Happy Schmappy Anniversary!

This past Sunday afternoon we were driving back from a nice weekend out of town and stopped at a Panera to eat lunch. At first I thought that it was a bit underwhelming, since it was my first anniversary meal, and we were at a Panera, but then I realized, it was completely appropriate; one year ago today, we also stopped in a Panera to get some food.

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Okay so I was going to upload a photo that our photographer took, of us, in Panera, but discovered that it was still in RAW format (approximately 13MB apiece), I had put them all on my portable drive to save space, and I can't preview any of the 1000+ pictures unless I have them open in Picasa... which would require putting them back all on my hard drive.

So instead, I'll just say that after seven hours of heat, wedding photo goodness and fun, I was more than a little thirsty/hungry/tired, our photographer for some reason recommended we go to this 'quaint little sandwich shop' down the street, which turned out to be freakin Panera, I walked in, the girl behind the counter surreptitiously left the counter, and then suddenly the entire staff of Panera appeared and gawped at us for the ten minutes we were there. Lovely. I think I got a free piece of bread though... at least, I don't remember paying for it. Oh, and Matt spilled his mango smoothie all over his white dress shirt, but luckily the tie covered it up. The secrets they don't tell you about weddings...

Mostly I just wanted to commemorate our first year together by (finally) posting a few pictures, for fun, and say that the first year has just FLOWN by! Here's to many more years to come!!

A million thank yous to everyone who stood outside and for standing in this kind of ridiculous can't-see-anyone-semi-circle. Bless Zach's heart for arranging it... clearly he is not familiar with the Mormon temple "here is where the requisite wedding party stands to get the group shot" pose. I really am still sorry for the crappy heat and sun.... but I love you and appreciate every drop of sweat shed in our behalf!!!!

And what's a wedding without a funny story right? Most of you have already heard this one but it goes down in my own family lore. It took me months to slowly glean it from everyone before I finally got the full picture.

It started out at the reception, as I *finally* sat down to dinner. My mom made a passing comment on how AWESOME Jen, my flower arranger, was. To this I will always heartily agree and said "yeah, Jen's pretty amazing right?" Mom: "She's AMAZING. When I punch the cake, she fix it. She is AMAZING." Me: "uh.... what??"

So during a break I casually strolled over to my girlfriends and asked "so what's this about my mom punching my cake...?" Girlfriends (in horror): "Omg we weren't going to SAY anything to you, you weren't supposed to KNOW about it!!!" Me: "so... what happened?" Girlfriends (ever loyal and considerate) "Oh don't worry about Jen, it's your big day, we'll tell you later, never mind..."

Months later, I finally extracted the full story as told from my sister, the de facto wedding planner, and Jen, the AMAZING friend:

Melinda: "So yeah. The cake. So the cake people came that afternoon and delivered and cake and put it on a table and left, and of course everyone was busy running around and setting up and I wasn't watching Jennifer! I wasn't watching! Apparently at some point Mom decided she was going to move your wedding cake, BY HERSELF, I don't know WHAT she was thinking, and of course she goes to pick it up and her hand, like, swiped off the side of the cake and then she's just standing there screaming SOMEONE DO SOMETHING and then she looks at her fist covered in frosting and she just starts LICKING it and is like 'mmmm this is good' lick lick lick and JENNIFER I AM FREAKING OUT SHE JUST PUNCHED YOUR CAKE!!!!! AAAAAH! And she's just standing there LICKING HER FIST!!!!"

Here, Jen the AMAZING friend completes the story: "Well, I was arranging your flowers and Melinda comes RUNNING up to me and says "um, excuse me please Jen, but we have a potential disaster on our hands can you please come help right now" so I walk over to where she's running and I see your mother approaching your wedding cake with a large knife in her hand, and whatever it was she was planning to do I just said "STOP! Whatever you're doing, put down that knife!!! We'll fix it, don't worry..."

And thus Jen proceeded to artfully stick some flowers in the offending corner (I have pictures somewhere) and voila, crisis was averted. You really would have never known anything was miss, unless you wanted to wonder why save for the fact that the flowers on the bottom tier are completely covering up the one corner of decorating. Oh well, makes for a funny story.

Six months later when my own sister got married I made sure to stay very close to the cake the entire time, and at one point when my mom flung out her arm I nearly bowled her over throwing myself between her and the table. You learn your lessons. ;)

Happy anniversary Matt!!! Your family was quite normal the entire time, thank you.

Tribute to John Emerson

This is a tribute a year overdue, but nevertheless still worth tributing. I've mentioned it several times before, so here is the official full story:

Married: May 23, 2009. We were generously offered Matt's aunt's vacation condo up in Portland, Maine. On the day before our wedding, Aunt Carol's husband, Hank, gave us the keys to said condo, with a side comment of how he wished this was his only set but that he kept having to make more copies because his kids always lost his condo keys and how annoying it was. We fervently promised not to be like his kids, and to take good care of his keys. Oh the foreshadowing...

Day 2 of honeymoon: we wake up in said glorious condo, meander outside to find us some breakfast, and on the way there Matt says "hang on, lemme check to make sure I locked the car." As he is in the process of turning his body around, we hear a *chink-clank*. He doesn't think much of it until he gets to the car, reaches in his pocket, and realizes the precious condo keys are missing. Much huffing and puffing and stomping and pacing and grunting and swearing ensued (on Matt's part... I just stood there, amused) before we finally concluded that the only possible demise of the keys was the sewer grate located directly where the *chink-clank* happened. What a way to start a honeymoon. :) I know, because when I wandered into the closest open shop to tell them what happened, that's exactly what they said to me. I savor the fact that the very first time I've ever used the phrase "my husband" was to say "my husband flung our condo keys into the sewer down the street."

I had gone into said paint shop to ask for a phone book to search for any local municipal phone number of anything. I came out empty handed, but when I returned to the scene of the crime, Matt had used Google text (bless you, Google text) to find the phone number of Portland's City Hall and was frantically describing our situation:

After only a miraculous few minutes and several friendly transfers, he was promised that someone would come by in 'fifteen minutes' to check out the situation. Being D.C. residents, we highly doubted anything would come of it and spent the next five minutes discussing how to get another set of keys. It wasn't looking good... Matt's aunt's phone number had been left in the condo. Locked. With keys that were currently in the sewer.

Shockingly, within those five minutes of discussion and DURING our comment of "well I highly doubt anyone will actually come," a truck pulled up and a friendly man hopped out: "Looks like we've got a problem here! Noooooo worries..." within seconds he had yanked off the grate top with a crowbar. He reassured us that this type of thing happened all the time... really? But apparently, really, because out of nowhere he produced a length of rope with a magnet attached and dropped it in. Really? You're going to just boink the rope up and down until you find the keys? Really? Um... okay...

Happily and friendly-ily fishing, while Matt looks on sheepishly...

More dutiful fishing, while Matt now attempts to look useful...

And... VOILA!!! KEYS!!!!!

This single photo makes this entire blog post worthwhile. I cannot express how wonderful a moment it was for us. 1) Someone from the city of Portland ACTUALLY showed up. I mean, can you imagine if this had happened in D.C.? Uh yeah, have fun finding a locksmith. 2) He ACTUALLY found the keys!! What are the chances of THAT happening? He also assured us (though I don't know if I ever quite believed him) that it wasn't an actual 'sewer', but a 'rainwater drain' so the keys weren't quite as nasty as they could have been. But whatever. Matt rinsed them off thoroughly and didn't tell Hank until, y'know, a week later. But yeah... we were really glad to have those keys back.

I told Matt to give me his best "I'm an idiot" face here.

We sent a letter to city hall a few weeks after our return from our Maine trip, thanking Mr. John Emerson profusely, over and over again, for his lifesaving community service.

The best part of the whole situation was I noticed, after we were all done, that the semi-truck that had been parked across the curb the entire time, refueling the gas station or whatever, contained a driver that possessed an expression of extreme amusement when we walked by to resume our morning quest for breakfast. Ah well. Glad we could provide some entertainment for the residents of Portland.

Thank you John Emerson, fervently and from the bottom of both of our hearts. Thank you.

Time flies when you're having fun!

In exactly one month from today I will have been married one year. ONE YEAR! It definitely goes by fast. I also have realized that in the one year since I've been married, I never posted any wedding pictures (except my banner I suppose) nor any fun wedding stories. I have lots of those, but that's for another time. Well okay here's one picture just because. I'll be posting more later I'm sure. :)

Today I wanted to pay homage to my Converse-wearing husband and why he'sven cooler now than he was a year ago, when we were listing off our "Top 10 Reasons Why I Want to Marry You" that we hastily scribbled on scrap paper from our photo shoot to our reception. Yeah... in Matt's case the procrastination is not surprising but I'm amazed even I'd put it off that long. Unfortunately for Matt, he could only scribble while he was at stoplights since he was driving. :)

Anyway, today's tribute is to Matt's Amazing Talent of Sweet Talking Anyone (But Especially Women). I've never really enjoyed calling people and making appointments/asking for information/purchasing things, etc. etc. I don't know why, it must hearken back to my Girl Scout days knocking on doors selling cookies. Since I've gotten married, the number of times I've had to make "those calls" has fallen to practically zero now that I make Matt do them all. It's because he's GOOD at it! Not only does he get what he wants, usually by the end the customer service rep is telling him that he's 'made their day'... I've personally heard it myself several times.

The specific example I highlight today is from my sister's wedding. We needed to purchase bear grass for her flowers. So I looked up a local florist and called them. My customer service talent:

"Uh hi, I was wondering if you had any bear grass... No? Okay... do you know anyone who does...? No? Okay wellthanksbye."

Hang up. "They don't have any bear grass. I HATE CALLING PEOPLE."

Matt (sweetly): "Here, let me try. What's the next number?" (dials)

"...Hi there - what was your name again? Nancy? Hi Nancy, how are you doing on this wonderful day? ...Yeah? That's so great to hear. I'm so glad to hear it. Isn't this weather wonderful? Y'know I've never really been to Utah before and I just visited the southern part and it's AMAZING. I mean, I wasn't really inclined to like Utah before but now that I've been to the southern part I'm totally converted. Have you ever been down there Nancy? ... No? Well take it from me Nancy, it's AMAZING. Next time you go let me know and I'll suggest places to go... right... haha yes....

Okay well Nancy, the reason why I'm calling today is because my wife's sister is getting married, and you know, it's a big day, and we need this thing called BEAR GRASS. Now Nancy, I'm a GUY, and you know, I don't know anything about this thing called BEAR GRASS, all I know is that I need to find it so my wife's sister can have an amazing wedding. Would you possibly have any of this BEAR GRASS in your wonderful shop?.... No? Oh that's too bad. Okay well-...what? Oh, you can find someone who does?.... Oh Nancy that would be wonderful, you are my hero.... what? ... Oh, you can call ahead and make sure they have it? ... what? Oh, you'll make sure they reserve some under my name so that they'll have it when I get there? ... Oh Nancy you are my hero. I am composing a song in your honor right now... Yes... Yes I am... Okay could I have the address of the place you're calling... Oh you want to give me directions? Okay, well I'm at the Little America... Okay..."

He gets directions, thanks Nancy profusely, sings her a song or two, and hangs up. My dad, who watched/listened to the entire interchange, exclaims "Wow! He is handy to have around! He can talk his way into AAAAAAAnything!'

Yep. Reason number #1,498,390 why Matt is awesome. :)

I've Been Busy...

I might need professional help. Distract me please!

Food Tragedies turned...Triumphs?

Today's post is partially inspired by a blog I wrote a few months ago regarding the food tragedies that so often befall us, and partially inspired by The Fortune Cookie Chronicles, by Jennifer 8. Lee. I have no idea what the 8 stands for, but the book is a fascinating read on the rise of Chinese food in America. For instance, did you know that there are more Chinese restaurants in the U.S. than McDonalds, Taco Bells, and Burger Kings combined?

Anyway, since that so tragic Chinese restaurant experience of yore (yore = last August), Matt and I set out to find a GOOD place, hopefully nearby, that would satiate our Chinese food cravings. (For those who live kind of near Duke Street-ish, A&J Noodle is always a fantastic bet. Get the dumplings and the beef noodle soup and call it a day.) I trawled through local and online magazine reviews and we finally found, much to our supreme delight, Hong Kong Palace at Seven Corners in Falls Church. It is a Sichuan place, which means every dish, at least that we've ordered, comes smothered in red chili peppers and peppercorn, and midway through each bite your tongue starts to go numb. It's blissfully delicious.

I also found reviews and postings for a nearby Peking Gourmet Inn, most notable for its famous politically savvy patrons, including both President Bushes and a number of Pentagon officials. My local friends have always claimed it to be their favorite, albeit "a little pricey", but worth going to celebrate big events, etc. It was mentioned in Fortune Cookie Chronicles for having a bullet-proof front window. Every time we drove past it to hit up Hong Kong Palace, we would muse "hmm, we really should try it sometime to see if it's worth all the hype."

A few weeks ago we decided to give it a shot; my parents were coming into town and we wanted to guarantee Chinese authenticity in any restaurant we took them to.

One word: Surreal.

Firstly, observe the interior. 1) no windows. Creepy. 2) Have you ever heard of the "power wall"? It's a DC thing, where you post pictures of you + [insert famous politician here] and then frame and hang the pictures, ostensibly in your large comfortable Capitol Hill office. This ENTIRE RESTAURANT was one giant power wall. From the moment you walked in past the coat check (p.s.... no self respecting Chinese restaurant has a coat check) to the moment you enter the deceivingly cavernous dining room, you are accosted with photos of politicians. The entire wall next to us were just Pentagon officials. JUST military photos. There must have been hundreds of them.

Secondly, the food was not authentic, not to mention it was, indeed, extremely expensive. I mean, it wasn't BAD... it was pleasantly edible, and I guess I could go as far as to say it was 'okay'. But it was *definitely* Americanized... every dish we asked the waiter about was just large platters of fried meat of different kinds. We ordered an egg plant dish (decent, but quite sweet) and a black pepper beef, which was large cubes of deep fried beef with a sprinkling of onion and the obligatory broccoli spears to give an air of health. The little place in Old Town around the corner from my former roomies did a better job, and at half the price.

Thirdly, as we looked around nervously as we ate, there were NO ASIANS in the restaurant. Well maybe a few, and they were all getting the Peking duck without fail... but everyone else was old, white, and presumably Republican. Hundreds of them, all eating quietly and mechanically and perusing the twelve page wine list (second p.s.: no self respecting Chinese restaurant has a twelve page wine list). It was like eating in a 60's sci-fi horror movie where you find out Soylent Green is made of people.

Anyway, so it was an 'experience', and we were glad we did it because now we know we never have to go back ever again! We will never have to wonder, as we drive merrily by on our way to Hong Kong Palace, if the Peking Gourmet place might offer better food. In fact, when we DID take my parents three weeks later, to Hong Kong Palace, in the middle of the Cherry Blossom Festival, the restaurant was so jam packed filled with out of town Chinese tourists who had presumably heard of the place word of mouth, that we waited over an hour and forty five minutes JUST for takeout. I mean it wasn't pleasant, but thankfully my parents deemed the food worth the wait, and y'know, got a bit of childhood/crazy Chinese people nostalgia in the process. I'm just really glad the intestine dish my mom originally ordered was out. Must've been popular for all those natives.

I know I might have asked before, but what are your favorite Chinese places and what are your favorite dishes? One day we'll have a huge outing/extravaganza. =D

Attention customers, may I have your attention please...

Dear D.C. tourists and interns--

We native D.C. federal Metro commuters realize that your presence at the advent of nice weather is inevitable. Some of us might even welcome you; I'm sure you stimulate our local economy and I can't deny that your tax dollars are what fund my city and oh yeah, my paycheck. I do thank you for that. But please, a few words of advice as you descend upon our town, and more importantly, our public transportation system:

• You are in a large city. We are all aware. There is no need to loudly declare this everywhere you go. Please especially try to refrain from commenting (loudly) how crowded the metro is and how "it's just like the in the movies!!!!!" This is our every day life. I suppose it could be like the movies, except the movies don't usually have large white pasty bloated sweaty people in them commenting how it's like the movies. Most of us have commutes over an hour, and most of us are also probably working alternate schedules, which put us in the office for 9.5 hours a day. We really appreciate quiet commutes. Really.
• This goes without saying, but yes... walk on the left, stand on the right, people. In addition, when you reach the top/bottom of the escalator, STEP OFF AND MOVE AWAY. Do not stand indecisively at the end of the stairs and peer around, musing over where to go next. We're not intentionally trying to shove you (though we probably are gratified we are); it's just gravity and a machine pushing us into you.
• This also goes for Metro doors. If you are sadly stuck standing without a seat, and are crammed next to a door, and that door happens to open at a stop, GET OFF THE METRO and get back on when people are done exiting. Do not stand fearfully in the middle of the doorway with your shoulders hunched thinking it's making you in the least bit less of an obnoxious doorstop.
• For you large crowds of tourist groups, please do not congregate around the Metro gates and use that spot to obnoxiously shout your safety rules and when you're going to meet up and the color of your umbrella you'll be holding high up in the air. The Metro platforms are really spacious. Do that somewhere else and THEN you can swarm the gates all trying to shove your cards into the ones with the red minus signs.
• A special note to the interns: congratulations on getting that lucrative unpaid summer position at [insert senator's name here] 's office. I'm sure it was competitive and difficult and I have no doubt that you are extremely bright and I have faith that you will contribute greatly to our country when you grow up. But really... nobody who actually lives here is impressed. There is no need to proudly (and emphatically) declare where you're working and drop names and how awesome you are and how lucky D.C. is to have you here. Did I mention your position was unpaid? Right.
• On the flip side, however... don't be afraid. The Metro is not going to kill you. We understand most of you have never been on a public vehicle, or ever had to parallel park since your driver's test years ago, or ever had to actually PAY for a parking spot in general, and crowds are probably overwhelming. We have sympathy for those of you who clutch your children in vice-like grips, hissing at them when they step an inch away, afraid that they will be stolen away by strangers. Let me assuage you (though I should probably be more careful myself): I have worked approximately 1,350 days in D.C. That means I have ridden the metro at least 2700 times, plus more for school and weekends. I have never had anything stolen from me. I have fallen asleep countless times (despite repeated warnings) and never woken up in a dark alley or missing any organs, though once a homeless man screamed at me until I woke up and demanded money, to which I obviously did not comply. I have accidentally left my backpack unzipped with things practically falling out and never had anything taken. If anything, I've had more kind strangers tell me my bag's open or run after me with fallen items. I have, sadly, misplaced one library book, one ipod shuffle, and my car keys. The book and the shuffle were never found, but the car keys, which would have cost $300 to replace, miraculously made their way up to the Metro lost and found and I was gratefully reunited. If you are lost and confused, chances are there are 100 people on the Metro who can tell you where to go. If you ask nicely, just about anyone will help you. Really.

That being said... enjoy the city! This is a fantastic place to visit. There are a million things to do, countless landmarks to gawk at, and oh yeah... did I mention just about everything is free? And don't leave without dropping by Ben's Chili Bowl for a true D.C. experience... I mean, Obama ate there. :)

Sincerely,

Your D.C. Resident

P.S. Anyone else have comments to add?

My Final Masterpiece...

Four weeks and eight hours later, I am officially a Wilton Class 1 Cake Decorating graduate. Hooray! Thanks Matt!!

PS Question for my professional cake decorating friends (and you know who you are): how do I keep my rose petals from cracking? And the bow was juvenile at best... any tips?

Other Crafty Endeavors

So for Christmas my wonderful, loving, thoughtful husband bought me cake decorating lessons. Then during Christmas break he proposed that we start a "wellness challenge" that banned sweets and desserts for three months. Still wonderful, loving, and thoughtful? Definitely. Good at making appropriately timed decisions? Maybe not.

I lost the pictures to my first cake and am still debating if it's worth paying $50 for retrieval software to get them back. Meanwhile, here are some cupcakes and the third and final masterpiece will be created this Friday. It's ironic that I dominated the roses on my first try, yet for the life of me cannot master a simple scalloped edge. Blah.

I'm pretty proud of my roses... All those years of sculpey making are finally paying off! If you don't know what sculpey is you are clearly not nerdy enough. Please be proud. (as a disclaimer, I did not make the lovely green leaves which really 'make' the roses, my teacher did, as a nicety to me.)

I followed the cupcake decorator set box's directions on "pull out stars" on this one... not really sure what the effect was supposed to be... crazy electrocuted lots of frosting?

As you can see I got lazy with the amount of colors to use. I've realized that is more the issue with decorating than anything... all the lard, sugar, and mixing involved. I'm soooo glad Matt got me 100 disposable frosting bags so I don't have to wash them out every time. Thanks for the tip to my favorite Jen for that one!

My First Foray Into Entrepreneurialship...

...and probably my last (and I don't think "entrepreneurialship" is a real word), but I thought I'd throw it up here for kicks. I don't usually 'advertise' or push any specific profitable causes, but I thought I would be remiss if I didn't advertise myself, on my own blog.

What started as last-minute Christmas gifts for extended family members turned into a "hey, this is fun!" and gave me something to do while I watch. a. lot. of. tv. And since I can only make so many cute hats for myself, friends and family before everyone is behatted, I thought I'd throw them into the homemade craft world and see how I fared. Hey, it was (almost) free to do, and mostly I just get a huge kick out of seeing my items for 'sale' like a real business person. Plus, I realize I have like, a two month window of selling opportunity before I become obsolete. Until then... enjoy! :)

Official Site

Update...

I'm composing my entire blog post today around an excerpt from a book I read this morning. Whilst the bulk of this post's wit will depend entirely upon Bill Bryson and his astute renderings of self-awareness, I include it as the impetus for my last post's follow-up.

Whenever anyone's ever asked me "so why are you getting surgery? what for? Sleeping? Snoring? Why, is it bad?" I always stuttered and groped around for the proper description, somewhat embarrassed and flustered for the accurate depiction of why I got surgery.

If anyone ever asks me from now on, I will now respond, word for word, with the following:

"I am not, I regret to say, a discreet and fetching sleeper. Most people when they nod off look as if they could do with a blanket; I look as if I could do with medical attention. I sleep as if injected with a powerful experimental muscle relaxant. My legs fall open in a grotesque come-hither manner; my knuckles brush the floor. Whatever is inside - tongue, uvula, moist bubbles of intestinal air - decides to leak out. From time to time, like one of those nodding-duck toys, my head tips forward to empty a quart of so of viscous drool onto my lap, then falls back again to begin loading again with a noise like a toilet cistern filling.

And I snore, hugely and helplessly, like a cartoon character, with rubbery flapping lips and prolonged steam-valve exhalations. For long periods I grow unnaturally still, in a way that inclines onlookers to exchange glances and lean forward in concern, then dramatically I stiffen and, after a tantalizing pause, begin to bounce and jostle in a series of whole-body spasms of the sort that bring to mind an electric chair when the switch is thrown. Then I shriek once or twice in a piercing and effeminate manner and wake up to find that all motion within five hundred feet has stopped and all children under eight are clutching their mothers' hems. It is a terrible burden to bear."

This, my friends, is what I dealt with pretty much since I was about, oh, twelve. I know this from vehement and vigorous agreements from close family members and friends (many of whom have shaken me awake in the middle of the night to ask if I was dead) and also from the awe-struck stares I get from fellow passengers on the Metro when I've woken up from my daily post-work-commute-nap. I know I can't be attractive; I always wake up with my mouth hanging as wide open as humanly possible, usually with drool, and my neck arched back in a manner like unto the velociraptor skeletons from Jurassic Park who fossilized in improbably and extremely uncomfortable looking positions. I can only imagine the volume of my snoring.

I knew that I most likely had sleep apnea, but it had to be scientifically proven, so I voluntarily subjected myself to the following sleep studies:

After which it was determined that I could either spend the rest of my life wearing a full-face Darth Vader mask that shoved so much air into my nose and mouth that my respiratory system involuntarily shut down, or get surgery to remove parts of the back of my throat and tongue to increase breathing. Or... snore for the rest of my life and continue to fall asleep while driving and in boring meetings.

I'll spare the photos of my mouth (trust me... it was gross) but suffice to say that while I still may sleep with my mouth wide open and vast quantities of drool, at least the snoring has stopped. Huzzah!

Facial Carnage...

So in a stroke of mandibular synchronicity, "Mr. Keng" is getting all four of his wisdom teeth ripped out of his face this coming Friday. I myself have a scheduled "UPPP (otherwise known as a Uvulopalatopharyngoplasty)/tonsillectomy/something else whose official name eludes my memory" for the 28th of September. Basically the end result is that both Mr. Keng and I will have extremely painful oral recoveries with limited food consumptions.

Fortunately, as we are not getting our surgeries at the *exact* same time, we will have time to feed each other mushy tasteless and chew-less food for weeks!!! I'm making up a list of foods, but I want to get your feedback: what should we stock up on tonight on our trip to the grocery store??

Food Tragedies...

I know we've all them: those tragic moments in life where you're gleefully anticipating the satisfaction of some particular something, something you've looked forward to, something you think *finally! I'm about to be truly satisfied!* only to have your bubble of potential euphoria burst with reality, mistakes on your end and theirs, and for lack of better expression, "BOOOOOOOOOOOO...."

Today I relate three instances of such disappointments, all food-related (because really, my life revolves around food, which all human lives should) and all within the past month. These have also all been due to my ever-continuing attempts at eating "healthier"... clearly I should just give up and succumb to a life of morbid obesity. In sequential order:

1) Wendy's Spicy Chicken Sandwich... the most glorious, euphoric item Wendy's offers on their menu. I'd been abstaining for nearly a year now because hello, it's a deep fried chicken cutlet smothered in mayonnaise. Every time we drive from D.C. to Rochester and back, we stop at Wendy's for something to eat (it's the only drive through we both like) and every time Matt orders one, and every time I have to tell myself, "no spicy chicken sandwich, it's bad for you."

Well, this past July we were driving past Wendy's for the nth time, and I had been restraining for so long, I finally caved in. So we ordered TWO spicy chicken sandwiches (mine without mayonnaise though), they gave us our food, we sped away, I merrily tore open the fake foil, sunk my teeth into the fried chicken... no spice. No taste. In fact, it was the blandest piece of fried chicken I've ever consumed. Well okay, it had *some* taste, but apparently they had given us two "Homestyle" chicken sandwiches instead of spicy. Matt claims his was "less spicy than usual" but was later finally forced to concede that they had made a mistake. As we drove by another Wendy's literally minutes later, he offered to drive in and return it, or demand a new one, but I had already morosely finished my homestyle sandwich and now could really not justify a spicy one.

Do you KNOW how awful a Homestyle chicken sandwich is, especially without mayonnaise, and on TOP of expecting a spicy beautiful mouth-watering crispy heaven? Torture I tell you. Extreme let-down. Do I have to wait another year before consuming again?

2) Low-fat Granola SUCKS.

I have a pretty boring work-breakfast regime. It's altered between oatmeal and granola-with-yogurt for the last five years. I have tried every single grocery-shelf granola out there, and recently discovered my absolute favorite: Quaker Natural Granola: Oats, Honey and Raisins. It's delicious. It stays satisfyingly crunchy in milk, not so much that it hurts the roof of your mouth, but enough so that you're not eating mush by the end. It's positively magical.

The problem is, hardly any store sells it. I have the hardest time finding it, mostly because there are like forty different grocery chains out here and they all carry different things. Every time I go to Wegmans they sell a teeeeeeny box for $5 that I grab but bemoan the absence of the large hearty boxes. I try other granola brands, only to be disappointed by their cardboard taste. I have several boxes of substandard granola slowly fossilizing in my office cubby.

Two weeks ago I was at Safeway and voila! Large boxes of my favorite granola! Glorious glorious day! As I swooped in to grab one, my eyes lit on the "low-fat" version of my mecca. Oh what the heck, I thought, switching boxes and putting that in my cart instead... it's gotta be delicious too right? It's just the healthier version, right?

WRONG. It is the most foul, disgusting granola of ALL the discarded granolas I have ever tasted. It tastes like little cardboard pellets mixed with crunchy cardboard flakes. It is vile and yucky and to add insult to injury, when I went back to Safeway and out of indignation grabbed the regular kind, and compared their nutritional value, they pack the same number of calories in each serving! The low-fat version just pumps theirs with sugar to account for lack of EVERYTHING ELSE. Lesson learned... low-fat provides no additional nutritional value whatsoever.

3) Greasy Chinese food. Let me preface with the statement that I have an *extremely* high tolerance for crappy Chinese food, and my husband, if possible (and probable), an even higher tolerance. We really can eat just about anything. Both of us had been very good about abstaining from crappy food, so for about a week we had been discussing having a "greasy Chinese food night", planning the date of said night, and where we would go.

Given that there is a crappy Chinese food restaurant about every three blocks in Alexandria, we thought we'd try the one just down the street from us. What the heck, all Chinese places are about the same middling-level of MSG-infused garlic heaven, right?

No.

Whatever you do, stay away from the Lucky Dragon or Kung-Fu-Hustle or whatever that place is in the Bradlee Shopping Center on King St. It was literally inedible. The green beans, while satisfactorily cooked to a tender crisp, were smothered in a positively alarming viscous neon-orange sweet-weird goo. Our "three-meat-special" or whatever it was we ordered that was supposed to involve chicken, eggplant and beef, was deep fried to the point where we could not tell one item from another, soggy-crisp, and also smothered in a dark brown viscous weird goo. We only ate part of it, Matt insisting that he would eat the leftovers, but as we were driving home even he was forced to concede "okay... you should probably throw that away." One greasy Chinese food glorious night, wasted... As my mom commented later when I shared our experience, "wow, it is very hard to cook that bad Chinese food!"

I should just stick to Panda Express from now on... at least it's dependably bad.

So I really could keep going... Matt reminded me of my "candied beef curry" fail this past Sunday (note: coconut cream does NOT substitute for coconut milk in curry recipes), or the cold Pizza Hut supreme delivered to our door just last night (those of you who know me know how rarely I eat pizza, Supreme being the only kind I tolerate and it was COLD!)... but I'll let you chime in now... what food disappointments have you had recently? The kind that make you shake your fist at the heavens and yell "nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.!!!!!!!!" You know what I'm talking about. :)

Being Married, Part 1...

Things that you never expect to happen in your life but now do because you are eternally joined with someone else, whose actions now directly affect you...

Having the keys to your honeymoon condo flung into the sewer on the very first day in Maine. Luckily the good folks of Portland Maintenance are friendly and showed up within fifteen minutes to fish them out. Thank you, John Emerson. We owe you a card. I also owe a future blog post the pictures I took. :)

Hearing "Thank you, Ms. Keng. Thank you, Mr. Keng" at the Safeway check-out line as we bought groceries last night; since I paid, my name came up on the bill. I giggled and pointed a finger at "Mr. Keng" all the way to the car.

Mostly, it's saying the words "my husband" in an entitled manner that still feels awkward. I confess, however, that it's way easier to say "my husband" than "my fiance", because when you say you have a fiance, the entire world squeals in your behalf and starts bombarding you with questions about your upcoming wedding. For some reason they are now socially entitled to deep personal details of your intimate life. People will break social barriers for few things: fiances, babies, and pregnant women. I feel sorry for the much-molested pregnant women out there.

The best "my husband" line came yesterday. Our garbage disposal had been making a most alarming crunching sound whenever it was turned on, and much gingerly shoving our hands around had turned up no stray utensils or other metallic objects. I finally called maintenance to have them look at it. They called me promptly to tell me they were finished, which I found unusual since a note left on my counter usually suffices. The conversation went as follows:

"Hi, this is John, I've fixed your garbage disposal."

"Oh, that's fantastic, thank you so much. What was wrong with it? We couldn't find anything in there."

"Well, it's working just fine now. I just wanted to inform you that we pulled a bullet casing out of the disposal."

"WHAT??!??!?! WHY is there a bullet casing in my sink?!??!?!"

"I don't know ma'am, I was hoping you could tell me."

The conversation continued, he being infallibly polite, I being outraged, horrified, and flabbergasted as to why there were bullets in my apartment. Had someone broken in and shot guns off and then secretly disposed of them? Had former tenants been drug dealers and tried to get rid of imposing evidence? We had already been informed by UPS that according to their records on our neighborhood, there was "no way in hell" their delivery people would leave packages on our doorstep.

The maintenance man, understandably, was quite interested in what I did in my spare time, how long I had lived there, what behaviors might lead to me, the shady tenant, dumping bullet casings in my sink. I racked my brains, because logically, anything left in my sink from a previous tenant would have been found by now; clearly whatever foreign object must have been recently--

"OHHHHHHH. OHhhhhhhhh..... oh, he is in SO MUCH TROUBLE...."

"excuse me, ma'am?"

"My HUSBAND. He friggin brought back friggin bullet casings from friggin Africa and was washing them in the kitchen sink.... he must have dropped one in there without realizing..."

"Um. Okay, well I don't know about bullet casings from Africa, but... if you know where it came from, and it's harmless, then..."

"AAAAAAAAAGGGGGH. I'm so sorry."

Not as sorry as My Husband was when he found out what had happened. Of all the things... a freaking bullet casing, Husband. Seriously. I love you...! :P

I hold up my head in shame....

I bought my first TV ad product today.

Yes, folks, all those infomercials you've seen, all those products you've mocked... I fell prey to a product and purchased it. I figured it would make a good blog entry. :) What can I say?

My Firefox opens to a multitude of pages every morning, and today I spotted an article on TV hair products and Glamour magazine's review. Recently having been exposed to the wonder of the Bumpit, as well as my friend's more recent purchase of several Snuggies, (step up, you know who you are), after reading Glamour's semi-positive review, I decided I'd throw caution to the wind and purchase... (drum roll please)... a set of EZCombs.

Yes. I was one of those poor unfortunate souls who wailed in pain every time I tried to clutch my thick, unruly head of hair up in a claw, whose hair fell loose and unkempt, who could not lean back while driving a car and beseeched the hair gods to provide me a cure. O hair gods, send me a product that keeps my hair stylish and secure whilst being able to lie in a beach chair and read books all day! EZComb, you are an answer to my prayers!

Fess up folks... what televised products have you purchased and how did they turn out???

Chickpeas or Spinach?

In my time here in D.C. I've definitely experienced things I never have before, both for good and for bad. I confess that if/when I do leave, I will be a more impatient, less likely to say hello to random people on the street, much more likely to shove little old ladies out of the way on the street, and definitely a more road enraged citizen. Those things are definitely inspiration for me to move somewhere friendlier and quieter.

I have to say though, that one thing I cling to with tenacity and ferocity, is D.C.'s affinity towards all foods Afghan. Most people who visit don't have a very wide range of exposure to the beautiful kabob, or the delicious bread and other accouterments that accompany it. Just today I read an article where yet another magical kabob restaurant has opened close to where I live. Who wants to come with me????

I LOVE KABOBS!! Every time I read about another kabob place I have to go try it out. I remember my very first kabob experience at the aptly-named "Afghan Restaurant" on Route 1; I was surprised and disappointed at the dish that came out with a piece of bread the size of Florida, topped with chunks of meat. No veggies? No decoration? No garnish?

A few months later (still a D.C. novice at this point) I was on my way to meet someone for a guitar lesson, and on a whim decided to bring, as payment, takeout from the Kabob Palace, something for which he had very publicly professed ardent love. I didn't quite understand the obsession (especially with the chickpeas; I prefer spinach myself), but thought what the heck, one for him, one for me, and thus began my journey towards kabob fanaticism...

Since then, I've begun to crave it on a regular basis. Is it heresy that when I read the Kite Runner last summer for the first time, the one thing that struck me was the protagonist's description of his native kabobs and then I wanted to eat them the entire time I was reading?

Anyway, for you D.C. natives out there, which is your favorite kabob restaurant and why? Chickpeas or spinach? What out-of-the-place restaurant do you recommend? For you non-D.C.ers, come out and eat some. Now.

for a second I thought they would be telling my eugugoly...

So I´m blogging from a tiny Internet cafe in the Dominican Republic, which is awesomeness in itself, and adventures with pictures will shortly follow, but a topic came up today that I had to ask the general public--

Have you ever fantasize about your own funeral and if you died, who would come?

Turns out a lot of people have. Don´t be shy, admit it. How have you imagined your funeral to be? Lots of grieving fans? Close friends and family? Happy music? Sentimental music? Tons of flowers? Donations given to great causes? Would you have a huge one because secretly you hope you´re popular enough to garner the masses? Or is your secret fear that nobody will show up, like the Great Gatsby of old?

Until then, I´ll be learning how to dance on the streets of Cabarete. Wish me luck!

Google suggestion FAIL

For your afternoon entertainment...

No serious, try it. It really does suggest that.

"Folks in Washington don't seem to be able to handle things"

I gotta say, I like our new president. He's already making fun of the natives. :)

I've lived through five D.C. winters now. Every year it's the same... November and December are deceptively warm, leading me to believe that I really do live in the south and that balmy winter weather makes up for the horrible summers. Then January hits, and that down coat I bought last year on after-Christmas clearance, and wear for one month of the year, comes in reeeeally handy. Everyone else can shiver and whine and complain, I'm toasty warm in my stay-puft marshmallow downy hermetically sealed goodness.

However, the advent of January always brings the most puzzling, and yes, most laughable D.C. tradition: the canceling of school over non-existent snow. I remember my very very first snow day in D.C. five years ago; people were threatening extreme weather and so, out of caution, they canceled all the schools the night before, and I believe they canceled work too. I was excited to see my first D.C. snowfall, and what kind of horrible blizzard would predicate such extreme measures. The next morning I hopped out of bed and peered out the window... nothing!! Not even one drop of frozen precipitation was falling from the sky!! What kind of city IS this??

In upstate New York, school was NEVER canceled, and especially not in my little town. In fact, one morning we awoke to two feet of heavily falling powder, turned on the radio and listened with quivering anticipation as they announced closing after closing... "Fairport, closed. Pittsford, closed. Irondequoit, closed. Penfield, closed. Actually... every school district in Rochester is closed except Brighton. Brighton, you still have to go to school." The agony. Another time the snow fell so heavily that they were forced to dismiss classes early, but since the snowplows hadn't actually gotten around yet to clearing the sidewalks, and I lived too close to school to justify a bus route by my house (but still about a mile away), I literally had to wade through thigh-high snowdrifts to find my way home. I will have my story to scold my children in the future!

But what I don't understand the most, what flummoxes me, is this particular D.C. quirk:


I don't get it...?? I mean, I guess I understand the principle behind it; it's easier to clear off your windows if your wipers aren't frozen to the shield. But I've never seen anyone in New York do it, where snow falls in droves. I've never seen anyone in Utah do it, where they boast the best snow on earth. So why D.C.? Are they really SO paranoid about snow that even a dusting on their wipers will render the entire city completely incapacitated?

Anyone? Anyone help me out with this please??

"Stress. It's a killer..."

"My nephew Izzy just keeled over. And he was a fruit bat. No meat. No blood, even."

Stress comes on all the time, but something about the holidays almost mandates extra heaping portions of it. Don't get me wrong, the holidays are great. In fact, I've personally decided that the heathen gods who picked Christmas to fall in the middle of the dead winter did it to lift up our dreary spirits during this crappy weather time of year. At least, for us northern hemisphere dwellers anyway. It really is something to look forward to and is a happy time, hands down.

But nobody can deny that with jolly holidays comes the need to make the season jolly, the need to get thoughtful, appropriate, glee-inducing gifts for everyone on your list, and in my personal case, the annual "Jen-I-need-you-to-accompany-me-NOW" kerfuffle of Christmas music. But the music part is over now and all was well on that end.

I've decided that stress is like a game of Jenga. You've got your tower of things to do, and every additional item requires you to take a piece from your already existing mental and physical abilities and stack it on top. I had this revelation last night about my own stress-handling capabilities. Whenever I played Jenga, I was always cautious and took, for the most part, the middle pieces to keep it stable. If I *had* to take side pieces, I did it from the top and only after the base was stable. This was also usually because I, with my amazing coordination skills, tend to knock the tower over early. Other people (ahem ahem, my mom and sister) immediately went for the side pieces on the bottom and gleefully stacked and stacked away. They built their towers 36, 38 levels deep (from a base level of 16... yes, I'm that nerdy to give you stats on Jenga) and could balance an astonishing amount of precariously placed blocks without batting an eye.

Thus it is with your stress handling capabilities. Are you the type to be cautious because you know your "tipping point" is early? Or are you the type to stack and stack away because you have superior coordination skills and know your tower can climb to Everest-esque heights before it falls (read: you have a nervous breakdown?)

Until then, I'm going to straighten my tower and keep looking for blocks to take out...

"Intense Pleasure"...?

An online conversation with my coworker mere moments ago:

Coworker's status message: "Why do they sell condoms at the new Census store?"

*Gchat excerpt*
me: they DO?!??!?!?!

that is awesome

Matt: yep.. "intense pleasure" ... hahaha.. might be the first time i've seen something at census that promised intense pleasure

me: holy freakin cow

i'm really tempted to post what you just said on my blog

Matt: feel free

that's a statement i'll stand behind

me: seriously

i'm doing it right now...

Matt: this conversation is might be the first thing i've derived intense pleasure from in suitland in quite a while... haha

life is a beautiful joke