Family Fun in Sunny Salina, Kansas, 2006.

These photos are pretty old, but they could be the most interesting ones I've ever taken on a family adventure. Middle America...gotta love it.

It's a 14 hour drive to Salina, Kansas, people. We must make our own fun by whatever means are available. This game was called "How Many Cinnamon Teddy Grahams Will Stick to My Face at One Time??" I think I could have pushed for 20...

This place was called Rock City...not to be confused with the Rock City you see painted on barns all across the South. There was an enormous field in the middle of a Kansas (imagine that) filled with dozens of giant boulders that looked just like this one. Pretty...creepy. Come out, come out, little alien babies!!

I love an introspective vandal. This is the power of Rock City, my friends.

Feminine.

I'm not one of those girls who sits around talking about her cycle, her uncontrollable mood swings, or how much she craves chocolate over sex. In fact, I'm generally not even a fan of chocolate. And conversations like that make me feel too much like a bored suburban stereotype of a "woman" instead of a young, funky 30-something "girl".

But yesterday, my status as a "woman" smacked me right in the face when I went to the local Publix and somewhat subconsciously picked up these two items...and only these two items. When I became aware of the fact I was standing knee-deep in a pile of my own cliche, I took this picture with my camera phone.

Fhilatic Fun.

Pulled straight from the piles of fan mail that I, I mean, the label receives every day.

The three greatest men of this generation...
together on one envelope for the low, low price of $1.23.


Just a beautiful stamp. Let's face it...


Okay, call me color blind, but this demonstrably Caucasian man is on a stamp titled "Black Heritage." But I did some research and Wikipedia had this to offer: Chesnutt was born in Cleveland, Ohio, to Andrew Chesnutt and Ann Maria (Sampson) Chesnutt, both "free persons of color" from North Carolina.  His parents offered to sell him into slavery, but the potential buyer could not come up with more than $23 to pay for him.  His paternal grandfather was a white slaveholder and, based on his appearance, Chesnutt likely had other white ancestors.

Now you know.

Effing Old, Part Deux

Well...it was with mixed emotions that I came into work today to find...no signs on the outside doors announcing to the building that I was reaching this monumental point in my life; the point at which I can officially announce myself to the world as being "one score & ten." There was, however, a beautiful cluster of Star Wars party decorations adorning the door to my office, which immediately warmed my carbonite-covered heart.

Truth is, the part of me who feels it's more respectable to embrace the pretentiousness of age rather than skipping absentmindedly away from it totally started telling people I was thirty, like, five weeks ago. If you say you're 29, people go, "Ooooh, you're almost the big three-oh!" and a host of other such cliche'ry so as to make the very speaking of your age virtually unbearable. BUT...if you tip up your chin and very elegantly reply, "I'm 30," most polite strangers will assume you to be very eloquent and accomplished for your age, and may even remark how you don't look a day over 24.

That's been the most rewarding part about telling people I'm 30...apparently I am so youthful, spry and vivacious that no one presumes me to be of such an advanced age. I apparently appear to be somewhere between 24 and 27. Score one for SPFs and cartoon-watching!!

The least rewarding part, however, has been knowing I'm 30 on the inside. I hate being aware of the fact that when I was 15, I assumed I would be a WILDLY successful lawyer or writer by now, that I would be married to an independently wealthy man who adored me, and I would be raising my three young boys in navy & white Polo shirts and madras shorts to ride horses and play tennis, treat young ladies well, and respect their elders.

Let's see...of all these aspirations, I can at least say I own a navy Polo shirt myself...and a beautiful madras skirt I got at J. Crew this spring. I know I'm not alone, but this quarter-life (am I really going to live to be 120??) thing is a real bitch. What am I going to be when I grow up?? When will someone eventually force me to get a job where I have to wear pantsuits and talk marketing jargon to some tie-wearing figurehead with a BlackBerry? When will I have to stop watching cartoons and start popping out kids who watch them instead?

At the end of this day, I was incredibly thankful for my thoughtful birthday decor, limited only to my own office. It was perfectly suited for me and chosen by a friend who knows me perhaps better than anyone. And really, that's kind of all I know I want out of life right now. Fun, interesting people who don't take themselves too seriously...and horses. Horses that play tennis.

Effing Old.

Tomorrow morning I will be thirty years old.

But tonight...tonight I'm still "in my twenties." The world is still my oyster and I can still be anything I want to be if I put my mind to it. I'm not yet fully expected to have two or three kids running around. I'm still culturally relevant to high schoolers and college kids. In bustling metropolitan cities, I'd be a young, hip working woman with the world at her perfectly pedicured feet.

Tomorrow I will be something else entirely.

Tonight it's quiet. The hubby has already gone to bed and it's just me and the dogs basking in the lavender light of a flatscreen monitor. I can't help but feel very alone at a moment like this, but it's one of those empowering "life lesson" lonelies where I feel more independent, more grown up than usual. (As most of you know, I spend much of my time watching sports, cartoons and sci-fi...so I don't devote much time to achieving a "mature" state of mind.)

I am surprised at how melancholy I feel though! I expected a certain amount of "fictional sadness"...the kind of emotion you adopt because commercials and movies and TV and literature have all dictated what is a reasonable level of reaction to these big life events. But even more than that, I really do feel physically ill about going in to work tomorrow! It's like I WANT people to recognize that it's a big day for me, but I also don't want to be thrown into the limelight on account of a depressing birthday. Signs all over the building, an office full of packing peanuts, cards and black tissue paper and an organized lunch... I think I'd just rather it pass relatively unnoticed. I think...

From the Mouths of......

"There aren't any Heathers in these credits. That's discrimination. I'm taking this to the steps of Congress." "Yes, clearly there is anti-Heather legislation in effect." (7/25/09) Me and Heed, following our Saturday night viewing of "Moon."

"My shadow and I would race and the winner would be determined by the position of the sun." (No idea where this one came from, but I love it.)

(6/20/09) On Prairie Home Companion: "Some say marriage is made in heaven. But so is thunder and lightning."

Kathy! We were piling up mini-cupcakes after a trunk show at the boutique and Kathy turned to me, precariously juggling half-a-dozen containers full of random leftover snacks and said "My cupcake cup runneth over!"

Not sure when/where this one came from, but I found it jotted down in a note on my BBerry: "Lightning is God taking our picture right before he kills us."

"If you use Velveeta, don't tell anyone cuz it'll take away from the classiness of the dish." (6/22/08) Written in the instructions for a Kentucky Hot Brown sandwich recipe online.

(6/7/08) My mom, in a rare alcohol-induced moment of garrulousness, speaking over the phone about her firm status as a pessimist, while sharing a bottle of Dom Perignon with my dad on the event of their 35th anniversary: "Yeah, I'm more of a 'glass-is-half-empty" kind of person." (Turning her voice toward my dad across the room...) "HEY! MY GLASS IS HALF EMPTY!!"

"You and your wind-hating ways..." (4/10/08) Spoken to a frustrated, skirt-wearing friend on a particularly blustery day.

"I'm pretty sure my joysticks are still functioning...but it's been a while. I couldn't be sure." (4/10/08) Spoken by a male coworker in regards to the questionable functionality of his Atari 2600 gaming system.

"You weren't drunk...you were of diminished inhibitions." (4/10/08) To a coworker about how intoxicated he may or may not have been at last year's staff retreat.

"I said something pervy in front of the Tea Queen!" (4/10/08) Spoken by the Glamorous Jo. Can I really explain? The Tea Queen was a lady in our office who decorated her cubicle in the "flowery sachet" style. She had a tray with a fancy tea pot and cups on her desk. Oh, and a license plate that says TeaQn. (Which to me, actually reads "Tea Kune.")

Similarly, "She scares the chai out of me." By Schmancey, possibly in the same conversation, speaking of the Tea Queen.

Fast Food: Part 1

Yesterday afternoon, I got to indulge in that rarest & most beautiful experience in fast food: eating the perfect burger. Now, I have never eaten burgers because they look pretty. I eat them because of their grilly bovine goodness. But if you are ever lucky enough in your life to bask in the fleeting glory that is the perfectly proportioned cowmeat-sandwich, linger in that moment for just few seconds and allow the enormity of the event to wash over you like a tub of warm mayonnaise.

When I first took my Sonic burger out of the white paper sack, I remember thinking, "Hmm, this steaming, silvery cadeau looks awfully full to be a Sonic cheeseburger..." But sure enough, when I peeled back the foil, I was met with two fluffy, golden and uncompromised buns gently cradling the most delicate balance of meat, cheese and veggies I have ever seen. The perfect amount of mustard had been applied in one thin layer across the surface of the bun. No stray globs waiting to explode like yellow landmines about five bites in. The lettuce was crisp, even cool, and the tomatoes were firm & flavorful.

And just when I thought it couldn't get any better, I realized that the pickles had been strategically distributed around the entire bun, not just one or two soggy disks folded over and piled up in the center. I could even bite through them without pulling their tattered halves out of the bun and onto my pants. And let's face it...life is about not soiling your pants.

This was the kind of fast food experience I live for. It was as if the world became a warm, sunny, blur around me as I paced myself through every joyful bite. And I washed it all down with a large, lime slush. Mmmmmmm.....slusssssssssh.

Firsts and Fonts.

This is it. First. Blog. Ever. And my first thought? If I get all excited about it, my cool quotient goes WAY down. So GUESS WHAT...I couldn't care about this in the least. (*Aloof hand gesture here.*) My second thought? This font selection is an abomination. I wish I had been in the room with the folks who decided on this award-winning team of superfonts. Exibit F:

Arial: A mermaid with a snarfblat and a dream. Also, the most boring font ever.

Courier: I'm trying too hard to look like a bona-fide starving writer with a healthy dose of cynicism, a typewriter...and a dream.

Georgia: I can't help but think it should remind me of the South in some way...humid, sticky, deep-fried... But alas, it's just a friendlier version of Times. Oooooh, it's friendlier! Now I get it.

Lucida Grande: Yes she is.

Times: So we've shortened it from Times New Roman? That's fine. I have no room in my blog for power hungry, toga-wearing super-empires. I saw Gladiator.

Trebuchet: I can tell it's French. Loosely translated, I believe it means "three buckets."

Verdana: Let's face it, it's just Arial trying to reinvent herself for a more modern & savvy audience.

So which of these fabulous fonts will I choose?? (*drum roll*)

Ta'da!! Trebuchet. If I'm honest, much of what I love is French...the language, the smelly cheeses, the tauntings, oh yes, and the ennui. Vive les Trois Buchets!!