Yesterday I took an early morning road trip to Philadelphia with Erin, Joy and Joy's friend, Adam. Adam snapped this photo in one of Philly's lovely parks lying directly south of Independence Hall.

I have to admit that aside from the city's historic structures I knew little about Philly. It was interesting to see the stark socio-economic dynamics of the urban areas. A few times it was likened to SE or NE, DC. Yet, as this photo reveals the "Old City" is well maintained with manicured parks and a pedestrian-friendly "mall."

We began the morning by dropping Erin off at her gun show. She can explain the logistics of a gun show better than I, so I will leave that to her. It was interesting to observe her in a professional arena, providing information about Beretta products to people twice her age. For the record, I was impressed. She possessed a confidence with and around firearms that I will never have. I think I jumped every time I heard a gun shot.

Instead of hanging out at the gun show Joy, Adam and I decided to kill time in the Old City. Our morning was invested in a NPS film, titled Independence, getting tickets for Independance Hall, visiting the Old Christ Church cemetery (Ben Franklin is buried there) and the Free Quaker Church.

Around noon we fetched Erin and grabbed some Philly cheesesteaks at Gino's. Although I had never heard of Gino, apparently he recently made national news. Gino has established a controversial policy that only english-speaking customers will be served by his establishment. To support Gino and his crusade, hundreds of people line up daily to consume Gino's less-than-impressive (that's what I was told) cheesesteaks and freedom fries. As I was standing in line I couldn't help but wonder with a name like Gino, how many of Gino's ancestors immigrated to America unable to speak english. I wonder how he feels about past discrimination against Italians. Are his actions any different than those of generations past who segregated themselves from Italians and refused to extend certain services to them based on race? I don't think so. While some individuals may applaude Gino and his creed, I think its an unsettling reminder that, given the opportunity, people will discriminate and segregate themselves from those perceived as less-American or less like themselves. One of the beautiful aspects about living in America is that Gino is free to serve who he pleases and when he pleases. God bless America.

After picking at half of my cheesesteak we strolled through the Italian market, which according to Joy's guidebook is the largest outdoor market in America. My favorite store was a candy store, I can't recall the name, whose cases were filled with chocolate covered pretzels, turtles, cookies, truffles, etc. Adam took a few pictures of the candy counter that are pretty impressive.

Our Italian market excursion was cut short by a pre-planned date with Independence Hall. A NPS ranger explained we needed to be in the security line, no later than 45 mins before our tour began, to make the tour. Deciding its better to be safe than sorry, we rushed down and managed to breeze through security in five minutes. This left us forty minutes to spare. As we joined fellow tourists in the courtyard it began to rain. One downfall of Independence Hall is, lack of shelter and toliets. Erin and I both had to use the restroom and no one was caving. Eventually I found a young man (about our age) who fell for my "I am a woman and need a restroom" act and led me into a small bathroom. In the necessity of having to pee and the excitement that victory brings, I forgot to lock the door. This bathroom, I should mention was located just to the right of the entrance. Everyone entering the building could see this door and when opened, the person using the facilities. A security guard, seeing a light on, flung open the door before the kind man who had just helped me and who knows how many tourists, to turn the light off before locking up for the evening. Imagine her surprise, when instead of seeing a vacant restroom she saw a stranger in a Hawaiian print dress (and who knows what else) hanging out on the john. Needless to say, I was mortified. My embarrassment was impacted by her prolonged gawking, allowing Mr Helpful a peek as well. In situations such as this, I always repeat, "you'll never see them again." I just hope I'm right.

My embarrassment was soon replaced by excitement as we entered Independence Hall. For over a year, Dr Longstreth has lambasted me and my fellow hp students with slides depicting Philadelphia's historic structures. It is not surprising Independence Hall was often among them. Known less for its architecture than its association with our founding fathers and Revolutionary events, Independence Hall is not only a National Historic Landmark but a UNESCO world heritage site.

The building is lovely inside and out and our docent was not only informative but entertaining as well. As I climbed the staircase to the second floor I couldn't help but marvel over the stairs. Looking down, it was obvious the wood planking was authentic. Knowing these stairs supported men like Ben Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, John Quincy Adams, Sam Adams, and General George Washington was awe inspiring. Running my hand along the banister, I couldn't help likening the building to a woman, perhaps Liberty herself. The banister became her spine, and running my hand along it I could sense her fatigue and strength. It was a connection I hope to remember years hence, especially as I work to save other historic buildings & sites.

Following the tour, Erin, Joy, Adam and I climbed into Erin's fabulous new car and did a drive-by of the Rocky stairs before heading home. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day. I was not only reminded of my American heritage but developed a stronger "brotherhood" with my friends, Erin & Joy, than I previously had. I can see why Elton John was so enamored with her. There is an underlying romance to the city that seems to attract everyone who's walked its cobblestone streets. Crossing over the river (don't ask me which one) I vowed to return to Philly where freedom is king and history its companion.

ah ha! An Update! BG and I spent the fourth of July in a stylish, overgrown, bachelor backyard which was blessed with an incredible location. I've uploaded a picture which I think summarizes the experience. Also it does not, IMHO, violate the "No Photo" policy to which I've agreed when posting images that may or may not depict BG.

It was a fun fourth, if quiet. Mostly I was excited that we got to see so much of Gavin that week. The photo credit goes to that amazing South African! Next year we're going to have an insane party on July with the theme of "29 and stepping off the aging train!!!" I'm looking forward to it!



In other news, BG and I saw DWP with my Mom. The last movie Mom saw in the theatre was Pelican Breif back in 1923. It's been quite a while. So, fighting the teaching of her Mother (that theatres contained head lice and sticky floors that wouldn't release you) she ventured out with us. Mostly I feel bad for BG when this happens. Dealing with my Mom and I is something like watching a bad comedy duo. However, the night went well and I love DWP. BG is the fashionista but I'm the educated observer. I'll never get sick of watching beautiful people wear nice clothes! Or watching them wear something so crazy ugly that I feel justified.

movies such as The Devil Wears Prada make me wonder if I missed my true calling in life. Beginning in middle school, I would skip lunch just to hang out in the library and peruse Elle, Cosmo, Vogue, Glamour, YM & Teen magazines. Cindy Crawford, Kate Moss, Claudia Schiffer, and Christy Brinkley embodied perfection. I prayed one day I would have long legs, pouty lips, long gorgeous hair and a tiny waist. Still in the genesis of puberty, I had hope I could attain all this and more. Clearly this did not happen. Today I stand a whopping 5'3", am twice the size I want to be, have thin school-marm lips and a waist that is more masculine than feminine. Even with all these physical limitations I still long to wear a size 2 black Chanel suit with matching stilletos, Tiffany pearls, fishnet thigh-high stockings with lacy black french cut underwear, garter and well, you can imagine the rest.
My love for fashion continued into high school. I still have boxes of old Cosmos, Elles, Glamours, GQ's and Vogues packed away in storage. I became so fashion conscious I could pick apart someone's outfit, identifying the designer, the year and season. Calvin Klein, Karl Laggerfield, Dolce & Gabbana, Tommy Hilfiger, Ralph Lauren, etc. were people I aspired to know. Their couture I longed to parade.
In college my fashion interests changed somewhat to focus on, you guessed it, wedding designs. Reading Brides magazine I quickly determined Vera Wang was the world's greatest designer and nothing but a 1 carat, brilliant or princess cut, Tiffany diamond engagement ring would do for me. The black Chanel suite would be substituted for a light pink or blue appropriate for honeymoon travel. Matching gloves, shoes and hat were also a must.
This part of my persona seemed to die during my mission. For 18 months I was forced to hem my Laura Ashley skirts and dresses to the most unflattering lenth ever, mid-calf. In addition, during the last six months of service I was "asked" to wear nothing but solid white or pastel colored tops with solid dark skirts. I am honestly surprised Cosmo didn't feature us as a fashion "don't" in one of their issues. I would have.
It was during this time that I also gained a lot of weight. Despite rising every morning at 5:30am to do aerobics or run through the canyons, I still put on the pounds. No doubt this compacted my lack of interest in fashion. Why be interested in clothes I can't wear?
Serving a mission also tends to alter your perspective on things like clothes, make-up, hair products, hand bags, perfumes, shoes, etc. These worldy possesions loose importance, compared to say... serving God's children.
Although not fully resurrected, my fashion-crazed Jekyll occassionly takes control and I'll purchase a Cosmo, or a Betsy Johnson dress. I'm young, single and making money so why shouldn't I splurge every now and then, right? And one day I will win my weight war and fit into the size 2 Chanel suite. This means I have to educate myself about contemporary fashion because what if a Bebe suite is what "I" want and not a Chanel tomorrow? See how my actions are totally justified? See how easily I could become Andie Sachs, the movie's heroine? Scary no? I may wear ripped 80's jeans and baggy t-shirts but inside a part of me wants to be a sophisticated sex goddess.
The Devil Wears Prada, was therefore, a delightful trip down memory lane that allowed a long dormant part of me excitement only matched by BJ, & BR purchases (nowhere close to D&G or Chanel) or a consistent Cosmo, Vogue fix.
Thanks to Stephanie and Momma Harbour for a great ladies night out. This is one BG & IB adventure I will cherish for a lifetime.

Working at the GW Museum Studies Program has its benefits. Among these is the opportunity to work with some pretty fantastic people like Ms Kimberly Robinson, pictured on the right.
Kim was one of the first people I met after I began working for Ildi. She has an incredible work ethic, an astounding amount of energy, fueled by her daily intake of chocolate chip muffins, and she is funny as hell.
One of my favorite things about Kim is her distaste for rap music. We constantly argue about Beyonce's diva status while sharing a love for Disney movies, French language and culture, museums, Superman, Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Harry Potter and scrapbooking.
Kim works on our NEH Distance Learning pilot project, an effort, a la Ildi, to bring the benefits of the Museum Studies Program to individuals working in smaller museums. Although the program has been a huge pain in the choo-choo train it has also been a huge success. Kim has been a key factor in that. Not only does this girl go to school part-time but she works two jobs and has interned at the US Capitol and the White House. This makes me green with envy and I constantly tell her so. Ms. Kim also speaks fluent French and just returned from a fabulous trip to Paris where she spent two weeks studing French art museums. Honestly, what more can a woman want?
To top it off Kim was just offered a job with the National Park Service (NPS)! Although she hasn't broken the news to Ildi, she is expected to begin on July 23rd or something like that. Anyway, when she leaves I will miss her terribly. She not only makes me laugh but she always is there to calm me down when things get a little crazy at work.
She also has a unique way of humbling me. The woman, in case it isn't evident in the photo, is tiny. I think she weighs less than 120 and she's at least 2" taller than I am. She is always complaining about her weight. She's either too skinny or too fat. My response to both complaints is, "I have no sympathy. If I had the figure you had, there is no telling what I'd do." It was during one of these conversations Kim mentioned she was a C, meaning her bra cup size was C. Astounded I replied, "There is no way. You're way too skinny to be a C. My cup size is a B and my breasts, frankly look bigger than yours." Needless to say this did not sit well with Ms Robinson who was quick with a heated defense. The nickname C-Cup was born, explaining the title of this post.
I also discovered, during this conversation, that Kim thought I had "junk in my trunk." For those of you who aren't familiar with this term it means I have a huge butt. Although I laugh it off, I have become a little sensitive about my back side. Kim is not the only person who has commented on the size of my butt. Ben, an ex, used to tell me I had a "ghetto booty," while Jeff Meade, a married man in the Museum Studies Program told me my "ass was like a canvas." I am not exactly sure what Jeff meant by that but I have interpreted it to mean my behind is so wide you could paint a mural across it. However, I would rather have a little too much than not enough because, let me tell you, there is nothing worse than dating someone with no butt. I have tried it and its no good.
In addition to these backside criticisms, when I was a little girl my guy friends called me "soccer butt or black and white butt." These nicknames were earned when I played soccer on an all male soccer team. For some reason my mother always signed me up to play on all male sports teams. I am positive it was her way of further impounding the idea that "men are pigs" into my brain. I was only in the first grade but I have not forgotten that fateful moment Jason Gay kicked a soccer ball that hit my fleshy target. My parents insisted, while whiping away my tears, that this was Jason's way of flirting with me, but I knew better. Since that day, my caboose has been something I moan and groan at while viewing it in the mirror. If it weren't for women like Beyonce and J Lo who both have healthy butts, I would be in the depths of despair.
Which is exaclty my arguement for Kim, an arguement I will miss having with a dear friend and colleague. Not only does the woman have large breats but she has a kind heart. Her mother crocheted a poncho for me shortly after graduation. I almost can't wait for fall so I can wear it. It is one of the coolest gifts anyone has ever given me, the coolest have come from Stephanie, which I will blog about later. :)
So congratulations to Kimberly Robinson. A woman who wishes her name was Brie. A woman who has achieved her dream and proven the fruits of hard work and dedication do come eventually. I wish her all the best as she embarks on this new chapter in her professional life. May she meet an educated, successful, funny, adorable man who will treat her like the diva she is.

or should I say Commonwealth Cuties? It is official. After a short hiatus Mary & Zu Zu have returned to my dad's house, hopefully this time to stay, having reclaimed the garage and the attic as their domains. Why do I blog about this, you may ask? Well, I just finished talking to my dad, another daily ritual, about my pre-semester trip home. During the course of our conversation my Dad briefed me about the cats.
Since moving to Kentucky, Josh has kicked Mary and Zu out of his apartment, and banished them to live alone at my dad's house. My brother will be starting law school at the University of Kentucky next month and decided an early move would be wise. Lauren, his girlfriend of three or four years, got a job at UK and has rented a two bedroom apartment in Lexington. Josh and Lauren both have their own cats, Chef (the devil incarnate) and Jing (short for Jingles). Both argued having four cats in a 2 bedroom apartment was too much thus, the banishment. However, Josh has promised to stay with the two princesses every other day until my father returns from Baton Rouge in two weeks. Tonight, I am relieved to report, Josh is with the girls.
In a little over a month I will be too. Although I sneeze like crazy when they're around, unless I medicate myself with Zyrtec, I really do miss them. They are both such good company to have around. Don't get me wrong, they can annoy the hell out of me. Especially Zu with her claw in my nostril and Mary biting my chin. Talk about pain. My claws are nothing compared to theirs. After reading CNN's coverage of the woodchipper kitten I am just grateful we still have our ladies.
The photo above was taken at my Dupont studio last December just before I flew them home. Notice my unmade bed. Looks inviting, no?

As a favor to my Uncle Jerry, a man I will be indebted to for the rest of my mortal existence, I cat sit/house watch the Hermann's home. The tradition began last June and continued this summer when Steve Hermann called me once again about watching Samson and Delila. Steve is a successful lawyer in a downtown DC firm and his wife, Suzanne Ross, teaches Women's Rights law at Georgetown. They are an amazing couple who seem to be very much in love, even after who knows how many years of marriage. They have two children; one son and one daughter. Each time I cat sit its because they are visiting their daughter, a Peace Core volunteer, in Guatamala.
One of my favorite things about this house is its character. I love brick homes. I always have. I used to tell my dad I would never own a house made of wood because it would never survive a tornado. Although my opinion has since changed I still love brick homes.
In the back just off the dining room is a sun room with a royal blue couch. It may sound tacky but its the coolest piece of furniture and I love it. Its especially nice in the spring because the sun warms the room just enough, making it perfect for a cat nap. Samson favors the large leather ottoman that sits in front of the couch and just as I drift from a light doze into a deeper snooze, he'll jump on my lap and demand attention.
Delila is just as affectionate. Although "Lie Lie," (my nickname for her) never learned to meow, she can squeek and does so when she wants in or out. I took photos of both which I hope to include in a separate blog... someday.
The home is also great because the decor is readable, meaning, it reflects the occupants tastes and interests. Although it has a touch of contemporary the atmosphere is more domestic, making guests feel welcome and comfortable. Its kind of like an old houserobe or a worn blanket.
I want a home like that one day. That atmosphere is hard to acheive in a new home. I think that's another reason why I love historic homes. Time often breeds character and who would want a home without a past? Not me.
As I think about what the next year or two may bring, i.e., graduation, finding a job, moving, settling down, I can't help but wonder where the next chapter of my life will take me. Will I finally buy a home? If so, where? Will I start with my beach bungalow in Charleston or a small ranch in nowhere USA? Either way, I hope I can create a home, much like the Hermann's, that is warm and personable. A home people will value and cherish long after I am gone because it means something.
I am not sure I will ever cat sit for the Hermmans again but I will always remember, with fondness, my time spent in their home.

As I embark on the last week of my 27th year, my mind has been engaged in serious reflection. This self-analysis was encouraged by an activity I attended last night.
The Great American Scrapbook Convention has become an annual event for Gwen, Stephanie and I. Every year, for one evening, I surround myself with women of all ages and backgrounds to "crop" for an average of four hours. This event, I believe is quickly evolving into a tradition. I am ok with this. I love making and keeping traditions. Knowing I have an official tradition to anticipate annually with Gwen and Stephanie is exciting and comforting because its through activities like scrapbooking that I learn the most about myself and my friends. I love that we can work beside each other quietly, in the "comfortable silence" only good friends can enjoy. I also love how Gwen patiently gives into my pleas for help, which is not really help but more her doing for me what I am too lazy to do for myself.
The extreme level of estrogen in the room also does wonders for me. Although I am not particularly creative or crafty, evidence can be seen in photo above, there is something about being in a room filled with women who are. Although I have little in common with my scrapbooking peers, I can't help admire them for their excitement and devotion. Last night's attendants probably ranged in age from 25-65, most being mothers and grandmothers. Jacqueline, aka "Baby" our neophyte, was probably the youngest registered patron there, being 23.
I have decided scrapbooking is similar to RS Homemaking, which I also enjoy. This convention brings hundreds of women together for a ritual of creation & preservation. The photos resurrect memories. These memories often relate to family or friendships. The tools, i.e. scissors, paper, stickers, buttons, ribbon, etc., become instruments of creation. The Convention is an outlet, a time away from family, for release and renewal. Groups of 4-8 women surround tables covered in cheap, plastic tablecloths to gossip, laugh and share ideas. Music broadcast over loudspeakers occassionally solicits spontaneous outbursts of dancing from women who probably stopped dancing, outside of their homes, long ago. It is during these moments I hang my head and offer a laugh impregnated with self-pity.
"Did I ever expect my life to come to this?" I ask myself. I am almost 28. A single woman who hopes to embark on a successful post-graduate career, if not before, and I am attending, on a Saturday night, a scrapbook convention with women who have probably sacrificed their dreams on the alter of family and offspring. Is there anything wrong with this? Absolutely not. But situations like this always cause self-examination. As a single young woman, wouldn't a better time investment be going to a spa, gym, club, cafe, etc., instead of a scrapbook convention? There are no contacts to be made in this company of women. There are no sexy, successful, single men to meet. I have no children to scrapbook photos for. None of my friends, other than Gwen, Steph, Alyssa, and Jacqueline care about my "pages." So why do I continue to register for the convention?
I have decided that some part of me, don't ask me which, is comforted knowing women exist who devote themselves to their families. Who knows how many women look forward to this annual event as their only personal time? Who knows how many have supportive husbands who encourage their spouses to cultivate their crafty talents? For a few, I imagine this is one of the only times they participate in something that doesn't involve their families directly. Although these thoughts make me a little sad, I can't help but smile and join in, trying to contribute to their enjoyment...their excitement. Who knows? Perhaps one day I will be as they are now? I never thought I would be 28 and unwed.
I also take comfort in knowing no matter what my future holds, I can always participate. Even if Steph or Gwen marry before next year's crop or the year after, this is an activity we can attend together no matter how old we are or what our marital status may be. I imagine our becoming like the women in How to Make an American Quilt, with relationships as permanent as the memories we try to preserve.
So, will I attend the crop next year? Absolutely. As my mousepad door-prize boldly declares in tacky pink script "I Love Scrapbookin'!"

I got a bit of a talking-to yesterday at work. I've been missing details and, generally, not concentrating enough. Surprise! An ADD girl that can't concentrate? Who ever would have guessed!?

As I was talking to a friend of mine last night about my seemingly eternal quest to finish my undergraduate degree. I expressed to him that I was bored by school and, therefore, usually didn't finish what I'd started. He said, "Sounds like an excuse to me." For a moment I was offended and then I thought, "You know--he may have a point."

There is a certain amount of biology that goes along with the ADD brain. It really is functionally different than a "normal" one. But you know, even with that challenge I've managed to do things that bore me. Why is school such a challenge for me?

I think, perhaps, until recently I haven't been able to picture the ROI that would make me withstand boredom. I'm feeling differently now that I am back in an office setting. In restaurants or kitchens, you don't need a degree. You need to be quick, competent, accurate, personable and confident. I am those things. But I don't want to manage restaurants and kitchens for my entire life. I love them but I'm not willing to work the nights, weekends and long hours that they require. So, back to the office. And here it's a different story. The aforementioned traits can take me only so far. That's becoming more obvious to me the longer I'm here.

I did know these things before, of course, but I was waiting for something--putting off the rest of my life until the time was perfect. Of course, that time will never come. Things will always be in the way. And I need to stop using anything as an excuse. I need to embrace the part of me that won't allow for a "no" and get going.

Today Bond Girl begins to attempt recovery of priceless artifacts from the base of the Masonic Temple in Alexandria. Sadly, only VA. But some day she'll be digging in the other one!

We're sorry that we don't update more--our faithful two readers! We love you. We promise to have more consistent adventures this summer.

See how the people in this photo look fake and clueless? Remember that when you're thinking about seeing Just My Luck. It's officially DUMBER than Firewall. And that's saying something.

The basic plot--if you can call it that--of this movie is that when you kiss you get lucky. Girl is lucky. She kisses boy. He's lucky. She kisses him again. She gets lucked in return. She feels guilty about the lucking and returns the favor to the boy. Then they both give up and luck another person. Credits roll.

Amber and I start to laugh because we are so happy that we only paid $5 to see this movie.

I do have to say this. The movie did have one high point. It never, ever altered from EXACTLY what I thought was going to happen next. The effect is that you feel pretty smart for being able to predict the next joke down to the camera angle.

And then you realize that you don't have a degree. That you're steeped in pop culture to the point of being able to do the aforementioned and you begin to weep without regard for those around you.

Later, after they have talked you down and put you in the calming, soft, white room you begin to understand that life really does have purpose and you'll be ok. Soon they let you go and you can rebuild your life.

So, please. Don't go. Just stop now. Listen to me! I know! I've been there!

It's not pretty.

In celebration, of Steph's bonus at work we decided to see a movie. In addition, Steph wanted to talk about the "object of her affection," because men are really nothing more than objects, so we did the typical girl activity and saw what I thought was a romantic comedy. Oh no. Although I am often wrong about many things, I hate it. There is nothing worse than being reminded of a horrible decision and tonight that is exactly what happened. For one hour and forty-three minutes I was reminded I had made the worst movie decision of my life. Stephanie and I seriously predicted the entire movie. It was a no-plot, no-brainer flick. I don't mind Lindsey Lo-Lo but man, I wasn't the only one who made a bad choice. If I were her I would seriously think about getting a new agent. Perhaps she is trying to gain a following among younger uh, children maybe? I don't know.
Stephanie and I tried to identify a plot but alas we believe there wasn't one. For our readers who are not familiar with Lindsey's new acheivement, if it can be called that, its titled Just My Luck. Lindsey plays a young woman who enjoys a life filled with nothing but good luck. Its not even good, its unrealistic. She lives in a huge NYC flat, meets "sexy men" who take her to professional basketball games, and wears Dolce and Gabbana dresses. All this and she's what? 18? Lindsey's luck changes when she meets the unluckiest man ever. After dancing with him for one minute she kisses this guy. Doesn't know his name, the song isn't even over and bam, she's locking lips with a total stranger. What does this teach young girls? Aghh.
Immediately following the kiss, everything in Ms Lohan's life goes badly. Sound familiar ladies? Her first mistake was trusting and kissing a man she had just met. Lucky for her, he tried to redeem himself later. The last five minutes of the movie is nothing but kissing. Lucky for us it was $5.oo movie night at the theatre. For those interested, $5.00 movie night ended tonight, but will resume once the summer ends and kiddies are back in school. A fact that makes me incredibly excited about reproducing. I can already see the benefits; ruining movie night for members of mankind who are destined to spend mortality ALONE.
As we were walking out of the theatre I almost tripped, and got popcorn on the bottom of my shoe. This makes me wonder if its bad luck to see the movie. I promised Stephanie I would monitor my behavior over the week, if the bad luck continues then we have vowed to endure the movie again in the hopes my luck will be reversed. Maybe that is how the director plans to make a profit on this venture. Curse all those who watch it so they will have to spend money to see it again reversing the spell. The fact that Stephanie would agree to sit through this movie again, if I have lost whatever luck I had, reminds me how lucky I am to have her as a friend.

I was walking in down Germantown Road in Philly. I was on a photo safari while I was waiting for Basilios. A man walked behind me for a couple of blocks, whistling a tune. Then, slowly, he passed me. He said "Hello." I replied. Then he started to cross the street. Just before stepping out he turned to me and said, "Miss. Whoever he is, you tell him I'm jealous."

Previously I explored the question of why people pretend they don't love or care for another when they really do. An example of someone who has done this is Lucy Honeychurch, the main character in the movie, A Room With a View. Her love interest, George Emerson is one of my favorite male characters, next to Rhett Butler, in Gone With the Wind, George Bailey in, It's a Wonderful Life, and Noah Calhoun in The Notebook.
I never thought I would meet a man like Noah Calhoun but last Saturday I think I came close.
Saturday Beth, Kate and I decided to take advantage of the Boston Sailing Center's free sailing lessons. In addition to meeting three really fun guys, Mark, Paul and Rob, I met George. George, shown in the photo on the left, was perfect. Like Noah, he appreciated beautiful music. Classical music (Handel to be exact) drifted up from the cabin as we navigated Boston's harbour. The music with the lapping of the water was hypnotic.
Although the wind was chilly, the sky was a clear blue. The sun was bright reflecting off the water causing us to squint.
May in Boston, is not like May in Washington. Waiting in line I quickly became very cold. Mark, kindly wrapped his royal blue Patagonia fleece around me for warmth. Looking back I am not sure this was a good thing because later George offered Beth his jacket, stored in the cabin, so she could stay warm. See what a gentleman he is? :)
Since these were sailing lessons, everyone was expected to assist George with the sails and navigation. Thankfully, Mark, Paul and Rob did all the tying and pulling while I steered the craft. Like most things, it took me awhile to get used to the logistics of sailing. George would often put his hand near mine on the rudder to help me guide the craft. At one point I confessed I pretended to be confused because I wanted him to hold my hand. In response, he put his hand over mine but only for a brief moment.
George reminded me of Noah in other ways. For instance, George dresses exactly the way I imagine Noah Calhoun would dress; khakis, a rugby shirt, with a gray pull-over wool sweater. The loafers and the matching baseball cap provided the perfect finishing touches to the most inviting ensemble I have ever beheld. Looking at him, I had this overwhelming urge to get lost beneath a big, fluffy goose down comforter with him forever. Instead I had to settle with this photo.
In the course of our journey, I never once heard George curse. Do you know how attractive that is? Every man I know, with the exception of my father, curses. Most men my age do it quite often. Not only is it offensive its unnecessary. It is a habit I have adopted over the past year, but am trying to quash. George never became impatient and always complinted each participant, when they did something well, with, "beauty." Jason Bowman used to say that.
George also took each of our hands as we entered and exited the boat. I love it when a man does that. So nice.
Finally the last thing that impressed me about this man, who I will probably never see again, is he quickly rushed to help another crew that was coming in, when he easily could have stood by and watched as they struggled to dock their boat. I love men who are quick to be anxiously engaged.
The one hope I hang on to in regards to George, is his job as a defense contractor often brings him to Washington. Although DC is a big place, I'd like to think if fate brought us together once, it can happen again. Haven't you ever seen Serendipity?

But it went like this:

"I'm Amber. I'm the other half of Bond Girl and Iron Bladder."

And I loved her more.

Over the weekend a headline appeared on LDS.Org declaring Temple Square to be Utah's numero uno tourist attraction. DUH! Not only does Temple Square have over 150 gorgeous sister missionaries on site to assist all who enter therein, the Spirit is truly incredible. Mormons are not the only ones that recognize this. :) Although I retired my name tag over five years ago, I still get excited each time I read about the SLC Temple Square Mission.
Every General Conference I tear up remembering how wonderful it was to serve the Lord "in the tops of the mountains." There are some members of the LDS church who chide me about serving on Temple Square. Not only is it hurtful, its plain wrong. Many tease I did not serve a "real" mission. This is ridiculous. If the Lord through His prophet declared Temple Square a mission than its a "real" mission. I am humbled each time I think about the miracles I witnessed as I served people "from all nations of the earth." I know the Lord will continue to lead people to Temple Square because He wants all to come closer to Him. (I am not saying Temple Square is the only place where people can draw closer to the Savior. Don't even go there.) I just hope Temple Square will continue to be a magnet for those seeking peace and miracles. I LOVE YOU TEMPLE SQUARE!

You are a person who lives in the moment and is passionate about whatever and whoever you love.When alone, you appreciate being able to do nothing if you want to, and setting your own pace for things.You are romantic, and when you are with your partner you like to woo them with your imagination.In the future you will be wise and healthy.

The Secret Language of Sleep:A Couple's Guide to the Thirty-Nine Positions

Colon Traits and Tendencies
The Colon is the chosen pose of individuals who, on their own, seem awkward or remote. They may be the sort who responds to telephone messages with email, or spends their lunchtimes quietly pedometer-walking in lieu of socializing with coworkers. But when a Colonist finds its mate, together they acquire a grace and ease that surprises friends and family.

Comfort Zone
The Colon is one of the Sea Sleeper poses. Other Sea poses you might try: The Ticket Puncher and Sixth Posture of the Perfumed Forest.

A Note About Coping
Since Colonists rely so heavily on their partners to give them context and spark, the times when business or family obligations take one of them away from home can leave both sleepers demoralized. To temporarily fill the void, swap in a large, carnival-sized stuffed animal, making sure to keep candles, space heaters, or other combustibles well away from the bedside.

...I'm finally in Bond Girl's home! For more than 10 mins! We're eating popcorn and getting ready to go to a movie! It's so nice to be hanging out! Together!

Sorry. Dooce had a thing with exclamation points! And they are contagious.

A new site for our scrapping readers...Gwen has a new class!

This! concludes! our! post!

Antonio here we come!!! :)

Oh. Wait. Makafeke. I promised Boo that we'd blog about this but I don't quite know a nice way to express the many, various, interesting makafeke I call my own. There are nearly 10 that I can think of right away and, upon reflection, probably quite a few more.

What are my favorites? Hmmm. Well, there are men--love them. I know that there is a popular opinion right now that "Men Suck" or some such thing. I don't agree. I never have. I happen to be quite fond of them in all forms. Friends, lovers--any old presentation will do for me

You know, since we're in a 'stream of something' mood here, I was just thinking about this. What if I shared that porn was my makafeke? Would people believe me? First, it's statistically unlikely that (as a female) that would be an issue for me. Second, I'm sure that most of you would be shocked at the idea. Or maybe not. Depends on how well you know me, I guess. :)

But really, we talk about 'makafeke' but how many of us own what ours are? And how many would really share? And does sharing make a difference? I think there is an element of social responsibility that comes with sharing the things that make us weak. I have heard that it's freeing to stand in front of a group and 'own' to them your weakness. So, allow me...

Hello. My name is Stephanie. I'm addicted to several things. *Hello, Stephanie!*

In the Saturday morning session of General Conference (4.1.20o6) President Thomas S. Monson, first counselor in the First Presidency of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints likened the temptations of mortality to makafeke (the Tongan word for octopi lure). These lures consist of medium size round stones covered in seashells. Octopi mistaking the lure for prey, seizes the makafeke in a death grip, refusing to relinquish even as the fisherman hoists it out of the ocean and into his boat.
Each of us has a makafeke, according to President Monson; a temptation we find difficult to abandon even during times of peril.
Seven years ago I entered the Missionary Training Center (MTC) in Provo, Utah in preparation for my mission on Temple Square (SLC, UT). In the MTC missionaries do not have access to caffinated beverages, i.e. Diet Coke. Before my mission, I drank at least three or four glasses of Diet Coke a day. I was an addict. Yet I did not understand until I suffered severe headaches due to caffine withdrawls. Once the headaches ceased I vowed never to become a Diet Coke addict again. For six years I did not drink coke of any kind. I was such a braggart, taunting my mother every time we went to the grocery store. "You don't need that poison water," I would tease. "You're just wasting money," I continued. She would groan in response as she loaded my empty arms with liters of the "poision."
Fast forward to my brother's college graduation (5.2005). It was a hot Atlanta day. I had gone without food or drink for many hours. Famished and with no other choice, I took a big gulp of Josh's ice cold Coca-Cola. For a moment, the world stood still. The burn my throat experienced as the brown liquid washed down my throat was intoxicating. I begged for more. One sip was not enough. With one gulp I was hooked, not on Diet Coke as before, but on Classic Coca-Cola.
It has been 11 months since that fateful day. Although I can go a day without one, the urgings usually increase until I finally give in to that ice cold refreshment.
This was the first thing that came to mind, yesterday as I listened to President Monson describe the dangers of makafeke. My makafeke is not a stone covered in shells, its not men, money or any other vice. Ok, maybe that's not true, but for now, my makafeke consists of a red, white, and black aluminum can, filled with the finest beverage a native son of Georgia ever created.
Now you know mine, tell me, what is your makafeke?

Do you ever wish, on days like today, after an especially long and exhausting week, you could come home to this standing in your doorway? Yeah, I thought so.
From the time I was 6, I have adored Harrison Ford, as Dr. Jones. I don't know what it is but men in tweed blazers, oxford shirts, glasses, bow ties and khakis drive me wild. Add intellect, engaging conversation and I'm hooked.
Indiana Jones is one of the main reasons I earned a BA in Anthropology. Although most people think of Indiana as an archaeologist, I feel his character is more of a socio-cultural anthropologist, which is what I am. Either way the man and his character are fine.
My favorite scene in the entire triology is the bedroom scene between Kate Capshaw, "Willie" and Dr. Jones (Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom). Willie coyly asks Jones what kind of research he does. He answers nonchantly that he's a scientist. With further prodding from Willie, Jones finally admits as a scientist, his favorite research focuses on nocturnal behavior, especially mating rituals. I don't know why I think this dialogue is so clever but I have always enjoyed their exhange of sexual inuendo in this scene. I often wish I could have a similar encounter with a Dr. Jones or the equivalent thereof in mind, dress, behavior and physique. No such luck at BYU. All married. I've already checked out the Anthro Program at GW and there's nothing there either. Perhaps, a PhD program will yield the desired results. :)

Is that an orgy of concert tickets?

This morning I bought tickets to the Richmond Chili Cookoff.

Then I bought tickets to the DC 101 Chili Cookoff.

THEN, in order to cap my day, I got presale tickets to Melissa Etheridge at Constitution hall on Aug 10!!

I love the outdoor concerts (thus the first two purchases) but I would tattoo Melissa on my body. I adore her. I'm a "fan" in the sense of fanatic.

Long live summer concerts!!

Chances are if you read this blog you've heard about 'Big Love.' I've been waiting to form an opinion about it until I could get my thoughts straight on the issue. I've watched the second and third episodes and I'm done watching.

So. Polygamy's the basic issue of the show. To be honest (and maybe a bit shocking) I don't have an issue with the theory of polygamy. Those of you interested in the answer can ask me why offline. I do think that this is a glorified version of the actual practice and is as far off base as Carrie (Sex and the City) being able to afford both her rent and Jimmy Choo twice a week. It's TV. Exaggeration happens.

If the show was simply about a man married to several women I wouldn't even bother to be disturbed by it but I am. Why? There are catch words and phrases that are distinctly "Mormon" and the language is used intentionally to blur the line between "Mormons" and polygamists.

I've heard arguments that say the filming mocks ordinances. I don't agree. Odd things happen in any religion and any sane person can argue against the 'weird' things they show (blessing of a hunting rifle, for instance). Richard Dutcher has filmed several ordinances and while I'm personally not comfortable seeing them on film, it's his right to do so.

Personally I don't think that the subject matter is bad either. This show exposes a segment of our population that needs a voice. The current practice of polygamy is abhorrent in the extreme but it's rarely talked about. Maybe the portrayal of the very young women being married to old men will spur some help eradicating this practice. Maybe it will force people to examine what is really happening in these communities instead of joking about the pleasure they'd derive from having multiple wives themselves. Who knows?

What I do hate about the program is the syntax. People are identified by their language; LDS people especially so. We have sayings that cross cultural boundaries and languages. They are part of our identity. I can safely say that no matter where I am in the world if I hear a person talking about going to "institute," I can assume that they are LDS. Sayings and expressions are a form of identification and this program uses phrases that are "Mormon" to portray a practice that is not. It bothers me.

Do I mind that I have a chance to explain what I really believe? Of course not, assuming I get that chance. Do I mind that these phrases will become more well known? No. But I'm afraid that now they will be popularly associated with polygamy.

I think that some LDS people fear the close examination of the outside world. It's been a tough road for our religion with "outsiders." We have been conditioned, I believe, to be a bit reactionary when there is intense scrutiny. But I also know that times of pressure and intense scrutiny are the times the produce the most amazing results.

Will I watch again? No. And I think that throwing a huge effort into getting the show canceled will only serve to feed the fire. In this case I'm going to stick to my circle of influence and let go of worrying about things outside it. Regardless of the status of the show it's brought dialogue about a problem that I think needs a solution and the opportunity to address some misconceptions. That's enough for me to see the silver lining in the thunder cloud everyone's yammering about.



I'm going to open this post up to comments but if it gets snotty they are going right back off, FYI.

As we were en route to the Mall yesterday morning, my brother called. He had just picked up his devil cat Chef from the vet. As the pictures demonstrates, instead of being "put down" the furball got a haircut, her first I might add. From the look on Chef's face it is easy to discern the beast hates all of humanity. Named after Leonid Brezhnev, this demonic vessel will attack anyone who threatens her singular position with Josh. The unlikely duo are as "thick as theives." It will be interesting to see if this haircut will introduce new challenges to their relationship.

As the photo on the left shows, this is what is called a "lion cut." The body is completely shaved with the exception of the feet, head and tail. Having visited the National Zoo this afternoon with Steph and Jacqueline, the haircut doesn't resemble a lion at all. If you ask me Chef looks more like a poodle than jungle royalty.

Anyway, knowing Chef, I couldn't keep from laughing and subsequently sharing. Although she's a cat, she still has her pride and I know, despite her love for Josh, she'll seek revenge. Having been on the receiving end of some bad haircuts, I totally sympathize. Whatever happens, Josh will get what he deserves because, not even Chef deserves to suffer the kind of humiliation born of a haircut like this.

Following Steph's lead I decided to take the Relationship Quiz. Naturally, it told me something I already knew. See results below:

Your Ideal Relationship is Serious Dating
You're not ready to go walking down the aisle.But you may be ready in a couple of years.You prefer to date one on one, with a commitment.And while chemistry is important, so is compatibility.

Amber in Sunday School recently during a lesson about Abraham and Issac: "All I'm saying is if your father puts wood on your back--run like hell."
_______________________

Gwen to Rae on Rae's French: "You may be done but if you say it that way, you're dead."
_______________________

Rae looking straight at Amber: "Now that's a little tart!"

Below are the results of a kissing quiz I took tonight. I found the link on Steph's solo blog and well, in the fight between curiosity and logic, curiosity was the victor. According to the quiz I am a "passionate kisser."
I also took the "How You Are in Love" quiz. The results, although not a total disappointment, were undesirable. Therefore, they will remain unknown to all but me.

You're a Passionate Kisser
For you, kissing is about all about following your urges (true)
If someone's hot, you'll go in for the kiss - end of story ("hot" is not limited to looks, it can also mean hot for me)
You can keep any relationship hot with your steamy kisses (duh)
A total spark plug - your kisses are bound to get you in trouble (more trouble than I would care to admit)

These are some thoughts I've had in recent days that I want to record before they dissipate forever.
I love the ability I have, as a woman, to hush men. Often while passing two men engaged in conversation they will cease speaking when they see me. Their conversation will not resume until after I have passed. I am not sure why this occurs but I have noticed it a lot lately. I have also observed men doing this as other women pass. Some women may perceive this behavior as immature or perverse but I don't. Most women probably don't even notice that men do it. It is something my girlfriends and I have never discussed but I have come to relish the reverence of the hush and appreciate that I can initiate it.
Friday as I was descending the Dupont South metro escalator a man passed me wearing cologne. Although I love cologne, most men I have dated did not wear it. This was probably a good thing. Cologne has this incredibly seductive power. Its a power that defies all explanation. All I know is when a man is wearing cologne, especially a scent I find appealing, I'm ready to go. Its an automatic turn on. Like heated seats in a luxury sports car. I even find it difficult to concentrate because my entire focus becomes, "how can I get closer to that?" Long after this stranger passed I was still craning my neck and breathing deeply to hold onto the smell. Sigh. If only all men had that kind of class.
Saturday I spent the day studying beneath the Library of Congress's hallowed dome. President Hinckley has said that good books are like friends. I believe that's true. Sometimes I can find comfort in a story that I can not find in a friend. I love libraries. They represent a culmination of knowledge civilization has managed to preserve and pass on. I feel so inspired every time I gaze up at the statues of history's great men. The reverence the art and architecture invoke is incredible. How can one, witnessing such mortal accomplishments, doubt man's ability to become like God?
For the past three days we have enjoyed sunny spring-like weather. Friday and Saturday, as I was walking through the City, all I could think was, "this is the perfect day to fall in love." Did I? No, but there is always the hope and for now that will suffice.

Yesterday was one of those days you can't easily classify. You know, it defies simple summation. It wasn't a "bad" day but it wasn't a "great" day either. It was an honest mixture of both positive and negative.
The good...
During one particularly low point yesterday I noticed an older couple sitting on some steps near my office. The woman's face was turned so all I could see was her profile. She also had long hair, which she wore down and it hung loosely across her cheek. The man although facing me failed to notice my presence until I passed because he was kissing his partner. I would like to think the intamacy was motivated by love more than lust, but who knows? Either way, I couldn't help but smile. And for that, I thank them.
I would also like to thank another stranger who kindly offered his seat to me on the metro. I was just about to give up on humanity altogether, well really just the male half, and then this stranger offers to stand so I can sit. In addition, the man was young and very attractive. All I could think as I sat there watching him was, "I know exactly how I'd like to thank you."
Then there was Manuel. Manuel is my fabulous Georgetown hairstylist. If he wasn't gay I would totally go for it. There is something about a man doing my hair that is ohhh soo satisfactory. (small moan, devilish grin) My last two visits to Manuel's have been questionable. Please don't misunderstand. I am always pleased with my hair but he's been keeping me at his salon for lengthy amounts of time.
Yesterday was different, though. After showering me with kisses he worked me right in and then didn't charge me. Granted, all I got was a bang trim but the experience really improved my feelings about our relationship.
So, to all the strangers and Manuel I encountered yesterday who saved the day from total worthlessness...THANK YOU!
**Disclaimer: Stephanie always contributes to the positive aspects of each day.

Everything in life has rules and R.A.G.S is subject to them as well. We're discovering that we have "The 75% Rule" with startling accuracy. Last night was the perfect example. 75% of us watched the Oscars. 75% of us are in the Langley ward. 75% of us now live within 5 miles of each other. 75% of us scrapbook. It's rotating, you see. We've discovered that it's all about tringulation! Every now and then we drop to a 50% on something or hit 100% but that just averages out to 75% eventually.

I had funnier stories to share about it but I'm old and I stayed out far too late to watch a silly awards program last night. I'll have to be funny later.

"I'm not saying 'Let's form a crusade and invade the sinners in Maryland..."

Me: I feel listless today. I think it's the weather. Just all BLAH, you know?

Gwen: Try diet pills. I'm buzzingly listless. I don't WANT to do anything but I just can't help it!

My office mate Victoria today stormed into our office and said, "I keep gaining this damn weight. I just looked at my butt in them mirror and I thought I was J-Lo. And I don't even LIKE her ass."

It seems like a major theme of my relationship with Steph centers around the bathroom, WC, washroom, restroom, whatever you want to call it. One of our first memories as friends involved bathroom discussion.
It was December '04 and I had flown up from Georgia to look at apartments which Stephanie graciously agreed to show me. One of the first ammenities I look for in a home is a bathroom fan. I HATE, HATE, HATE if a device, I don't care what it is, is not present in the bathroom to mask the sound of... tinkling, for lack of a better word. I told Stephanie the place would simply not do because the bathroom lacked a fan. "I"ll get stage fright," I simply explained.
Where do you think the name of our blog came from? A conversation we had in the bathroom of a convenient store located across from the western entrance of Glacier National Park. Whenever I am traveling by car I need two things. Lots to drink and frequent pit stops. Stephanie, on the other hand, can go for hours. Thus, the name Iron Bladder. The genesis of Bond Girl is another story which I will share later.
The only hesitation I had about my internship at the Woodrow Wilson House were the bathrooms. Until yesterday I thought the home only had two public bathrooms. These are the ones I used. Both do not have fans and the acoustics are incredible. I wouldn't be surprised if people could hear me taking a leak at the Textile Museum next door, or Bill Clinton's house around the corner.
The bathroom on the top floor, where I work, is especially undesirable because its located directly across from a coworker's office. In addition, the toliet rests on this concrete "stage" making it more throne-like than anything I've ever sat. When I confided in Meg, the Curator, that I would be more comfortable using the WC downstairs, she laughed and said she understood. Brenden, however, loves the "throne." "I have a really great view when I'm standing," he confessed. And so he does. Facing the toliet, there is an excellent view from the window, which is located directly above the claw foot bathtub and to the right of the commode.
Men...
Yesterday as I was going downstairs to use the potty, I was disappointed to find a tour group watching the introductory film. The first floor restroom connects to, "the Dugout," the room where the house tour begins. I absolutely refuse to potty while, who knows how many people, are watching a film about our 28th president.
Dick seeing my frustration led me down the hallway to another bathroom, a bathroom I had no idea existed. This bathroom, installed for people with disabilities, had a fan. Ahhhhh! I couldn't believe it. After Dick excused himself, I stepped inside to do my business in peace.
Oh, no. Not so. I was in there maybe two seconds when someone begins pulling on the door. Although the door had a deadbolt, this person was yanking so hard I had to balance holding the door closed and peeing. I hate that!!! You always hope the person will get a clue before you have to say anything, and sometimes that mercifully happens, but not yesterday. No. I finally had to shout, above the fan, "there's somebody in here." By this time I was ready to wrap it up and left the restroom feeling a little cheated.
I can't understand why, but this has been occuring a lot lately. Laurie, my former coworker, used to yell at me while I was in the ladies room when someone needed to see me. What made matters worse is this person would be standing outside the door when I exited. She would also, knock on the bathroom door, after I had entered, only to run away. I used to ask myself, "why?" "Why can't I just get some peace while I'm on the toliet?" Not too much to ask, right? And then I remembered...
As kids, my brother and I lived to annoy my mom. We loved embarrassing her in public, while she was driving, in front of her friends, while she was on the phone, etc. But looking back, I think one of the worst things we did was barge in on her while she was using the bathroom. I swear the woman never had peace while on the pot. Nor while she was in the bath or shower.
In our home, the bathroom was a public environment. Until my brother hit puberty, it was not unusual for us to walk in while the other was bathing or using the toliet. Needless to say, things have changed for my brother but remain the same between my mom and I.
Is it any wonder the woman is crazy? No doubt some of her mental instability stems from a lack of potty privacy.
They say what goes around come around. Since I don't have children to torment me perhaps fate is using other people. Mercifully I live alone because who knows what would happen if I didn't have an outlet. Yet, is this what I have to look forward to? Kids constantly barging in, a husband who leaves the door open while doing his business. Who knows? And perhaps it won't be sooo bad. After all, some of my fondest memories center around el bano.

Only my coworkers and a few close friends know about the man in black (and khaki) named Edward. Edward is a thirty something Ukranian who alway delivers...my orders from Office Max. Shy and oh so strong, Edward "always enjoys seeing me." Although his confession seems sincere he has never asked me if I am seeing anyone or if I would like to go out. This wouldn't be so frustrating if I wasn't getting the signals that he's interested. For instance, he blushes everytime we talk. He also lingers for 5-10 mins after I sign for the delivery.
I have been vacilating for almost a year about whether I should address the situation and have only concluded that no matter what Edward needs to kiss me. He must do it before another year transpires and he must do it in the office or on campus. Otherwise all this sexual tension will continue to increase and we all know what happens when sexual tension is ignored. It transforms into this dibilatating frustration that eats away at your soul. Edward, a recent immigrant... well sort of recent, does not need this added misery. He has enough to worry about, i.e. learning english, realizing the American dream.
So ladies, and gents before the year is out Edward will kiss me. That is my prediction for 2006. What is it like to kiss a Ukranian? I'll keep you posted.

Rae: "I don't know how you can eat something that looks like a big ball of....well, poo!"

Gwen: "Darling, you must be getting WAY more than your five-a-day."

--Twenty minuets later--

Gwen: "That was an awfully expensive ball of fiber."

Although my younger brother and only sibling, Joshua, sent me an invitation to join MySpace almost a year ago, it was only through my coworkers' cajoling I joined. Occasionally I visit my brother's profile to see if he's posted anything new. He rarely calls me, leaving the responsibility of communication to me. Finding time to call Joshie is something I need to work on but reading his blogs and other information on MySpace helps me feel a little better about the distance between us.
In his self-description (which I read today for the first time) my brother mentioned he had a wonderful girlfriend, great friends, and awesome parents but there was no mention of me, his sister. This is not the first time its happened and perhaps I'm taking it too personally but it stings a little.
The first time this happened, I was attending BYU. My father moved to Atlanta my sophmore year of college taking my brother with him. Coming home the summer before my junior year, Josh and I went to church at my family's new ward. I'll never forget how hurt I felt when Josh introduced me to all his friends and each one said with obvious surprise, "Josh, I didn't know you had a sister."
I mentioned this to my dad tonight on the phone. Josh, takes after my mom in many ways. My mother has never been close to her family and will allow years to pass before making an attempt to call her siblings. My father and I have never understood this about her. Family is something you don't take for granted, ever. You don't hold grudges and you don't ignore calls. 'Nough said. Josh, my father feels, is jealous because I have done a lot of things he would like to do also, i.e. traveling, living out west, etc. I have never understood this about my brother. Josh is so talented. In addition to being a natural leader and super intelligent, he's a person who excells in areas he chooses to excel in. I am just the opposite. I have always had to struggle and work extra hard just to get by. I have always been average; average height, average weight, average student, average missionary, average looks, etc. Not horrible but not stellar.
Josh had opportunities to do everything I have done. My dad offered to send him abroad, Josh decided to invest in amps and keyboards. Josh had the opportunity to go to BYU but decided to remain in GA and take advantage of the Hope Scholarship (which pays tuition at state schools).
Now Josh is applying to law schools. Since taking the LSAT and submitting his applications, he's been inundated with offers from all over the US. Did this happen to whalaa? Heck no!
I'm still trying to determine how I got into George Washington and consider every semester I endure a miracle. Never short on helpings of humble pie, I am reminded every time I attend class that I am the average student.
So, what is there for Josh to be jealous of? Or maybe its not jealousy that drives the exclusion. Perhaps he's ashamed of me? If so, why?
Growing up my parents would always argue that Josh was more like them. No one ever proudly said, "No, I think Amber is more like me." Josh was always the more attractive, athletic, popular kid who consistently had a love interest. He's never had a sucky V-Day and he's never had to endure the pity looks extended family members give you when you respond, "No, I'm almost 28 and still not dating anyone," to their queries.
Again, just the opposite. Although I was popular throughout grade school, middle school and high school, I was never known for my looks or athletic abilities. I was always Ms. Congeniality or Ms. Popularity. I have never had a lengthy romantic relationship with anyone and although I enjoy sports, I have never been good at them.
My intention is not to point fingers or wallow in my average status. I guess this is just a release mechanism, a balm for the heart and mind. I don't know if Josh's feelings will ever change but I will remain the proud, elder sister who is, at least to Joshua's friends, anonymous.

One of my greatest passions is history. This love is common among all my immediate family members. My brother's interests are WWII and Russian history. For Christmas a few years ago he actually asked for the History Channels series of WWII videos, which my proud parents happily bought him. I don't know how many times he watched the series before he tired of them but I know it was more than I would have.
I am more like my parents, flitting from one subject or person to another. However, I have always loved architecture, particularly that of historic homes. Lacking the artistic abilities to realize my dream of becoming an architect I decided to pursue a career doing the next best thing, if I can call it such; historic preservation.
I recently began my internship at the Woodrow Wilson House located at 2340 S Street, NW in DC. This home was acquired by President Wilson while serving his second term in office. His second wife, Edith Bolling Gault Wilson discovered the home while looking at another property on the same street. The first owner of 2340 invited Mrs. Wilson in and offered to sale immediately.
The home was known then as the perfect "gentlemen's house," because entertaining was not done on the ground floor. Although Edith loved the home she also realized it was too expensive for her husband to afford. Many people are unaware, as was I, that President Wilson was not a wealthy man. Edith, whose first husband was a successful businessman left her a generous inheritance but WW, and other gentlemen of his day, would not spend their wife's money. Instead, friends of WW each put up at least $10,000 of their own money and purchased the home for the President. A few weeks before the Wilsons left the White House, WW surprised Edith with the deed to the home.
This is only one of many stories I read about today. It is remarkable how intricate WW's life was. He was a man of contradiction to put it lightly. Known as a religious, educated man, the only President to have earned a PhD, his actions could be entirely opposite. But can't that be said for us all? Its amazing how nothing is private after death. No matter how recluse one may be in life, thousands may know them through history. Look at Emily Dickinson.
In addition to the stories, I love the physical objects that prove their reality. The Wilson Home has 28 rooms, most of which I have explored. I think its safe to assume I will never live in anything so grand but I can pretend I do. Presently I work on the top floor in the old servants quarters. The Wilson's only had two house servants, an African American couple, so the quarters are quite small but every Friday afternoon, when all the patrons have come and gone, I quitely walk down the long spiral staircase, pretending to be the lady of the house, looking in the twelve foot mirror, as I do. Standing in front of this huge mirror I perform a full turn, carefully examining my reflection at each angle. Dissatisfied I usually sigh in despair, shrug my shoulders and continue to the ground floor entrance, realizing I will never be an Edith Wilson or a Jacqueline Kennedy. Yet, because of history, I can pretend. I can know what their lives were like, the heartaches they edured, the anxiety or social embarrassment they must have felt at certain moments. Through history an already existing connection is manifest and strengthened.
Another interesting fact I learned today was WW's first wife was born and is buried in Rome, GA. I was also born in Rome, GA thus feeling a sympathy and deeper kinship with her than Edith. Knowing a gal from Rome became first lady also gives me hope. It allows me to wonder, "what if" and believe its possible because another with the same nativity made it.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not aspiring for 2000 Pennsylvania Ave address, but history, if we allow it, can endow us with courage to try and the knowledge to succeed. Long live history and the preservation of it!!

One of my favorite characters is George Emerson from the story A Room With a View. Although I realize it is impossible for any man to be as engaging, decisive and bold as George I continue to hope one day he will come at me in a field dressed in red poppies, sweep me into his manly embrace and kiss me to the point I am breathless.
One of the most intriguing aspects of George is that he is constantly questioning everything. His father refers to this behavior as the search for an answer to the "eternal why." For George, the answer lies in true love. This love he finds with Lucy Honeychurch while traveling through Italy.
When George declares his love for Lucy, her initial response is insensitive and dishonest. After insisting she does not return his feelings she orders him from her family's home, asking him never to "step foot inside the house as long as she lives there."
Why do people do this? Over the past year I have become close friends with one of my coworkers. During this time I have watched her react to the dissolution of a three year relationship. Deciding to move on she has turned to exercise and friends for solace. Although she still cares for her ex-boyfriend, each time he tells her he wants to resurrect their relationship and start anew, she tries to talk him out of loving her. Why? Why do people do that when they love the person who is trying to love them in return? Why do people hold back when it comes to love?
My own situation is not entirely different. I recently stopped dating a guy who I really cared for. One night I even confided that I loved him. I believe that he cares for me as well and yet he tries to talk himself out of it. "We come from different cultures," he says or, "I need to marry someone who is compatible with my mother." The first I can understand. The latter excuse I have serious issues with. However, these are a few arguements he uses to convince himself our love/feelings are terciary. Because I am not Indian or cannot speak Hindi, our love cannot thrive. Although we are still friends, I know that he wishes things could be more intimate. Its evident everytime I see him. He looks frustrated, miserable and confused. Why? Why does he push love away when its the miracle everyone, despite culture or religion, prays to receive?
As mentioned in my last blog, Steph and I watched "Something New" for V-Day. Kenya, a successful, beautiful black woman, is looking for the IBM (ideal black man). Instead, what she finds when she "lets go and lets flow," is the IWM (ideal white man). Deciding her happiness with Brian could never last because he doesn't understand her (meaning her culture) she decides to end it by telling Brian she has met someone new. The new someone is exactly what Kenya was searching for (the IBM) and yet, for her, love is not embodied in race or skin color. Once she realizes this, Kenya mitigates the hurt she caused Brian and is restored to happiness which culminates in wedded bliss. Yet why was Kenya so quick to dimiss her feelings? Why are people so careless with love? Especially when we search so hard to find it?
Despite my questions and my late experience, I have behaved like Kenya, only to find I was too late. Often the damage done was irrepairable or the person had moved on. Each time this happens I am filled with not only a terrible sense of guilt but nagging feelings of regret I can only combat with lame justifications. "It just wasn't meant to be," I say or, "I would have never been happy with him, anway." But is that really true? I will never know. Yet the question remains, why did I turn away love in the first place?
That is my eternal why. Where and with whom the answer lies, I have yet to find but one thing is for certain I never want to take love for granted again.

As Steph has already mentioned, we rang in V-Day '06 with "Something New." This was even more applicable because last night I closed a deal on a condo. I didn't purchase but will be renting for the next year or so. Although I love the space and my new landlord, it will require me to make some changes. Right now I live just off Dupont Circle and enjoy the historic homes that line the street. Its so amazing how close everything is in DC. I walk to work daily and every type of necessary service is within a 5 min walk. In addition, I live on the 10th floor of my building (which is also the top floor) and have an amazing view of the Washington Monument. It is literally dead center of my picture window.
Needless to say, living across from the Dunn Loring metro station will not provide me breathtaking views of DC but I will be 5 mins from Stephanie's and instead of existing in a studio I will be living in a one bedroom condo with a washer and dryer.
The property is located in a new development meaning all the ammenities, i.e., pool, exercise room, basketball court, media and business centers are new. Without a tv for over a year, it will be so nice to have an area with six flat screen tv's where I can watch CNN, 48 hours, or whatever, whenever I choose.
Now all I have to do is find the appropriate furnishings, which should be enjoyable. I am so lucky to have a friend like Steph, to help out with that. She was with me when I signed my first DC lease and was by my side last night when I closed. I don't think I could find a better friend anywhere.
Plans are already on the table for a house warming party so stay tuned.

So. V-day. I must admit that the first forty mins of the day were exceptional. Boo and I had great conversation. Imagine, if you will, us sitting with a dear friend who actually said to us, "Well, I am kind of dating him. In my mind." We pause and look at each other, then back at her as she continues, "You know, we've kissed. In my mind. It was ok."

Yeah. Singles have resorted to virtual dating via their MIND in order to have rewarding relationships. :)

So, then we went to see Something New which is a fantastic movie. After I dropped Boo off DC101 proved their love to me by playing Metallica. I was able to roll down the windows, turn up the heater and prepare myself for the hellish day awaiting.

As I said to Boo this morning, "If my brother is actually engaged we're going on a cross country spree filled with sex, drugs and Rock followed by the Grand Canyon."

This weekend has been a bitter-sweet one for me. On Friday evening I said goodbye to my two babies and put them on a direct flight to Lexington, Kentucky. Mary and ZuZu are litter mates or, as we say, sisters. Their mother, Chef, was rescued by my brother outside a Wal-Mart in Georgia about eight years ago. Although everyone wonders what Josh's attraction is to Chef, no one can resist loving Mary and ZuZu.
ZuZu or Boo, has always been the alpha female. Weighing in at 14.5 pounds, she was not always so big, but has become my amazon princess. Stubborn and vain she loves to butt heads with me until she gets her way. My alarm clock for the past four months, I will miss her a.m. rituals.
Mary, or Bear, is my model cat. Small and lithe she has the most unusal markings of any cat I have ever seen. When Mary was a kitten, my dad predicted no one would take Mary because she wasn't cute. No one said my Dad was a prophet. Despite her sweetness, Mary loves to hunt and is very good at capturing squirrels, frogs, rabbits and snakes. Zu will often try to take credit for Mary's dirty deeds by dragging the kill closer to the house and standing patiently over it until someone either praises or reprimands her.
This may sound silly, but I have learned a lot about myself because of my cats. I have learned that I have developed an allergy to felines. The entire time Mary and Zu stayed with me I was constantly sneezing and taking sinus medicine. Yuck! I also learned what its like to be solely responsible for other living creatures without your family's help. At home my father always bought the cat food, while my mom paid for vet bills. Having total responsibility for two cats was a learning experience.
Mary and Zu reminded how important it is to remain "in touch" with my maternal instincts. As a graduate student I often feel selfish. Not having a church calling or a consistent, structured service mechanism exacerbates this feeling. With Mary and Zu I often had to balance my needs with theirs.
One of the most important things I have gained out of Mary and Zu's stay is a deeper appreciation for my dad. My dad who always griped and complained about the cats in Georgia, only because he has asthma and is allergic to cats, agreed to keep Mary and Zu so I could allow Tony, my landlord, to show my apartment. Yes, after only one year at the Corcoran House, I have to move but that's a subject that deserves its own blog. :)
When thanking my dad the other night for helping me out, he said in reply, "Anything for my little girl." This may sound sappy and a little cliche but it really meant a lot to me. My dad wasn't around a lot during my childhood but he's honestly tried to make up for it in our adult years. My Mom used to be my bestfriend but there are some things I can tell my Dad that I can't discuss with my Mom. It doesn't mean I love her less but I treasure this element of my relationship with my Dad and have enjoyed watching its evolution. I appreciate his love for me and only hope one day he will realize how much he means to me.
A little apprehensive initially, about Mary and Zu's new living arrangements, I am now confident they are in good hands and will be well cared for making me footloose and feline free. :)

Ok, so "we" may be taking liberties but I'm going!! And I'm going to drag Amber along!! (and Rae and Gwen, I think).

So, I just had the best email chain every w/ my boss. I said, "Hey, I want to take the May 26 through June 2 off and go to the beach." Her response, "Sure!"

Please. Stop crying. I know. It's beautiful. I just can't stand to see you weeping like that.

All my girls know I love Beyonce. Although I have never purchased her work I have been an avid proponent of Beyonce and DC airtime at every party I've attended. Steph and Rina understand this perhaps better than anyone and always gratify my juvenile demands to hear Check Up On It or Survivor.
Well, Friday morning I walk into my office and wonder of wonders there is a burned copy of Dangerously in Love waiting for me on my desk. Jess, a coworker, overheard me talking about Ms. Beyonce and decided to surprise me. As I sit and listen to the sweet melodies playing on my laptop all I can think is, "Beyonce is the Phenomenal Woman Maya Angelou describes in her poem titled such." This is my favorite Angelou poem. The first time I heard it was at a Gwinnett History Museum (Lawrenceville, GA) Coffee House night. As I listened to Maya's words I couldn't help but think, "that's the kind of woman I want to be....phenonmenal woman, that's me." So, in my feable attempt to praise Ms. Knowles for her amazing contribution to the world, I am sheepishly dedicating this poem because no words, I know, can better express my gratitude to her for being phenomenally... her.
PHENOMENAL WOMAN
by Maya Angelou
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies
I'm not cute or built to suit a model's fashion size
But when I start to tell them
They think I'm telling lies.
I say It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please
And to a man The fellows stand or Fall down on their knees
Then they swarm around me A hive of honey bees.
I say It's the fire in my eyes And the flash of my teeth
The swing of my waist And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman Phenomenally Phenomenal woman That's me.
Men themselves have wondered What they see in me
They try so much But they can't touch My inner mystery. When I try to show them They say they still can't see. I say It's in the arch of my back
The sun of my smile The ride of my breasts
The grace of my style. I'm a woman Phenomenally Phenomenal woman That's me.
Now you understand Just why my head's not bowed I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud. I say It's in the click of my heels
The bend of my hair The palm of my hand The need for my care. 'Cause I'm a woman Phenomenally Phenomenal woman That's me.

... we get to the airport. The flight is canceled. We get to Atlanta. We're ignored and it's the Battle of the Bands in our hotel. Don't ask. We get to Salt Lake. There is no luggage. We get to Park City. The restaurant is closed. We get our nails done. They smudge when the lady tells us they are dry.

So far, this trip blows.

Well, not really. Boo and I have already gone to SLC together. But we're headed out again. Snow and cold! Yahoo! Well, for me. She hates snow and cold. We'll be sure to get a few new adventures to add. Aly would hate it if we got bogged down in saddness. Onward and onward.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Five Quirks
My apologies. This should have been part of the last blog.
1) I hate being distracted during a movie or while reading a book. For me movies/books are vehicles of escapism. 'Nough said!
2) Ben used to say I had a nightly ritual. Although I won't go into details, I would classify it as a quirk.
3) I use sound to express my emotions. For instance, when I am cold I will squeal. When I am excited I will squeak. When I want to provoke my mom or anyone else I turn around and while jumping up and down spank my butt.
4) I love giving people nicknames. For example, people in my home branch are known as Leprechaun Prince, Opera Lady, Marijuana Man, Micro Chip, Peach Fuzz, Leader, etc.
5) My brother and I used to create our own words and attach meanings to them. This, I have read, is a sign of genius. Glad someone recognizes it. Banggot, Luttenbay were common phrases in our childhood home. We also like to substitute letters in words, i.e. ZuZu becomes simply Boo. Mary becomes Bear. Babe becomes sabes. Follow? Good.

Four Jobs I've Had:
1) Executive Assistant for The George Washington University Museum Studies Program (present)
2) Environmental/Historic Preservation Specialist for FEMA Region IV
3) Historic Sites Interpreter The Gwinnett History Museum (Georgia)
4) TA for Dr Hawkins and Professor Andrus at BYU

SEVEN Places I've Lived: (because seven is a lucky number)
1) Rome, Georgia
2) Ogden, Utah
3) Berea, Kentucky
4) Provo, Utah
5) SLC, Utah
6) Lilburn, Georgia
7) WASHINGTON, DC!!!

Seven Movies I'd Watch Again:
1) Goonies!! ( I love the 80's!)
2) The Ten Commandments ( I love Charelton Heston's bare chest. "Moses, Moses")
3) A Room With a View (All I can say is, "Where is my George Emerson?")
4) Its A Wonderful Life (The Kidd's family favorite movie)
5) GWTW
6) My Big Fat Greek Wedding
7) A Field of Dreams ( I love Ray Liota as Shoeless Joe Jackson)

Seven TV Shoes I love to Watch: (Although I don't own a TV, if I did, it would be)
1) CSI- Las Vegas
2) CNN I can't get enough of Mike Galanos
3) Law and Order
4) Cold Case
5) American Idol
6) Discovery Channel's I Detective
7) SNL

Seven of my Favorite Foods:
1) Peaches, naturally
2) Nuts I love pecans, walnuts, peanuts, almonds, etc. They make everything taste better.
3) Multi Grain Wheat Thins (As Steph, Rae and Gwen can attest I have been addicted for a year now)
4) This sounds so juvenile but I love pizza!
5) My grandma's homemade applebutter (She just sent me a jar)
6) Brewster's Turtle Ice Cream
7) Milk Chocolate anything!

Four Places I'd rather be right now:
1) In Atlanta, GA hanging out with my brother
2) In Tampa, FL laying out with my Mom away from the nudist colony
3) The Isle of Crete (My dad claims he has never been anywhere more beautiful than Crete)
4) In the arms of a man who was worthy of my love and who returned it
5) With my dad in Berea, KY eating Papaleno's pizza
6) Vatican City
7) This summer when this semester is behind me and all my papers are finished!

Boo and I have now been together one year! January 16, 2005 I picked up a freezing girl from Atlanta at the metro, took her to church with me and that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship! So, last night we celebrated in a traditional manner--dinner and a movie.

The movie wan't as typical. We went to the new Joseph Smith movie at the Visitors Center. (Her choice but I'm not sorry that I went.) Dinner was at the Old Ebbit Grill. It's officially my new favorite. I ate there with Jamie a couple of weeks ago but it was better w/ Boo! I had crabcakes. She had salad. We decided that Gwen and Rae need to eat there with us next.

So, y'all. I'd say to wish us Happy Anniversay but just think happy thoughts. We'll hear them and we're appreciative!

Long live RAGS!!

So, it's gotten annoying to accept posts here. Both Boo and I have strong opinions and don't really mind that others don't agree. For my comfort I've decided to turn off the comments function. :) Less drama, more fun time for me!

This weekend was filled with doggie-drama and no formal fun. Sunday was the best day becuase everyone came over last night and watched football and chatted. I finally beat Perry at Scrabble!! Thanks to BB for blocking his 44 point "Quiz"! And the Redskins and Steelers both won! Can't beat that even with a stick.

Shortly after posting my "Down With Men" blog, I received several comments about my "manifesto". That evening (Friday, December 30, 2005) Steph, Gwen, Rae and I decided to have dinner at Rosa Mexicana in Chinatown. While driving to our destination, we naturally focused our conversation on my decision to declare 2006 a date-free year.
During this exchange, I mentioned to Steph recent discoveries I had made using my zodiac reference book she gave me for Christmas.
As a Mormon, I should probably explain we are not encouraged to consult our horoscopes. Old Testament prophets, i.e. Isaiah have counseled God's followerers not to seek after "peeping wizards" or "rely on the arm of flesh." Yet, I continue to enjoy reading the daily predictions/counsel for Cancers (my astrological sign) despite the prophets' warnings. I have also been guilty of reading the horoscopes relative to my love interests, hoping to gain greater understanding of daily events in their lives. Obviously, I have had little success. :)
While thoroughly reading my new astrological guide, I learned the best matches for a female Cancer, born in 1978 (horse), are a male, Capricorn, tiger or a male, Capricorn, dog. This means, in order to secure the perfect match, I should only seek men who were born between 12/22-1/19 in 1970 or1974. Thus, my perfect match will be either 36 or 32 yrs old.
For all those wondering if I'm schizo, especially after reading my last post, please allow me to explain. Although craziness is an adjective often ascribed to members of the Elliott family, I am quite normal. "Perhaps," you deliberate, "she's posting this blog hoping a man fitting either description will come forward." No, sorry to disappoint. I am simply keeping a promise I made to Steph, Gwen and Rae while traveling to Chinatown last Friday evening for great mexican food.

Of all the celebrations I love only the Fourth of July beats the New Year! Last night Boo and I spent in Alexandria celebrating with Gwen, Rae, Rob, Nick and Amy. It was a great night! But first, to the beginning of the day!

The Ben's, Nick, Nicole, Rob and the posse headed for the Caps game. It was an awesome game with much action by my beautiful Halpie. We won 4-3 in a shootout. I can't wait till the Av's game in Philly on the 14th!!! Yahoo for hockey!

After that we ran around in small groups for a bit and then dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. Gwen and Rob must be recognized for the numb butts that they acquired during the 60 min wait on the floor for a table. Yikes! After that it was off to the water front for an amazing fireworks show. Well, amazing may be overshooting it a bit but there were fireworks.

It was a great start to 2006! Year of the Dog, here we come!