Tail Feather, Shaken

Gatsbyish themed Xmas party with our buddies!

God help you if you follow me here, facebook, instagram, and twitter. If I go to a party, you have to hear about it for days on all channels. Probably eventually you'll see a picture of the mints in the bathroom, as soon as I can figure out what filter to use.

LOL jk but probably!

Matt's company had a nice party the other night. One thing I enjoy about the video game biz--or probably this is true of any creative field--they love to throw costume/theme parties and everybody always gets into it. Or there was one guy in an argyle sweater, but maybe he was dressed as an old-timey caddy! I find that having a theme helps focus one's dressing up, you know? I love going to parties with my fella. When I got the invitation and saw that it was a 1920's theme, I knew exactly what kind of dress I wanted, beads 'n' feathers. I had seen Sue Wong dresses at Saks. But I needed to find one for a non-Saks price, and I did on ebay. Late on in the evening, this artsy girl in the lobby said to me, "I've always loved Sue Wong, it's fun to see that dress being worn." And Reader, how I did glow with pleasure! Anway, feathers. Check into them.

And since we're still talking about clothes, I can't say enough to recommend a pair of nude platform heels. Where have these been all my life? I paid a full $22 for them but I think I'm going to wear them with everything. Except not everything because they are so uncomfortable. But no matter.

The face I make when I roll a 7, below-right.

Another highlight was when the DJ crossed the room to where I was standing at the craps table. He said, "I just wanted to thank you. Everything I play a new song, you start dancing in place, and I know I've made a good choice." You're welcome sir? He was having a hard time getting anyone to dance, because there was gambling.

I am one of those people who thinks she could be really good at blackjack. But, you know, I'm not at all.

Another thing that happened was my strap broke. That dress is heavy, with all the beads, and it's held up by two tiny spaghetti straps. After I didn't win a prize for my gambling prowess, several people were consoling me with hugs. I hugged back and felt my strap give way. Thank the Lord I was wearing my special bra that has its own infrastructure and public works department, so I just tucked the broken strap into the top of my bra and put my hair over it.

Usually when your dress breaks, it's time to head to the house. But I partied on a while longer. Charleston!

Oh, and a hair note. Both Kelly Ham and I wanted to have a sleek short flapper hairstyle, but we both came to the same conclusion: We couldn't achieve sleek and short, so we went with big and voluminous. And thank goodness, because I needed it for cover. Kelly's dress was 360 degrees of sequins--very pretty and sparkly. She had on the Bra of Amazement too. Is this too much information?

Anyway, now you're caught up. In the next post I'll cover the rest of the weekend's festivities and that should bring us almost up to date.

Y'all going to any parties? Tis the season to spill all the beans about them. xoxo

b

Prime of My Life

 Every dang year with the birthdays, that's me. I'm really getting up there.

Sometimes I feel like my life is one big party, like the universe is arranged for my delight, and this weekend was one of those times. My friend Erika came and visited from LA, and our grad school friend Dan was in town for a conference, so we took this opportunity to get all up in each other's business.

We didn't really do that much. When I go visit Erika, we undertake all kinds of LA things and see lots of people and go to complicated yoga classes and get professionally groomed and all that jazz. When she comes to visit me, we sit around my house and sip coffee, we talk, we sleep eight hours a night. We decorated the Christmas tree, we had random margaritas in the middle of the day, we Christmas-shopped.

With Dan, we ate downtown at one of those places where they fold your napkin for you every time you leave the table. Everything on the menu was a Southern classic that, through a minor tweak or two, had been rendered really expensive. Highlights were: The waiter trying to convince Erika that the cracked peppercorns floating in her very complex drink were a good thing; Dan explaining his tickbite-induced mammal allergy to the waiter; Being served moonshine in a mason jar and recalling that the last time someone handed me a jar of moonshine, I was standing in the middle of an actual dirt road, and it was free; Getting the waiter to fold the napkin into a paper airplane; The waiter getting sick of our shit, probably. Also there was when we parked the car in a little hole-in-the-wall downtown lot, and I said, "Are we going to get murdered in this lot?" And Erika goes, "Well we're not going to get murdered right now."

Which struck me as funny.

Then we had dinner and cake at home one night, and Hank gave me a card that said, "Since it's your big day, I'm giving you this present! PS: Dad paid for it." And Laura gave me some makeup and a Christmas ornament that looks like a pretzel, which she said was the "most you" of all the ornaments. I don't know but I do love it. I said, "Because I love Bavarian snacks so much?" And she pointed out that we do have a pickle ornament so okay. And Matt got me a fitbit wristband, possibly to offset all the Bavarian snacking.

It rained the whole whole weekend, and it was lovely to sit inside and look at the gray outside. It was a wonderful birthday, and if I have to get older, this was a fine way to do it. Today all the friends are back in their places and it's just the four of us, and we are heading into another busy, chilly December week. I am just hoping to to be able to give everyone what they need and to keep the good times rolling.

I wish the same for you. xoxo
B

A Helpful Taxonomy

I drink your milkshake.

At Betty's house Matt and I are sleeping in a queen-sized bed instead of the king we have at home. Today I said, "Maybe we should go back to a queen bed, I like the extra cuddling." And Matt was like, we don't need a smaller bed, we could just turn down our thermostat. It is chilly down there in the basement guest room, and all night long we are plastered together like climbers caught in a storm on Everest.

I lay awake late into the night last night, reading my book and listening to the dog snore. Then I didn't get out of bed until in the elevens. I'm not even kidding and I am not ashamed. Then, a brunch of leftovers, some sitting around, a photo session for our Xmas cards (anybody know how to do a head swap?), then a singles tennis match with my friend the other Becky. Matt and the kids went and got a tree for Betty's front room, and then Matt and I went downtown to dinner with our friends.

These are our Four Loko friends. If you haven't read that post, I can't recommend my own work highly enough. LOL jk but really. 

The other three of the party all went to high school together, and talk between Matt and Sloan turned to the topic of Who Was An Asshole. The game went that one of them would say, "You know who was an asshole? [Name.]" And then the discussion would proceed and the exact nature of the assholery would be decided, illustrated, and amplified by the company. I was very absorbed in their recollections, and I gathered that there are the following types:

Secret Asshole
Funny Asshole
Asshole but he was okay
An Asshole to me
Surprisingly, an Asshole
An Asshole but he came by it honestly
A Certified, Card-Carrying, Dues-Paying American Asshole

I was like, you guys have already named more people who were assholes than all the people I remember from my high school class.

Then we asked the waiter to get the bartender to make a White Russian milkshake, and the waiter was like, that's not on the menu but it sounds like a really good idea. And we were like, go see what you can do. And it was delicious. Unsurprisingly.

I've got to get home because I can't go on eating like this. I haven't even told you about the ham tacos.

Anyway, I hope there was a treat of some kind and/or some useful analysis in your day. xoxo

Let's Make It a Night You Won't Remember

Adult Halloween was last Saturday. We went to the party in our neighborhood that we always go to, the one hosted by my tennis friend where they go bananas starting on Labor Day and move out all their furniture and completely transform the place.

Whereas last year, I thought of our 1980's tennis players get-ups in, like, May, this year I was slow to get inspired. I had seen Silver Linings Playbook last year and for some reason it stuck with me. When nothing else presented itself, I quietly moved forward with that idea. Then at the last minute Matt announced he was borrowing someone's full-on movie-quality Chewbacca costume. That's really one of Matt's true inner selves, and I knew I couldn't stand in his way. But then he decided he didn't want to spend all night inside Chewbacca, so we went with my plan. It was a fun look, and in keeping with my philosophy of Halloween costumes that are kinda feel-good.

One guy guessed that we were salt and pepper shakers. I don't even know?

The day after that party, my friend asked me what kind of bra I was wearing, and then she went and bought one.

So, the party: Over the top and fun as always. Everyone looked great. Also I will never touch another jello shot. I mean, really. What the what. I swear I only had like two and there is this thing with them where you're fine and all the sudden why is this house so crooked?

I was trapped in a Dali painting so I didn't notice but apparently there was some shenanigans with the powder room, and people going into the powder room with people they shouldn't be in there with, i.e., anyone, and the hostess was having to pound on the door to dislodge whomever was in there. Lots of couples were going in there and one time, a chick and two dudes came out.

At a certain point, you kinda hope they're doing drugs. If that had been my house, I would have been like, "Get the eff out, you live AROUND THE CORNER." But I don't know. Probably somebody lost a contact lens and lots of different people were helping look for it.

My friend was Frida Kahlo and I was the only one who knew who she was. Speaking of Surrealismo.

This was at the pre-party when everything still made sense.

At one point, we were supposed to go around and play some form of Bingo based on people at the party, but I forgot the rules of Bingo. Bingo doesn't really even have rules but it was like omg so confusing!

Jello shots are dumb.

Okay so then Matt took me home. It was really a lovely time, honestly.

The next day was the three-set tennis match against the horrible trolls. My entire tennis team was at the party so it's basically a miracle that anyone won a single point. But it turns out that three sets of tennis is a great cure for whatever ails you. Also it was nighttime by then so okay.

Did you guys dress up? Anybody go as the kids from Moonrise Kingdom? Because that would be adorable but I thought of it too late. And my other friend was like, "Yeah my husband thought of that too, you guys are weird."

xoxo

Moonshine and Magnolia

Her: "It'll be like Abbey Road but in Sylva."  Me: !!!

Mountain house reading.

Dolled up.

Happy New Year to you! And you. And to you, little blog.

We were up at the mountain house in western NC for the weekend leading up to New Year's Eve.  Man, the stuff the happens up there. It really is a different place.

One case in point: Mom and Dad returned from the little bookstore one afternoon and reported that they'd seen a guy--a kinda militia-looking dude with a crewcut and a Krav Maga t-shirt on--buying multiple copies of A Witches' Bible. He said they were gifts for the members of his coven, and that that night was a special celebration for them. Then he said the German name for it, which sounded to their ears like "Frauyellen," but I'm sure that's not how you spell it, and it meant that it was a night to "celebrate the women."

He said they were all going down to the lake, and that they would wash the women's feet by the light of the moon.

I actually thought that sounded delightful. I mean, probably chilly. But I just thought, there is stuff you could be into that makes way, WAY less sense to me than that. Like golf, or the Tea Party. Sure, he is not the person that I would have thought would be up in that, but carry on people. Carry right on, good mountain folk.

.....

Another case: On the afternoon of New Year's Eve, Dad cozened Matt, my brother Dave, and me into going with him on his usual walk around the mountain. We've done this lots of times, and it's more for fitness than nature contemplation, as it involves about 50 minutes of briskly climbing steep hills. So, okay, but on this day he said he had added a section on a forest track that extended it to about three miles and just over an hour. We were game, so we set out.

A little ways in, we ran across some neighbors from down the way, friends of mom and dad's who may or may not have a small-batch home distillery for spiritous liquors. I cannot say for sure, in case there are any revenuers reading this, or perhaps Boss Hogg. We exchanged the pleasantries of the season and complimented him on a recent batch of his work that we had sampled. Then we went on our way again.

We headed into the new portion of the walk, and I kept saying, "I mean, where ARE we?" It was just parts of that mountain I ain't never seen before. There are just a handful of houses on the whole side of the mountain, but somehow this was like, really truly the back side of nowhere. And it also seemed like more than three miles. As we climbed a hill, me thinking we would crest it and see Shangri-la, who should reappear but the crafty neighbor, coming the other way. I was like, how did he get here? We left him way back there and, I don't know, is he a leprechaun?

He hailed us, we stopped, and he handed my dad a mason jar filled with almond liqueur that he'd made. He had gone home to fetch it and set out to meet us again. I still don't know exactly how he knew where we'd be, but probably leprechaun powers. But yeah, mason jar of hooch. That's some mountain hospitality. We opened it and all sampled it, and it did fortify us for the walk home.

Which turned out to be much longer than three miles, Dad having misundercalculated, and was in fact closer to eleventy-nine thousand miles. But it the walk hadn't been so long, we might not have come upon the mason jar of booze.

....

So we did that little hike and then the youngsters among us left our children with mom and dad and got gussied up and went to Asheville for some New Year's revelry, where I danced for two hours basically sober, then we saw the New Year in, and came home and hot tubbed the New Year in some more, and I went to bed and was awakened by Laura coming down with a stomach flu, which I then proceeded to get, and was sick in bed all of January 1 but it's all okay now.

And that's the rest of the story.

What are you up to? Did you have a nice Christmas? I bet you did. xoxox

Lady Time

Today was a whole, whole lot of lady socializing and a complete disaster eating-wise but at least I managed to not volunteer for anything. As I will explain.

This morning my tennis team had a match at our home court (I brought a mixed baby greens salad with mandarin oranges, goat cheese, and walnuts, which is not exactly cutting edge but it completely disappeared). I was planning on going and having lunch with Matt after, but my partner T and I didn't get to start playing until 11, and then it took us three hours and three sets to finally lose to these tall, friendly women who made very few mistakes. It's kind of surprising that we took one set, actually.

Anyway, so I didn't get to go eat with Matt, and instead spent nearly all darn day with my morning tennis team. Everybody on my team lost their matches. Those girls were just really good. And as we were leaving, their captain said, "Well you guys definitely get the award for the nicest team in the league." I said, "Well, thank you, that might be some consolation." They also praised our hostessing. Sometimes I think we should disband as a tennis team and start a catering business, because our bench is really deep in that area.

Then Hank had his lesson up there after school and so it was lather, rinse, repeat with some of the same characters. By this point we had all half-changed our clothes.

Then, a mere two hours later, I went to a get-together and bunco night for my Sunday tennis team, to celebrate our semi-successful fall season. I took cut up apples and chocolate dip, because I was tired. This was at our captain's house. I like her house, because while her taste is not really the same as mine, she doesn't have a lot of stuff in there. There are empty spaces, and it feels very clean and spacious that way. I could swap out some of her things in a jiff and be happy with 90% of her stuff. (What a nice compliment that would be to give her! "I would be happy with 90% of your stuff!" I can be an ass sometimes, on the inside.)

This, again, was much of the same cast of characters as the morning, with some new additions. By now, everyone was fully showered, blown out, and wearing their boots. There was sangria.

Pretty Neighbor and I recalled that, at our last tennis bunco night, which was in June and therefore fell into the blogging lacuna, I had volunteered the two of us to decorate the club house for the 4th of July and oversee the 4th of July bike parade. Our tennis friend, and the neighborhood social director, was complaining about how her kids aren't even little anymore and she needs someone to take on more of the kid activities in the neighborhood, and somehow it possessed me to gesture toward PN and say, "This seems like something you would be really good at." I know! And then, perhaps because the sangria and my tight jeans were making me dizzy, I didn't see the death glare Pretty Neighbor was giving me and wound up basically committing the two of us.

And THEN, though she did not bring this up tonight because she is too good a friend, I planned an impromptu trip to D.C. for the 4th, leaving Pretty Neighbor to be the master of ceremonies all by herself.

BEST FRIEND EVAR. I apologized profusely when I realized what I was about to do. Or as much as I could apologize through my hysterical laughter of shame. But we did the flags and everything before I left and then PN oversaw the bike parade and all was well. Okay, why am I telling you about something that happened in June? Because tonight, back at the scene of the crime, Pretty Neighbor said, "Just keep your mouth shut." And I did!

So then there was lots of lady hollering and chatting, and Normal Neighbor unveiled this cheese dip she had baked in the middle of a loaf of bread, and I only had eyes for that thing, and then I had a conversation about the fifty shades books, and then I didn't win any prizes, and we were home by 9:30.

Now it is 11:30 and I am IN BED, which, 11:30 in my house is like still the shank of the evening, but I need to sing with the larks. I hope you have enjoyed this impressionistic journey through my lady socializing. You basically now know what it was like to be there. xoxo

Swim for Your Life, O Human Child!

Ursula's Lair

Our thoughts and takeaways from watching multiple, multiple middle school performances of Little Mermaid:

Laura is one of the black-clad Poor Unfortunate Souls up there, but it was basically impossible to photograph her because dang Ariel was always standing in the way. And Laura was in the back because she's tall, the light was greenish and dim, and the souls were constantly, like, writhing. After a couple of shows, I was like, "Laura, scoot up front! Elbow some of the other souls out of the way, but subtly!" But she didn't.

There she is, the one who's almost in focus.

Her other incarnation.

There were two casts of lead actors, but Laura and the other members of the corps were in every show. And there was a lot of girl talent in this group! Both Ariels were truly great singers, I couldn't believe they were twelve and thirteen years old.

This little girl who played Flounder just totally killed it.

Pretty costumes.

So the girls were awesome, but you know who was not awesome? The boys. All of the boys seemed like maybe they were bribed to be on stage, and maybe they had been. It was hilarious. It was like probably they'd never spoken English sentences before. Or worn clothing, or talked and moved at the same time. Discussing it later, Matt said, "You know, science has yet to devise a use for the middle school boy." And I had to agree. Bless their hearts!

The shining exception was both little boys who played the crab, especially this kid here. He had it together and he even did the Jamaican accent. But observing the general dearth of boy talent, I understood why the high school's production this fall was Little Women.

During the show week, a rumor was circulating that next year's play would be Aladdin. We thought, hmm, that would be fun, but it needs too many strong male leads. Matt was like, they should just do it with all girls, and I was all, is there something that has even more girls than Little Women? Laura mentioned Annie. That might do the trick.

K-I-S-S-I-N-G

The other thing that cracked me up was the tizzy the entire cast was in because Ariel and Prince Eric actually kiss on stage. Look at this picture and look at the kids in the background. (There's Laura in the back right.) Not a single one of them is in character at this point, they are all reacting to their classmates kissing for real on stage. Six shows, they were like this. And when Laura talked about it, she was like, "OHMIGOD!" Oh man, so funny and kind of sweet.

It was a fun week. Having a teeninsy role to play was just about perfect for Laura. She loved being part of something bigger, but with no actual pressure. She also loved being fussed over and getting into her costumes.

We liked the big Poor Unfortunate Soul hair.

Our final takeaway--Matt's and mine--was that we do not think we are raising an actress. Laura, we feel, only wants to play the role of Laura. Which can be very appealing, and I can imagine other parts in this show she could have done well in. She is not afraid to stand up in front of people and do things. But actually acting like someone else? I can't see it. I suspect that she will find, though, that in many life situations, acting like yourself is enough. Also showing up, being cheerful, and working the hair.

I hope that you have enjoyed this journey under the sea. If for some reason you do not yet feel like YOU sat through five shows of this pageantry, the set of flickr pics is here.

That's A Wrap

Laura, acting!

Laura's show is over. It started Wednesday and ran every night and three shows today. Three! I had to take pictures and had somehow volunteered to cover all three shows today, which brought my attendance to five of the six shows. It was a wonderful experience for her.

Today was a long day though. So much Little Mermaid! Holy Mackerel! Just...so...much...mermaid. I feel like I'm under King Triton's throne. When I staggered home after the last show, it was all I could do to go have a margarita with Matt. And it was all Laura could do to go straight to the cast party and spend two more hours bouncing straight up and down.

Climbing into the van with her friend at the end of the night, she said, "When we got there I went straight for the food. We did Gangnam Style like three times. And I hugged a lot of people." I do not doubt any of that. An enchanted evening.

Matt and I are taking advantage of Betty visiting to sneak out of the house at night. Yesterday, after a bracing evening of Little Mermaid, we went to see Skyfall. Ermagerd, Jerms Bernd! I really enjoyed it. I think I liked it a bit better than Matt, who said, "I liked it okay but I never once found myself wondering what would happen and in fact I was deeply uncurious." I don't know, I think I really like a certain kind of action movie and am ready to embrace them. I had fun at the second Robert Downy Jr. Sherlock Holmes movie after all.

I will have more for you after I climb out from under the sea. What's on for your weekend?

Adult Halloween: This Year Was My Choice

Tennis, anyone?

I first had the idea of our Halloween costumes months ago. I pondered them in my heart. As time drew near, it took some freight train-style enthusiasm on my part to get Matt on board. When he first put on the little white shorts, he said, "No." And I said, "YES!" And he was all, really? And I was like YEEEEESSSS! I think it didn't gel for him until he put the wig on. It gelled for me as soon as I saw him in those socks. Gelled big time.

This is an easy costume to do and I highly recommend it for comfort, couple-friendliness, light-hearted sunshineyness, and budget accessibility. The only real expenditure was two pairs of Adidas Sambas. But I thought they were utterly integral to my vision, and you know, I figured they are also functioning shoes, like, after Halloween. I had the old Lacoste polo, I got the wooden racquets from Pretty Neighbor (and there are a ton floating around out there), and I found the little shorts at, where else, American Apparel. We're just wearing two different sizes of the exact same shorts.

We went around the corner to a party in our neighborhood Saturday night. This is the party I told a bit about last year, where the people move out all their furniture starting Labor Day and completely transform their house. This year the theme was sort of medieval disco dungeon. Last year it was more like Zombie Ethan Frome. I think that's a thing.

Last year. Pretty sure Matt was more comfy this year.

This party is the occasion for my annual consumption of jello shots. Which were brought around by uniformed waiters this year, which I found hilarious. But also very convenient! It was all lots of fun, and the costumes were great. Yes, a lot of the ladies were nearly naked in that way of current Halloween fashions, but there were some clever things too. This lesbian couple dressed up as Wayne and Garth from Wayne's World. It was uncanny. There was also a couple doing Grant Wood's American Gothic, and it was one of those things where it's like not even a costume, it's just part of their souls. Anyway, a good time was had by all and we were home by 12:30, little the worse for the jello shots.

Nobody did anything scandalous or embarassing, that I remember, though this one lady's girl scout costume was both.

I am already thinking of next year, but to get Matt excited, I think I need an idea that engages his fantasy life. So, basically that gets us to Vikings, barbarians, other tall hirsute characters? I'm reminded of that John Cheever story where the directive for a costume party was, "Come as your heart's desire," or something to that effect, and all the men came in their old school football outfits and all the women came as brides.

Did you guys dress up? Deets plz!

Fantabulous Wedding in LA

At the start of the evening...

...and at the end of the evening.

Last week I was so flustered with Hank's end-of-school stuff and playing vast quantities of tennis, badly, that I might not have told you guys that Matt and I were going to our friends' wedding in Los Angeles. And then I told you on facebook (you should "like" me 'cause I like you!), only I might have only said that we were in an airport (and that I yelled "Dark meat!" across the concourse because I was seized with fear that even after sixteen years of marriage, Matt might not know my chicken preference). So gosh, there is just so much living that sometimes bits of it slip away from the narrative grid upon which I want to index all of life.

Our friends Mike and Amy got married at a place called Hollywood Castle in the Hollywood hills. It is, well, this castle place. Or it is a house built to look like a castle in a kind of Disneyland way. And also like Disneyland, before you get there you're not sure what to expect, and then when you arrive you're like, "Oh, wow, this is just pure fun. Castle, YES!" And even better than Disneyland because open bar.

View from the driveway

The setting of this place, right on top of a hill, was wonderful. We could see the Hollywood sign from one side and the city from the other. The wedding couple was beautiful, and we got to see friends we haven't seen since we left California six years ago. Half of the wedding guests (three-quarters?) were in costume of some kind--medieval, fantasy, steampunk, who knows--and the whole effect was lovely. Definitely an unforgettable night.

This was the moss topiary dragon that watched over the table assignments. He was charming. His name is I Cost More Than College. Ha ha! jk, higher education has gotten crazy $$ the last few years. And the bride told me his name is Edgar.

The ceremony was on a green lawn overlooking the city, and then while we were having drinks, magic elves set up tables for us to have dinner out there.

Our table

My date

I'm not sure why this pic came out tilted; it can't be all that mead I drank.

This picture shows the little moat surrounding the castle, a charming wee moat that I almost fell into when the heel of my shoe got stuck between the boards of that bridge. I only went down on one knee though, so I'm sure everybody who saw me just thought I was kneeling in sudden prayer. I kinda wish I had fallen in because I probably would have come out clutching Excalibur. Usually that is what happens when I fall down at parties.

Then there was cake and dancing. Matt and I got to practice one of the two dance steps we know. And though Matt is against the idea of our renewing our wedding vows, as he believes our original vows are still in force and why cast doubt on that, I always feel a little like when we go to a wedding, those vows renew themselves a tiny bit.

Have you ever been to a themed wedding that you really loved? This was a nice one. For more pics of the scene and lots of pics of me but only one lonely picture that shows my shoes, click here.

I Am Like A Golden Buddha

So, when we left off with our party report, I had consumed two point five glasses of red wine and been introduced to a world of New Sensations. I had also had my ears assaulted by unbelievable amounts of lady-hollering. It was like a nine year-old girl's slumber party. And, yes, just like a slumber party, many people were in their PJ's and there was gossip.

Oh! And I forgot to tell you! Remember the post about the email from the crazy book club lady whose son-in-law was terrorizing the neighborhood? Well, her daughter was at this party. I had finally met the crazy-ish mother at book club and was most interested to see her daughter. Now I just need the son-in-law to complete the set. Anyway, Pretty Neighbor knows her, and I was like, "Get her over here and let's ask her what the heck went on that time." But there was not enough wine to make that happen.

Anyhoo, the Passion Hostess finished her presentation and PN and I decided to take our afterglow upstairs and get in line for the tanning. This was one of those houses where the layout is really nice, but in the interest of creating a roomy feeling, the builder just has these weird spaces here and there that you don't know exactly what to do with. You know what I mean? Like, their second floor landing had swollen into a sitting area with a huge couch, coffee table and chairs, and a secretary. I don't know if anyone in the family ever uses this area. Its best use might be for waiting one's turn to be spray tanned in the master bedroom.

So some shiny giggling women leave the bedroom and PN and I get to go in. We had grabbed the sweats we brought out of our huge purses. The tanning lady was a petite blonde with a very friendly vibe and rubber gloves. We introduced ourselves and discussed how she lives in a subdivision up the road, the one that famously has indoor tennis courts. Truly the woman who has everything.

I said, "So should we just strip?" She was like, "basically, yeah." She said we could take off as much or as little as we wanted, she had those paper thongs for us to wear if we wanted.

But I had been prepared and had worn my own thong. Sidebar: as I was getting ready, Matt was like, "You own thong underwear?" Like, why wasn't I informed of this? I said, "Yes, sure, I just never wear them because it's like having something in your hiney crack." He said, "And not in a good way?" Correct. So, the skimpiest thong I have, and the one I thought the best for spray tanning, is the actual pair of thong underwear I wore to my senior year of college Homecoming Dance. I am not kidding, I still have them. There is so much...I just can't even talk about it. I will say that the dance was held at the National Building Museum, which is pretty! End of sidebar!

So I said I'd tan first and carefully separated myself from my new fancy jeans. Then I took off my shirt and said to the girl, "Now, warning, I had a mastectomy and I have a scar. Don't be startled." She didn't actually yawn, but she was like, "Yep, I've seen all the kinds of naked there are." So, okay. I just felt that wearing a bra to be spray tanned was too fussy.

Then she put this barrier cream all over my palms so the tanning solution wouldn't adhere to them. (The side of my thumbs still wound up a rich mahogany.) Then she directed me into this little teepee looking thing that she had brought and had set up in the bedroom so the tan stuff wouldn't go everywhere. It was open at the top and on one side. She told me how to stand and then started spraying. It was like standing in a cold pineapple-scented mist. Not unpleasant. It took a few minutes, I guess, and then I went and stood in front of a big fan to dry off.

PN entered the tanning zone and here things slowed waaay down. I don't know if it was the wine or the nakedness or what but we all got very chatty. No one more chatty than the tanning lady. She had a lot to say about her search for a church home and all manner of other subjects. Which meant, for PN, that the girl would turn off the tanning solution and just be spraying her with cold air while she talked. It was hilarious! Hilarious to me, anyway, because by then I was leaning against a doorway and eventually I was dressed. I mean, I don't know, I think her tan took five times as long as mine? Chatty chat CHAT chat!

I ventured deeper into the bathroom complex to find the toilet. Here again, just massive amounts of space everywhere. It made my own bathroom, which we call the Golden Palace, look like the in-room lavatory at a Super 8. First I had to journey through a closet, fully expecting Narnia to be on the other end, and then a vanity area with mirrors on either side for a nice mise-en-abyme effect, and then finally to the pee pee pagoda. And there was music booming out everywhere from speakers in the walls and exciting lighting. I barely found my way out.

Then PN and I each gave the tanning girl $20 and we parted fast friends. When we stumbled back downstairs, dewy and fruit-smelling, the place had basically cleared out. We had been gone almost an hour, maybe we really were in Narnia. We ate some cheese dip and planned out how to pry T away from some drunk, intent girl who was explaining to her how the 1% need to be taxed at a lower rate because they are job creators. I decided that shrill, out of control laughter that would split the very ceiling was not the best tactic for pulling her away. Finally I just put my hand on her shoulder and said, "I'm sorry. Let's go." And later T was like, "OMG I kept glancing at you to get you to save me!" And I was like, "Not even."

So omg I have had so much fun typing this! Obviously. Then we all went home and when I walked into my house, still in the middle of our child-free weekend, Matt was all like, "Weeelllll, how was it?" And I said, "Sorry fella, stay over there, I'm tanning!" Also I smelled like pineapple-y dog pee.

The girl had told us that the tan would activate over the next twelve hours. And lo, it did. When I got up in the morning (after sleeping on a dark sheet that wouldn't show stains), I looked at myself in the mirror and went AAAAHHHH! I had last night's mascara on AND was seriously tan. I looked like a raccoon on vacation in Aruba. After I got the makeup off, it was a little less alarming.

So given that I didn't have any special plans and had just tanned for the hell of it, I rocked that savage tan to the preschool Storybook Stroll, several swim practices, karate classes, and a casual evening with friends and takeout food. Yesterday, at the playground, I saw the mom of a buddy of Hank's. She goes, "Wait, are you tan?" Like, what in the world?

But it looks good! I tried half heartedly to photograph it and you just can't tell. Picture me as I am, only a few shades darker. I would totally do it again, though I might have her do my face more lightly. She said that if you can get six girls together, she'll come do a house party, so I might do one closer to summer.

Oh, the big tanning revelation is the buns! Tanned buns! I have never seen my buns so tan and it really works. I see now why body builders/pageant queens do it. That area is a nice toasty brown and the thong lines are cute.

Now you really do know everything about me.

Thank you for letting me overshare. I hope that you have found some enjoyment from this relation. Wishing you toasty buns.

Shee-nanigans: That Party Report

I don't know what was weirder: how vanilla this "passion party" was; or how weird the world would be had it NOT been so vanilla. If you follow.

Exhibit A: The thing I'm holding in this picture. It's a feather tickler on one end and the world's tiniest, most adorable riding crop on the other. It's like a sex toy for an American Girl doll. (Probably that new Marie-Grace, amiright?) I smacked my tennis friend over and over again as hard as I could--you know, like you do--and I don't think she even felt it.

(Exhibit B, an unrelated exhibit: Those are my new fancy jeans. Matt took me out on Saturday afternoon and I tried on a zillion pairs of incredibly tight jeans for my now-skinnier bohiney. It was the world's most awesome date, y'all. My kind of romance. The bad phone picture makes the color/fade on them look really extreme, but it's not. Where was I? This might be another post. Definitely.)

I'm getting ahead of my story. Pretty Neighbor and her hubs played a quick set of tennis with Matt and me Saturday night before the party. She and I were into going to meet and greet--it was just around the corner--but we weren't sure we were up for the spray tan. Logistically, getting a full-body spray tan in the middle of this event was seeming like a hassle to me. The invitation suggested wearing dark, loose clothing so the tan solution wouldn't stain them, and even said, "Just come in your bathrobe!" Both PN and I were like, ah, no thanks. I was all, "I don't want to go to a party in my pajamas, I want to go in these new jeans I just got that I can only stand up in!" So we decided we might bring sweats to change into post-tan, because I was curious about the tanning, having never had one.

Honestly, Reader, it was knowing that I needed to get the full experience to report to you that spurred me on. You make me want to be a better (wo)man.

So PN and I calculated that the proper arrival time was 30 minutes after the start time given on the invite, and we sidled over and picked up our tennis friend T. Now, T had told me that she wouldn't be tanning because she wasn't into the nakedness required, but then she comes out of her house in actual jammies and slippers, saying "I hope I'm not the only one in pajamas!"

Well, T needn't have worried. We were greeted at the door of a beautiful house by our hostess, who was clad in--and I would never kid you about this--fleece, leopard-print footie pajamas that zipped from her crotch to her neck. As she welcomed us inside, we said, "Have you already tanned?" and she pulled us under a brighter light and then unzipped her jammies. Unzipped them rather a lot. We admired her golden-brown boob, and then I was like, "Oh goodness, shall I just leave my purse right here?" and "I'll just find a place to put this wine."

It was a very Just Us Gals moment and it set the tone perfectly for what was to come.

Then we joined the party and PN caught a glimpse of the sex toy presenter lady, who had a little table and a giant pink suitcase full of her wares, and was like, "Oh, I know her." She was super nice, Columbian, outgoing, and plays A2 level tennis. So we chatted with her and took in the scene. Lots of nice food and probably forty girls there, many of them in their pajamas.

Pretty Neighbor and a Giant Bundt Candle

It was certainly raucous. At one point, prompted by what I don't know, our leopard-footied hostess raised her voice and proclaimed, a little heatedly, to everyone, "I don't have a dildo, I don't need a dildo, I don't want a dildo, I am a GOOD CATHOLIC GIRL." PN and I risked neck injury by whipping around to look at each other. It was a rich instant of human life. If I didn't have a blog, one would have sprung fully-formed into existence right then, willed by the exigencies of the moment. I'll just note that it seemed rather like protesting too much.

Eventually we all perched on the furniture in the living room for the "passion party" portion. This was where, EVEN HERE, my congenital need to be the good student surfaced. The presenter lady was having a hard time being heard over the outbreaks of laughter and general rowdiness. As you might imagine. So I wanted to show my best respectful listening, and I even had the Hermione Granger impulse to be like, "SHHHH! You guys! She's talking about PHEREMONES! This is IMPORTANT!" I didn't though.

But it led to the presenter having to raise her voice and basically scream, "LADIES, GOD HAS BLESSED US WITH A CLITORIS!" Those were her exact words. And all the people said amen. She said it several times for different products.

From the catalog

So, the products. This was really interesting to me, to see how this was all presented. The catalog starts (and her spiel started) firmly in the familiar discursive space of self-pampering. Ladies, ya gotta take care of yourselves and find pleasure in everyday activities like bathing, grooming, etc. Body lotions, oils, and sprays with names like Entice and Glow can ease the drudgery of living. Everything is an "experience" or a "transformative escape" that will make you feel "deliciously irresistible." This should tell you what it was like, this first part: there was a pack of 100 silk rose petals for you to strew on your sheets (and clean up after, I suppose). They came with four tealight candles and "an invitation for your lover." T bought them.

Every product was lickable or edible. She went around and squirted some kind of goo on everyone's fingers and was like, "Try it!" I was like, "Uh no way am I EATING that stuff that just came out of that tube." I mean, I am game for just about whatever, but please.

It all smelled pretty good. Mangosteen is an important fragrance in this world.

Okay, so there were these various unguents, then some lube, which seemed pretty good, then more products that make your skin tingle in various ways and locations. One of them is called Nympho Niagra. Believe.

Then we broke for more wine before she brought out the big guns.

First we looked at these little chapbooks. Tickle His Pickle and Tickle Your Fancy. The pickle one promised, improbably, 50 ways to tickle that pickle. (Cue Paul Simon? "Ya just blow some air, Claire.")

I apologize. For this whole post. If you have better gags please share. I am truly over my head here.

The Tickle Your Fancy book was For Us, and contained hints for "self-pleasure and "awareness." LADIES, GOD HAS BLESSED US...

So Pretty Neighbor had the most concise critique of the night, I thought, when she observed, "Hey, in the pickle book it's all pictures of the woman pleasing the man, and in the girl's book it's all pictures of her by herself. Doesn't anyone wanna help her tickle her fancy?" Yes, truly. That was the overall tone of much of what was presented: spicing up your sex life is a DIY project, ladies.

Okay, I got to hand it to the copywriters of this catalog, and to whomever trains the sales presenters, they get through the whole shebang and never, never say any ugly words. They are at particular pains to avoid "blowjob." The preferred term is "oral favor." Which I actually found kind of sweet. I don't know. I was into my third glass of wine by that point.

One of the little vibrators plugs into a USB. And one looked like a lipstick. Everything comes with cute drawstring sacks so the cleaning lady doesn't have to see it. One had a suction cup base, and she stuck it to the mantle. I took a picture but I don't want that picture looking at me on the front page of my blog for days and days.

I also took a picture of Pretty Neighbor holding a really complicated dildo in each hand, but she hissed, "Don't you dare put that on your blog!"

Presented without comment and I will not answer questions, Mom.

So I said this whole thing was vanilla, but you know, by the end, if you flip to the back pages of the catalog, the train takes you straight to Funkytown. The product range passes through every kind of dildo--all the Sex and the City girls ones--and gets right into what most people would think of as kinky.

Before it gets there, though, it passes through silly. When I was telling Matt about the whole night, I got as far as, "There's a c**k ring that looks like a Goodyear tire," and he burst into a giggle of pure joy. Like a child on Christmas morning.

And as unlikely as it seems, that product is reversible? There is also pink duct tape.

Then, at length, properly prepared and educated in the worlds of exploration and escape, we arrive at the section entitled, "A New Sensation!" You get me. (I don't want those searchable terms on my blog forever and ever.) And here I must say, Mom and Dad, that I had no idea what it was talking about and I flipped through a copy of Readers Digest Condensed Books instead. I mean, I knew what all the words meant but not when put together in that way!

Okay, I'm lying on the fainting couch now.

Now I'm back.

And Lord, the hooting and hollering at every moment of this.

This post is already way, way WAY too long and I haven't even gotten to the tanning! Which was seriously a whole separate experience. Tomorrow! There is no way you have read this far!

Wishing you pleasure and awareness.
xo

Grown-up Halloween

That's a whole euro-sized pillow crammed in there.

Grown-up Halloween was Saturday night, of course, which is good because then we had all of yesterday and today to refocus our minds on tonight's observance with proper piety. Matt and I stepped out to a couple parties as Santa and Elf. This idea was born because we thought it would be funny but earnest, which is kinda our brand. And then we remembered that my dad owns a Santa suit and bam, I was shopping for elf attire. When the dress arrived, I put it on and realized that once belted, it was indecently short, what with the jagged hem and all. Thank goodness for opague tights, or it would have been a full Harvest Moon.

Okay, do you want to be popular at a party? Go as Santa Claus. It need not be December. It was crazy, utter strangers yelling, "Santa!" and wanting hugs and pictures. And don't get me started on the lap sitting. My mom tried to warn me: She said, "This suit is a chick magnet." (My dad wearing this to the church Christmas party last year and being molested by the Sunshine Seniors Sunday School class is a whole 'nother story.) But she was right, when Santa sits down, somebody wants to be on his lap.

And the sack of tiny wrapped presents didn't hurt either. Matt went to the dollar store on Saturday and purchased 50 gifts. Then he and Laura wrapped them, and he handed them out to folks at the party. People were so delighted, it was kind of sweet.

The first party was here in our 'hood, hosted by my gravelly-voiced tennis pal. Our plan was to pop in and stay the minimally polite time, but it was so crowded it hardly mattered what we did. These people transform their house every year. I think they must start in August. It was really spectacular. The hostess handed me a jello shot. And then someone dressed as Colonel Sanders handed me a drumstick. It might have BEEN Colonel Sanders. He had a bucket clutched under his elbow. He was kind of weird, that guy. I did try a bite of the chicken and then I hid it in my cup. Then I said hi to all my tennis buddies and then we rolled out of there.

We met up with the Hamiltons back at our house:

He is a ball feeder machine and no, the fuzzy balls joke never got old.

Then we went down to the perimeter to a party hosted by a friend of Matt's, and when we got there, I realized that we should have eaten more food and gotten drunker at the first party, though the logistics of that would have been hard to work out. It was totally the thing where any bottles of actual liquor are empty by the time you get there, and everyone mostly brings beer. Also the food was strange and skimpy. At the suburban party, all the costumes were beautiful and I knew what they were. At the second slightly rough-around-the-edges, party, there were lots of people dressed as characters I didn't recognize, from video games or movies I have never played/seen. And lots of homemade zombies, trailing skin, and a very Slutty Super Girl. Santa was even more popular in this crowd, though.


I like parties, though, even weird ones where Human Centipede is being screened in one room, Lord help us. And I enjoyed my costume. It might be one of my alter-egos. Santa is definitely one of Matt's.


Did y'all have any adult Halloween gatherings?


Have fun tonight! Gotta get ready for trick-or-treaters!   

Adult Spring Break

With the selflessness borne of a full decade of parenting, Matt and I dropped the kids with my parents last week and set out on our own little vacation.

It's around a nine-hour drive from their place in North Carolina to Washington, DC, our destination. We rolled along, I-26 to I-81, through the mountains and the hills. We watched out the windows. We chatted. We were silent. We listened to a lecture about a Middle English poem. We looked at cows. We listened to a Fresh Air interview with Jon Hamm. About six hours into the drive, I said, "I don't even feel like we've been in the car that long."  Matt waved his hand over his shoulder, back toward the seats that weren't occupied by our children. "It's because there's none of that," he said.

We got to stay with my brother Dave and his wife Kate, who are really fun. And dang, when you don't have kids with you, you can cover a lot of ground.  Here is our itinerary, with snapshotty illustration.

Day 1: Dave dropped us at the Jefferson Memorial. We got our Jefferson on, then walked on around the tidal basin to the FDR Memorial. Comparative memorial architecture was discussed, with Matt being on Team Lincoln and me on Team Edward. Oh Edward. Wait, I mean Team Franklin!

Matt said, "Look like you want a New Deal." 

The cherry blossoms were in full force, and they were gorgeous. This memorial is all stone and water, and the trees took it to a whole 'nother level of beauty. It worked. Oh, and also, in the picture above, I'm modeling the warm-up jacket and puffy vest combo that I wore the entire trip. I recommend this highly utilitarian ensemble, but all our photos look like one long day, because I'm wearing the same clothes. Often, Matt and I both had our puffy vests on at the same time. Don't worry, you'll get to see.

Then we wanted to head on around the tidal basin to the Washington Monument. I've never been up in it, but anyway, I think it is one of those buildings that is best appreciated from afar.

So to get from the FDR Memorial down to the little path that hugs the water, we had to get over a chainlink fence that the city fathers had placed there to corral the Cherry Blossom Festival crowds. I was studying the fence, planning my approach, when suddenly something whooshed by my shoulder. It was Matt, vaulting over the fence. Then he was kind enough to grab me under the arms and haul me over.

Adult Spring Break is dignified like that.

Then we walked around to where the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial is under construction. We peeked through the fence and could see the big statue of him. Lookit. You can see his face up there.

Then I stepped back from the fence and almost knocked a jogger into the water, causing Matt to tell me that I shouldn't have stepped backwards like that, but honestly, she was too quiet, sneaking around jogging, and it's not like she actually fell in. Let her have her moment of cursing hapless tourists. I sail on.

Then an older lady power-walking on the path in those "shape-up" sneakers fell down right in front of us, hard. I knelt down and asked her where she was hurt, and she said her ankle. Sure enough, her ankle started to swell up in an alarming way. We helped her sit up, and then stand, but she wouldn't let us call anyone or walk with her, and instead hobbled off back to her office. We thought we better leave the tidal basin before anyone got seriously hurt. Adult Spring Break is hazardous.

Then we walked across the Mall to the Museum of American History.  Overall we did not think much of the big renovation they did, but it still has some of our favorite stuff.  Like the First Ladies' Dresses.

ZOMG it's Michelle's Inaugural Gown! 

Dave joined us and we did that museum and then walked over to the Old Post Office, but the tower was closed (awesome view and still free), and then we walked down the street to the National Archives. Now, at some point in the past, I remember just walking up the front steps and right into the rotunda with no waiting. These days, not so much.

There was a line out the side of the building, and just huge crowds inside. I was like, "These people know there's not really a treasure map on the back of the Declaration, right?" Dave said the crowd was because of the Cherry Blossom Festival, but I blame Glenn Beck and his exhortations that his flock should study the words of the Founders.

So then we called it a day, but dang, we couldn't have done half of that with kids. My feet were tired and I was thinking about asking Matt to carry me, I don't know how Hank could have lasted.

Day 2: We drove out to Mount Vernon.  I don't know what gave us that idea, but the weather was fantastic. I love house museums, and that place is well worth a trip. However, once we realized that part of National Treasure 2: The Book of Secrets was filmed there, it brought on paroxysms of Nicholas Cage impressions that were unstoppable and that continued the whole week. Like so.



The camera is a little jiggly because I was laughing.

My funny brother and me on the porch at Mt. Vernon

That night we went out for swanky drinks downtown with Jenni and Nelson, and then we ate at the Old Ebbitt Grill, because I wanted to dine with the power elite. We were seated next to some congressman I didn't recognize who was there with his staff, and he was getting all cuddly with this chick, which did not escape our notice, and then as we were leaving his younger aide was in the foyer cautioning him to be more discreet. Good crab cakes too.

Jenni and Me

Day 3: Dave, Matt and I went up to Dupont Circle to the Phillips Collection museum for Impressionist and modern art. I went to college in D.C. and had never heard of this, but Elle tipped me off.  It's in one of those mansions near Mass Ave. This is wonderful and you should not miss it if you are in town. However, this is not one of those museums that is knocking itself out with "Discovery Zone!" type stuff for kids. More like, "Here, you may seal your child tightly in this bag, place it in the coatroom, and retrieve him when you exit the museum."

Then we came out of the museum and it was raining, but we made it across the way to Kramerbooks. We used to love to come here when we were in college, so we got to relive the founding myths of our relationship. An agreeable way to spend a rainy day.

Then Katie arrived in their car and picked us up at the door, depositing us at the Natural History Museum. Having a driver is awesome. And we had so much fun wandering around what is probably Matt's favorite of the Smithsonian museums. It seems like it never changes, at least not in essentials.

He loves this place so much that I just left him alone to commune with the bones. I think a museum cafe is the best place in the world to be on a rainy day, so I repaired there with Katie and Dave. Oh, and we did push our way through the crowds to see the Hope Diamond and all that jazz.  Could not believe the crowd in that room. Could not believe. But seeing this elephant was a sweet and nostalgic end to our DC time.

Then we saw Matt's cousins who also live on Capitol Hill, literally around the corner from Dave, and we drank wine and ate salami. Then we ate some more and watched the news of the budget deal and watched some Drunk History on YouTube. Then there may have been more Nicholas Cage.

Oh my Lord we had such a good time, and believe it or not, there's more to tell you.  But we will leave it here. I also have less-crappy photos, but darned if these camera phones aren't so convenient.

Did you have a nice week? Was it your Spring Break? We are back to the grind today. By which I mean, I'm blogging, visiting my neighbors, and tending the kids while Matt works his ass off.

Love,
B

Date Night, Sporty Spice Edition

Matt's mom came and took our kids away. They are out of school all week, so she whisked them up to Chattanooga this morning to be with her for a few days. Matt and I will head up there on Wednesday, but for now, we are childless.

My house is giant. And quiet.

It seems limitless, the things you can do when you don't have kids at home. I could nap. Think deeply. Think shallowly. Watch the leaves fall while eating toast. Have some part of my body professionally groomed. Assemble a vacuum cleaner.

So far today I've accomplished three of those.

But the possibilities are all enticing, no?

And tonight, yay! Matt and I are going downtown to see the Hawks-Celtics game. Matt is a big Celtics fan, though he doesn't often get to see a live game. He was reluctant to spend money on decent seats, but I knew how much he would enjoy it, and he basically never buys himself anything, so I pitched a fit until he agreed to go. And I get to go too.  I think it will be fun and a different thing from any other date night we've had.

I have rarely been to a professional sporting event, but I am ready to enliven it for everyone with my color commentary.

Kidding! So I don't know much about the baskets-ball, but I have new boots to wear and I like to go places at night.

Date night!

I hope you are having a nice pre-holiday Monday.

You have my love,
B

Segway Tour: Walking Makes Me Sad Now

While we were in Asheville over the weekend, Matt had a surprise outing for us. We got up Monday morning and he said, "What are the most comfortable shoes you brought?" And I was like, "These thong sandals with big brass salamanders on top, naturally. I didn't know there would be, like, hiking." After he asked that I figured that we were going to meet up with a walking tour, or maybe one of the trolleys I'd seen around town. But no!

ZOMG Segways! He'd booked us spots with Moving Sidewalk Tours. When we got to the Asheville Visitors' Center and I realized what we were doing, I squealed like a tiny baby girl. I'd always been curious about those things, and I couldn't believe they were going to let me get on one. It crossed my mind that I would possibly drive it into a telephone pole, but I was so excited! I resolved to be the most A+++ student of Segway ever and to not endanger other people much at all.

Fortunately our guide, Wes, passed out helmets (Matt got the Evil Knievel helmet) and gave us a lesson before we hit the open road. It was just us and one other couple, which was great. There was only one awkward moment, after Wes had pointed out which were the bigger helmets and which were the smaller ones, and I reached for a bigger one. The other girl said, "But that's one of the bigger ones," and I was all, "Look at the size of this melon." Anyhoo.

So, the instructions for successfully getting onto the Segway:

1) Step up onto it.

2) Just stand there.

Magical fairies down underneath your feet do the work of holding you steady. You don't balance, you just stand and breathe. It feels weird for about thirty seconds and then it feels totally amazeballs.

Then, when you want to move forward, you just barely lean forward with your hips, and you glide forward exactly like you glide in your best dreams. Wes was leading us around the parking lot, and I was getting the hang of it, weaving around obstacles and zooming on the sidewalk. All at once I found myself saying, "I feel that I am magic!" Only I kind of yelled it, like, "I feel that I AM MAAAAGIIIIIIIIC." Wes was like, "Yeah, that feeling is normal." And there were rainbow-colored comet trails of sparkles shooting out behind and bluebirds and cartoon squirrels raced along, trying to keep up with me.

If I had a Segway I would go outside right now, in the dark, and ride all over the neighborhood in my socks. Segway!

So you use the handlebars only to turn; you can actually ride with no hands, which is helpful if you are having a conversation and need to add gestures. Wes showed us a technique where you actually steer with your knees, leaving your hands permanently free for I don't know what. The other thing the handlebars do, I found, is nudge against your hips when the Segway decides you're going too fast. This happened to me a couple of times toward the end of our tour when I was getting cocky and sorta kinda racing.

Asheville is the perfect-sized place for a Segway tour. We spent about three hours and covered practically the whole downtown, much more than you could do in a walking tour. I so totally recommend doing this if you have a chance. Plus, when we stopped for coffee, we got to leave our Segways in a little row out front, and I was all, "Yeah, this is the way to make an entrance." I felt like I was at the very top of the Nerd Food Chain.

The other couple, Roger (in red) and Victoria, was also celebrating their anniversary. Yay!

This is a new war memorial for Western North Carolinians, and it is hard to take an appropriately somber picture when people are zooming around it on Segways.

So, you know how when you're on the moving sidewalk at the airport and then you step off and it feels like a letdown? Like the ground is so unfriendly to your forward progress and your feet are so dull? That's what getting off the Segway is like, times a kabillion. After our tour we went back into downtown and got lunch, and it was so sad to be shuffling along the same streets we'd zoomed down earlier. Walking is so boring now. Really, it is like dead to me. Stupid dumb walking!

But what a wonderful treat! I did not want to give that thing back. Y'all have got to try it if you haven't. Good thought, Matt! You want him on your team, people.

And If This World Runs out Of Lovers

The occasions for celebration are piling up around here. We are hip deep.

Matt's birthday was Wednesday.

Go Matt!

And our fifteenth anniversary is Saturday. Fifteen! And me still so young! Fifteen seems like a significant number, at least in our base ten numbering system. I guess an ancient Babylonian would be like, "What's all the hoo ha?"

Here's my post commemorating our anniversary last year, with pictures.

And here's the post that is probably most representative of our relationship.

Also this one.

Matt has a habit of, whenever I say the words, "fifteen years," bursting into some hip hop song that goes, "Fifteen years! Fifteen years! And then he found out that the shorty wasn't his!"

Yes. If it sounds like that would never get old, you are wrong about that.

That's my man. Infuriating and hilarious. Hilariating?

So to celebrate all this stuff that needs celebratin', we are heading up to the mountain house tonight, THEN we are leaving the kids with Mom and Dad and slipping away to Asheville for a night. We're going to stay at the Grove Park Inn, 'cause I've always wanted to check that place out.

I'm going to insist on the room that Barack and Michelle stayed in. Or, failing that, the room John Edwards and Rielle Hunter stayed in.

Or wait, maybe those are the same room and I could get double credit. Plus like nine other presidents have stayed there so the place is probably haunted. I will let you know.

I'm also going to cogitate about how our book club could work. Y'all have a delicious long weekend! All my loving! xoxox-B

Date Night Y'all

Matt's mom has come to town to stay a couple of days, and this is the first weekend we've been home in forty forevers. We knew would get a chance to go out tonight, so Matt's proposal was these things in this order:

1) Go eat at the new taqueria near us, the one that has made our lives complete with its amazing chipotle-tamarind sauce.

2) Then go see The Other Guys. I have a soft spot for Marky Mark.

3) Then go to the gym for some late-night gymming. This could involve actual working out, reading on the pool deck, or just sitting in the hot tub. I think I could muster a half-hour on the treadmill and that would take the place of shredding. We'll see.

Be good and I'll see y'all tomorrow.

Smooth Move

Is it already Wednesday? Weird.

Our friend Rick is in town, and last night he and I stepped out to the picture show. On the way we stepped into the Starbucks at the bookstore, which was not, as it turned out, a real According-to-Hoyle Starbucks, because they could not make my drink, a short cappuccino. They only have tall, you see. Now, the short is not on the Starbucks menu, but in my experience, they will always make it, and it costs about two dollars. But not here.

Remember the song "Punk Rock Girl" by the Dead Milkmen? I thought of this:

We went to the Philly Pizza Company

And ordered some hot tea
The waitress said "No!
We only have it iced."
So we jumped up on the table
And shouted "anarchy!"

I shouted anarchy and got the regular plain old coffee. Then, because I can't slurp down a tall coffee in ten minutes, we took our beverages to the movie theater. The ticket girl informed us, with great sadness, that while we were welcome to finish our drinks in the lobby, we could not take them into the theater.

So, of course, while I was in the ladies' room, I nested my coffee cup down in my big hobo bag, and then held it still with my forearm while we walked into the theater and took our seats. Classy, yes.

Then as we were getting situated in our row, I carefully reached in to retrieve my cup. I must have made a noise of distress, because Rick said, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said. "There's just a shitload of coffee in my purse."

Luckily I had a pair of Laura's sweatpants in there (?) to soak up the spillage. Also some mail.

We saw Inception, which I enjoyed totally. I can't figure out why it was so good, because it has so many moving parts and such a complicated premise that it should have been a big pile of doo. But it was fun and it worked for me, not just as a gee-whiz experience but on a human level, thanks in large part to Marion Cotillard. I definitely recommend it.

I do not recommend drinking a tall Starbucks coffee at ten pm. When you do that, you are still chatting gaily at 2 am, and getting to sleep before 3 is not happening.