Bliss

The universe did not send me cookie dough ice cream. It sent me a bouquet of lilies and orchids from Hawaii, instead.

!

…

!!!!

(via my cousins, as a belated birthday present.) Uh, thanks, and also WOW.

It’s been a good couple of days. The sun is shining on a weekend for the first time in forever, and I have spent the entire day inside on the computer, much of it researching flowers I could plant if I were to bother going outside.

Meanwhile, I got my sprinklers turned on, having bribed a neighbor for help while The Funasaurus is yet again out of town. Happily, he’s back tomorrow for a good, long time.

And really, that’s about it. This is the first day in MONTHS that I have exactly nothing to do, nothing penciled in on the calendar, and I am really loving it. I’m off to take a nap, which actually requires more effort than you might think, since it involves trying to convince this guy to move:




(Normal kitties don’t sleep like that.) He is a very sound sleeper. And amazingly immovable for only weighing four pounds. Albeit four pounds of faux-mouse-chasing-FURY.

Denver Theater/re

If you happen to live in or near Denver, Aspen, Oklahoma City, Albuquerque, San Francisco, or Portland and you see no other theater this year, you absolutely must get to Crazy Bag. It’s a hysterical but poignant show about one woman’s extreme life, and you do yourself an injustice if you don’t go see it.

Yes, I am biased. Murphy (writer and performer extraordinaire) is a dear friend of mine. An extremely talented actress, who, if you see the show you will know, is full of adventures, comedy, and drama. But the show has won several awards and she’s taking it on tour, so as the word spreads, it’s definitely not just me who’s gushing. In Denver she’s performing at The Vintage Theatre, and I am planning on going to several performances, so if you want to meet up, e-mail me and we will all go together!

Meanwhile it’s Dress Thursday and I am in a snit because I can’t find my favorite sundress. I know it came home from Jamaica. I am just not sure where it landed after we unpacked. So I am wearing a less-favorite skirt, and it’s really annoying.

Happily, this is the biggest source of angst in my life these days, so I guess I am doing o.k.

California DMV even saw fit to finally send me the title to my car after MONTHS of excruciating paperwork, change of address forms, name change forms, pissy letters about needing to fill out the forms correctly with a CA license number (except I don’t HAVE one of those because I live in Colorado, now, asshats) and random people’s checks being returned to me (although that actually turned out to be a funny story because I returned Bruce in Pasadena’s check to him in the mail, and it turns out ol’ Bruce is an aspiring poet [don’t quit your day job, Bruce] and sent me back a typed [as in: on a typewriter] letter/poem thing about bureaucracy. I am keeping it. Along with my old license plates. The spoils of war.) and well, finally, they sent it to me. NPR, after years of ignoring your pleas for money, I am finally donating my broken car to you. You’re welcome. Watch out for the black ice.

And the sun is shining. If I wasn’t married, already, I’d be suspicious I’d be about to meet my future husband. Maybe the universe will feel like giving me some free ice cream, instead. (no pressure, universe. But if the mood hits, I am partial to cookie dough.)

The cleanse has been put on the backburner, in case you can’t tell.

A Princess' Attempt at Getting Back to Nature (stop laughing)

So I spent the long weekend in the mountains with a girlfriend (hi, K! Don’t I make us sound glamorous and not at all like we went to bed at 9:00 every night?) and I had a really good time. I miss being in the mountains a lot. I actually had to fight off what felt like a looming anxiety attack as we packed the car to head back to Denver. Mostly I think that has to do with the fact that I don’t really feel like working anymore, so much as I feel like sitting on the deck of a log cabin drinking house wine as I listen to a mountain steam rush by. When I actually LIVED in the mountains, I had to work. And, well, let’s just say it’s a good thing I didn’t have a blog at the time, because whoo-boy I used to fill my fresh mountain air days with incessant whining. Whining about the cold. About the snow. About my boss. About the wildlife. Dern wildlife. Yeah, maybe it’s retirement I’m craving more than nature. Whatever.

So anywhos, I felt myself very hard core, as we spent the days hiking and crawling under large trees and scrambling and tempting fate to wring our poor little ankles like pipe cleaners. And then a BLIND GUY came tromping past me as I sat on a rock to catch my breath by a majestic waterfall.



You only get a picture of the waterfall and not the blind guy, because I felt kinda sleazy about taking his picture. Not that he would have seen me. (uhg, did I really just say that?) I just didn’t feel comfortable. That, and he was also with two guides helping him along, who seemed to see me just fine. But STILL. The guy was blind. And came scrambling up the mountain right past my weary, but 20-20-visioned ass.

But this only goes to prove that you do not really need to be hard core to see this:



And this:



And this:



all in one day when you are lucky enough to live in Colorado.

Of course, you also might see the world’s largest and scariest moth ever.



And you will go squealing inside like a piglet until your friend peer pressures you into taking a picture. At which point you will probably squeal some more.

You also might come home and find a tick buried neck-deep into your thigh. I know I did. That was awesome. And also might have elicited some more squealing. So I put nail polish remover on it, just like my mom used to do when we were kids. And as I sat there, soaking it in what I WAS going to use to remove my now-chipped pedicure (side note: I am long overdue for new hiking boots) I googled “tick removal” and every entry I got said, “Whatever you do, do not light it with a match (!) or soak it in rubbing alcohol or nail polish remover. This can cause it to regurgitate poison into the skin.”

Fan-fucking-tastic.

So I dialed ask-a-nurse, and told her I had a tick, and that I had tried to remove it with nail polish remover, but had just read I wasn’t supposed to do that. “NO! DON’T DO THAT!” said the nurse.

Ah, right. Well, see, as I said, I ALREADY DID. So now what? Because it’s still in my thigh and WIGGLING. I don’t think it likes the acetone sauna I gave it.

So she told me to grasp it with tweezers as close to the skin as possible and pull it out. Do you even want to guess how much squealing was involved in that process, as I tried to clamp down (but not kill) the insect with its head in my body and wiggling its buggy little legs? I think I shattered a few glasses.

But the tick came out, I wrapped it in the nail polish remover-drenched tissue, and threw it away. And then drank some wine, because even though I wanted to detox after a weekend of subsisting off of cupcakes and wine (do you SEE why I was in heaven?) I really, really needed something alcoholic after that ordeal. Do they make moutains without ticks? I'd like to get me some of those.

My Tiara Is Made of Recycled Cans and Biodegradable Hemp... And Diamonds.

I’ve been more introspective the past couple of days, not sure why. Maybe the wedding pictures pushed the “go crazy” button in my subconscious. The Funasaurus has been working like a madman, and I haven’t seen him in a while. Except to watch the American Idol finale. I know, I know, we are those people. But whatever. We had fun. We totally used it as an excuse to drink the very nice Veuve Clicquot that was just gathering dust in our fridge. Hee! Then we ordered Pizza Hut to ying that yang. We also balance the fine china we got for our wedding on our knees while using paper towels for napkins. People paid good money for me (uh, us) to have pretty dishes, I see no reason not to use them just because I am too lazy to clean off our dinning room table.

So I was saying. I miss my husband, I want to go on another honeymoon. Or at least on another Arrested Development marathon. Awesomest show ever, if you like funny, then you must get yourself a copy of this show. It is a shame, A SHAME, Fox, that it is no longer on TV. It is the funniest thing EVER. How is Are You Smarter than a 5th Grader on and this show's not? No wonder the writers went on strike. You all are morons.

And I’ve been jumpy with every little gust of wind that’s come through here in the past 24 hours, what with the tornados and whatnot just north of here. Reason # 692 to move to the mountains sooner rather than later. I am not a plains girl. Ocean? Sure. Mountains? Sure. Rolling foothills a la Appalachia? It’s my heritage. (Seriously. Grandad was the youngest of seven in the high hills of West Virginia. Yee haw.) But flat stretches of land? Meh. I know some people find it pretty, I get the mythical wheat field-thing some people feel nostalgic for, but it’s not me. At all. And I don’t like wind. Plbthbthbth

Also, it’s astonishing to me the number of people who don’t believe in Global Warming. I had no idea it was such an extremist viewpoint, I kind of thought it was generally accepted, anymore. But apparently not. Best push your head a little deeper in the sand, folks, it’s getting breezy up here in reality what with all the tornados and earthquakes and hurricanes and cyclones and whatnot.

I’m just saying.

And I realize I shouldn’t be too high up on my pedestal, here, seeing as how I still take showers that border on longish. I still sometimes get plastic bags at the grocery store, because it’s what we use to scoop the cat litter into. (Does anyone have an alternative? I really am all-ears. Let me shoot down your first idea by that by saying Sugar turns up her nose at the flushable kind and proceeds to poo on the floor, so that’s a no-go.) And sometimes I leave the light on downstairs because I think my plants like it.

That was actually quite cathartic to admit. Anyone else have some non-greenie confessions? No worries, I still believe you recycle.

Wedding Love

Eeeee! I’m feeling all tingly with love. Love from Elizabeth Anne Designs, and OMG their site is so darling I am blushing. So I figured I should be all a propos and post wedding pictures, mostly because I’ve been looking for an excuse to do so. The Funasaurus and I got married last September and we’re still kind of on a wedding bliss high.

I don’t miss wedding planning AT ALL, but I miss wearing my pretty dress so much I will cry if I think about it too much. I will cry even more when I remember I am, like, 10 lbs past being able to squeeze into it, again, too.

I don’t know how to do the fancy palates that EA Designs do, but I knew I wanted an outdoor, fall-themed wedding, and the colors I wanted to work with were burgundy and gold.

Except I went and got a dress with a lavender sash.



Which, you know, doesn’t really go so well with burgundy and gold. In fact, it kind of clashes. But despite what Martha Stewart says, you CAN clash on your wedding day! If you want burgundy and gold and lavender, so be it, girlfriend! Your mother will probably be horrified, but whatever, you are the princess and drunk on champagne!

Cheers! I loved my wedding day.



sigh

Where was I?

Oh, yes. Colors. So. Burgundy. Gold. Lavender. Ivory, what with that being the color of my dress. (It’s good to establish if you’re going with white or an off-white early on. It’ll save you a headache. Or you can continue to clash, in which case, I applaud you!) Then I decided to add brown into the swoop of things because it’d be a good neutral-y-base-y-fall-ish color, and what the hell, I’m halfway through the rainbow, anyway. So I made my bridesmaids wear brown. I picked out the fabric and trim, told them the skirts had to be long, and then let them make their own dresses. It worked out really well, having bridesmaids spread across two continents and all over the U.S. And hopefully each girl got to wear a dress they felt comfortable in. If they didn’t, it’s their own fault. (Hint: throw in one darling flower girl who basically steals the show and no one will care about the matchy-matchy-ness of it all, anyway.)



I wanted to carry white roses because my mother and grandmother both carried white roses. Except the florist decided to throw in some peach. So then peach joined the mix, on my wedding day.



The bridesmaids bouquets and the groomsmen’s boutonnieres were lavender roses (hint to husband: I love sterling roses, they are so pretty and don’t have thorns) with burgundy berries. And the groomsmen wore brown vests. And didn’t look too clownish. (You’re welcome, groomsmen, for NOT getting lavender vests. The groom went to bat in your honor, which is a big deal, when it comes to decision making in wedding planning.)

And we decorated the aisles in those colors, too.



Um. I forget the rest of the details.

Our reception venue kind of looked like this:



The venue was already pretty decorated, so we were able to go minimal with the flowers. There were lights all over the ceiling, and it was much more romantic at night.

And then we ate the most fabulous cake, ever. Totally untraditional, but it was a shout-out to the way The Funasaurus proposed (hiding my ring in a copy of Pride & Prejudice, that clever monkey, he knew that'd seal the deal.) and tasted phenomenal. So I've heard. I forgot to eat some.


(That IS a Jane Austen action figure next to the cake, thanks for asking!)

But it was still awesome.

Then we waited seven months and went on our honeymoon, and for whomever it was that was curious, we went to a Sandals resort in Dunn River, Jamaica. Believe you me, you can get used to the “all-inclusive” lifestyle very easily. I highly recommend it, and I highly recommend going through a travel agent who can get you groovy upgrades, etc.

…
I want to do it all again.

All pictures courtesy of Picture the Day Photography- awesomest photographers EVER.

Me at My Less-Than-Best

Who knew that a hair dryer could produce curls? Certainly not I. And since you asked, and only because I love you, here is an extremely frumpy picture of me with my Bunny curls.




I feel that neither that shirt nor the camera were doing me any favors, and the curls were a bit more glamorous in person, but you get the idea, right? And you know I am not that plump or matronly, right?

So the trip was fine, Phoenix was hot, and tennis was, well, as expected. I wore my cute shirt and shorts, and had my curls in a ponytail, and that is where the fun ended. I had drenched myself in sunscreen, so I was greasier than bacon, but unburnable. We actually got a bit of a clinic, with a tennis pro out there throwing balls at a group of six of us to practice hitting. Well, that’s what the other five did, anyway. I reverted to my normal approach to any kind of sports and began to duck and cover, which was not really what the tennis pro wanted me to do, apparently.

Then the memories of middle school gym class came back to attack me like a pack of rabid dogs. Read: unpleasant. I would watch as everyone would swing at the ball, and with a satisfactory *thwack* it would land on the other side of the court or beyond, and there’d be “Aw man's” and a bit of swearing when it didn’t do exactly what they wanted it to. And then they would stroke their egos and try not to grin too broadly when it was my turn and I could not even make contact with the fucking ball. At least NO ONE ELSE IN THE WORLD IS THAT BAD.

I think I’ve said enough about that.

While I did not run into any javelina, I did come across a stray cat in the middle of a late-evening stroll, whom I worried about, what with the rattlesnakes and LIZARDS about, everywhere. But the cat was kind of mangy and extremely uninterested in me picking it up and carrying it the half mile back to the front desk of the fancy pants hotel, so I left it there amongst the cacti. I still mentioned it to the front desk and asked if they could call the Humane Society or someone (surely they must have volunteers working at 11:30 PM on a Saturday night?) and the lady looked at me and said, “We have feral cats around here, and some people here at the hotel feed them,” in the way you might say “Some people here eat poop.”

I didn’t hold out much hope for a rescue from the S.P.C.A. anytime soon, but it relieved me, somehow, to know that there were other feral kitties out there to keep him company. He was sweet, if filthy. And he had six toes, which was awesome.

So I got home and life returned to normal. I called my grandmother, as I am apt to do about once a week, because I miss her. And so I was telling her about Phoenix and I happened to mention the tennis clinic and my normally dignified, quiet grandmother busts out laughing and goes, “Ho ho, that’s rich!” (She’s allowed to use such antiquated terminology because she’s antiquated. She’s 96. ) I’m not even sorry for calling her antiquated, because she didn’t stop at laughing at me, she proceed to say, “You? Tennis? Seriously? I don’t recall you being any good at sports.”

!

At least I’m back in Colorado now, safe and sound, surrounded by my chardonnay and delicate kitties who don’t like it when the temperature dips below 72. I wonder how long they’d have lasted if I had brought home a wild cousin from Arizona. I can already see Sugar’s disdain. It’d be like that cousin from the National Lampoon vacations, except more hard-core.

Princess in the Desert

So I’m here in Phoenix for a brief visit, working from my computer in a hotel room, as opposed to working from my computer in my home office. I am quickly realizing I would like my home office more if I had someone else coming in for daily housekeeping whilst I toodle around on my spreadsheets. Also, a comfier robe.

The Funasaurus is working in a meeting room, and is the reason we are here. I got all excited about our little patio off our hotel room, too, and I was like, “Oh, I shall open the sliding door for a nice fresh breeze! I shan’t hurt the environment by turning on the air conditioning! I am at peace with nature, the flutter of the palm trees just outside, the trickle of piped-in water features.…”

And then I saw a lizard, and promptly shut and locked said sliding door and cranked up the air conditioning.

I also went to the salon and got my hair blown-out (one must be careful about how one asks for said service, by the way. When you go into a salon, it’s best to think before you start to say, “Hi, I need a blow…”) anywhos. So the lady washed and dried my hair, and also used a big round hairbrush and twisted it in all sorts of beauty school valedictorian-esque ways, and I have these large, beautiful curls that I really like but also kind of remind me of Playboy Bunny-type hairstyles. So I’m debating whether it’s appropriate for hob-nobbing with The Funasaurus’ boss at dinner tonight. Maybe if I wear pearls and a wool sweater it’ll mellow out the look. Too bad it’s, like, 100 degrees out here.

In even-more-tragic-for-The-Funasaurus news, we agreed to go to his company’s-sponsored tennis clinic tomorrow. I do not think my husband is aware of the full extent of my complete and utter incompetence when it comes to sports. This should be fun. And also humiliating.

I love you, baby. Please remember this weekend for my curls and not my serve.

Naturally Popular

So let me just clarify that when I say “cleanse” I mean “vitamin supplements and steamed broccoli” not “starvation and ass vacuums.”

I have had several friends do variations on both, and I am nowhere near hard-core enough (and also too self-conscious about said ass) to go to that extreme. I’m not even interested in losing weight. I just want to get out of this rut of crappy eating. After a week of eating decadent food and ordering two desserts every night (it was all-inclusive, how are you NOT going to get mousse AND chocolate fudge cake if it’s available?) I have kind of developed an addiction to very-buttery-and-salty-things and also refined sugar. I find myself craving it, to the point of driving to the store for a) more cupcake mix b) candy bars.

I feel gross. And while you might say, “Why don’t you just stop eating French fries and candy bars?” I will say, “Because it’s not as dramatic and hippy-sounding as saying ‘cleanse.’”

Speaking of hippies (not really) are any of you on BlogExplosion? Can you tell me why a 16-year-old girl who posts her (inane) Twitter comments on her blog gets more votes than I do on Battle of the Blogs? I am assuming it is because she paid all the girls in her class with their own inane Twitter blogs to vote for her, and not because “Yo, algebra blows” is actually more entertaining than all my wishy-washy thoughts on potatoes?

Anyone?

Fine Line Between Pretend and Reality

O.K., so don’t be mad… but I did not use all your lovely potato recipes. I was going to, until I stumbled across a really yummy-sounding recipe on Epicurious.com, and oh! I had to try it. It had feta. I am a sucker for feta. And it was wonderful.

Here I go, pretending I have stacks of these recipes, now. My new favorite potato recipe:

Red Potatoes with Olives, Feta, and Mint
(serves 6)

Ingredients:
1 3/4 lbs small red-skinned potatoes, cut into quarters
1 bunch fresh mint, chopped
8 oz feta, crumbled
3/4 brine-cured black olives (like Kalamata) pitted, chopped
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

Preperation:
Place potatoes and 3 Tablespoons mint in large pot of salted water.
Bring water to boil, reduce hear and simmer until potatoes are tender. (About 12 min.)
Drain potatoes, transfer to large bowl.
Set aside 2 Tablespoons mint, 2 Tbs cheese, 2 Tbs olives.
Add remaining mint, cheese, olives to warm potatoes, along with oil.
Season with salt and pepper. (I used no salt, the cheese and olives made it plenty salty.)
Garnish with reserved mint, cheese, olives.
Serve warm.

The whole thing went together really quickly, and it was really good. It was very feta-y. I would recommend maybe going somewhere between 7-8 oz.

So, so good.

But I promise to try out all your yummy suggestions this summer, because I like sea salt, too!

Meanwhile, it snowed again today. And while a few flurries hardly compare to the devastating cyclones and earthquakes going on around the rest of the world, I’m kind of ready for some warm spring weather, already. The grass IS liking the moisture, though. I can’t figure out how to turn on our sprinklers (I know it’s insanely easy, I just don’t want the thing-y to start leaking in our front hall closet if it’s not pointing the right way) so our itty-bitty foot of lawn is rather brown compared to all of our neighbors. And I thought I wanted a garden. Ha ha and ho ho.

Also, to all of you who were like, “Changing a dryer hose is soooooo easy!” to you I say: FUCK OFF.

Because it while it LOOKS easy enough, it really isn’t, and there is lots of metal and swear words and trips to home depot for more hose that isn’t utterly destroyed involved. There’s THREE HOURS of our lives that The Funasaurus and I will never get back. Next time we’re calling a repair man. And also maybe a cleaning service. Lint is nasty, nasty stuff.

So keep the comments coming on doing a cleanse. I am fascinated by the replies.

Where I Pretend I Know How to Cook

Thank you for all your lovely potato recipes! I shall definitely be using some of them, if not all of them. I like to mix and match, when it comes to recipes.

For anyone who was curious, here is my super easy and super yummy twice baked potato recipe:

Serves 4

Total prep time (not counting baking the potatoes) about 15-20 minutes

Ingredients:

4 medium-sized potatoes (this means NOT the Idaho spuds that could double as footballs. If you get those, you obviously need to up the other ingredients, as well.)

½ cup sour cream

2 Tablespoons cream cheese

3 Tablespoons softened butter

Some salt and pepper (it’s a matter of taste)

Grated cheddar, optional

Chives, optional

Wash and bake the potatoes. Don’t overbake. (Honestly, I cheat and do about 5 min/potato in the microwave. Since they go under the broiler later, they still get that oven-y goodness. If you do use the microwave, be sure to poke holes in the potatoes so they don’t explode. It’s a bitch to clean up… so I’ve heard.)

Heat oven to broil while you prepare the potatoes

Cut a hole at the top of each baked potato, and hollow them out like little canoes. Keep the walls thick enough so that the potato still retains its shape. (If you DO use the enormous spuds, I usually cut them in half, length-wise, instead of hollowing out a whole one. If you only use 2 potatoes, it’ll serve 4.)

Put all the insides into a large mixing bowl

Add sour cream, cream cheese, butter, and salt and pepper to bowl, blend thoroughly

Refill potato shells with mixture

Sprinkle grated cheddar and chives on the top, if you want. (It’s prettier, but doesn’t really change the taste that much.)

Lay potatoes on baking pan, and put directly under the broiler, for about 5-10 minutes until the cheese and potatoes develop little brown, toasty peaks. Watch carefully, it happens really fast.

Serve immediately

Now I’m off to buy some little red potatoes and sea salt.

Happy Friday, everyone!

P.S. Have any of you ever done a cleanse? Would you recommend it?

Cookies and Potatoes

I had good intentions to go for a jog today. I am dressed in my running clothes and everything. However I also had a Very Big and Lives Depend on It (not really)-type project that I had to get out this morning, so I told myself I’d go after I got the VIProject out.

I was in the process of sending it when I heard the first clap of thunder. Seconds later, we were in the middle of a downpour. This is all the more odd because Colorado does not really get thunderstorms. (Well, Colorado Springs does.) But Denver typically does not. Rain showers are few and far between, and usually they’re more like 10 minute drizzles, and then the sun comes out. Colorado is a very sunny state. Sometimes I actually miss the delicious summertime thunderstorms of the east coast, the crackling thunder, the obese raindrops…. This little storm we’re having is actually quite fun and cozy. And I’m quite sure it’s a direct sign from the universe telling me to not jog so much as eat some cookies. Ice cream cookies, nonetheless.

And, well, who am I to question the sage advice of the universe?

Also, it’s Dress Thursday! Are you wearing your dresses? I will be! Just as soon as I get out of this jogging gear covered in cookie crumbles.

Switching gears again, does anyone have a good potato recipe? I have been instructed to bring potatoes to our Mother’s Day feast this Sunday. That is my contribution. Usually my go-to potato recipe is twice baked potatoes. I make good twice baked potatoes. But I have seen the rest of the menu, and it is filled with cheese and butter and more cheese. All of which is well and good and delicious, but it might be nice to switch it up a bit with something that wasn’t quite so deep-fat-fried. I was thinking maybe little russet potatoes with herbs or something. Anybody have a good recipe like that?

The World Keeps on Spinning

Apparently the world does not stop when I go on vacation, particularly my work world, seeing as how the work just kept piling up while I was gone and now it is a big frickin’ hassle and really, someone should look in to that. I have better things to do when I get back from vacation. Like starting to plan my next one.

On a grander scale, I think the universe is aligned in a funky way these days. Big, big things are happening. Some good, some bad. But recently I feel like the world has changed drastically, although not MY world, exactly, so much as the world around me. There has just been a lot of big news, not all of which I can share. The situation in Myanmar is certainly the biggest and the scariest to watch, even from here. But more locally there are babies and weddings as well as some sadder stories, and it all seems to be colliding into just the past 72 hours or so. Is anyone else experiencing this as well?

* * * * *

For anyone still curious about our trip, here are a few more pictures:

We posed with mermaids



Climbed this waterfall



Yeah, mon



Watched cruise ships go by from our balcony



Cuddled wooden giraffes (sober wha…?)



And were basically devastated to leave paradise. It feels like it was all just a dream.

Jamaica Me Crazy

I loooooved Jamaica. Although my skin did not. Besides getting burned on day three, I actually developed an allergy to the sunscreen on day two… so I was both burned and covered in a rash. It was sexy. And then I was attacked by mosquitoes on day four. I’m surprised they didn’t quarantine me. Despite all that, we had an excellent time sitting on the beach and eating and drinking ourselves silly.

Though it often involved The Funasaurus in his swim trunks perfecting his tan with his olive skin, and me keeping to the shadows in my allergy-inducing SPF 80+ and get-ups like this:



Unibomer Enjoys a Leisurely Breakfast on the Balcony

Whatever, it was still great. Though the hardest part was seeing the desperate poverty surrounding our nice resort. There were tin shacks just on the other side of the barbed wire enclosing our beach. That was a little hard to see, as we surrounded ourselves with all this excess. But we bought some trinket-y souvenirs, and donated to a local school charity on the casino night, so we assuaged our over-privileged guilt enough to continue to glug Jamaican Smiles non-stop. (I’m not sure about the accuracy of that recipe, seems to me there was something creamy in it, too, like coconut milk, but it’s close enough.)

Another bright part were the goats. There are loads of goats in Jamaica! And most of them are running around freely along the highway, so when The Funasaurus turned to me in all seriousness and said, “Baby, this may be the perfect opportunity to rustle us some goats,” he had to hold me back from jumping off the bus and moving in permanently to the next house we saw. I was thisclose, people.

We were happy to come back to Sugar and Tatum though, who I missed terribly. Sugar missed us so much that she didn’t even do her usual I-am-going-to-punish-you-for-leaving-by-standing-right-next-to-you-but-ignore-you routine and just meowed these ecstatic little mews that broke my heart. She’s been a permanent fixture on my lap ever since.

Tatum’s basically been, like, “You’ll give me as many mice as The Funasaurus’ mom did, right? Right?” And that’s that.

Otherwise, though, coming back to Colorado was anticlimactic. We had to scrape snow off of our stupid car at the airport. As we stood there shivering like jackasses in our flip-flops and sunburns. We attempted to BBQ just a little yesterday, and the whole place clouded over like a sad little gloomy winter day in Northern England.

So I dealt with it by drinking a lot of Red Stripe and looked obsessively at my pictures on the computer with Sugar on my lap. And planning our return trip. No problem, mon, only situations!