Can I just say...

Sarah Palin scares the ever Manolo Blahnik loving crap out of me...

I'll expound on this later, but for right now...I am afraid. I am more terrified of this woman than driving over the Bay Bridge. And that, my friends, is saying something.

Its here! Its here!

I just bought my first Cubs tickets of the season, which means Spring is FINALLY here. This winter was actually surprisingly less painful than winters past... maybe because I spent so much of it indoors. And I'm sure the trip to Hawaii helped somewhat.

But it doesn't matter anymore because I have cubs tickets for April 26! And they're playing my beloved Nationals!! Horray!

Cutter

For the past week I've been teaching at a school. Its actually kind of awesome, there are some kids whose parents have to work during Spring Break, so they bring us in to give the kids something fun to do during the break. I really like it, and the kids (on a whole) are fairly awesome. Some of them remembered me from last year which is impressive because I meet people and six hours later have no idea who they are. And they're all about hugs. And who doesn't love hugs?

Anyway - they are a rowdy group, which is to be expected. They're 1st-4th graders, they come from rough home lives (some of them) and they're on Spring Break which is when they're supposed to be getting the nutty out. So normally I chalk up their insanity to you know, being kids. But there is one thing that drives me completely bonkers.

They have some SERIOUS issues with lines. Primarily the whole standing in them and the proper etiquette that surrounds that. We work with 60 kids most days, divided into 6 groups of 10. So at least six times a day (if not more)- I hear, "He Cutted!!" or some variation therein. For some reason, this bugs me far more than anything else they do including stuff that might get them super hurt or super hurts me.

I have developed my own way of dealing with it, which is to say that the "line" they are in doesn't matter - I am going to call on the person who looks like most interested in participating and is being the most respectful. This works for the most part, but they still find ways to get REAL.EMOTIONAL about the order in which they get to do skills (this is also so bizarre to me, because they all are going to get to go the exact same number of times no matter what and if it were me, I'd want to go last so I could make sure that I did better than everyone else...but I am pretty neurotic for a seven year-old.

Anyway, today I was thinking about this and how totally ridiculous it is but then I got to thinking about me, right now, and how I would lose my ever Pat Benatar loving mind if someone cut in line. Not so much for fun things, but like the bank. Oh man, if someone cut at the bank, I'd lose it. Not out loud, probably, but under my breath and for sure in a text message to someone. Its weird how focused we are on lines, and how I am probably jacking these kids up for life by rocking their world with this whole, "there is no line" thing. Because lines are an essential part of our culture - and not just dbag Americans, but people stand in line all over the word.

In retrospect, I should have just taught them all a valuable lesson about how cutting in line is wrong and its going to get you a lot of dirty looks when you get older...but instead I just make my own life a lot easier on a day to day basis. Which is probably a much more valuable lesson about the future.

Pie in the sky and other things...

As promised - here are some tart pictures. Like I said before, it was surprisingly easy although the raspberry topping I thought was going to coagulate, but instead it stayed really runny and got everywhere and made everything sticky. When I make it again, I will just put raspberries on top and have the sauce on the side. Anyway here it is before raspberry sauce:
And after I poured the sauce but before it got all over everything.
Everyone said it tasted really good, which is all that matters.

And in non-Suzy Homemaker news - my March Madness pool is OVER. All of my final 4 picks are out of the tournament all ready - this is shocking and depressing especially after years past. When my baby sister is doing better than me in picking college basketball teams I hang my head in shame (although, she is about to go to college and I am long out of it - so I guess she should be better at it than I).

This was my social weekend, which was lovely. I have become quite the homebody in my old age, but I still know how to get down. I think the homebody-ness comes from wanting to save money and having something pretty phenomenal to come home to and watching my weight and all sorts of other things. Also, I just was looking over Boyfriend's shoulder when I saw an atrocious picture of me recently posted on facebook. And I want to cry. Its awful. Not cute or funny awful, just really unattractive and I can't untag it. I have to wait 2 more weeks before it will disappear. I know this isn't an actual sad thing like world hunger but for me, its pretty miserable. Does that make me totally self centered? Yes. But what can you do?

And with that, I am done blogging for the night. I just got really depressed really fast.

Peter Pan

So I recently made a tag cloud for this blog (you can see it down below, on the left). And I realized that while probably only about half of my blogs are tagged at this point - growing up is way out in first place. I never realized how much I talk about growing up on this sucker - although I'm not surprised. I am growing up, y'all. Every day and in every way.

Yesterday I was performing in an improv show for kids at an elementary school's literacy night. There I was dancing around like a fool and I had a flash back to my days in elementary school watching people do the same kind of cockamammy-bull honkey and thinking about how much I wanted to do "that." I wanted to be up on a stage performing for people. And what's really funny is that it was only later in life (when I got to be moody and 12) that I decided I wanted to be a movie star. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a d-bag on stage. And now, I am. Which is kind of awesome in a bizarre twisty way. And I think that it is the reason that I keep doing this show even though it eats up a lot of my time and energy, because little kid me wants to do it.

And today - right now actually, I am making a tart. Not a pie. A tart. A raspberry and lime tart. Right now it looks like this:
Boyfriend went out and bought me this 8" tart pan with a removable fluted rim. About 2 months ago if you had given me a quiz and asked me what I thought a fluted rim was, I would have given you an honest answer but I really wouldn't have seen myself owning one.

But then it was time to decide what I was going to make for this week's upcoming pot luck and I had a memory of Cougar making this tart and how I thought it was incredibly fancy and grown-up back then and I still do. So now I'm making it. Its much easier than I was anticipating thus far. And it was an opportunity to buy a new kitchen toy.

Kitchen toys, btw, have replaced barbies (of my very young years), American Girl accessories (of my somewhat young years) and dance clothes (of the rest of the years in my Mom's house) as the thing I collect. I know that if I wait to get married people will give me this stuff for free but this seems to make more sense at this juncture in my life.

And don't worry - I'm not too grown up. For dinner yesterday, I had this:
Yes, that's right, a Shamrock Shake. For dinner. Like a grown-up. And also, you might notice if you check the time stamp - I am writing this at 11:30 PM. I am making a tart at midnight. Because I didn't have time earlier today and tomorrow morning I'm going to watch rugby and I'll be too drunk to be able to make it in the afternoon.

So I'm growing up and I'm getting more okay with it. I was talking with a friend about how we know people who are a few years older than us who are still acting like 23-year-old disasters and how if we grow up now we might miss out on some stuff. But I look at all the older friends I have and the people who seem to be heading in the best direction(s) are the ones who know how to cook and who do grown up things like own property. Those are the people I want to be like when I grow up.

Luck o' the Italian

I'm an idiot - obviously yesterday's blog and today's blogs count. Making my total 25 out of 30. Pretty impressive...

Anyway - today is St. Patrick's Day which happens (despite my co-worker Eli's arguments) every March 17th. And, as someone who has NO Irish blood in them at all - I think I've developed an affinity for the culture.

In elementary school - today was dominated by the Irish Jig Contest which.was.FIXED. I swear. I never won, which is ridiculous because I am/was/will ever be a Phenomenal Irish Jigger (which is not something you should say quickly as you will raise eyebrows of consternation).

Anyway, some years I would make it to the finals and then lose. Because, see, the preliminary round was judged by the teachers and high-school teacher helpers, who tended to be fairer judges as they were so burnt out they didn't really care that much. The finals were judged by the Specials Teachers (who we should have just called The Russians to get it over with) and they picked the same two kids every year. It was such bull crap. And the winners got these ceramic shamrocks that the art teacher made, and I coveted one of them with my whole heart and never won. And believe it or not, that probably had a more profound influence on why I am the jaded bitter d-bag I am today, that you think.

St. Patty's Day didn't really matter again until college (duh). My first two years of college I didn't drink much due to my lack of friends and lack of proper identification. My junior year I cleared all that up and became a raging st. patty's day lunatic.

It wasn't until my senior year that there was any photographic evidence though. I'm not going to lie - I miss the age where digital cameras were a rarity and posting photographs on the internet even more so...at least back then when I did dumb stuff you had to be there to witness it.

Now let me be straight - in case you're reading this because you want to offer me a job or marry me or something in the future - I never did anything illegal. I mean, I probably jaywalked, but that's it. Everything else was totally above the bar/wire/thing that keeps you from getting arrested.

What happens is that the rules of proper social conduct go out the window. I tend to find it acceptable to take (normally with some sort of verbal permission) people's clothing or accessories. I have a habit of throwing things- mostly in celebration. I have no qualms about demanding that people give me things, or do things I think would be entertaining.

This is a very broad overview of my behaviors- and if you want more details - feel free to email me (as most of my SPD stories are hilarious but totally inappropriate for a blog my parents read).

I shall give you one example - last year, St. Patrick's Day itself was fairly tame - we went to the South Side Parade the weekend before which really demands its own personal blog due to its enigma-ness. And then the night of, Boyfriend and I were just trolling the streets of Wrigleyville looking for some cornbeef and cabbage (for him) and a salad/cheeseburger (for me).

We finally found a place and many of the people around were wearing the Chi-rish beads I had been lusting after most of the week.

Those Miller Lite marketing people are flipping geniuses. This is a fantastic ad campaign. Hats off.

Anyway, there were mardi gras-esque beads with the Chi-rish emblem on them and at no point did I see them passed out. People just had them. And I wanted them.

So after we had eaten dinner and are still relatively sober, we're heading to our next destination, I find a cop on the street outside the bar wearing one of the Chi-rish bead necklaces.

Rachel: Excuse Me. Where did you get those beads?

Cop: I don't know, someone just gave them to me.

Rachel: Can I have them?

Boyfriend: about to die from embarrassment

Cop: Sure. Happy St. Patrick's Day.

And with that, they were mine. On a normal day - I don't ever walk up to cops unless, you know, I'm a victim of a crime OR they're Chris Meloni. But because of the date, this felt perfectly acceptable.

So now I have Chi-rish beads which aren't quite a ceramic shamrock necklace, but then again - I'm Italian, so I'll take what I can get.

No-book Update (Hyperlink-tastic!)

So, tomorrow is the end of the blogging challenge. I don't know how Anniebelle feels, but I feel like while I did not achieve my goal - I came far closer than I thought I would. This was a weird time slot to try this little game. Between moving and vacation these 30 days have been pretty insanely full and not particularly blog-worthy. I posted 23 times in 30 days (some of those were duplicates, so we're just going to count them as extra credit). That's a standard Rachel score.

Anyway - I am getting more in tune with my blogging muses and am enjoying getting into a blogging habit (which tends to be think about what to blog about all day and then write it at night, although there have been some midday blogs when I'm afraid I'll get distracted and forget what I want to write about). So I am extending the challenge to Anniebelle once again - another 30 days. Winner takes all. Pow! You in?

Also in these past 30 days I have not once logged into my facebook. And, while I know this is probably disappointing to some out there - I totally miss it. No less than 5 times have I missed out or almost missed out on things because people facebook invited me and didn't remember (or remembered at the last second) that I wasn't checking it. I miss pictures. I know there are new pictures up of me (I have sneaked a peak when other people have been on the book - I am only human, people) and new wall posts and while I haven't read any of them yet (my willpower is growing) I want to.

I also don't know if things are happening. Like weddings and engagements and babies, mostly. But also birthdays and new jobs and new adventures. My friend, LS, went to Paris a week ago and I texted her a few days after the trip to find out how it was, and then realized it was possible that she was engaged now and I had no idea (luckily, she wasn't). Facebook is the communication tool of the present/future. And I miss it.

And what have I done with my time these past few weeks? Well, I would say I got marginally more work done than I had in the past, which has been good. But mostly I've just found other things to read. Anniebelle turned me onto Dear Baby which is an adorable blog that will speed your biological clock up to warp speed (although you realize after awhile that you only want a baby right now if you get Her baby and Her life to go with it - do not worry Dear Baby Blogger - I am not planning to steal your life/baby).

I also spend an absurd amount of time on Texts From Last Night (always funny, always. But worrisome, as these are the voices of our future), Awkward Family Photos, Go Fug Yourself, This is Why Your Fat and any of the other blogs along T-bone's side bar.

I've wikipediaed a fair amount, which doesn't really count because I did that even when I was on facebook. I love wikipedia so hard. Recent wikipedia reads have included: Supernumerary body parts, Foie Gras, and List of Aircraft Hijackings

And mostly I have stalked the crap out of people. I have read archives of peoples' blogs (some are people I like, some are people I know, and some are people who just write well/have interesting lives), I've googled people (could you imagine that if, 13 years after the fact, when you were googled, your wedding announcement to your now-ex husband was the first thing to come up? I'd be pissed).

And as for those hours away from the computer? Well, those aren't materializing quite how they should, but its been cold and rainy outside which hasn't helped. Again, I am a victim of timing.

So the blogging will continue and once its gets pretty (if it gets pretty before Easter) I will go play outside. But also, I am stalking you, so get cool with it.

tighty Tyrannosaurus

So, I try not to get too graphic on this blog but there has been one thing on my mind all day.

My underwear is too small.

I am only kind of snobby when it comes to underwear. I'll wear whatever is bought for me, and if I'm buying normally there has to be some sort of deal involved. I tend to buy at Victoria's Secret or American Eagle because I'm consumerist and blah blab but that is not the point of this blog.

I will occasionally purchase underwear else where and, about a year ago, I bought some cute lil boy shorts at Urban Outfitters because they were like $3 and adorable.

I bought the size I always buy because, well, its the size I always buy and have always bought. And I get them home and after wearing them once I realize that while there is coverage everywhere there needs to be, the elastic around the leg holes is not elastic-y enough. This is tedious, so I buy a pair of the size bigger as an experiment (this was back when I had an absurd amount of expendable income). The size bigger fit great and they are in the constant rotation of underwears.

And the smaller pair? They still live in the dresser. I hardly ever wear them because I tend to remember, before I put them on, how uncomfortable they are. But this morning I was sleepy and it was early and its been awhile since I've done laundry. And so at around 11:30 AM I remembered and it for sure affected my mood (negatively) for the rest of the day.

So why not throw them away? Well, that's probably about to happen now because I am grouchy, but before? Because they are adorable. White with a pink waistband and a floral pattern. And intersperced within the flowers are teeny pairs of tyrannosaurus rexes. So little and they (would) make me so happy were they not restricting the blood flow to my lower extremities.

Anyway, thats my underwear story.

I picked my bracket this morning - I couldn't even tell you who I picked, its hard to pick basketball teams when you haven't watched a single game all season.

All Done.

So Wheel Weekend is over, and I learned a lot. But mostly I hurt myself today and so became well aware of the fact that despite my best efforts I am not eight or twelve years-old anymore.

The injury was simple enough, I was told to keep my arms straight no matter what, and then of course, when I fell down, I kept my arms straight and didn't bend them to brace for the impact. Dumb, but I was following directions.

Thankfully, I did not break anything, just jammed up some ligaments. And I'll be fine in a few days, but for now I can't really lift things, or push or pull anything heavy with my left hand. It could be way worse as the left-hand is the writing, page turning, and fork holding hand in this body. So right now there is just dull pain that gets sharper when I forget that its there and try to do anything.

I feel kind of like an idiot because as much time as I spend convincing myself that things look easy and accessibly, I spend as much (if not more) telling myself that I can still do all of these things and push my body like I could as a kid. And its frustrating when I am (painfully) reminded that I am old and brittle.

Wheel weekend was fun and I'm excited (once healed) to keep learning more. There is a wheel weekend with a show in October. I would really like to perform in the show, probably not by myself and for no more than a minute or so, but I haven't done anything choreographed on stage in awhile and it would be lovely to return to that.

And until then, taking pictures is just as good.
And in exciting news - it is going to be in the 50's this week! Hooray! Flip flop weather!

Big Wheels Keep on Turning

Today I did this:


And this:

And a lot of other stuff that is going to leave me sore and bruised.

Its "Wheel Weekend" in Chicago (what, you didn't get the memo?) and this is my first year of participating. I'm doing a coaching session since I'd only ever spent about 30 miserable minutes strapped into one of those suckers before 8 AM this morning (ergo - was not quite ready for a workshop).

Have you ever seen a Gym Wheel? Chances are - probably not. But they are incredibly cool and the rarity of them in the US makes them (to my elitist self) even cooler.

Anyway - youtube some gym wheel. Here. I'll Help.

So here's the thing with me and gym wheel (and really anything I decide I want to do) - I convince myself that it is really easily. Like absurdly easy. And I sleep soundly at night, nestled in my insane delusions of the simplicity of life.

And then of course when I try gym wheel/mini golf/painting/sewing/figure skating I realize that I am a major idiot and of course these things are some what challenging (except mini golf - that I am just terrible at for no good reason).

The thing with Gym Wheel is I think I know a lot about it (because I see it every day) but in reality, I know very little about the logistics. The people I see doing it most of the time are fantastic and have been practicing almost every day for years. So I've been watching it for a year now and so I think that I could do all these things in a year if I started working at them now, conveniently forgetting that that is not the way this works.

So I tried it today. And I held my own for my very first day. I was successful in all of the beginner skills even the vaulting (which was my fear). And I tried spiral! I was being spotted the whole time, but I tried it. Which is a big step for me. But still I was honestly disappointed in the fact that I didn't get on that sucker and whip out some crazy shit like naturally.

I have two days of workshop left, plus an open-ended opportunity to mess around when I want to, so I'm hoping this is a beginning, not a...middle.

gigglechat

I spend a lot of time on gchat/AIM at work because interaction with the outside world helps keep me from going insane. While there are those out there who wouldn't consider these dialogues "writing," I am going to have to disagree. Its writing and its funnier than most of the rice pudding crap I put up here. Especially because I have some funny friends.

Currently I am trying to help my friend J-dog take over for me at one of my jobs when I leave at the end of the month.

me: from your resume I can see you are totally over qualified for the position how do I tell her that is not the case
J-dog: i know, that is my problem for everything it's like I should enter an objective & put: slacking

Sunflower Pose Off

One of the sweet things about one of my jobs (which at the end of the month will become my former job) is that they offer a free yoga class for employees on Wednesday nights. Its one of those things that I try to take advantage of, but because its free I don't put enough intrinsic value in it, so I skip it most weeks.

I managed to go yesterday and it was nice and yoga-like until we were doing "sunflower" where you stand in second position (so with your feet wider apart than your hips) and your feet turned out (so that your toes are facing the corners of the room instead of the front) and then you plie (bend your knees but keep your heels on the ground and chest up) and do a port-a-bras (make outwards semi-circles with your arms meeting at the top and the bottom).

While we were doing it, the yoga teacher, who has the voice of a Splenda packet, keeps telling us that it is okay to stick your butt out a little bit to get a deeper stretch and I rolled my eyes. IN YOGA. Which is like the opposite of everything that Mr. Yoga wanted this to be about.

Here's the thing. After 20 years of thinking about movement in regards to ballet, sticking your butt out while bending your knees is Unacceptable. For SO many reasons. First of all, it looks atrocious and its not good for your back and it goes from being a good stretch and a pose that can almost be flattering to something looking akin to a dog dropping a duece.

So I flat out ignored everything she said and continued to do grand plies in second, knowing that I was right and she was wrong. And that brought me inner peace.

Stopwatch

So according to Oprah (pretty much the most reliable source out there) - one of the most important parts of eating "smart" (please note that that is "smart" not "healthy") is not eating after 9 PM. It makes a ton of sense when you think about it - your metabolism shuts down at night which means you just let crap sit in there blah blah fatty mcfatpants.

I have been trying to be fairly vigilant about this whole Cinderella-esque thing. Please note, I still eat cookies for breakfast and icing on a spoon - so I am keeping a fairly level head about losing weight.

The problem is my life is completely non-conducive to this most nights unless I pack like a flippin' squirrel or spend an absurd amount of money on out-there-in-the-world food. Most nights when I leave my house around 7 or 8 AM I do so with the knowledge that I won't be home before 8 PM. If I eat breakfast at 8 - there are still 12 unaccounted hours in that day. If you're a Wookie like me, that is at least 2 meals. I do pride myself on small meals, but still that is a LOT of food storing and when you also factor in the gym clothes and the laptop and everything else.

So I only eat one meal in that time which leaves me grouchy beyond belief (no seriously ask anyone who hangs out with me) and then I come home and its like 8:52. Sigh.

So I don't eat, because Oprah SAYS. SO. and then I sit and do work and watch Lost and I'm starving.

Thanks Oprah.

mmmm. .

The best thing about Frozen Pizza Sunday, is cold pizza Monday.

Delicious.

today

Today was weird.

So long kid

Today we celebrated Boyfriend's birthday at his parent's house with suburban Mexican food and cake with icing roses (my favorite).

Before we were allowed to watch him open presents we had to watch him sort through his childhood, which was about the same level of entertaining just a little dustier.

His parents have made that quintessential parental move of subconsciously telling you how much they don't love you by turning your childhood bedroom into a guest room instead of keeping it a shrine to you. Not to say that Boyfriend's parents don't love him, but still...

So we got to the house and in the living room were stacks of boxes and piles of old stuff, most of it has been in Boyfriend's bedroom for the better part of 15 years and so he dutifully went through his childhood and threw away the memories that were less important and valuable.

While its true that no one should keep EVERYTHING they obtain over a lifetime (although without these people, the show Hoarders wouldn't exist, which would be sad) it is still hard to get rid of things. So many things from childhood are hard to remember anyway, mostly because of the booze and the TV plot lines that come up later in life to take their place that I feel like we need trinkets and photos to help us, and so having to decide which of those memories we toss in the goodwill pile is difficult.

And lets be real - 3 or 4 boxes of stuff were saved. Some of it is practical life stuff and some of it was stuff I demanded be saved (namely a boy scout uniform that is going to make a sweet Halloween costume) and then the rest are the most valuable memories.

In Boyfriend's case there were the obvious things like photos and college graduation stuff but then there was also:
About 20 trophies and plaques talking about how amazing he was in high school both academically and sport-ily
An official paper with his SAT scores
Letterman jacket (no seriously - with his name and captain stars and everything. Sick)
A tee-shirt signed by Billy Joe from Green Day
A Colts poster

This is an interesting cross section of someone, I think. The things they think are important from childhood.

My sister kicked me out of my childhood bedroom when I went to college and all my stuff got put up in the attic for the most part so its been out of sight/mind for a good eight years but eventually (read: May of this year) I am going to have to start the process and I'm curious what I will keep with the proverbial gun to my head. What was the most important part of my childhood?

No idea. Lets just hope it doesn't come to that.

And then...

I think one of the things I find hardest about daily blogging is coming up with crap to talk about.

I easily have one of the most mundane lives, ever which is de-pressing, but is probably not going to change anytime soon. Pair that with the fact that I am now hyper-sensitive to what I put on this thing (because apparently I am the worst person in the entire history of the whole universe ever hyperbole) - I am left with not much to talk about.

I have been reading blogs for a long time. Tomato Nation, Pamie were my two first favorites. These people are complete strangers and yet I feel like I know a lot about them, but would never ever know them if I met them on the street. And now I read my friends blogs and strangers blogs and people who I used to knows blogs just because I like learning about other people's ideas.

Most people I've met or rather have read things I've written have said I am a good writer, which is a compliment I've always taken with a grain of salt - surely it is much more difficult to be a bad writer - being a good writer is just about writing how you would talk and about things you care about (or can pretend to care about for money) and taking it from there.

But now I've realized how easy it is to be a bad writer. This is bad writing. This whole blog challenge thing has back-fired in a truly spectacular way to make me a WORSE writer. Take that 6th grade English - it is not just about how much you do it. Its about being willing to write about things that matter and on this blog I am just not willing to do that anymore.

The things I should be writing about are things I don't really think the world a-cares about and b-really needs to or should know. Back when I was young and the internet was trendier than leggings (good times...) I had no qualms about putting my business out there because I felt as though, while I didn't know who was reading this thing - I for sure knew who wasn't. And that was nice.

Now I am second guessing everything, wondering what is being misinterpreted or taken to mean something its not. So my new goal is to write better blog entries - even if they are one sentence long - I want it to be like the sickest sentence ever (PS - sentence has no "a's" in it?! No way! Thanks red spell checker line).

This will not be a rehashing of my day or a place to dump my emo-baggage (which there is way more of these days then I thought possible for the age of 25) it will be where I write. For-realz, y'all.

And now I'm stressed about my first sentence...too much pressure.

Dark Chocolate Macadamia Nuts - are pretty close to perfect even with the disturbing addition of protein to an otherwise blissfully empty caloried snack.

Abysmal...

Back, baby

Okay - sorry about the blog drought. I just realized that my Hawaii posts were extra double lame because I was trying to write them while watching Lost, and if you have ever watched Lost, you know that doing anything while watching that show is pretty damned near impossible.

But I am back! And I am jet lagged! And I am sun-burnt! And I am bruised!

It was by-far the most active vacation of my entire life. Where I come from the most aerobic activity you get while on vacation is turning over so you tan evenly. This time I hiked and climbed and got beaten up by surf and hiked and climbed some more.

It was amazing, even though I am pretty sore all over, both from the climbing and the falling down a volcanic rock face. I did not fall far, and the damage wasn't too severe, but man are these bruises serious.

And we Lost-nerded. it. up. Like Whoa. Let's be real folks, if you let yourself get into this show, it will get you. It will take you in and beat you up like a Pimp named Slickback. And you will crawl back begging for more.

I spent a lot of my time wondering why in the world Maimees would ever even consider moving back to the Chi, but then I remembered my life in Nantucket...and how having true, amazing friends is what it takes to make an island a home.

And now some more pictures - the rest will be posted on Picassa in a hot second -

Luau and Ohana

Lost locale searching, and Hawaii experiences continue. I went to THE swap meet, and A Luau today both were amazing. Blogging seems like a waste of my time as I have a lot of other things I want to spend my time doing - like sleeping and watching Lost.