"You may all go to hell, and I will go to Texas."

Sure, he was a little bitter after an election loss, and I am bitter because my landlord thinks half a cup of sand is going to give traction on the solid river of ice that is my steep driveway, but I fought back against the upcoming, inevitable February blahs (it's the shortest longest month of the year) by getting tickets to TX today. March wasn't going to work out (stupid SXSW + work stuff), so I'm going in early April.

I'm afraid it might be too hot. As in 70 degrees. I hope the wildflowers are still in bloom, despite the worst drought in 40 years. (It has always been the worst drought in Texas in 40 years, ever since I moved there in 1996...) Maybe this is the year I get the requisite lounging-in-the-bluebonnets shot I never managed when I was there? I'd certainly contrast with the flowers now that I have the truly pasty white skin of a the northern climes. Not that I was every really tan in Texas. Just more tan than I am ever am in New England. Note to self: pack the sunscreen that can withstand a nuclear blast.

I hope to be able to see many of my friends. I'm risking LH's immortal soul by tempting her to skip out on Palm Sunday services to drive in and play with me in the leftest city in Texas, but I'm sure she can't resist the siren song of me *and* the Packebushes *and* the Nordstrom's that has the shoes to fit her crazy feet. If I'm not up for outlet shopping, I'll ask Kris to come up and we can hit some of our old haunts, perhaps fit in a mini spa day. I'll swing by the Finns and score a cupcake at N's 5th birthday (*5*? That's not right!). Check out some of the fancy-ass new shopping malls and what not. Hit the Central Market (always better than Whole Foods), BookPeople, RunTex, the Drafthouse, the new (to me) Blanton, maybe see who's playing at The Continental Club, the Cactus Cafe, Stubb's, or La Zona Rosa. Hang on, I think I'm going to need more time or less sleep.

Because a lot of what I plan to do involves eating, I resolve to leave the crowds on the Town Lake hike and bike and strike off to put in lots of time on the Barton Creek Greenbelt. I don't really know what else. Rent a kayak and paddle Town Lake again, taking time to explore the turtle cove? Maybe go out to McKinney Roughs? I don't really care, because I will be on vacation. I will have to work really hard not to gain 10 pounds in 5 days, because I suspect it is going to be a long weekend of friends and food, and that's good enough for me. I'm finally getting a teeny toe hold on a life in Boston, but it will be great to go back to the old and familiar, if only to reassure myself that my people there still love me, I still love them, and I really did make the right decision to leave.

Let the countdown begin!

I never spent Christmas in Texas, but there are a few things leading up to Christmas that I am missing more than usual. "They" say that it takes 3 years until Boston starts to feel like home. Well, it will be 3 years in January, and while I've made strides, I can't say I'm quite there yet. I'm not sure if it is me or the Bostonians or both, but I'll continue to try to sort it out. And maybe this is a bit of homesickness, but I'm entitled to mushiness this time of year, right?

I miss:

1. Tamales, the traditional Christmas food festively wrapped in corn husks. I'm too lazy to attempt to make them, but I loved to eat a few spicy ones every year.
2. Red and green chips arriving with homemade salsa
3. The Finns and the happy, chaotic family environment they let me hang out in
4. Kris and her all around fabulousness
5. The Packebushes and dinners out, dinners in, and embracing all of our inner geeks
6. The Armadillo Christmas Bazaar. I know it's gotten all fancy and moved to the Convention Center, but I hope that means it just has more space for more funky art (sandbox of random ceramic body parts, anyone?) and dancing to the bands. There was always something really cool and totally unaffordable to covet. I hope the guy that makes the crazy metal wind up toys is still there.
7. The 37th Street Lights. I've heard it has gone down hill, but I'll always have fun memories of drummers, fire dancers, snake charmers, and assorted weirdos strolling through the insanity. Tropical rain forests with lightning, rain, and exploding volcanoes, ovens and motorcycles covered in lights, and, my favorite, the guy who just stapled the boxes of light packages to his house and plugged them in.
8. The Christmas "Tree" at Zilker Park. It's not a real tree, it's lights strung from one of the old moon towers, and you can see it for miles from certain spots. I could always skip the trail of lights (lame, with a bunch of commercial characters), but I always wanted to spin under the tree. There's a strong sense of community created when you're all laughing and spinning and staggering around and falling into people. I liked to think if you made a wish while spinning under the tree, it would come true.
9. Coverage of the Riverwalk Holiday Parades. So pretty! I love San Antonio
10. Lucy's. Why, oh WHY did they close the store on campus, cutting off my cupcake supply? They did cupcakes before cupcakes were cool. They cost $1.25 and had about 2 inches of buttercream. Okay, I don't just miss Lucy's during the holidays.

While walking home tonight, I had my first chance of the season to observe the holiday decorations, indoor and out, close up. As in most areas, I have opinions:

1. If some lights are good, more are better.
2. Ridiculous amounts of lights are best.
3. White lights are better than colored lights.
4. Blinking lights are bad.
5. Artfully or not so artfully arranged strands will always be better than those net things.
6. Decorate the tree to the top, don't wuss out halfway up.
7. Icicle lights do not belong in climates where icicles do not form naturally.
8. There should always be a camel in the nativity scene.
9. Tasteful is fine, but everybody should have one tacky thing they absolutely love and display with pride. One, people. One!

Okay, the bus and sidewalks were filled with costumed adults tonight. Fairies, ghouls, French maids - lots of elaborate, expensive, sparkly costumes. And whom do I respect the most? The guy who spent maybe $1.79 on his costume. He had a Cleveland Browns cap, a home made McCain-Palin 08 t-shirt, and a (thankfully) new plunger. Ladies and Gents, I give you JOE THE PLUMBER. Creative and cheap. I'd go trick or treating with this guy anytime!

LEM visited this weekend, and she danced her little diaper clad butt around the kitchen whenever the mood struck her. She loves music, and asked me the name of every song played. I asked her if she would like me to send her some dancing music, and she enthusiastically agreed that that would be a "very good idea!"

So, now I have to come up with something with lyrics her mother deems "appropriate," since LEM is in the phase where she memorizes and repeats everything. I'm going through my music, trying to think of artists and music that have "appropriate" lyrics and will make a 2 year old shake her booty. I'm tempted to throw "appropriateness" out the window, and free her from the hell of most children's music. To paraphrase, a good musical library collection should have something to offend everyone, especially your mother.

I've been with LEM twice in two months, and I was ready to stab knitting needles into my ears with the piping, cheerful children singing the piping, cheerful songs that get stuck in your head and lead to a less than cheerful, piping mood. And as great as Dog Train, and Philadelphia Chickens, and Blue Moo can be in comparison, there are only so many times you listen to Speed Turtle, Singing in the Shower, and Cow Planet. It's time to expand her musical horizons. And when I really, really listen to lyrics, I'll probably be shocked.

So, lead song, Jimmy Buffet - Why Don't We Get Drunk, followed by the Divinyls? I'm open to any and all suggestions.

I had spent the week pooh-poohing Albany, thinking it wouldn't be the most exciting destination ever. And it wasn't, but it was nicer than expected. Driving in at dusk, we saw it perched above the Hudson River, surrounded by fall foliage and decided it didn't look too bad.

Of course it didn't, we were just happy to be there! I had been lazy and just printed the MapQuest directions without checking an actual map. (I don't know why I do that, I must be think that one of these times, MapQuest is going to be right. That kind of optimism isn't really like me...) It was only when we were on such a rural road that we swore we could hear the sound banjos drifting over the hills that I pulled out the maps. Massachusetts. Connecticut and Rhode Island. Maine. Vermont and New Hampshire. Oh, that's right, I didn't *buy* a New York map when I moved to New England. But I did have the road atlas, and I quickly figured out a route back to civilization. No, Melissa, I don't care how big the sign is or cute they are, you may not buy a baby goat and transport it in my car. By that time we were getting a bit punchy, and when we saw the "Free Manure" sign we just lost it. "Free Manure" has now become our arbiter of all things cool. "Well, those shoes on markdown are okay, but they're no free manure!"

Anyway, we finally found the hotel, which was "centrally and conveniently located to many downtown attractions, government buildings, and points of interest." Uh-huh. Sure. It was close, but every restaurant and club in an 8 block area was closed at 7 pm when we wandered out looking for dinner. I'm pretty sure they serve the downtown businesses, and when everybody leaves at 5, everything closes down. We ended up at Jack's Oyster House, a 95 year old family owned restaurant just down the hill from the Capitol, that was so old fashioned looking it wasn't hard to imagine all the crazy deal making that went on there over the years.

On the walk over to the New York State Library for our one day conference on copyright and photographs the next morning, I was amazed by the variety of the architecture in the city and the extent of public art. Lots of gothic, some Georgian, some Greek revival, and lots of modern/post modern. I would have liked to explore more and investigate if there were any walking tours or architectural societies, but we were only there a day. A day locked in a windowless, basement meeting room of the State Library and traversing the dark, depressing concourse underneath the Empire State Plaza in a desperate attempt to find a way up to the sunlight and crisp air.

Speaking of the conference, somebody has to figure out copyright for librarians. We can't keep bringing in lawyers to lecture us on the minutiae of the law and not putting it into any professional context and giving us the old "It depends" answer whenever we need specifics. Or leading the conversation into trademarks and patents, which are all very fascinating, but not part of most of our professional lives. Yes, copyright law is case based decision, but we need someone who is an archivist/librarian *and* a lawyer to review the case law and develop best practices to apply practically in the profession. Or to take these case based decisions and show us how they relate and should be interpreted as libraries/archives/museums operate daily. Or tell us how to manage our risk better than having us abdicate by saying we're not lawyers. "That's under copyright, we don't hold the rights to it, it's your responsibility to clear your use of this object..." And the next, natural question from our researchers? "How do I do that?" And they want us to say "I'm not a lawyer, I can't tell you that," and just kick them to the U.S. Copyright Office. What kind of public service is that? Tell me, have any libraries/archives been sued for infringement? What were the results? What were the damages? What are our professional responsibilities to our collections and our users in this area? In one way, I was sorry it was Melissa's first conference, in another, I thought it was important for her to learn that this topic really is a morass, and whatever we figure out for our practice will most likely be fine.

Argh! But the good news was, it was a lovely walk back to the car, and we found the highway was a mere 2 blocks from our hotel! Take that MapQuest! A smooth ride back to Boston, with the only traffic being at the Boston tollbooths. And still a full weekend of time to putter. Hooray!

We all trooped off to the fair this weekend, and while it was great to see the animals and vegetable and flower displays, riding the rides really set this year apart.

C. came with us this year, and C. will ride rides. And not just any rides, but the crazy rides. Now, I like the ferris wheel and the carousel, but I love the scary rides, but C. is crazier than I am. I drew the line at the Freak Out - a pendulum where you sit at the bottom, dangle your legs, and spin in a circle while swinging higher and higher - but she would have been on it in a heartbeat. We all rode the Ferris Wheel first to get warmed up, and then it was on.

We hit the Zipper first. For those of you not in the know, the Zipper is this long boom that spins around, and then there are seats/cages that move around the boom on a pully system and flip around forward and backwards. I thought I couldn't do the rides that rotated at two points anymore, and I was wrong. It was awesome. Such a mood lifter. The opportunities to scare yourself that thoroughly under somewhat controlled circumstances are few and far between, it seems, and sometimes you just have to scream yourself into hysterical laughter and enjoy the "gut churning helplessless and exhilaration" (as the Zipper was recently - and accurately - described to me). Why do we stop doing the stupid fun stuff? That burst of adrenaline is quite the mood changer, and I think every work place needs a Zipper installed on the front lawn. I would predict an increase in productivity. 2 minutes on the Zipper and I was jumping and dancing around to the best bad 80s rock and I could have cranked out so much work on that that wave! They're "safe" now that they've slowed the boom speeds down and restructured the door locks to, you know, *work*, but if you hire a really good carnie with lots of tattoos, it would help keep the sense of danger.

***Paul P. - skip this paragraph, if you can. You'll thank me for it later!***

And then we rode the Cliff Hanger. C poo-pooed it as too tame, and she was probably right, but we had to try it - you got to fly around while lying on your stomach. A. womaned up and joined me, and despite her fear of spinning rides, she did just fine. Chanting "ohmygod!ohmygod!ohmygod!" over and over again seemed to help her as we ascended, then tilted, and swooped up and and down in a giant circle. Lots of fun, and while A. was worried about the safety gizmo between our knees being driven into our hoo-has ("I did not come to the fair to feel like I've been gang banged!"), I was more worried about keeping the girls safely tucked in, because nobody I know goes to the fair to be flashed by some crazy lady who is old enough to know better. It's family entertainment, for God's sake. Although who knows what qualifies as family entertainment these days. That sort of thing wouldn't fly in the fairs of my youth, but the times, they are a'changin'.

The last ride of the day was the Pharaoh's Fury, otherwise known as the Pirate Ship, the Sea Dragon, the Viking Boat, etc. It's another pendulum ride, and somehow, despite being the last people on board, we got in the last row. Score! Major air time at the top of the arc, and for some reason, C. was more freaked out by this ride than she was by the Zipper. Girl is crazy! Pharaoh's Fury is way tamer than the Zipper! My 4 year old nephew rode the dragon boat at his fair and loved it! Of course, my feet easily touched the ground, and hers didn't. Heh! I never have to worry I'm too short to ride the rides. I did wonder if I was too tall for the Zipper, though....

Next year we're definitely bringing C. back to the fair and I might, just might try the Freak Out. I'm getting A. on the Rockin' Tug to get her used to spinning rides, and maybe, just maybe, we'll get M. on something besides the Ferris Wheel. Oh, and I am definitely scheduling a summer trip home so I can hit Cedar Point and get reacquainted with the roller coasters of my youth and introduce myself to some of the new ones. But only mid week either early or late in the season, because kids these days....

Great, a few fair rides and my adrenaline junkie has been re-awakened. It has the whole winter to wear off, or I'm going to end up doing something stupid.

I saw it coming. The standing Friday night dates cancelled at the last second. Starting to expect the ditching. Make up dates that never quite worked out. Communication going down the drain. Just not trying anymore. Yep, it's true. I got the ol' "You deserve better. It's not you, it's me. You'll always be my #1 client. IT'S OVER" note from my personal trainer.

Well, stink. My personal training is one of my life luxuries right now. I view it as preventative medicine and, as such, a worthy expenditure. As long as I'm renting and not paying a mortgage (like I could get one in the midst of the credit crisis?) I can afford it, and God knows I won't do weight training without someone standing there, telling me to do it and mixing up the routines every week. So now I have to find a new trainer. Hopefully it won't be one of those rebound, revenge, no good for anybody, I'll show YOU relationships. I'm looking for the rare trainer who can take near constant bitching (hey, it's my process, it works for me, and I'm doing the work, aren't I?) and a good natured double flip off with grace, equanimity, and the inner strength to make me hold that plank on the ball for an extra 15 seconds.

I am going to take the high road. I am going to focus on the successes of the relationship and walk away with my head held high and my abs sucked in.

It was me, wasn’t it? Don’t leave! I’ll change! Are you cheating on me? You do think these gym clothes make me look fat, don’t you!?!?! Oh, screw you, I don't need this crap, I'm out of here!

*ahem*

Okay, only one pint of break up ice cream, and then I'm back in the gym, working hard and fighting the ravages of time. Scout's honor.

On our next trip, we will all try to do something we haven't done, in addition to visiting some of our old favorites.

1. Engineer Geek Girl will go to the Annapolis Tidal Generating Station, the only place in North America that uses the tides to create electricity. How cool is that?

2. Pop Culture Geek Girl will go to the Anne Murray Centre in downtown Springhill. Dude, who wouldn't go to the Anne Murray Centre? You know you own one one of those bazillion albums sold. All together now, "I cried a tear, you wiped it dry...." Anyone? Anyone? Is this thing on?

3. History Geek Girl will go to Pier 21, because stories of emigration, immigration and nation building make me wonder what it was like to leave everything and almost everyone you knew to start over.

4. History Geek Girl and Engineer Geek Girl will team up to go to the Port-Royal National Historic Site, the first lasting settlement north of Florida, founded by the French in 1605. They've reconstructed it from Samuel de Champlain's plan, using 17th century construction techniques. We all hope to avoid the costumed guides, they creep us out if they won't break character.

5. Adventure Geek Girl will return to Shubenacadie River Runs for another high tide adventure.

Okay, who's in, and when are we going?

My nephew made a profound statement late last week. When asked what he did with Grandpa down in the park, he responded, "I did everything, except the things I did not do." That kid is such a small version of my father, it is almost painful.

My lovely friend of 30 (yow!) years is pregnant with her first child and due at the end of November. Because she has a huge extended family, I figured that all the aunts and cousins would have the baby blanket making and wipes warmer purchasing covered, and I offered to make her birth announcements for her. It will be something unique and from the heart, because she certainly doesn't need something crazy like a wipes warmer or whatever else cheap piece of plastic "They" say you "need" in order for your baby to survive to toddlerhood.

Now, she is one of those people who can drop out of your life for a while, but when she reappears, it's as though she's never been gone. She's there when I need her, most notably when she flew in from Philadelphia to help me find an apartment in a weekend in Boston. We've always been on the same wavelength, and I love her dearly, but the woman does not know how to stay in touch unless it's the big news. I've learned to take what I can get, so I wasn't surprised when, after confirming that she thought that me making the birth announcements would be great, I didn't back from her. I did manage to pry the themes of bunnies and polka dots from her, and I'm going to run with it, because I don't think I'll hear from her until she has the boy. She's a bit freaked out after the birthing tour and videos. It's suddenly become real to her. Um, yeah. And I think that somewhere in her brain, she's thinking that if she doesn't make final decisions about the birth announcements, she won't have the baby. Guess again, sister. That baby's coming, birth announcements or not.

So I spent part of my afternoon off looking for supplies. It's darn hard to find bunny stamps when it is nowhere close to Easter. But I found a slew of polka dot papers, and it looks like we're going with greens and browns and yellows. Now I just have to carve out the time to clean off the kitchen table (and keep it clean, eek!) and set up to create a few different designs and crank out 100+ birth announcements on the next couple of weekends. First babies are usually late, right?

I make it my second quarter resolution to be better about updating. If anything of interest happens. Yeah, right.

How did it get to be the end of September?

Let's see, JF visit, LH visit, AR visit, trip to Nova Scotia, trip to San Francisco, start of school year and all the attendant academic insanity.

Well, it was fun while it lasted, but I do admit there is some comfort in the return of routine. I might get to watch the Netflix I've had out for a few months (worst."bargain."ever). It's almost cool enough for hot chocolate calcium supplements at night. I've been having hot tea for a few days now. I'm baking apples and pears. I've made non-Connecticut Thanksgiving plans. Fall offerings are coming in at the farmers market. Bright, crisp days and cool, crisp nights.

These are all good things. Are they worth using the laptop as a warming device, wearing socks, daylight waning earlier and earlier, giving up the ice cream? Almost.

I just got done prepping the produce from my local farmers' market. Said produce included the most delicious, tiny, deep red strawberries and the first cherries of the season. I sliced those bad boys and pitted them by hand, hence the purple fingers and cuticles. It's kind of exotic looking. Of course, there's a cherry juice stain on my recently laundered kitchen curtains from some enthusiastic, cherry stained hand gesturing at the squirrel who decided to leap onto the window frame and try to chew his way through. Buddy, I understand, these are great tasting cherries, but get the heck off my window!

And I noticed that my new summer weekend sandals have given me weird tan lines. Check out the 3/4 view for the reasons why. Big V of tan-ness on the top of my foot and smaller Vs like pizza slices over the knuckle of my big toe, part of my big toe, the knuckle of my baby toe, and my second and third toes. And this is despite my dedicated use of sunscreen every day, including on my feet! But they're comfy and I can always spread out the weirdness by wearing other sandals in the sun.

And only a few days until LH comes to visit for the long weekend. Hooray!

CBS Sunday Morning did a piece on my favorite NPR weekly quiz program Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me! and they showed me the people who are regularly featured. Don't do that! Carl Kasell and Peter Sagal belong on my radio as an audio experience. I'm not supposed to know what they look like! My world is tilting off its axis because the people never look like the voices sound. I get distracted by the visual and stop thinking about the audio!

I hereby apologize to my mother for making fun of her for saying that the Lone Ranger was never the same after he moved from radio to TV.

It was starting to rain when I left the gym, so I scampered for the bus stop. It started raining harder, and harder, and harder. Then all hell broke loose. The sky turned black, the winds started in at "howl" level and it didn't matter that I was under a bus shelter, I was soaked to the skin pretty much instantly. Then the hail came, exfoliating my legs in a most refreshing manner. So, in a rare moment of an urban group working for the greater good, we all cowered in the most protected corner of the shelter and formed a turtle of umbrellas. I had plant matter stuck to my knees from the splashes off the sidewalk and water was squishing out of my shoes from my mere body weight.

The bus finally made its way through the flooded streets, and we had to wade through 8 inches of water to get to it. Gee, thanks for actually pulling up to the curb, driver. And naturally, the AC was at high volume, so I high beamed the whole bus (sorry PaulP!) for the trip home. Well, not home, actually. We had to stop before going under the commuter rail bridge. Because there was still 2 feet of water - and a stalled car - underneath it. So, I got off and walked home the sidewalk that is above the road, stopping to let the police car drive by. And the second I get home, the rain stops.

Ah, the vagaries of weather.

I like my iPod. It comes in handy sometimes.** But since I burned my extensive music collection over, I've been submitting to the siren song of iTunes. And even when you download the entire album, you don't get the liner notes. I miss having easy access to the right lyrics (not my interpretation of some mush mouthiness), I miss the goofy thank yous, I miss the listing of the musicians and producers, I miss the art work. I think this means I'm officially old. But at least I'm not one of those people who make the claim that cover art went downhill when the LP died.


** Like when I'm on the bus with the crazies. And yes, I know calling them "crazies" is somewhat disparaging, but it's calling a spade a spade. This week, one of the crazies, gesticulating every 5 seconds and smelling strongly of alcohol and wearing some definitely soiled trousers, was desperate to complain to someone, anyone that the 5:20 p.m. bus was stopping too much to pick up and drop off rush hour commuters. He kept trying to talk to me, but I was listening to It's Only a Game and using my city stare: straight ahead, middle distance, concentrating very hard on something because there was nothing I could do to help him. We were all stuck on the bus, and sometimes you just have to cope.

Ultimately, he grabbed and held my arm, pulling it toward him and not letting go. Um, no. Party foul. Personal boundaries are there for a reason and need to be respected, especially in a crowded city. I shook him off, took out my earbuds, gave him a very stern look, and told him he wasn't allowed to touch me like that. He seemed shocked. I don't think he was used to people acknowledging him. After all, if we ignore the mentally ill, they'll go away, right? Or miraculously get better without care and medication.

Last fall, I remember thinking "Oh, I need to get the air conditioning in the car fixed." Then came the long New England winter, and all thoughts of air conditioning fled in the great experiment to see how many layers of fleece you can put on at once. Today, on the drive to Newport, RI, all those thoughts came flooding back. We were escaping the high 90s in the city for the coolness of the high 80s at the shore. I have been spoiled by A/C in my car, and while the temporary WD75 option is okay on the highway, it sucks in the city stop and go traffic. And thanks to the times we traveled, I was in the sun the whole way, both ways. I had my regular sunblock on, and before we left I applied the 2nd layer of sunscreen, so I could be nice and slimy all day. If anybody had tried to grab me, I would have slid right out of their grip. I will call the garage tomorrow. Check the AC and suspension and tell me how much the damage will be.

I liked Newport. The colonial heritage is still very obvious (especially closer to the waterfront), and the architecture is amazing. I forgot my camera, though. Next time I will spend more time wandering...when it's cooler. I'l definitely go back. I enjoyed the artisans fair at the Elks Lodge. My traveling companion is an impulse shopper, so she bought, and I got the vicarious thrill. I did get some magnets/clips that were made from old costume earrings, but managed to resist everything else.

It was hot enough to suppress my appetite, so I resisted the locally made ice cream and abandoned the plan to buy ice packs so I could transport the locally made artisanal chocolates back to the city. We sweated it back to the city, and I decided to fill the gas tank while it was "only" $3.999 a gallon. I dropped C off at her place and crawled through Sunday afternoon traffic to my place. Where I took the bestest feeling shower in the whole wide world, scrubbing off all the sunscreen and then sitting in front of the fan. And sweating while I assembled another fan.

But no, I shall not give in! I shall not turn on the A/C in the first minor heat wave of the summer. I shall persevere. I shall lose 7 pounds in water weight in the next 2 days until the heat breaks, that is what I shall do.

Lords, I've turned into such a heat wimp since I've moved back up north. But it's not the heat, it's the stinking humidity. Stupid Atlantic Ocean.....

On the bus ride home tonight I noticed his store has brown paper on the windows. Was it something I said? Apparently they closed at the end of May, victims of all the construction in the area. The web site says their location was pretty much impossible to get to with all the re-routing, and their business suffered. I could get there! I walked there all the time! I should have walked there last Saturday, to get some super going out of business bargains.

Well, crap. Pretend Boyfriend was perfect. He was tall, he was smart, he was handsome, he sold really nice European shoes at deep discount prices. I would go in regularly and get my flirt on, and sometimes I would come away with a cute pair of shoes or socks. Yes, it was an expensive habit, but it was pretty harmless overall.

Why was he a Pretend Boyfriend? Because he was perfect that way, and there was none of the pressure of a real boyfriend. I didn't have to put on my best face or make any compromises. I didn't have to discover any annoying foibles, I didn't have to hang out with that one friend of his (you know the friend I mean, right?), I didn't have to know his name. (But I did find it out...eventually, and accidentally).

So, now I'm on the hunt for a new Pretend Boyfriend. Maybe I'll go to the full price shoe store to see if they're stocking the remainders there now. But it isn't convenient. And Pretend Boyfriend might not be there.

Breaking up is hard to do. I think I might need to have some ice cream and take to my bed.

My father, aunt, and uncle flew through town today on their way home from Ireland. I went to work crazy early (arrival: 6:20 am) to get as much of a full work day in as possible before going to meet them for their layover. We had a nice lunch (Dad ate half my tuna melt, saving me from my piggier instincts), they shared some stories, and I got to look at a sampling of some of the 600+ photos my uncle took over the past two weeks. Then I sent them on their way.

I usually wait around to make sure my parents make it through security. They both have two fake hips, and they get put through the wringer every time they make the sensors go off. But this time, it looked like my uncle was getting dinged, too. Hmmmmm. He gave me the "1 second" high sign. Then he brought me a ginormous bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream. He had forgotten that they had gotten it duty free, but then they came outside security to meet me. This bottle is way beyond 3 ounces. I'll pack it and send it to them. Sure, it's a pain in the butt, but it's family.

So, there's still Dad with his arms up, getting wanded. I'll just see this through, then I'll be on my way. Uh-oh, TSA Agent heading my way, asking if I'm kreynard. Um, yes? He hands me two bottles of Jameson Triple Distilled Irish Whiskey. Well, all righty then, I'll carry Dad's booze home and send it to him. Sure, it's a pain in the butt, but it's family, right?

They all wave from beyond security and head off to gate 2B. I'm left holding the bag. The heavy bag. The clear plastic bag. Well, sheesh, who is going to look like a big ol' lush on the train ride home? Me! Me!

Yes, gas prices are high and smart cars are pretty cool and very fuel efficient (40 city/45 highway mpg, depending on how you drive). But when you weigh what looks to be over 300 pounds? It becomes comical, almost like a clown car for one.

I pulled in to the parking lot and the gentleman in question was getting out of his smart car. Well, trying to get out. It took him a few times to pull himself out. Maybe he has bad knees, but it definitely looked like a size issue. He was driving away as I was coming back to my car, and he was squeezed into that thing so tightly that his shoulder/arm was squished up against the window and he seemed to go two thirds across the car (it must be an automatic, but where does the gear shift end up in that situation?), despite manufacturer claims that "two six foot, five inch plus people can sit side by side with plenty of shoulder room to spare!" Only if those 6'5+" people weigh 175 pounds.

Americans got fat and bought big ol' cars with 17 Big Gulp cup holders to accommodate our giant appetites and ever increasing butts. Now that the gas squeeze is on, everybody wants to drive smaller cars....and a lot of them just don't fit. So, it's time to start walking the pounds off so we fit into smaller cars. Or demand better public transportation. Yeah, that's going to happen.