of books I've also adored or I'm sent scurrying to Amazon to research and add new titles to my "to read" list.  That said, I'm so glad she chose to write on this topic as reading and traveling always go hand in hand in my journeys.

While Angela is away on her amazing European adventure, I’m thrilled to be doing a guest spot. Let me introduce myself first: I’m Janine and I blog over at Garden State Prep. I can talk about books for hours, so I thought this was a perfect time to connect two of my favorite things: books and traveling.

One of my favorite parts about going on a trip is the anticipation and preparation involved before you even get in the car or on the train. It’s the giddy thrill of picking out a book (or two) to accompany you through airport security, get tossed in your bag when you arrive at your destination and maybe pulled out in the quiet hours of the morning when you’re drinking your first coffee and waiting for the rest of the world to wake up. I’m very particular about my vacation reading: for me traveling represents at least a few hours of uninterrupted quiet reading time. Usually I take a new to me book – it doesn’t have to be brand new from the store but it usually is something I haven’t read yet.

I have two criteria for a vacation book: it needs to be long enough to get me through at least one leg of the trip, and it needs to have an interesting premise. Several years ago I took a business trip to Vancouver from the East Coast and knew that I would have many hours of downtime in airports due to the way the flights were booked, so I took the largest book I could find (The Chronicles of Narnia). It was one of the best reading decisions because I ended up spending over eight hours stuck in Chicago due to inclement weather. By the time I came home, I had read five of the books.

On some trips I make bad reading decisions and a book that I thought would be great turns out to be so-so or plain awful. Those are the times when I need to go exploring and find a bookstore. One of my favorite book buying trips was in Rome when I realized the night before going home that I had fifty pages left in my novel and a six hour flight ahead of me. So armed with my pocket Italian dictionary and one of my friends, I set off in search of an English book in one of the most beautiful cities I’ve ever visited. We traveled several blocks, across a bridge and had turned down a non-descript Italian street when my friend grabbed my arm. In the window beside her was a pile of books, all with English titles.

We entered the bookshop and it was like stepping into my dream bookstore. There were piles of books stacked haphazardly on tables, shelves that stretched to the ceiling, wooden ladders waiting to transport you from the floor to the book of your choice. The owner was a lovely older gentleman who forgave my elementary French and even more pitiful Italian, and conversed with us in English. He asked me a few questions about the types of books I enjoyed and what I was looking for. I don’t remember what titles I told him about, but a few minutes later he returned with three books in his hands. One was Three Junes by Julia Glass, the other was Scandal: A Scurrilous History of Gossip. Unfortunately I don’t remember what the third was, but I bought the other two titles. I started reading Three Junes on the flight home and despite being exhausted, kept reading for most of the flights.

It’s been seven years and I still have the bookmark that I got in Rome from the bookstore. It’s a simple piece of cream cardboard with maroon type but it reminds me of the magic of finding a book when you’re away from home. Each time I re-read the book I’m reminded of that evening trip through neighborhoods and unfamiliar streets, I remember crossing the bridge in the shadowy evening, laughing with my friend about what a ridiculous errand we were on, and standing inside a bookstore that was more wonderful than any big box store back home could be.

Recently I came across this quote in Inkheart by Cornelia Funke: "If you take a book with you on a journey...an odd thing happens: The book begins collecting your memories. And forever after you have only to open that book to be back where you first read it. It will all come into your mind with the very first words: the sights you saw in that place, what it smelled like, the ice cream you ate while you were reading it...yes, books are like flypaper--memories cling to the printed page better than anything else." What a marvelous and wonderful thought!

5 Travel Photography Tips

Today Melissa, of New Girl on Post fame, is sharing some of the tips that help her produce her absolutely stunning photographs.  Colby is definitely the photographer in our little family, but I've been trying to improve my composition and photo-taking skillz.  This is the perfect post to help me become a photo ninja  on our vacation and overwhelm Colby with my far superior photography prowess.  Not that it's a competition or anything...

First of all, I just wanted to say a big thank you to Angela for so graciously letting me be a guest blogger while she's gone on her big adventure. It's always fun to guest blog for someone whose blog you really enjoy reading.

I knew I wanted to use my guest blog to talk about travel, but I was a bit stuck on what I wanted part of travel I wanted to talk about. Dream vacation? My favorite places? Travel tips? Finally I decided that I'd combine my love of photography with my love of travel in one post.

Here is my list of tips for Travel Photography:

1. Before you travel, do a Google image search or search on Flickr for some images of the city you are traveling to. If there are famous landmarks there, such as the Eiffel Tower, Big Ben, etc... Look up those too. Take note of what some of your favorite angles are in the pictures and try to find some out of the way places in the city you didn't know about to go take pictures in.

2. With a famous landmark, many peoples' pictures end up looking the same. Look for an interesting angle or position that not many other people have thought of.

3. If you plan on taking night shots, take a tripod. Trust me on this one. Your night shots will be ten times better if you just use a tripod. No, it doesn't have to be a fancy schmancy one either. Mine came from Wal-Mart and it works just fine. My tripod helps get me blur-free shots like this one:

4. Although capturing landscapes is important when you travel, don't forget to take pictures of the people too. I always find it interesting to look at travel photos of people, especially in the more remote locations of the world. It gives me a better understanding of what it's like to travel there.

5. Take pictures of the little details, sometimes those end up being your most interesting shots. Don't forget to shoot your hotel room, plates of food you order, modes of transportation, street signs, window displays and the other day to day things that make a city or area what it is.

I hope these tips help the next time you travel!

Honeymoons Are the Best Kind of Moons

Wheee!  Wedding planning based guest post, I'm so excited!  My recommendation is that you pack me in your suitcase where ever you decide to go.  But for real, I'm with you, Supergirl, The Bachelorette is far more compelling than seating arrangements, reception music, and writing deposit checks!

Hello readers of Tomorrow is Another Day! I’m so excited to guest post while Angela enjoys her spontaneously fabulous vacation. I’ve been following Angela since I was just a wee blogger and she was one of the first bloggers to actually respond to my comment with a personal e-mail. I’ve loved her ever since. When I’m not reading her stuff, I’m working on my own poorly-updated blog over at Secretly Supergirl. So! Onward with the guest posting!

According to theknot.com, I’m getting married in 8 months and a handful of days. I’m really not stressed about the event, mostly because 8 months seems like it’s kind of a ways away. And I’ve had other more pressing concerns, like who Ashley was going to pick on The Bachelorette.

Yet, at every turn I’m being bombarded with ridiculous wedding questions about showers, rehearsal dinners, and attire. None of which I really have sorted out, most of which I don’t care to sort out just yet.

Lately, a new question has entered the forefront: “Where are you going on your honeymoon?”

My fiancé and I enjoy travelling. We’ve been to D.C., Baltimore, Boston, New York City, and Cabo together. He’s traveled Europe extensively and I spend two weeks in Italy before I met him.

So, we’re looking forward to the vacation. But neither of us can really decide where to go. That’s where you come in! Maybe we can come to some sort of resolution and this can be one less question I don’t have the answer with an “I don’t know” or an “I haven’t thought about it yet” or my usual silent response “leave me the bleep alone!” Things to keep in mind:

• The wedding is in mid-April; the honeymoon will directly follow
• I like warm weather (no Antarctic cruises for me, thankyouverymuch)
• There really isn’t a budget yet, but ya know, we don’t want to go broke or anything

Some options currently floating in the ether:

Option 1: Tahiti/Fiji/Bora Bora (Maybe those are all the same, I don’t really know. But they sound cool.)

I get a weekly travel e-mail with deals. Fairly regularly there are deals to these exotic locales. Between those and the last season of The Bachelorette, I’m kind of itching to go live in a cabana over the ocean for a week. But, I won’t see deals for April 2012 until, like, December or January. And what if the deals just cease to exist?

Option 2: A stint in Spain and France

The fiancé has a ridonkulous amount of Marriott points saved, and I found this fabulous resort in Southern Spain that his points would cover. (Editor's Note: Um, I want to go to there!) We could spend a few days there, enjoying a beach vacation but still feeling adventurous in Spain. We could maybe even jaunt up to Paris for a day or two at the end of the trip for some more traditional sightseeing. But, I don’t imagine Southern Spain is really beach-goer worthy in April with average highs of only 68 degrees. Plus, is it worth going to Spain only to lie on a beach?

Option 3: Caribbean

A cheaper alternative to the South Pacific, but where should we go? When we went to Cabo, we got an awesome deal for a 4-diamond resort. I don’t know what could compare. Fiance’s Marriott points could come into play again, as there are a few in some of these spots, but they wouldn’t be all inclusive and none are speaking to me. We’d like to avoid Mexico if possible (been there, done that), but places like the Bahamas, Aruba, Virgin Islands, and the Dominican all spring to mind.

Option 4: Greece

This last option is one of the few countries neither of us has been and both want to see. But, this option would be a decidedly more intense vacation than laying on a beach somewhere. It’d involve sightseeing, foreign languages, and lots of walking. I’m not sure if the thing I want to do immediately following a long year of wedding planning is to get out my fanny pack and old lady shoes to tour ancient ruins with a pocket translator.

So, what do you think? Where would you spend a few nights post-wedding?

The Notification

I am so grateful that Karen chose to share this incredibly moving story as her guest post.  I think in many ways over the past decade, we've become desensitized to the realities of war and caught up in the politics.  This is a very timely reminder, especially in light of the recent casualties in Afghanistan.

Hi everybody! My name is Karen and I blog over at My Goal is Simple. I have been reading Tomorrow is Another Day for quite some time now and really appreciate Angela's open and frank nature of writing. For my guest post, I thought I would write about the day that changed my perspective and the day that I will never forget. Never.

You see, during our time at Ft. Drum, NY, my husband (Clay) was assigned to 3rd Squadron, 71st Cavalry Regiment. The unit was our family for over three years and we still regularly keep in contact with many people associated with 3-71 Cav, past and present. His first deployment was particularly difficult - filled with casualties, hardship, and 16-months of (pretty much) hell. The focus was on Iraq and the war was taking a turn for the worse in Afghanistan, without much notice from the media. In fact, I often heard, "at least he isn't in Iraq" when people would find out Clay was in Afghanistan. I admit that during his first couple of months in country, there was a false sense of security. After all, it wasn't Iraq...right?

Everything changed on May 5, 2006.

Everything changed that day. That is when a CH-47 Chinook helicopter crashed in the Kunar Province. Ten soldiers were killed, including four members of the 3-71 Cav. On board was 3-71 Cav.'s Battalion Commander, Lt. Col. Joseph Fenty, Spc. Justin O'Donohoe, Spc. David Timmons, and Pfc. Brian Moquin. You can read more about the crash at The New York Times.

Fear.

I turned on the news (like always) around 9am on Saturday morning (May 6, 2006). CNN reported that there was a helicopter crash in the Kunar province and referenced the location on a map. My stomach immediately sank, because I knew that was the area where Clay and other members of the unit were located. And it wasn't unusual for Clay to be in a Chinook on any given day. Lost and unable to make sense of what I was feeling, I posted on an online military support forum I belonged to about how the FRG (Family Readiness Group) notifies spouses and families about an incident involving the unit. I think I just knew. I knew that our unit was involved in some shape or form. I called both my parents and Clay's parents to tell them about my concern.

Confirmation of my suspicion came around 10am that morning. I answered the phone - shaking because I was afraid of what I was going to hear. [Please note - what happened next is NOT military protocol. Because of the nature of the crash and the fact that the Battalion Commander was killed, the script and call chain got off track.] I immediately recognized the voice of the key caller for our company and asked her if it was our unit. I am paraphrasing the response - I was told that there was an incident involving our unit, bodies were still being identified, and the Casualty Notification Officers would be making the rounds once identification was confirmed.

I remember very little about the rest of the day. I watched the news. Foolishly hoping to catch a glimpse of Clay, if anything, to prove he was alive. I prayed. I cried. I listened for the slam of a car door. For the knock on the door. I had no idea if my husband was dead or alive. I kept in contact with friends whose husbands were in the same unit but a different company - they didn't receive the same phone call I did. I answered calls from Clay's parents and his sisters. My parents kept calling to check in on me and priced airline tickets in case they had to fly up because, well - you know.

The day went on and I didn't hear from Clay, the FRG, or worse. I'm not sure how I fell asleep on Saturday night but I did. I woke up Sunday morning and got ready for church because I didn't want to be at home any more, jumping at the sound of footprints. The phone rang around 9am, just as I was putting my earrings on. I was told that all the bodies were identified and the next of kin had been notified. I was also told that a briefing about the incident would be at 12pm on post.

This meant Clay was alive. Nobody ever came to the door. He wasn't onboard. I can't recall a time that I ever cried harder than I did that morning. I made phone calls. And then I went to church. I thought about the families that did hear the car door, the footsteps, the knock. At this point, I still had no idea who was onboard the helicopter or whether other units were involved.

I went to the briefing at 12pm at the post chapel. The atmosphere was heavy. The Rear-D commander had tears in his eyes when he stepped up to the podium. We immediately fell silent - desperately wanting any shred of information about our husbands. He read from a piece of paper. His voice cracked as he began saying the names of the fallen - the men that were alive a mere 24 hours earlier. And then emotion overcame his voice as he read the last name - Lt. Col. Fenty. Disbelief spread like wildfire in the chapel...the commander was killed in action?

He was the man that stood up front during the Pre-Deployment Brief and explained the mission. He told us he was going to do everything in his power to ensure that our soldiers came home. He was the man whose wife just gave birth to their daughter the month before. He was the man to whom Clay looked up and proudly served under. And he was the man who was killed in action on May 5, 2006, along with nine other soldiers.

Monday morning.

My cell phone rang Monday morning on my way to work. "Unknown" popped up on the screen, meaning there was a 98% chance it was Clay. I can't remember the last time I heard his voice prior to the phone call and it was the first contact since the crash - the communication blackout had been lifted. I wish I could recall more about that conversation but I can't. Just glimpses of "I love yous" and periods of silence, for we didn't know what to say. I told him I thought he was dead. He didn't know how to respond. I didn't know how to respond. I blinked back tears. The phone call lasted less than 10 minutes and then he had to go.

I will never forget that feeling.

There were more deaths in the unit during the deployment. More notification phone calls. More memorial services. But just like many other firsts, I will never forget my first notification phone call. And I will never, ever forget how I felt that day, waiting for word whether Clay was dead or alive.

Remembering.

Furthermore and more importantly, I will never, ever forget the brave men of 3rd Squadron, 71st Cavalry Regiment who lost their lives during that treacherous 16-month deployment - Lt. Col. Joseph Fenty, Spc. Justin O'Donohoe, Spc. David Timmons, Pfc. Brian Moquin, SFC Jared Monti (Medal of Honor recipient), Staff Sgt. Patrick Lybert, Spc. Brian Bradbury, and 1Lt. Ben Keating. I am thinking of them and their families today. And I will continue to think of them for the rest of my life. I will never forget.

Perspective.

Clay and I talk often about that deployment. We talk about Lt. Col. Fenty and Lt. Ben Keating a lot. We also talk about the others too. Talking helps. Our vastly different experiences during those 16 months have shaped who we are today and the couple we have become. Same with this past deployment . Our bond is unbreakable. Little insignificant quibbles mean nothing, especially when I think back to that day. Knowing that Clay is alive and well is enough to make me forget about a silly little sock on the floor or shaving cream on the counter. The military can be a dangerous game for marriages and many do not survive. But those that do are incredibly strong and woven with lessons that typically can't be learned in regular life.

Articles.

If you wish to learn more about the mission during that particular deployment, here are a couple of interesting articles featuring 3-71 Cav...

Watching Afghanistan Fall (Salon)

US Forces Push Further Into Afghanistan

Northeastern Afghanistan Base Dedicated to Fallen Spartan Leader

Leading Your Unit Through Reset (features a picture of Clay) 

So if you made it this far, thank you for reading. I love any and all discussion so please feel free to comment here or over at my blog. Hope to see you there!

Have you experienced a day that changed your perspective? Was it war related?

Super Extraterrestrial Sisters

This is my little sister, Brittany.  She's also my best friend--turns out my parents were right about that even back when we were young and swearing we'd never talk to each other AGAIN FOR REAL THIS TIME on a weekly basis.  She recently started a blog about her journey toward a healthier, more balanced lifestyle over at There and Back Again.

When I was approximately 5-years-old my sister told me I was a boy from Jupiter.

That may, in fact, be one of the defining moments of my life.

I in no way, shape, or form think that I am a boy. Nor do I think I'm from Jupiter. But... it's the fact that I trusted her SO MUCH that she had me totally convinced that I was a boy. And from Jupiter. I mean... wow. 5 year olds aren't dumb. I have encountered many of them, and I am always shocked at how much they are like adults. Except tiny.

I remember running to my mother and sobbing. We had a rule in my house. No tattle telling unless there was blood. But, from what I can remember, this was outside of the rulebook. I HAD to make sure I was not a boy from Jupiter. Of course, my mother reassured me that she remembered my exit from her womb and that nothing Mulder or Scully would have been interested in happened during her pregnancy or my birth.

She and I have always had a struggle of the wills (my sister... not my mother). Be it my fake crying her into playing Barbies with me, or beating her into submission with a baton. Or maybe sitting on her until she allowed me to play what I wanted to play on the computer. Or her... well... Her methods were always much more elusive and psychological. Winding me up into a hyper-active state so that I got into trouble for being too loud. Or scaring me so much that I screamed terrifying blood curdling screams and got in trouble... well... you can imagine that we were a fair match for one another.

And yet... the older we get... the more I realize that I couldn't have asked for a better human to grow up with. We were perfect rivals, yet we were also a perfect match. I was the outgoing, friendly loud one, and she was the intelligent, quiet, thoughtful one. But... I often wonder. If I didn't have her to drive me in my life, what would I be like? See, when she told me I was a boy from Jupiter, I believed her. No doubt. Pure belief. And to this day, when I don't know what to do with myself, I don't call my mom (although I love her very much and totally trust her), I call my sister. Opposites attract. She drives me. And I can only hope that I drive her.

Case in point: I was never a runner. Well, I retract that. As I child, I ran EVERYWHERE. I never walked. But the older I got, that faded. And by the time I reached adulthood, running was the worst possible thing I could imagine doing. Now I can run 4 miles and am training for more.  I'm not bragging on myself (ok, maybe a little), but without my sister, I would never have run a lick. Seriously... running for 3 minutes was pure torture when I first started "training". She was the one who ran a 10K this year... and we may potentially run a half marathon together in February... something that I would have NEVER considered a year ago. Heck, 5 months ago. Without her... I wouldn't have realized that potential in myself.

My grades in school were only as good as they were because I wanted to prove that I was just as smart as my super smart sister who didn't HAVE to prove that she was smart. I've always had to prove that I was just as good as she was. Because, y'all, my sister is awesome.

This year we went to Disney World as a family... and I had this sudden realization. We aren't kids any more. I'm 26. She's 28. We are adults (I have no idea why it took me until the age of 26 to realize this). And on this family vacation... we didn't fight... not at all. And I started to wonder if maybe she had been replaced with my real sister from Jupiter.

I don't know... maybe every little sister feels that way about her big sister... but... I really feel like we have something special. I have never been so traumatized, loved, or tortured by such a person as my sister Angela.

Also... without her... I may never have appreciated the X-Files. All the seasons are available on Netflix. And y'all... Tooms is just as scary as I remember him being when I was 8 years old.

For the Love of Charleston

Today's blogger is the lovely Dana from Really, What Were We Thinking?  And her post made me miss Charleston before I've even had a chance to leave it!

When Angela put out a call for guest bloggers during her vacation, I felt like I had been handed a gift.

I spent three wonderful years living in the Charleston area and I have missed it every day. I am always amazed by how much just being in the lowcountry revives my soul. The heat, the humidity, & the smell of the salt marsh are all part of me. It’s been almost 10 years since I left Charleston, which has given me ample opportunities to reminisce about her. However, I’ve never committed my best memories of Charleston to paper, or in this case, the internet.

So, here you go, in no particular order, some of my favorite things about where the Ashley & the Cuppah rivahs meet to form the Atlantic Ocean…

1 – the smell – I am NOT referring to the hot horse pee smell S.O.B. (South of Broad) during the summer. I’m talking about the smell of the salt marsh. I love it. It smells like life. Did you know the saltmarsh is a fully self-sustaining ecosystem? Pretty awesome, eh? Think about that the next time you think pluff mud stinks.

2 – the people – Charleston natives are some crazy people. Crazy in a fun “OMG are you for real?” possibly drunk kind of way. I had to do a lot of genealogical research for a job in Charleston and, well, the S.O.B. tree doesn’t have a lot of branches and I think that adds to the charm of local blue-bloods.The city itself is actually quite cosmopolitan. I met people from all over the world while living and working there. My best friend was a born & bred Long Islander who loves the city as much as I do.

3 – the food – Shrimp, grits, blue crabs, grits, shrimp, she-crab soup, grits, shrimp --- You can probably see where that is going, huh? I’ve never had she-crab soup as good as ANY place in the Charleston area. Sure, there are imitators but they never live up to snuff. If you don’t like fresh seafood and smooth, creamy grits, I don’t know what to tell you.

4 – the outdoor activities – I worked for the Charleston County Park & Recreation Commission and if you live in Charleston County and are not taking advantage of this excellent park system, you need to fix that RIGHT NOW! Visit Caw Caw Interpretive Center in Ravenel. It’s awesome for birding, canoeing,and learning about the history of the area. It’s not as far away as it seems and it’s a nice oasis if you are tired of the crazy possibly drunk drivers and crowded streets. The big festivals and concerts at James Island County Park are worth it. I also love the beaches. Sullivan’s Island has always been my favorite, but Folly & Isle of Palms were a lot of fun, too.

5 – the walkability of downtown – There is so much to do in such a small area. Downtown Charleston is really tiny and crowded. It was a pain to drive around & park when I had a little old Volkswagen Fox. However, it is a great little city to see on foot. You can park and walk to almost any type of shop, bar, restaurant, clothier, or bank you want to see! You are never at a loss for something to find (and buy). We’ve been hard pressed to find cities that compare to Charleston in this respect, especially on the East Coast.

What are your favorite things about Charleston or your favorite city? Have you taken the time to be a tourist in your own town?

Community

I've been writing this blog for just shy of six years now, definitely one of the longest running commitments of my life.  Over the past couple of weeks, I've been going through my archives--starting with my very first post--and cleaning up formatting issues and broken pictures/links.  It has been so much fun seeing how my voice, personality, and life has developed over time.  And it has really driven home just how huge a part of my life this little corner of the internet has become.

I'm so lucky that I've also found such wonderful people to share this space with.  I've never participated in blog conferences or meet-ups, but still I've managed to forge some pretty great friendships just through the written word.  Of course, there's also a turd-bucket or two that pops up from time to time, but it's so worth it as for each troll that finds their way out of their cave, there are so many awesome people who take a little time out of their day to keep up with my world and support me.

On Tuesday, I was lucky enough to finally meet one of those fabulous people.  The adorable, absolutely glowing, Jen, of Operation Pink Herring fame, and her husband, came to Charleston for a few days and they were sweet enough to invite little ol' me to crash their babymoon and have lunch at one of my fave restaurants, 82 Queen.  Jen is one of my oldest readers--I really can't remember how we ran across each other, who found who first, or how long we've been voyeurs in one another's life, but I know it's been years.

When I was crossing the street from the parking garage, I spotted her through the front window of the restaurant, and it was so surreal, as though the internet had suddenly come to life.  The first thing out of my mouth was, "Oh my gosh, you look exactly like what you look like!"  Hopefully my conversation grew slightly more stimulating after that opening line, but I had a great time talking gators, humidity, babies, and real estate with the fantastic Herring family.  I'm kicking myself hard for forgetting to take a picture, but Jen, that just means you have to come back to visit again!

On a loosely related note, I'll be ditching blogland from mid to late August when we'll be travelling either overseas, or in the event that we don't get on a military hop, up the East coast for a few weeks.  During that time, I'd really like to have some guest bloggers.  I know I talked about having guest bloggers when I went on vacation in December and never got around to organizing it, but I really mean it this time!  

I want to open it up to any volunteers first.  You're welcome to write about absolutely anything your little heart desires, but if you want a writing prompt you could write about your dream vacation--either one you've already taken or one that you want to take.  All I ask is that you let me know in the comments that you'd like to write a post, and then email it to me by August 10th so I can get them all scheduled.  Sound good?

Coolcoolcool.

Helloooo... Housekeeping!

Okay, so a few things, y'all!

1) One of my most devoted readers... my mother... mentioned a little while ago that she was having trouble commenting here on the old bloggeroo.  We determined that the problem was that she wasn't entering a URL into the corresponding field, so she just started entering one of my dad's websites.  Now, the thing is, you really shouldn't have to enter a URL to comment.  So, is anyone else out there having this problem?  If so, please let me know and I'll work on getting to the bottom to it.  If you can't comment, you can email me at AngelaNoelle1982 (at) gmail (dot) com.

2) This one goes out to all of my Facebook peeps.  Thank you all so much for reading about my silly little life--I think it's awesome that so many in real life pals read and comment and email me about what they see here.  However, I'm trying to work through a few kinks on my Facebook blog page, and once I get things fixed, I'll no longer be feeding my blog posts through my personal page, but ONLY through the blog page.  If you still want to know when I've updated, you can either "like" the Facebook page or add this site to a feed reader, such as Google Reader that will update automatically.  I have so many great friends who have "liked" the blog, and as things stand, they get an influx of stories in their newsfeed about new posts, so I'd like to limit it to just one per post!  I'm hoping to have this switch made by next week, but I'll let you all know will actually be the last post to update on my personal page.

3) And finally, today I am guest posting over at Uncorked and Unwined.  Please go check it out and maybe leave a comment so I don't feel like the awkward new kid at school!

You know how some people have a dream job when they're small?  Something that drives them their entire life toward greater accomplishments?  Well, I've never really had that kind of ambition.  When I was little, I wanted to be a ballerina.  Things didn't really work out in that direction once I dropped out of ballet class at age 9.  Then when I got older, I wanted to be a psychologist.  Until I found out you had to take a Stats class in college.  Nixed!  My lifelong ambition has been to live overseas.  And once I joined the military, then married a fellow military man, that dream became more focused on moving to Germany.
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Back In the Saddle Again

Well, Typepad just charged my credit card for the next year of blogging, so I figured I should probably actually use it.  I've been back home in Charleston since last Tuesday, but my sister was in town through Saturday and I took the weekend to regroup and recover from the post-whirlwind slump.

I left my camera at my parents' house like a big dummy, so the recap of the past few weeks will have to wait, but suffice it to say, all of my adventures were exactly as awesome and exactly as exhausting as I was expecting.  I feel so lucky to have such amazing friends and family, and even more lucky that I have the time and means to visit them and see so much of the country in such a small amount of time.

Saturday I spent glued to the sofa, working my way slowly through the epic DVR queue I managed to accumulate by going on vacation at the peak of the Fall/Summer television overlap.  Then yesterday, I put on my Sunday best and headed downtown to see the Charleston Ballet Theatre's production of Alice in Wonderland and found a new favorite restaurant.  I've been searching for delicious gnocchi in the US since our honeymoon in Italy, and I FINALLY found it at Muse, an old Charleston single house that's been converted into a restaurant and wine bar  My mouth is watering just thinking about it, and lucky for me, I have leftovers waiting for me in the refrigerator.

Looking forward, things are going to slow down for the next couple of weeks, but then, sometime during the first week of November COLBY IS COMING HOME!!!  We'll have two whole weeks where he won't have to go to work or even think about the Air Force, then, just two short weeks after that, we'll be zipping off for our international adventure in the Mediterranean!

I've been slooooowly working my way through my Google Reader and can't wait to hear what kinds of excitement y'all have been up to over the past few weeks.  Also, on the business end of things, if anyone would be interested in guest posting in December while I'm floating around in a giant boat that will hopefully feel exactly the same as a hotel on dry land, let me know.

Nothing to See Here...

... But if you check out the Hindsight Letters, you may recognize today's guest star:

Dear me at 13:

Let me begin by saying, stop stressing about your boobs.  They’re never going to get any bigger, so let’s just move on.  (Also, that kleenex in your bra is totally obvious and so very overdone, I’m cringing at how cliché you are.)  On the positive side, you’re going to discover makeup soon, and after an unfortunate tarantula eye phase, I think you’ll be quite pleased with the outcome!

For the rest of my letter to myself, click on over to the Hindsight Letters and read all about my post-traumatic trip down memory lane.

The Great Blog Swap--Cleveland's A Plum

well hello there! this is alexa from cleveland's a plum! and you are reading this little post of mine over on angela's blog due to the GREAT blog swap of 2008 that was put together for 20 something bloggers, go us.

angela will also be posting on my site so be sure to check it out!

so, onto the post. i know you all don't know me that well over here so what a better way to get to know me by letting you in on a little secret.

i hate birds. there i said it.

phew, i feel better already. birds are the rats of the sky. the dirty dirty rats of the sky.

well maybe not flamingos, they don't really fly. oh well, you get my point.

i have had a long history of birds attacking me. no joke.

they just always seem to find their way into my life. when i was in college we had a bird problem with them coming into the house through the chimney and it would always be me that would find the bird fluttering around or even worse, dead. this has happened about 5 times.

i have also been driving and a crazed bird has slammed into my car window, twice!

i mean what is up with that?!??! you'd be scared of birds too if you were me.

i'm like a walking tippi hedron from "the birds"
to make things even worse i'm currently trapped in my apartment. trapped.

there is a wild monstrosity of a bird currently circling around in my hallway.

well, it maybe just a sparrow but it scares the bejesus out of me.

i am sitting on my chair and i can hear it chirping outside my door and wings flapping around helplessly. what's a girl to do?

well i'm going to call my neighbor and makes her and her dog shoo the bird towards an outside door/window because even though i may be terrified of birds i don't want them to be trapped.

now i'm not sure how the bird will end up getting outside but i do know that i will be safely inside my apartment when it does.

no bird is going to dive bomb my head today : )

In which I totally bore Angela's readers to death

I'd like to think Angela saved the best for last, but let's face it, she was probably thinking something like, "By now people are DYING for me to get back and no one will even CARE about a guest blogger so that's a GREAT day to stash Maggie." And good thing too, because I had a Traumatizing Experience last evening and I'm not sure I can really do Angela's website justice

(Among the many other reasons I am not able to do Angela's website justice: not blond, not skinny, owns exactly one pair of high heel shoes, I KNOW, why does she even SPEAK TO ME?)

So anyway. I am an IT Widow. Are there any of you out there? Raise your hands! Throw dirty looks at The IT Man! The IT Man required my husband's presence until very late last night, so I was in charge of our almost-one-year-old from wake up till bedtime. Can I just say that is a long time?

But! I managed quite successfully! He ate his breakfast, he took his bath, he napped like a good boy. We went out to lunch with a our friend to celebrate her Due Date Day (Unsolicited Advice: Always have something fun planned for your due date so you are not stuck at home poking your stomach and pleading with the baby to come out already). Then the boy napped a loooong time (I think to make up for all the nap whining I've done lately), we had dinner, we played Make The Coaster Fall Off Of Your Head and Chase The Baby Away From The Bookshelves, and then it was time for bed. Yay! Even bedtime, usually my husband's job, was a piece of cake. I decided to reward myself with my remote control and my couch.

And you know how when you are all alone with your beloved TiVo your stomach starts to rumble? Just a tiny bit? For me it usually sounds something like, "FEED ME ICE CREAM". I have a very hard time ignoring the call of a rumbly stomach (see: not skinny), but I don't even TRY when I'm pregnant! Oh yeah! There's another baby on the way. Pregnancy = Ice Cream Free Pass!

Off I go to fetch the vat of ice cream in my freezer when I have a moment of Conscience. "Self," it says, "I believe you already HAD some ice cream today." (Shamefully, this is true. But! Pregnant!) "Self," it continues, "I believe there is a bag of grapes in your refrigerator. Why don't you snack on THOSE?"

Sighing loudly so my conscience would know I was Not Pleased, I pulled the grapes out of the fridge and started rinsing them off in the sink. It was a huge clump of grapes and I like to cut the vine into smaller chunks, so I reached for the scissors and (CAN YOU SEE WHERE THIS IS GOING?) in my sadness over giving up ice cream and my bleariness from watching the baby all day and my general unfortunate clumsiness, I sliced off about 47 layers of skin from my left pointer fingertip with a pair of SCISSORS.

OWWWWIE. Blood! Everywhere! How could a little cut bleed so much? But no, it was not a CUT, it was a MISSING FINGERTIP. I soaked through my makeshift paper towel bandage in 30 seconds. Realizing paper towels weren't cutting it (HA! CUTTING IT!) I had to wrap my finger in one of the baby's wash cloths and oh you guys, it hurt. It was a good thing the baby was already in bed because his new thing now is laughing at me when I do something stupid. He would have found this HILARIOUS.

Of course, then my husband had to call me right that second and I took the opportunity to blame The IT Man for my injury. And my husband was very worried until he ascertained that no, I did not need stitches and yes, I was being my melodramatic self.

So NOW what am I going to do? My finger looks like this:

Bad Things About A Bum Finger
Can't give the baby a bath
Can't wash hair
Hurts to type
Seriously slows down blog posting
Can't wash dishes

Good Things About A Bum Finger
Can't wash dishes
HELP! WHAT ELSE?

Salad Days

Hello and happy April 17!  This would be Angela's wee little sister, Brittany, blogging on her behalf while she winds down her romp through bella Italia.  I must admit, at first I questioned Angela's judgment in allowing me to guest blog.  I've known Angela for most of her life--the two years before I was born and the first few years I was unaware of her as a real person notwithstanding.  (Do babies understand the concept of sisters or other humans as anything other than a food source?  I doubt it.)  Our relationship has always been rather... tumultuous... if you will.  She's blogged about it before (which I would cleverly link here now but don't know how, so instead I will just give a brief synopsis).  Basically, for as long as I can remember, I've never had a better friend or a greater enemy in my sister.  We have fought almost to the death to only wind up laughing hysterically moments later.  As I'm sure you would guess, I have a lot of dirt on her, so when she first asked me to blog I was rather surprised. 

However, I have decided that I will be:

Plus, there's absolutely nothing bad about Angela.  She is, as I'm sure you all imagine, practically perfect in every way.

It's no surprise to me that Angela is a fabulous writer.  It's funny how true it is that hindsight is 20/20.  I look at who and what she and I have become, and I think how glaringly obvious it must have been when we were little that we would end up here.  It wasn't obvious then, though, it's just obvious in hindsight.  Capiche?

When we were little girls, you could usually find Angela curled up on the couch with a good book.  Well, not BOOK--more like NOVEL. You know, nine year old Angela devouring Wuthering Heights or Gone With the Wind like it was a Judy Bloom story.  Most of the time, though, I would interrupt her and beg her to play Barbie's with me, because NO ONE played Barbie's like Angela and I did, making it one of my very favorite past times.  Typically, we would sit down with all of our dolls, get them all dressed up, and then name them--first, middle, and last names, of course.  The last name was usually some sort of Italian food, like Spaghetti or Cannelloni.  Next came the character autobiographies, as we would carefully detail all of their past histories. 

ie  Peaches and Cream Barbie (now renamed "Christiana Vanessa Spaghetti")   
Head Shot:

Resume:  24 years old.  Sent to an orphanage at the age of 13.  Adopted at 15 by the Spaghettis.  Loves to flirt with dashing men and go shopping.  Scared of heights.  Suicide threat. 

I kid you not.  We would fight for hours over whose Barbie was going to jump off the roof to her death.  If the other player's Barbie got to attempt suicide, your Barbie had the option of getting pregnant or going to an orphanage.  I mean, really, it's only fair.  Playing Barbie's typically wound up like a season of "Days of Our Lives" or something.

One of my favorite Barbie memories would probably be when we took a large cardboard box and made a proscenium theatre in which our Barbie's could perform Greek tragedies.  As I recall, the stories of Prometheus and Pandora were our favorites, and we would design the set, costumes, and hair, as well as write the script and then perform the play for our fans parents.  This involved tying fishing wire to their arms so we could move them like puppets, of course--giving the illusion that the Barbie's were, in fact, moving on their own accord.  Live theatre at its best.

So is it any surprise that she became an aspiring author and I an aspiring actress?  I think not.  We were born with a flair for the dramatic, and our Barbie Days merely laid the groundwork.  (Some people say Salad Days, I think we call it the Barbie Days.)  Maybe one day we will again collaborate... keep an eye out for a modern day retelling of Prometheus and Pandora.  It will be theatrical gold.

What's Your Beef Wednesday :: The Bachelor Edition

Hi everyone! Michelle & the City here filling in for the lovely Angela. I'm sure you know by now that she's off frolicking overseas with her newly married other half and for that I am beyond jealous. I wanted to write about something that everyone reading could relate to in one way or another. And then I thought of the What's Your Beef Wednesday posts I write occasionally. Perfect. Everyone loves to bitch right?

In particular, I would love to rant about this week's episode of the Bachelor. Even if you're not a fan of the show, feel free to leave any of your own beefs in the comments. The point is to get what's buggin' you off your chest! :)

• Marshana, you really started an all out brawl didn't you? And then you brought it up to Matt right before the rose ceremony? Did you think telling him that you were arguing with the other bachelorettes was going to earn you bonus points?
• Speaking of the fight... Chelsea and Robin had a point. You ARE very negative and it doesn't seem like you really want to be there. Saying things like "Rugby is sooo hard. I'm getting really roughed up" and "These ski boots are sooo tight. I've never donnne this before" prove it. No one else has complained as much as you.
• Chelsea is disgusted by holding hands. Please tell me what is so obscene about that. PDA I can see, some people just don't like showing that much affection in public. But you're HOLDING HANDS not groping each other. Also, I would recommend not calling Matt "buddy" on your next date. Aren't you trying to win his affection? From the looks of it I would think you want to be his new best friend.
• What is the point of having Chris (the host) come out to announce "Ladies, this is the final rose" every time? Hello, we can SEE there's only one left on the tray. I wasn't under the impression that this episode would be any different from the 17,000 before it.
• Shayne is just acting. I can see it. Why can't he?!

Non-Bachelor Related Rant

• When is the weather finally going to make up its mind? Rain/sleet this past weekend. Temperatures in the 30s the past two days, wore my winter coat to work. Today, highs in the 70s. Brighter than sunshine. Whoever controls the weather must be a woman because who else could be so indecisive?! ;)

So tell me (and Angela), what's your beef today?

The More You Know

I'm in! I'm in! Mwahaha! Not to seem all deranged or anything; it's just that I was a little paranoid that I wouldn't be able to log in on my assigned day. I had no reason to worry but that's how I roll.

Anyway, now that I'm here, I want to use this forum to address something that's been bothering me. To be perfectly honest, I haven't given this issue much thought since ... oh, maybe last September, but it's getting to be that time of year again and I think this is an appropriate forum to discuss this.

I'm sure Angela's regular readers are all way too savvy and chic to be regular offenders, but you never know who might wander to this part of teh Intarweb, who might benefit from the advice I'm about to give. Or maybe you know someone who could use a clue, and you've been wondering how to go about broaching the subject. So here goes:

OMG, WTF?! PLEASE FIX YOUR G0DD#*N! FEET IF YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE ME LOOK AT THEM THANK YOU.

For reals. It's hot, and I get that you want to let your feet have some air. From the looks of things, they haven't seen the light of day in YEARS, so it's really commendable that you're giving them yard privileges and all. But could you ... oh, I don't know ... WASH them first? Maybe clip those hawk claws you call toenails? Put on some lotion? (News flash: even the palest white people can look like they've been kicking flour. So now you can't say you "didn't know.")

And ladies, I understand that you found the cutest sandals and you can't wait to show them off, but do you know what is NOT cute? Grody crone talons. Groove lines on your heels that make the Grand Canyon look like a pothole. The fact that your toenails have somehow turned an unpleasant shade of brown and rather than address this problem, you've decided to share it with the world. And you know how flaking polish on your fingernails looks tacky? It's a hundred times worse when it's on your feet.

There. I said it. And I'm glad. If you're offended by this little rant ... well, that just means you probably have gross feet and you know you've been subjecting the world at large to the sight of them. And yes, we could just not look at your nasty feet, but it's like a 12-car pileup or clown sex, really. Like, we're aware that it's an awful fact of life and that it happens, but we never thought it would happen right in front of us, and certainly not right here on the bus. So we look. We must look, so we can commit every awful detail to memory to share with our friends later. Because that's what friends are for.

Also? Friends don't let friends wear socks with open-toed shoes.

Me? Jealous???

Hello people, my name is Girl, Dislocated and I’m here because Angela’s too busy honeymooning in Italia to entertain us with her The Hills recaps, take us through the scientific process of buying shoes, or give us a peak into her witty inner conversations. When I got her very sweet email asking if I would guest blog while she was away, I felt quite underqualified for the job because, as the Asian kid from School of Rock would say, “I’m not cool enough.” Also, I was kind of surprised she wasn’t going to be blogging from Italy, considering she blogged on her freaking WEDDING DAY! But I think I have her figured out: she secretly loves the idea of rubbing it in our faces that she’s cavorting around in Europe, and figured enlisting guest bloggers to remind us of the fact everyday was a more subtle alternative to daily “Guess what I’m doing now?!” posts. I’ll admit I’ve been just as jealous as everyone else over this past week, but I like Angela and really don’t want to have to hate her for being in Italy, even if it is a country I‘ve always wanted to see. With some rational analysis and a little self-deception creativity, I’m pretty sure I can manage to convince myself that I’d be having an awful time if I was in Italy.

No, I totally don’t wish I was in Italy now, considering what a fiasco it would end up being. For one thing, my entire life is an ongoing demonstration of Murphy‘s Law. For another, my body is very sloppily held together. Not to get all DiscoveryHealth on you, but my limbs are constantly popping out of place due to a genetic mutation that affects the connective tissue in my body. To make things a little less fun for me and a little more amusing to spectators, I’m also exceptionally clumsy. This trifecta of chronic bad luck, errant limbs, and clumsiness has landed me in enough odd predicaments that I’ve devoted an entire blog to chronicling them all. To convince myself that a trip to Italy would involve all sorts of international mishaps, all I have to do is look back at my recent stays in Egypt and remember some of the craziness that went down over there. Like the time I was involved in a taxi accident. Or the time I dislocated my shoulder on the 8th floor of an apartment building just in time for the power to go out and the elevators to stop working. Now why would I want to go to Italy and end up having to extricate myself from a mess like that?

But then again, why have such a negative attitude? So my last stay in Egypt wasn’t exactly carefree--who says all of my travel plans have to plagued by the same complications? Is it really all that far-fetched to think that I could vacation in Italy without finding myself in some bizarre dilemma? What if I brought tons of duct tape and medical supplies with me and was extra -- ok, extra extra -- careful? I’ve spent a minute entertaining that possibility and once again being jealous of Angela, but the following figure brought me back to reality:

That’s a map of all the states I’ve ever been to. It also doubles as a map of all the states in which I’ve ever: dislocated something, gone to the ER, been stranded, or experienced any other kind of miscellaneous misadventure. In other words, something has to go wrong wherever I go. As a matter of fact, Colorado is one state I ended up in unintentionally, as a result of one of my mishaps. The only places I saw in Colorado were the inside of an ambulance and the ER of a Denver hospital, which was much more than I’d intended to see of the state. Denver Airport was just supposed to be my layover between flights on my way to CA from NJ, but about half way through the flight to Denver, I dislocated my shoulder during a bout of severe turbulence. I can’t decide which was worse: the embarrassment of being the subject of the “Is there a doctor onboard?” announcement, half the passengers turning around to get a good view of the doctor unsuccessfully trying to pop my arm back in, and being escorted off the plane by police and paramedics, OR, the pain of being tossed around with my arm still hanging out of its socket during the turbulent remainder of the flight and the rough landing.

After the ER doctors knocked me out, put me back together, wrapped me up in a shoulder brace that could double as a straight jacket, and woke me up again, I was given some forms to sign, presumably my discharge instructions (though in my drugged state, they could have handed me my own death certificate to sign and I wouldn’t have known the difference.) I stumbled into a cab that took me back to the airport, and ended up catching a much smoother flight to CA the next day. I landed in Los Angeles with all my limbs exactly where they were at the beginning of the flight, but still couldn’t go home yet because the person who was supposed to pick me up was waiting for me at the wrong airport. All in all, I think it took me about 24 hours to get from NJ to CA.

So do you see what happens when I try to travel??? This is why it’s just as well that while Angela is in Italy doing honeymoon stuff, I’m stuck here in cold, boring New Jersey, with my only diversion being my W2‘s and my 1040. I’m much better off in the “safety” of my own house, really -- just ignore that time I racked up a $4,000 ER bill simply walking across my own living room. Oh, and the time I had to spend 10 hours in the ER just because I sneezed too hard.

Well, Angela, as you can see, I’ve done my best to pretend I'm not insanely jealous of you, and I know you completely deserve these two weeks in Italia, so I don't totally hate you... yet. We'll have to see how I feel when you post all the amazing pictures...

Finally, a place I can dish!

Hi, I'm Lori AKA RisibleGirl, Angela's pretend Internet mommy. It's not official, but in my world- nothing is. She's picked a great bunch of people to guest post for her. They've all done a great job so far. ::claps::

OK, down to business...  Oh, this is so FREEING! A place where I can write about my secret world- reality TV. I’m 48 years old and really shouldn’t be interested in these sorts of things, but I’m nosy by nature, so reality TV is right up my alley.

I dare not post this stuff on my blog because, well, my husband thinks that reality TV is tacky. I’d hate for him to read my blog upon my demise and wonder why he was grieving this tacky woman. I’d prefer him to live in the fantasy world in which he firmly believes that he’ll never find someone as classy (and pretty!) as his dearly departed wife.

Thank you Angela, for giving me this opportunity to let it all out.

First on the docket- Big Brother. While I haven’t gone as far as to subscribe to the 24 hour feeds, I am subscribed to blogs that post the low-down from those feeds morning, noon and night. Nirvana!

Natalie- you poor little thing. I see you as a free spirit that has no idea that the things you do are terribly skanky. When you and Chelsia had the lap-dance fiesta I had to cover my eyes. OK- not really, but I would have if I was your mother. Don’t do that again, honey. It’s not becoming.

While we’re on the topic of Natalie- Matt? Run! Run as fast and far as you can. Have you seen Silence of the Lambs? Remember Buffalo Bill and what he was using for fabric? I’d worry about becoming Natalie’s next bikini. ‘Nuff said.

Adam. I’m sure you’re a nice guy. In fact, I really like how empathetic you’ve become- even with James (who grosses me out for entirely different reasons). That said, you just creep me out. Try not to open your eyes so wide, because I’m super worried that one day your eyeballs are going to fall right out of your head.

There is so much more to write about the BB cast, but I don’t want y’all to go blind from this long post. There’s a lot of reality TV stuff I need to get off my chest.

Now on to American Idol. David Cook? You’re my new Chris Daughtry. I hunted down Chris’ band while he was still on Idol and bought one of their garage band CDs. Thanks to iTunes, I don’t have to be such a sleuth. I’ve downloaded all of your songs to my computer so I can listen to them over and over and over..... OK, I’ve only listened to them once- but like that big bag of dark chocolate M&Ms in the cupboard; it’s nice to know that you’re there if I need you.

Lastly, let’s talk about the ‘ladies’ on The Bachelor. I use the term ladies loosely people.  Good grief, their mamas must be wondering where they went wrong.

I’ll admit- Matt is a doll. If I weren’t married- I’d consider going on the show myself. Well, after I lose about 20 years and 20 lbs.

Let’s just imagine that I wasn’t married and decided to go on the Bachelor. Here’s a few of the things I WOULDN’T do:

• Take off my underwear and give it to someone I’d just met. Heck, I wouldn’t give my underwear to anyone or anything except my duet washer.
• Drink so much that I pass out. Not impressive.
• Follow him around like a little puppy. I’d wait until we were married for that.
• Unbutton my blouse and show him the goods after it becomes obvious that I don’t have anything interesting to say. I’d venture to guess that at this point in my life, ANYTHING I have to say is probably more interesting than looking at ‘the goods’. 

Instead, I’d tie him up; throw him in the trunk of my car; take him home and brainwash him into believing that he’s happy being at my beck and call. I’m sure that he and David Cook would become great friends after they finally accept their lot in life.

Oh wait- I think my thought bubble just popped…

Thanks again Angela, for giving me this opportunity to get all of this off my chest. It feels good to finally write about the things that occupy the tacky side of my brain.

In case BJ asks about my TV habits next time we see you and Colby in person, your answer will be, “I heard she only watches PBS and House”.

There's Something Weird About That Kate Girl . . .

You know those weeks, where you have every intention of being totally awesome . . . and then you get going and you realize the rest of the world isn't cooperating?  Hi, I'm Kate from Walking Kateastrophe and welcome to my life.  This post was SUPPOSED to be written and published last night.  The world didn't check my schedule before double booking me for a night of CRAZY.  Why I even use Outlook is be-YOND me.  World, please start cooperating with my plans.  Thanks. 

Naturally, when Angela so sweetly asked me to be a guest blogger while she was traipsing about Italia (um, anyone besides me sitting at their desk HATING HER RIGHT NOW?!?!  Thought so.) my brain went into panic mode.  It was a little bit like this:

OH NO!  We need people to like us and think we're funny . . . and cool!!  Crap, we already used our funniest story when we guest blogged for Molly a while ago.  Crap, crap, crap.  Um . . .we could talk about the time the Gypsies in Italy stole our identity and my friends all left us to get a new passport in France ALONE while they continued being tourists in Spain.  And how we pray that doesn't happen to Angela.  Or maybe we could talk about the crazy family.  Or the crazy friends.  Or how WE CAN'T DECIDE WHAT THE CRAP WE'RE  GOING TO WRITE ABOUT.

See, um, my brain is sort of like a twelve year ADHD patient who refuses to take her medication.  It's not pretty in there.  Anyone who knows me in real life will tell you that's a true statement.  Last week, I got an email from my sister telling me she wanted to live in my brain for a while because it would be hella fun . . . in an acid trip sort of way.  And I've never touched an illegal drug in my life.

As you can see from the title of my blog, I am sort of a big giant disaster.  I dance fairly well, and do so fairly gracefully, and yet I somehow manage to be one of the klutziest humans alive.  This one time, in modern dance class, I was supposed to "act out" a leaf in a hurricane, right? (Because when you're in modern dance that's JUST WHAT YOU DO)  So I did, and then I thought I'd be all poetic and get to the eye of the storm and collapse due to lack of wind.  So I did, right?  Then I stood up and all the girls started screaming at me because there was blood trickling down my face because I BANGED MY HEAD ON THE FLOOR AND DIDN'T EVEN KNOW IT.  Seriously.  No idea.  I had to go see campus first aid and everything.  I spill, I fall, I crash and burn, I accidentally dip ponytails in paint and then turn my head madly to find out where that paint on the wall is coming from.  It's just sort of a way of life you get used to when there's nothing you can do about it.  Also, it's hereditary because my Mom does it and, as I recently discovered, so does my Grandma.  My daughters are doomed.

Um, where was I?

Wanna go ride bikes?

Oh yeah.  Blogging.  On someone else's blog.  Ummmm . . .

One of my favorite stories I like to call "Beerfest 2007."  You should probably know that I don't drink beer.  The number one reason is that I'm Mormon and that's just not what you do, right?  The second reason, and maybe the more relevant is that beer smells like rotten crap.  I'm pretty sure at some point scientists are going to come out with a study that proves beer is made from manure and that everyone is going to die of e coli.  OK not really but that's what I  think.  I don't know what it tastes like, but judging from the smell, most of the world is crazy for drinking that nastiness.

SO, I had beer in the trunk of my car once.  I had to handle the alcohol for a hospitality suite my company hosts at our trade shows and I  was the only one who drove to the trade show in Vegas.  When we had leftover beer I was asked to drive it back to Phoenix so it wasn't thrown away and wasted.  I didn't have a problem with this until the incident happened. 

My car started to smell like beer the morning after I got home from Vegas, so I figured one of the bottles had leaked and I should take the beer out and check.  I opened my trunk to discover that an ENTIRE SIX PACK had somehow worked their way open and were now all over the trunk of my car.  Isn't it great to think that, had I been pulled over, I might have gotten in trouble for having open alcohol in my car?  The Mormon girl who's never ever had a drink.  Awesome.  Luckily, I didn't get pulled over and the other six pack seemed intact.  I decided it was time to get it OUT of my car, so I grabbed it by the handle and lifted it out of the trunk.  I hadn't taken two steps towards my garage when the bottom fell out of the cardboard carrying case and ALL SIX GLASS BOTTLES shattered on my feet.  My feet that were wearing brand new Michael Kors leather shoes.  Naturally, since the bottles gained some momentum on their journey to ruin my shoes, and so when they shattered, they also splattered, and my entire outfit was covered in beer.

I was SO late to work that day and had a huge important meeting and I truly didn't have time to change.  So I, being the responsible employee that I am, I used the hose in an attempt to wash some of the beer off my clothes, used paper towels, while driving, to attempt to save my shoes and showed up to work like that.  There's nothing like wearing a wet pair of jeans that smell distinctly like Fat Tire.  Also, it's pretty classy to show up at work smelling like you just came from a bar.  Does wonders for your "good girl" reputation, right?  Sheesh.

So there you have it.  A little introduction into my insane life.  I bet you're really wishing Angela was back right about now.  She's so going to regret asking "the crazy girl" to guest post.

Whipped Egg White Obsession

You know, I was sort of hoping I would wake up today a cooler version of me.  I even got up early to allow extra time for something funny to happen so I could write a witty story and everyone would think that all my days must be so eventful (how does Angela do it?!?!?).  Well, if the title's any indication, that most definitely did not happen, so I am going to tell you about eggs.  EGGS!  So interesting!! Right?!?!  Right.....?

But this isn't coming out of nowhere.  To be honest, whipped egg whites are one of my favorite things in the world.  There, I said it.  Judge me as you will (but keep reading)!

As a child and teenager I loved to bake, but looking back I realize it's not baking that I really loved, for I really only made one thing over and over--souffle.  Specifically, it was my late grandmother's friend's chocolate souffle (her name is Anna Lu, isn't that cute?). This chocolate souffle was a normal weeknight treat for my family, prepared by yours truly, and there were plenty of times where the five of us (and I think maybe only four actually ate dessert?) would eat two of these souffles in a night!  It is that good.  And simple. Egg whites are fun to beat. It's a party (at least to me!).

So you see, this is where my Whipped Egg White Obsession started.

I still love the chocolate souffle, but as an adult I'm unable to limit my Whipped Egg White Obsession to desserts--I would like them at every meal, please.  So, abandon your sweeter side, and meet the Puffy Omelet:

   

Lovely, no?  Puffy eggs!! All that cheese!  I have to admit, I am making these like crazy.  Almost faster than I can eat them.  Just like any omelet, fillings and toppings know no bounds, so I have oodles of combinations to make before growing tired of these (if that is even possible!). 

Some of the latest concoctions?  The omelet pictured above was filled with riced cauliflower, crumbled hot sausage, and topped with a heavy layer of mozzarella.

The one below is a bit more fancy.  It's filled with crimini mushrooms, shallot, fresh thyme, lots of black pepper, diced and crisped prosciutto, and that white stuff?  Why, that is oozing blue cheese. Heaven. Though a tiny bit too salty (went overboard on the cheese and prosciutto), this was decadent with a glass of wine, even as cold leftovers!

Some ammo to start your own Whipped Egg White Obsession:

Puffy Omelets
Adapted from Gourmet, August 2005

-4 large eggs, separated
-pinch cream of tartar
-Fillings!  Use your imagination.  Clean out your fridge, get fancy with imported cheese and cured meats, or go classic with ham and swiss.
-Seasonings, all options are yours, but almost always salt and pepper (and crushed red pepper, if I have anything to do with it!)

1.  Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
2.  Prepare fillings as necessary.  Cook any raw meat, and saute or roast vegetables.  Keep warm.
3.  Whip egg whites with cream of tartar until very stiff peaks.
4.  In another bowl, whisk egg yolks with seasonings of your choice.
5.  Using a spatula, fold a large scoop of the whipped egg whites into the yolk mixture to lighten it up, then fold in the rest of the whites (being careful to fold and not stir). 
6.  Gently fold in your fillings, reserving cheese to sprinkle on top (recommended! more cheese!).
7.  Pour mixture into a nonstick, oven-proof 8-inch skillet and bake for 15 minutes. (To tell if it's done, give the pan a little shake and the omelet should hold up firmly.  It will start to brown on top a little.)  If you saved cheese to melt on top, add it after the ten minute mark.
8.  Loosen edges around omelet with a knife or spatula, slide onto a plate, and enjoy!

Anna Lu's Chocolate Souffle
from my family's cookbook, c/o my Grandmom

5 egg whites
1 c. sugar
1/2 c cocoa
1/2 t vanilla

1.  Preheat oven to 325 degrees.
2.  Beat egg whites until stiff but not dry. 
3.  Fold in cocoa and sugar which have been sifted together. 
4.  Put in a buttered baking dish.  Set in pan of water and bake for 30 minutes in a 325 degree oven. 

Serve with whipped cream.

And if you've made it this far down the page (and well, even if you haven't), thank you Angela's dear readers!
Ashley from Life Tonic

Bodies In The Sand, Tropical Drink Melting In Your Hand

Hi everyone, I’m La from Rad Fanny. I was thrilled and flattered when Angela asked me to guest post, but as the time grew closer and closer, I started panicking about what to write. And I came up with? Nothing. I’ve guest posted for others before, and always had a topic in mind, but lucky you, not today! We’re just going to see where things go. Speaking of today, it is my IBF’s birthday, so if you want to go wish her happy birthday, go ahead! I’ll wait. (drums fingers on the desk, whistles, looks around) Great! Glad we got that taken care of. Because she is awesome, and I love her to death, and I hope that she has the most fantastic birthday, ever.

So I’m only like 90% jealous that Angela is off in Italy (or 100%), and her being on a vacation of sorts made me think of the first real vacation I took as a young adult in college. Me and seventeen-ish of my closest friends decided to go to the Bahamas. To start things off with a bang, when we got to the airport, one of my friends became violently ill. And it managed to travel its way throughout the entire group (except for me, thankfully) throughout the week. We boarded the plane, and started the trip from NYC to the Bahamas. It was an overnight flight, and by the time we got there, most of us were well rested and ready to enjoy our time off. Until we got to our dwellings. It was a townhouse that they rented out to poor college students such as ourselves. It had two floors, two bedrooms, one bathroom, and two collective beds. And I’m not kidding you when I say we slept at least four to a bed. There were also a few couches downstairs.

And? There were rats. Lots and lots of rats. The first of us to spot one of the giant, mutant rats was one of the guys, and he started shrieking, grabbed the first thing he could find, which turned out to be a soup pan, jumped up on the couch and continued screaming. I have photographic evidence of this moment, and it still makes me laugh every time. The rest of us were trying our very best to stop the tears of laughter streaming down our faces, and find our own places on top of furniture. Needless to say, we didn’t spend much time in the “hotel”. Being college students, we somehow managed to drink for free for an entire week, and somehow find ways to steal alcohol from all of the local establishments. We went on a “booze cruise” and ended up with jugs and jugs of rum punch that sat on the table in our kitchen all week. Not refrigerated. And we drank it all week. And our friend Jeff left with the nickname “Pukey”. I don’t think I need to elaborate.

We did a lot of sightseeing, sneaking into fancy hotels, going to flea markets, got offered a lot of drugs, some of us got cornrows, we parasailed and went on jetskis, and spent a lot of time just relaxing on the beach. Our townhouse was pretty far away from the main part of town, so we had to take taxis or walk a really long way. One day, we couldn’t get a cab, and we were all horribly hungover, and a Domino’s Pizza guy happened to be driving by, and we asked him to give us a ride into town. He had a tiny little sports car, and we still managed to cram six of us into it, and we all just sort of stared at each other as he was smoking weed in his delivery car, and started eating the pizza he was supposed to be delivering. All in all, a tremendous vacation. Even though our returning flight got canceled and we spent thirty-six hours in the Bahamian airport hungover, sunburned, and cranky. I hope one day to be able to return and maybe kick it up a notch and stay somewhere without rats. So here's hoping that Angela is having a kick-ass time in Italy and she comes back with all sorts of wonderful stories, none of which involve rats and/or gastrointestinal distress.

Angela isn't here right now.

May I take a message?

I'm totally freaking out right now.  I just logged in to Typepad as You Know Who and my fingertips are buzzing.  I feel like I just hacked into DARPAnet and am poised to communicate my insurrectionist message to hundreds of unwitting strangers.  (Recycle!  It's important.)

Or like I broke into her closet and am parading around in these heels

or these?

or these?

or these?

 

and wondering whether you can tell I'm not her.  (Or am I?  Which pumps do you like best for summer?  Vote A, B, C or D!  Also, do you know why they're called pumps?  Aw, yeah.)

Seriously, guys, ten people read my blog, which is just as well, because - contrary to what you may have been led to believe - it consists primarily of me moaning about vegetables.  Ace has already confessed that "when I see a picture of produce, I just skip that day's post.  Are you mad?"

So the pressure to perform here is kind of intense. 

Knowing this gig was coming, for the past week I've been trying to come up with observational humor.  Everybody loves that!  I even watched Comedy Central Presents and laughed at that guy who does the sound effect of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese.  Here's what I came up with:

"Hey!  Have you ever noticed, when you see a blond woman with a huge pashmina and an SUV, you automatically assume she's a Realtor (R)?" 

That's as far as I got.  I couldn't really do anything funny with it, because Realtors (R) kind of depress me nowadays.  (Also: blondes in pashminas.)  I recently stuck my toe in the house-hunting waters of Northern California, only to pull it right back out.  Half a million dollars for an 800 square foot tear-down is sobering, and since looking around, I can't go jogging without seeing a thirty-something young woman taking out the trash in front of her nice, landscaped, 3BR/1.5BA fp/hw/granite/gas/shwr-over-tub/dw/wd and staring at her, thinking, "Who ARE you, that you can own a home here?"  And then I think about wriggling into something slinky and hanging around the lobby of Google. 

I didn't even do anything blogworthy this weekend.  I had this crick in my neck, see, and...[snoring]...

I actually did have a wicked crick in my neck (technical term) on Saturday morning, that woke me up and was so awful I couldn't sleep in any orientation; it caused me to blubber around the house and hate on my insurance provider, whose website kept sending me Error! messages and whose customer service only worked M-F 9-5, making me blubber further - I actually sought out a therapeutic massage therapist who promised to take me in that day. 

But not before I came across this chain called Massage Envy.  Have you heard of it?  The kids on Yelp call it "the SuperCuts of massage."  It's a place you join, for $59 a month, which includes one 1-hour massage a month, with additional massages running $39/hour.  And unused ones roll over. 

I didn't go, because I didn't want to fool with the bargain basement when I was in need of true sorta-medical attention, but I'm dying to know more about it.  It seems like such a good deal.  I mean, right now I spend $0 a month for 0 massages, so it would be a lot more than that.  And somebody on Yelp suggested, why not just go every other month for a high-grade $120 massage?  Except that I would never go for a $120 massage, because that's insane.  Yet somehow a monthly mediocre massage for $60 seems like a wise use of funds.  (Not to mention, I've had totally weak $100 massages.  Not naming any names, but it starts with W.W. and its web site is here.)  Have you ever been to a Massage Envy?  Would you do it?  Would you do it if you were me?  Me, who am not You Know Who?

Oh, you so wish she was back right now. 

So anyway, the masseuse advised me to not do my long run this weekend, which meant I had a pleasantly sedentary weekend, going out to see Of Human Bondage (huge eyes) and staying home to watch Center Stage (huge teeth).  We watched Of Human Bondage 74 years after it was first shown in the very same theatre.  Ace's dad, who is turning 75 imminently, would have been a year old when it came out.  Heeby jeebies.  Center Stage just made me want to go on a diet and have a career in the arts.  And get my teeth capped. 

Anyway, unlike Some People We Know, I do have a day job and it's, well, it's...

Let the Meltdown Begin!!

I'm starting to get a little panic attacky about this whole packing and leaving for Italy for two weeks thing I've got going on here for the next few days.  I'm not worried about Italy--in fact, if I could fast forward in time to Saturday evening Rome time, that would be just fine.

No, I'm worried because we are leaving in 57 hours and I have to do laundry, clean the house, pack two weeks of clothes into a suitcase that was too small for 3 days in San Francisco, print out our itinerary, confirmations, and important phone numbers, make copies of our passports, credit cards and id cards, and at some point decide what I'm going to do about a hair dryer.  (Current thought process, just buy one there.)  Oh, and become fluent in Italian.

Oh, and then there's Google Reader, which I have so far resisted marking all as read, because I HATE to do that, but I'm trying so hard to keep up and there are still 73 unread items in there--that's down from over 200 yesterday, but I'm pretty sure by the end of the day it will be back up again.  And I haven't responded to comments this week, because I SUCK.  I know.  I know.

Work is INSANE right now, only because I'm trying to wrap up all of these loose ends (that, quite frankly, I didn't realize were loose, but hey, I'm not in charge here), which means that I have spent the last day and a half pulling out a file folder, making sure it's in order, and refiling it.  Over, and over, and over again.  I'm on my last drawer this morning.  Hallelujah.

And then there is The Hills recap, which I am determined to fit in tonight, because holy crap was that fun last week.  Priorities.  I know I've got them somewhere around here...

Anyway, I thought I would just take today to introduce the lovely guest bloggers who have agreed to keep the dust of this old blog o' mine while I'm off sipping on Chianti and stuffing my face with mozzarella.  I really hope that you'll be very nice to them while they're here, mind your manners, and brush your teeth before you go to bed.  I'm also a little worried that when I come back, I will have no readers left, because you will have all suddenly realized how frightfully boring I am and will have abandoned me for these far more witty, interesting, and charming bloggers.

But that's a risk I am willing to take, so without further preamble, let's meet our cast of characters!

(In order of appearance)

TasterSpoon: I am always guaranteed one of those fantastic bursts of snorting laughter when she posts, and even her comments here make me laugh.  She's one of those "runners" that populate our planet, and she's always got a great story to tell about her latest race and the cool swag she gets to take home.

La: This girl is one of the absolute sweetest bloggers I've ever had the pleasure of "meeting".  We found each other through the 20 Something Bloggers, and she just has the biggest heart and three of the most adorable puppies I've ever seen.  (Not to mention a pretty fantastic new boyfriend!)

Ashley: Ashley and I began reading each other's blogs during NaBloPoMo (I think?) and were apparently just fated to become friends after a chance encounter in a FedEx/Kinko's and multiple run-ins in the lobby of our office building!  I love her posts about her latest craft project or recipe attempt and can't wait to see what she has in store for y'all!

Kate: Kate is a more recent find, but oh my heck, do I LOVE her blog!  She's hilarious, she's thought provoking, and she's a fantastic storyteller.  Anyone that can make me cry laughing on my first visit is guaranteed to become a fixture on my blog roll.

Risible Girl: Lori is another dear internet friend that I've been lucky enough to bond with in real life, and she's been mentioned a few times on this site, most notably for hosting a super fun wine shower for Colby and me last summer.  We actually "met" years ago online, and were able to keep in touch through our blogs.  When I moved up here, it was just a big duh that I would force her to be my pal whether she wanted to or not!

Girl, Dislocated: Girl, Dislocated is by far one of the more fascinating blogs I read, not only for her amazing spirit and strength, but also for her honest thoughts on her exciting, and sometimes tumultuous life.  She can always find a way to laugh in the face of adversity, and I hold her in extremely high regard.

Fraulein N: Fraulein N and I have bonded over pretty much everything... our love for Wicked (she sent me her extra copy of The Grimmerie, therefore earning my love and devotion forever) and Lost and our similar fears and thoughts about this whole "baby" thing.  I really think that if you enjoy what you read here, you'll love what she has to say as well since we seem to be basically the same person.

Michelle: That just doesn't look right--I have to call her Michelle & the City!   (The ampersand is crucial!)  Michelle was one of the first 20 Something Bloggers that I began reading, and her blog opened up this whole world of other bloggers out there that are my age, going through many of the same ups and downs as me.

Brittany: Aw, it's my little sister!!  This is actually a sneaky ploy on my part to try to get her hooked on blogging, so that maybe I'll hear more about her fascinating life firsthand rather than through my parents or Facebook status updates.  She's well on her way to becoming a Broadway Baby and of course I fully expect her to introduce me to Idina Menzel in about five years or so when they're costarring in Broadway's latest hit.

Mighty Maggie:  Maggie!!  Maggie was one of the first bloggers I ever read, and it's been so long now, that I don't even remember how I found her.  She has the most hilarious, dry humor, and just about the cutest most squishable baby I've ever seen with another on the way.  I fully blame her and her blog for making me want a baby desperately every few weeks.

So, that's it!  I happen to think that you will be VERY well taken care of and highly entertained over the next few weeks, and I'll admit, I'm so curious to see what they come up with, that it's distinctly possible that I'll be checking in from internet cafes all over Italy.

Well, I'm married...

This would be Caro and Brittany posting on behalf of Angela as to fulfill her NaBloPoMo duties, which we THOUGHT she wouldn't get to, but clearly is so devoted to her blog that she would postpone her commitment as the new Mrs. B.

Needless to say, the wedding was gorgeous and we're sure ya'll will be hearing about it from her in days/posts to come!

We love you, Ang!