Go buy yourself a Three Wolf Moon t-shirt TODAY!



Don't trust my opinion? Just get a peek at some of these glowing reviews on Amazon...

One wolf howling at the moon T-shirt? Good.

Two wolves howling at the moon T-shirt? Great.

THREE wolves howling at the moon T-shirt? OMFG!!!

Simply put, this is the greatest garment known to man. At least until the team of scientists and silk-screeners working round the clock find a way to put FOUR wolves howling at the moon on a T-shirt.

This is the T-shirt God would wear. If He wanted to look AWESOME.
_____
Well, as a gag I ordered one for the hell of it. I was going to wear it to my bro's batchelor party, just for the reaction factor. But something spectacular happened when I tried it on for the first time once it arrived.

Every night, for the past 6 weeks, I have been visited by 3 wolf sprirts. And every night, they bestow upon me endless amounts of knowledge and offerings of imitation crab meat. They consider me their brothern, and I have found clarity and purpose in my life.

I now feel alive for the first time and you can't get me out of this thing!

If you are planning on spending exactly $9.14 on yourself this year, this better be the purchase.
____
Pros: Fits my girthy frame, has wolves on it, attracts women
Cons: Only 3 wolves (could probably use a few more on the 'guns'), cannot see wolves when sitting with arms crossed, wolves would have been better if they glowed in the dark.
____
I was born with a terrible deformity in my right hand - it is withered and rolled in on itself and useless. I ordered this shirt hoping that it would mend the hole that has grown in my soul over the years.

When the package arrived, I opened it with my left hand and began to realize there was a strange tingling sensation in my right hand! Suddenly it rushed forth through my entire body. When it hit my head I saw God!

When this sensation ended, I looked at my old, dead hand and, lo! and behold, it was still deformed.

But the shirt fits really well.
____
Unfortunately I already had this exact picture tattooed on my chest, but this shirt is very useful in colder weather.
____
If your sense of humor is anything like mine, you'll spend hours reading all these reviews...

I love the office politics that swirl around shared items. The most entertaining of these is unequivocally the office fridge. Fridge drama seems like a universal theme in offices (Proof). Oh, tiny little icebox, what a joy you are!

A little background for those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of dealing with a common office fridge…

When an office fridge is introduced to a workplace, people gleefully add items to the shelves. It’s a bountiful menagerie of frozen dinners, sodas, fruit, yogurt, and last night’s something or other.

Then…someone eats a yogurt. It’s tasty. It’s blueberry with granola. But it wasn’t their yogurt.

*gasp!*

Let the games begin. Five minutes later in my in-box…

To: All
Subject: Beware! You are not amongst friends!

Dear Co-workers:

It has been brought to my attention that my blueberry yogurt with granola has been usurped. Maybe it was an honest mistake. ….but then again…maybe it wasn’t. Colleagues, it is not my intention to incite panic, but the usurper could be back. Please run (don’t walk!) to the refrigerator and clearly mark all of your items with your name.

If you have any questions, please contact the local hospital. My blood sugar has dropped from my lack of yogurt and I can no longer function properly to finish out the day.

I hope you’re happy now (and full of my blueberry goodness), usurper.

Sincerely,

D. Rama

Weeks go by and no additional yogurt larceny occurs. But…a new phenomenon starts to brew…

My inbox…

To: All
Subject: I Ain’t Yo Mama

Dear Co-workers:

The fridge is freakin’ nasty. I know you don’t live like that at home. Someone’s block of cheese has given birth to a new block of cheese, and the apple juice has fermented into a potent alcoholic cider.

I’ll take care of the cider…but I am not yo mama. Please remove all of your gross moldy items by Thursday at noon…or else!

Burn in Hell,

Ima Whoopsomebodysass

There’s a general sense of apathy regarding this request.

Or else what? You’ll throw out my moldy food for me?

Then around Thursday at 11:45 AM, people begin to realize that they had previously avoided any further food usurping by leaving their moniker on numerous items!

The jig is up!

Time to stealthily slither over to the fridge…find your piece of mold…break out the Sharpie …and scribble out your name.

Not that I’ve ever done that.

And yet some people still think that Communism is a great idea. Humph.

Artist's Rendition: Two Girls, One Cup
Along the Thames in London, UK

The trip was awesome.

I'm trying to compile all of the photos and videos into a visual feast (yikes, there are millions of pictures and videos)... when I do, maybe I'll post some here.

But for now...perhaps some visual tapas....



Kensington Palace (the former crib of Princess Di and Charles).
London, UK


Retiro Park
Madrid, Spain

Do you remember what it was like when the school bell signaled the end of the day?

Good: school bell to end the day
Better: school bell before the weekend started
Best: school bell signifying the beginning of summer

Every single time I heard that bell, my heart would fill with pure unadulterated joy.

And as I grew older, it reached a point where I didn't quite require the bell...

it was just the tick of the clock past 5... and then...weeeeeee!

I still feel that at the end of every day, and during every approaching weekend, but today feels extra nice.

We're leaving for Madrid tomorrow...and then London for a bit. I'll tell Barack and Michelle that you all say hello. And who knows...maybe I'll even get to blog some of it.

So, we deal with quite a bit of pedestrian traffic. There's a port a few blocks away where cruise ships pull in every weekend and throngs of middle-aged fanny packers flood my sidewalks. Damn old people who walk four abreast. Why on earth would you need to walk four abreast? As we were out walking today, I had convinced myself that I am the only person on the sidewalk who moves for other people.

I am the only considerate person on earth.

If I did not move, people would walk right into me.

I had so thoroughly convinced myself that I am the only one who moves, that I decided to conduct an experiment...

"I am going to walk in a straight path on my side of the sidewalk. I will not move or yield for anyone."

About 10 seconds into my experiment....

*BOOM*

I put my shoulder and hip into a tiny college student and knocked her back a few feet. After I said, "I'm sorry!"... I almost immediately started laughing. Experiment concluded.

Proving once again that I AM the most considerate person on earth.

How many five-year-olds do you think you could take on in a fist fight before feeling over-matched?

Let's just assume a few things...
- you wouldn't be looked upon as a creep for beating up little kids.
- the kids in question are hungry for battle.
- they have very sharp fingernails (as children often do).
- they have the ability to work as a team.

It's not an easy question.

At first, I was thinking five or six.

But doesn't that seem like an awful lot? I remember babysitting. Those kids were nuts; they beat me to a pulp...and they didn't even have the kind of blood lust that I'm talking about here.

So after some revision and additional thought...maybe three? perhaps four if I've had my morning coffee.

And does the answer to this question change from generation to generation? Are five-year-olds today more able to dole out punishment than five-year-olds of yore?

I love Back to the Future: Part II mostly because I love what people in 1989 thought 2015 would look like. While not all of their predictions are on the path to being realized (Dear Mattel: Stop ignoring my phone calls! I. want. a. hoverboard!), there are a few that seem to be shockingly accurate…like the Cubs winning the World Series.

Okay…just playin’. That’s one of the scenes depicted in the movie that’s heavily ensconced in the fantasy world. …But Miami did end up with a pro baseball team as the movie predicts.

So, I’ve been thinking about the future…about 25 years into the future. My thoughts have led me to a list of things that I believe will be completely obsolete at that time (note: in most cases, I have absolutely no evidence that we’re working on technology to replace these things, I’m just going by gut feeling)…

Paperclips – I assume that someone will invent slightly magnetized and affordable paper. Magnets are always somehow involved in the wave of the future. Maglev Bullet Train? Magnets. Magna-doodle? Also magnets. See what I mean? The future is now!

Euclidean Geometry – Upon discovering that space in the universe is curved, all relevant points of Euclidean Geometry will become obsolete. The study of Geometry in high school will be replaced by “Advanced Multiplication Tables”…however…multiplication will also become obsolete in the coming years for reasons that I won’t get into. The study of multiplication will then be replaced by the math of least resistance. Perhaps… “How to Make Change.”

T-shirts – Our species will have evolved to grow a third, but only slightly useful arm. Since two arm holes will no longer be sufficient, eBay will experience an influx of antique White Snake Concert T-shirts.

French (the language, not the people) – French will become only slightly less useful than Latin. Heed this warning and return your software to Rosetta Stone immediately!

Butter knives – Remember when I said that the future was all about magnets? Well…it’s all about lasers too. Toss that old butter knife in the trash…it’s time for a magnet-powered laser butter cutter.

Some of these seemed so obvious that I felt foolish to take the time to explain them.

So what do you think will be completely obsolete in 10? 15? 25 years? Newspapers? Books? Computer keyboards?

Today we went and saw the Lowcountry High Rollers in the Spring Equi-knocks! They're the new area roller derby team, and tonight was their home opener at the local Shriner's Hall. Life doesn't get any better than this, ladies and gentlemen.

After watching the match, I can say with some certainty that I will never ever be a roller derby diva. They're definitely an impressively physical bunch. I don't even like for doctors to touch me...let alone a 400 lb "woman" named "Ballistic Bambi" (or some such clever name). I'm pretty sure that after one sound fall on my tookus, that my coccyx would split in two and I'd spend the rest of my young adulthood in a protective ass cast.

However, should I ever find myself wanting for the attention of roller derby fans...I would begrudgingly don the helmet and take my place as, "Fragile! Kerry this side up." Fanatical fans could just call me "Fragile."

So it occurred to me that I didn't post anything today...

...and today is reaching its rapid and inevitable conclusion.

So I'll share my favorite website of the moment. I'm a Sporcle addict.

Name all the US Presidents
Name the top 100 most commonly used words in the Engligh language

And there are hundreds of other quizzes. I've spent days at this website.

And I'm sure you'll all ace this one...
Can you name George Carlin's seven dirty words? I can't ever remember one of them...and it's an important one too.

Sometimes...when I'm as idle as a copy of On the Origin of Species in a Kansas school library, I like to think about what television show house I'd like to live in...

Family Ties - Really had that late 70's flair, but seems to be lacking available chairs. Way too many tchotchkes, and it looks like the Keatons liked to wear their shoes around inside. ...F***ing hippie slobs.


Full House - Seriously? Flippin...sweet...house.
"It's so opulent; like the Playboy Mansion, but non-sexual." - Marge Simpson
Why wouldn't you want to live in San Francisco? First order of business? Kick those creepy Olsen Twins to the curb. You got it, dude! Then I'd have Jesse and the Rippers play at my housewarming party. ...'cause that's how I roll.


The Cosby Show - Structurally, this house has great bones. But I suppose that being a lawyer and a doctor doesn't leave much time for decorating ...because holy shit, this is quite tacky. From the looks of it, I don't doubt that they're a pair of petty thieves who get a giddy thrill from stealing hotel room art...ugh.


My Two Dads - I remember absolutely nothing about this show besides flimsy plotlines and a sweet crib (I seem to remember something about a girl having two dads, but I could be way off base here). You can't go wrong with a couch that looks like a car. It's both timeless & classic...like slouch socks and acid washed blue jeans.


Frasier - Honestly, this is probably the closest to my own aesthetic. From the knock-off Chihuly piece in the background to the old man sitting on the couch....every last detail is accounted for.


Where would you live? Melrose Place? Archie Bunker's pad? Carrie Bradshaw's apartment?

The Museum of Bad Art is the world's only museum dedicated to the collection, preservation, exhibition, and celebration of bad art in all its forms.

I love art...and apparently, I also love bad art. They don't update their website often, but I could read their descriptions about once every 3 months and start tinkling myself all over again. Here are a few of my favorite pieces from their collection...


Mama and Babe
The flesh tones bring to mind the top shelf liqueurs of a border bistro. With an astonishing emphasis on facial bone structure, the artist flirts with caricature and captures features of Mamma's face which remind us of a Presidential candidate. The upright marionettish pose of the babe hints that the early bond between mother and child is as formal as it is familiar. Good old fashioned parental respect is at the center of this celebration of color and contour.


Think Again
This disturbing work "makes an offer you can't refuse". The chilling, matter-of-fact manner in which the subject presents the severed head to us is a poignant reminder of just how numb we have become. The understated violence implicit in the scene speaks volumes on our own desensitization, our society's reflexive use of force, and the artist's inability to deal with the hindquarters of the animal.

Should I ever find myself in Needham, Massachusetts...I'm so there.

Like most people (most people with a frontal lobe, at least) I have a happy inventory. I often draw on memories and experiences that immediately make me smile or laugh.

Not surprisingly, this has caused one or two problems for me in the past when I happen to smile or laugh at extremely inappropriate moments. I just want to say, “Who you callin’ a psycho!? Listen, pal…I’m a little stressed out right now …so I went into the recesses of my brain took a memory from my happy inventory…”

Blah, freakin, blah…

So anyways, my darling husband and I are crazy when it comes to purchasing sporting goods. At this point, it’s fairly surprising that we don’t own fox hunting equipment. A wife can get a little nervous when a man like that goes to Dick’s Sporting Goods without a chaperone.

He came home with a camelbak. It’s just a backpack filled with water that’s typically used to hydrate cyclists on long treks.

“Why did you get that, Seth?”

“Hydration is a very important part of healthy living, Kerry.”

“Then you may want to rethink your plan to recreate the ‘Bacon Explosion,’ Seth.”

I’m glad that he’s happy with his purchase…but the day that he got it, he tried to wear it under his shirt before going out to a pub. Seriously? My name is not Esmerelda…you are not Quasimodo…if you’re thirsty at the bar, get a ‘cup’ of water. Believe it or not…a ‘cup’ has been the drinking vessel of choice for thousands of years.

And...obviously…he’s never used it on a long cycling trek. He just likes to sit on the couch or lie in bed and suck water from a backpack.

It makes me smile every time I think about it. At the moment, it’s a very frequently used device to put me in a good mood. …“hydration is a very important part of healthy living.”

I’m married to a man I really adore.

So I’ve decided to start blogging again. Small goals at first. Maybe…once per day for a week. Then I’ll shoot for a month. I like the Kerry who blogs. She’s really much more observant about the world than the other drone-like Kerry who piddles about the day and steps in every fresh pile of dog shit.

Every day I’d look around and think … “I should blog this!” So far this has been a marginally successful testimony of the past few years of my life. I like to have a record of the ‘Kerry of yore’ and the ‘Kerry of the present’ (Aside: ‘Kerry of the present’ is surprisingly like the ‘Kerry of yore’ except the ‘Kerry of the present’ talks in the third person and is much hotter). Of course, beginning to notice those huge piles of animal waste (don’t forget that we have a wide array of horse apples on the street too!) will just be icing on the cake.

So that was a huge build up for this one…sheesh. It’s almost as if I have to write something worth reading now…

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of Paul Krugman, it was the age of Geico Cavemen, it was the epoch of $2.00 gas prices, it was the epoch of sub prime mortgages, it was the season of Bud Light, it was the season of Guinness, it was the spring of baseball, it was the winter of basketball, it was the sentence that never seemed to end.

Okay, so Dickens I ain’t. I’m just the Kerry o’ the Present (sounds more Irish that way) and today is Day 1.

Goal number 11 on my list has been completed. ...with a witness.



I wore my "Seize the Day" shirt for my date with a plate of grits.



Grits don't really taste like much. I would describe it as a corn muffin that someone accidentally plopped into the dishwasher.



These pictures depict my before, during, and during experience at the Hominy Grill. Yummy!

3 bikes. 2 people. It just wasn't making much sense. Months ago, Seth and I bought ourselves some fancy hybrid bicycles after his craptacular pawn shop bicycle got stolen.

A note to those planning on visiting Charleston with their fancy cycles:

Lock your shit up. And after you lock it up, don't just leave it there for days and assume it's safe. I've seen evidence of 13-year old boys walking around with bolt cutters...in broad daylight. People like that really define the word "daft"...or maybe just "stupid"...take your pick.

Getting back to the point...

They took Seth's bike, but left my Money Man Pawn jewel behind. So there we have it: 3 bikes. 2 people. Since we're currently storing the bikes in our one bedroom apartment, we decided to free up some space and conduct a little experiment.

We put her out there on Superbowl Sunday...unlocked.



And guess what...

She's still there! Untouched! And has lasted longer than Seth's previous victim that was LOCKED UP. It's amazing.

Well actually, maybe not as amazing as it seems.
When we dropped her off, we attached a little note...


Conclusion: Santa's apparent pull on the morals of today's youth must be incredibly strong. In economics, we call these kind of results "robust."

I'm blind. Really blind.

Like...if someone extremely recognizable came up to me on the street when I wasn't wearing corrective eyewear...

hmmm...let's say Tom Hanks...

if Tom Hanks came up to me on the street when I wasn't wearing glasses/contacts, and pimp slapped me across my face...then took my purse...
I would have a dilly of a time trying to explain what my assailant looked like to the police sketch artist.

"The attacker was kind of a peachy colored amorphous blob. It had dark hair...or maybe it was a hat. Oh...and it was clothed."

Tom Hanks would have gotten away with my purse and all of its inherent goodies..."Oh no! My crusty kleenex are gone!"

Needless to say, I rely heavily on my eyewear. And unless your name is Seth, it is fairly unlikely that you've seen me in glasses for the past 4 years.
Truth be told, I break all of my glasses. I fall asleep in 'em, roll over 'em, and they fall victim to the crushing weight of my fat ass. Good times.

I haven't had glasses for years, but I thought I would give zenni optical a try. 2 pairs, $30 including shipping. Seriously? Seriously. Of course I was skeptical about prescription eyewear from Hong Kong, but after about a month of waiting, I have been more than pleasantly surprised. Why should I drop a couple of benjamins on something that's just going to get crushed by my ass?

If you're looking for a back-up pair, I'd recommend it!

Hooray! I got my frame back from the frame shop. I was waiting for their call like a giddy little school girl.

"Gee! Do you think he'll call!? I paid him up front."

It was like high school all over again.



I'm a big fan. I've liked Ork Posters for a while, and this reminds me a bit of home.

Speaking of...

Whenever I reference "Chicagoland" to my South Carolina pals, they look at me and say, "Chicago-land? Weeeeee! That sounds like such a fun place! Why would you ever leave Chicago-land for Charleston-land!?"

It's not easy living away from home because you miss so many of the little things. For instance, I've developed a somewhat unhealthy obsession with Chicagoland's Pastorelli Pizza Sauce. I could eat it straight from the can (and maybe I have just once or twice). The stuff is DELICIOUS (especially on hot italian sausage), and I used to have to ration it out for special occasions.

"Well, it is Thanksgiving...you carve the turkey, and I'll open the Pastorelli."

No more shortages! I've started to order it in cases from their website, and I've even erected a small (20 can) Pastorelli Pyramid in our kitchen.

I have this theory that Warhol did the whole Campbell Soup thing only because he had never experienced Pastorelli Pizza Sauce. Poor bastard.

And while I was ordering ridiculous things from the internet...

I was thinking about getting a t-shirt with this logo for our trip to London.


Seth is pretty sure that I'll get my ass kicked. I don't think that's true...if anything, he'll get his ass kicked while trying to defend me.

I think it's hilarious...but what do you think?

Too soon?

So…a bit of unfortunate news….

I had two conflicting goals in my list of 28 things I want to do before turning 28. It happens.

It turns out that when I’ll be succeeding at my goal to watch a bullfight, I’ll be missing my opportunity to finish the bridge run in less than 58 minutes. My lovely husband and I will be traveling to Madrid and London in April. Woo hoo! I get to speak in accents!

Cheerio! Spot of tea, Guvna? Oh blimey! That’s just a lovely crumpet…

Yes. Yes this will be great fun indeed.

On a completely and absolutely unrelated note…

I’m kinda miffed when people refer to me as a “bean counter.” And it’s always in a derogatory fashion. Like, “I could actually do my job if it weren’t for you damn bean counters.” So let’s get this straight…

First of all, I’m not an accountant.

Second of all, I rarely count beans. And when I do, it’s because they’ve passed through my body completely undigested.

e.g: “Look, honey! Two beans this time!”

Moving on…

The economy is freaking me out. I’ve never really done this whole “recession” thing, and I think that this cold spell and the lack of charity are really making our homeless people cranky. This morning:

Kerry (addressing the homeless men she walks by every morning who wait to get inside the library): “Good Morning, Guys.”

Homeless Man: “Good Morning, can you spare a quarter?”

Kerry: “I’m sorry. I don’t have any change.”

Homeless Man: “I’m sorry that I’m going to have to dump that cup of coffee on your head.”

Kerry: “I’m sorry that I had LOTS of quarters and didn’t want to give any to you.”

Then I flipped a quarter to a different homeless guy a few feet away.
But you see what I mean? Cranky.

And yes, the economy is freaking me out. How many articles can I read about a once high flying executive who now fights for a job as a Kohl’s cashier? Is that for real?

What do you call it when a line just touches a curve at one point? Oh…that’s right…a tangent…

I always appreciated Kohl’s because they are the only store I’ve ever seen that will dress a mannequin and then position it in a wheelchair. …But then they put that same mannequin on a platform without a ramp. I always thought that was so cruel when I was going through my childhood “mannequins come to life after the store closes” phase.

You’re probably like me…

You can remember the names of all of the actors in the Brady Bunch (Sam the Butcher: Allen Melvin), but come up short when you’re trying to remember the name of the person you were introduced to moments ago.

You can easily activate Chun Li’s "spinning bird kick" in a Street Fighter video game, but you can’t remember birthdays of family members.

I’m convinced that by knowing all of the dialogue from the movie “Rudy,” that I’m sucking up important grey matter that could’ve been put to a more useful purpose. Like when I open the closet and can't remember why I opened the closet...

Damn You, Rudy!

I wasn’t consciously trying to learn these things…it just happened.

An analogy if you will…

Learning stuff is like taking a giant pile of dog shit and launching it against a brick wall. Some of it ricochets; it never had a chance. Some of it sticks for a little while, and falls off. Other parts of it stay there forever. And it feels mostly random.

Like the grocery store near my house that always described the products in one aisle as “aseptics.”

Like…ok…I know what a- means, and I’m pretty sure I can figure out what –septic means, but I’ve never seen or heard that word in any other context (probably because I don’t study medicine). It feels like such a strange way to describe my grape juice. Nevertheless, that was one piece of shit that has stuck to my wall since I was a wee lass.

Aside: it always struck me as strange that the grocery store took care in enhancing my vocabulary, but not my grammar (“10 items or less”?).

So, what’s one thing that sticks to your wall that you wish would fall off and make room for something slightly more important?

80 degrees? In December?

Such thoughts never cross the mind of a native Midwesterner. Well…to be more accurate, those kinds of thoughts cross your mind often…really often. Especially when you’re running late and you’ve endured the freezing temperatures as long as humanly possible in order to scrape ‘enough’ ice off of your windshield so you can see the tiny patch of road directly in front of you.

Good times.

You just never imagine that you’ll find yourself wanting to turn on the A/C…or wearing short sleeves in a winter wonderland.

Meteorologists are predicting temperatures approaching 80 degrees tomorrow.

The blood has thinned, my friends. Yes, I still laugh at those people around here who wear hats and scarves for 50 degree weather (my father would be found on the golf course in his sandals), but I’m scared. I mean I’ve become really irrationally phobic of sub-freezing temperatures.

I haven’t seen snow in at least two years. The coldest temperatures I’ve endured are when I go into those large supermarket beer refrigerators. And even then, I have a well thought out plan of attack so I can get in and out. It’s like Supermarket Sweep, but without the creepy manic enthusiasm.

When I go back to Chicago next week for Christmas, it’ll be in the 20s.
The 20s!? The freakin’ 20s? Why would anyone live there?

I remember trudging to class when the wind chill made it feel like 0 degrees…and I’m not talkin’ Fahrenheit or Celsius…I’m talkin’ Kelvins. Like absolute zero. Like temperatures that had only been achieved in a lab setting up to that point.

I’m not sure that I’m going to like it. Not. One. Bit.

Butyric Acid is what gives both vomit and parmesan cheese their aromas.

Mmmmmmm.

Bienvenue!

My profound apologies for the hiatus; I’ve been sleeping outside a theater for weeks so I could be first in line for the Twilight Movie.

It was totally worth it.

In the mean time, I turned the big 2-7. There’s no doubt that this is gonna be a rough one, and if I were a musician, I’d be shaking in my sparkly spandex jumpsuit.

Speaking of musicians…we saw a guy driving while playing the trumpet yesterday. No joke. No punch line. He was playing a trumpet whilst operating a vehicle. I couldn’t hear what exactly it was that he was playing, but maybe it’s part of some kind of modernized fox hunting…or perhaps it was just a subtle way to cover up the noises from his flatulence. You know…so his passengers wouldn’t catch on.

Genius.

Maybe I’ll get myself a trumpet. Oooo! Or maybe a tambourine!

“Kerry…what’s that smell? And why do you keep playing ‘Last Train to Clarksville’ over and over again?”

(Insert segue here)

I’m 27. And it seems to me that last year went by quickly. Really quickly. Sometimes I think I get too caught up in the ordinary drudgeries of life to truly appreciate unique opportunities and experiences. Successfully washing 500 loads of laundry should never make it into your Christmas Letter as something you’ve accomplished in 2008.

Note to self: Edit Christmas Letter to disinclude laundry goings-on.

As a result, I’ve concocted a list of goals.

28 goals before I turn 28.

1. Buy a tambourine (see above).
2. Actually send out all of the cards that I purchase for people’s birthdays, anniversaries, etc.
3. Attend a bullfight.
4. Learn to ride a unicycle.
5. Enter a writing contest.
6. Wear a skirt to work once per month.
7. Complete the Cooper River Bridge Run in less than 58 minutes.
8. Bake a pie from scratch.
9. Bench press 90 pounds.
10. Order and EAT fried green tomatoes…
11. and grits…
12. and oysters (see below) from popular Charleston restaurants.
13. Finish my current art project…and start a new one.
14. Obtain membership in the 100 Beer Club.
15. Create a lamp from household objects.
16. Attempt to sell said lamp on eBay for no less than $300.
17. Finally finish reading Atlas Shrugged.
18. Jump out of a plane (not one parked at the gate)
19. Make someone laugh by telling a joke in a foreign language.
20. Attend one of the races in the Triple Crown.
21. Spend the night in a treehouse.
22. Attend a church of a religion different than my own.
23. Go fishing (I’ve never been…except for that time we went smelt fishing out by the Adler Planetarium…but didn’t catch any smelt. Is it still fishing if you don’t catch anything? Or is it just drinking beer near water?).
24. Memorize the first 12 digits of pi (I can only recite the first 7 with regularity).
25. Have people over for dinner and fold the napkins in the shape of swans.
26. Plaster cast a body part.
27. Successfully explain to someone what a pdf is. (I mean ‘probability density function’...if unsuccessful, I’ll settle for ‘portable document format’)
28. Attempt to document as many of these completions as I can (Video diaries will probably be lots of fun for #4 and #9 …but especially for #17. Hold on to your hats! Here’s a video of Kerry reading).

Wish an old lady some luck...I think some of these are gonna be tough (except #1, which I have no intention of doing).

We had the opportunity to go to the Charleston Celebrity Chili Cookoff on Saturday.

Mmmmmm, all inclusive chili, beer, and oysters.

Wait...

Mmmmmm, all inclusive chili and beer.

I just can't "mmmmmm" for the oysters. I know it's a coastal kinda thing, but you see my friend, in the Midwest, we raise and eat animals...we don't go diving around for briny rock snot.

It just doesn't look like the kind of thing that should be ingested unless you are the unlucky recipient of a double-dog-dare. Of course, at which point, it must be eaten.

So, in an effort to be less of an all-around wiener...I ate an oyster. Right there at the harbor. Fresh from the sea.

And it was DELICIOUS.

You see what you miss if you're not willing to try things? My triumphant moment was even captured on tape...



So I lied. It...uhhhh...wasn't good. Call me a wienie.

UPDATE: So there actually is a video, but YouTube doesn't have it processed yet. Punks.

UPDATE II: There's a video!

I've been having quite a swell time at work lately, and that's been coupled with computer problems at home. The sum of those two seemingly unrelated things have caused a hiccup in my weekly blogging ritual.

Blog to resume shortly.

I've had a lovely husband for three years, y'all. Three. Years.

I've gotta tell ya, it's so efficient to have a husband AND a best friend who are the same person. And you know we nerdy types are all about the efficiency. Efficiency in relationships is one damn tasty snozzberry.

The traditional 3rd anniversary gift is leather. I searched long and hard for a pair of assless chaps that Seth has been wanting for years (I assume), but just couldn't locate a pair in his size. So much for the leather. He received a brewing kit, and I'll have the pleasure of tasting many gallons of experimental cinnamon and cheddar beer. Tasty.

One thing I have to say about Sethie ...he understands his lady really well.

He got me a Garmin Forerunner.

Mmmm...running and data. It's like a dream come true. It's a portable GPS that gives data about your distance, pace, elevation, and time elapsed. Weeeeeee! And since it uses satellites, it's quite a bit more accurate than that Nike +iPod attachment that I've been training with.



So we went out for a test run today.

So many ways to analyze and evaluate our performance.

I dig it. Thanks, hubby!

Negative. Sum. Game.

This is a Negative-Sum Game, People! Have some compassion for the person in charge of the incredible shrinking pie. With a shrinking pie…you should not expect a larger slice of pie than you had last year. And don’t even think about asking for your pie a la mode.

It’s an interesting game…one where the gains and losses of the players add up to less than zero. That’s what happens to budgets when the economy is poopy. A smaller revenue stream leads to fewer expenditures.

Oh…for those who are unaware…I’m taking a brief moment to talk about my job.

Let’s say that you have a shrinking pie…pie eaters…and a pie keeper.

The pie keeper wants to know how big of a slice you (a pie eater) need to satiate your hunger. What’s a good strategy if you’re a pie eater who is aware of the shrinking pie, but unaware of the requests of other pie eaters? When the next pie comes out of the oven, should you ask for the same sized slice you received last time? A slightly smaller piece? Or should you make a case for a substantially larger slice?

All strategies have their merits. As a pie keeper, I particularly enjoy the moxie involved in requesting a larger piece of a smaller pie. These pie eaters must recognize that their fellow eaters are willing to give up a lot for the good of the group. However, sometimes this strategy can backfire and enrage the pie keeper. …and you don’t want to anger the pie keeper. She has a vengeful streak.

Most people who are aware of a shrinking pie, but unaware of the requests of other pie eaters, will ask for the same sized slice they got last time…or even a smaller slice of pie.

Color me surprised.

That makes things easier, doesn’t it?

And what’s the best strategy to employ as a pie keeper?

Talk about the pie a lot. Talk about how small it’s going to be compared to the last pie. Convince the pie eaters that the pie is shrinking at an alarming rate. Talk about how there are starving kids in Africa who don’t even have pie.

If the pie turns out to be teeny tiny…people’s expectations are met. …and if it’s a little bigger than that? Everybody wins. They got bigger slices than they thought they might.

Easy as pie.


This concludes the ridiculousness for the day.

There I was...extolling the technological virtues of the Jitterbug for weeks on end...

...and then Seth went and bought an iPhone...whatever that is.

Humph. Kids and their new fangled toys.

I'm on my 3rd cell phone in 7 years. The previous two weren't broken, just older models. They talked me into trading up since it would be at no extra cost. Am I the only person on earth who hasn't dropped their cell phone in the toilet?