Life in a Nutshell

Oh, bloody hell

2011-12-19T10:37:00.000-05:00

I had a little mishap. (Mishap is just a cute way to way to say I busted my brow open and nearly choked on my own tongue when I saw the amount of blood spewing forth from my face.) Here's what happened.

Picture it. Raleigh. December 2011. 4:42 am.*

(*Raise your hand if you enjoyed that Golden Girls "Sophia" reference.)

Oh right. I suppose you're wondering what in the hell I'm doing up at 4:42 am. A bit of background then...

I have a little "fun money" part time job at the gym across the street. A couple of days a week I set my alarm for the ungodly hour of 4:00 am. That gives me exactly two nine-minute snoozes before I roll out of bed at 4:18 and take precisely seventeen minutes to get ready before walking out the door at 4:35 and arriving at the gym at 4:40 to prep the joint for a 5:00 opening.

(The crazy part is, I don't actually mind it. Yes, the second the alarm goes off is generally a FML moment but I'm one of those weirdos who's fine once I'm up and going and the awesome thing is that my shift is over by 8:30 or 9:00 and I go home and take a nap! Do you have any idea how great it is to be 34 years old and able to take a guilt-free mid-morning nap??!??)

Anyway, back to how I cracked my face open. I got out of my car and somehow stumbled a bit on the curb (that's a kerb to you, Suze). Normally, this wouldn't have caused such a problem and in fact, I had very nearly righted myself. But, you see, I was stumbling straight towards a plate glass store front and had apparently picked up some forward momentum causing me to plow brow-bone first into it.

My first thought was "Oh shit. That hurt a lot. I'm going to have a massive headache all morning." And I guess I instinctively touched my head because the next thing I know, I'm fumbling with the keys to open the gym and I see blood on them. And that doesn't sit well with me. I feel the panic start to wash over me and that's when I feel something wet running past my eye. And that really doesn't sit well with me. I start to mumble "Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god." over and over and over again and that's when I see something red dripping onto my coat. And that's when I totally freaked out.

Never mind my reaction when I made it to the bathroom inside and saw my face in the mirror. It was not pretty. Oddly, my biggest immediate concern was getting all the blood off the floor (and, um, wall and countertop...eww) because I didn't want the gym members to be grossed out. In fact, I was grabbing toilet paper by the fistful and frantically wiping everything, too stupid to realize I hadn't yet put any on my head to stop the dripping and was therefore leaving behind even more blood than I was cleaning up.

I finally realized I should call Jason and only when he reminded me to put pressure on the cut did I actually manage to do that. Furthermore, in my mind, I was calling Jason because I needed help getting the gym open. That is to say, NOT because I needed someone to rush me to the ER to have my face stitched back together. I was actually thinking in my head "Okay. I've got to somehow explain to him how to go in the electrical closet in the basketball court to get the main lights on and then how you have to get the other key from behind the desk to go in the other closet to turn on the music." Panic: it makes you crazy...and dumb!

Meanwhile, I noticed an alarm was going off. I realized pretty quickly it was the juice bar next door and the reason the alarm was going off was that I had hit their window that hard. WITH MY HEAD. My first thought was "Wow. That's impressive." My second thought was "Huh. I wonder if I'm concussed." My third thought was "Oh good. Security will be on their way." My fourth thought was "Oh yeah. Blood. OH GOD THE BLOOOOOOOOOOD."

About that time, Jason arrived in a panic. He later told me I sounded so helpless and distraught on the phone that he wondered if he should even take time to get dressed. Apparently, all I kept saying was "I'm hurt. I'm bleeding. I need help." Which I guess freaks husbands out. I reassured him he made the right choice. "Always always always choose clothes." I sagely advised.

Anyway, long story long...four stitches and a tetanus shot later I was back home snuggled up on the sofa.

Day two. Slightly worse for the wear. Eye starting to blacken. I've taken on a "You think I look bad? You shouldda seen the other guy." attitude.

Day three. More pronounced swelling and blackening of the eye area. Tired of the tough guy mentality. Working the victim angle. Had Jason wash my hair for me.

Today (day five), I'm off to see a cosmetic surgeon about possibly getting my stitches out. Hey. This is my moneymaker were talking about. I don't mess around when it comes to this face:

Now, if you don't have a weak stomach when it comes to blood and you really want to see the face of pure terror, do I ever have a treat for you. In my hysterical state immediately post-impact, I remember thinking "Jason will never believe how much blood is running down my face right now. I need to take a picture." So I did. I took a picture of my own bloody face. That's how crazy in the head I was.

The funny thing was that I only remembered I had done this while we were waiting in my little ER room for the doctor to come sew me up. So there we were. In the ER. Laughing our asses off at how ridiculous a state I was in.

Go on...if you dare (after the jump).

Keep in mind that doesn't include the trail of blood I left from the front door to the bathroom or all the blood that had dripped all over the bathroom floor and countertop while I scurried around trying to wipe it all up or all the blood soaked up by the toilet paper and flushed away. In other words...OH GOD THE BLOOD! THE BLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!

Not-So-Happy Meal

2011-12-14T08:51:00.000-05:00

I've learned there is one thing scarier than a clown.

And that thing is a child clown. Thanks for the recurring nightmares, McDonalds.

Heather Takes On: Like, dumb girls

2011-12-12T08:57:00.002-05:00

I shared this on The Facebook last week, so some of you will have already seen, but since it got a pretty significant reaction I figured it might be worth showing here. This is the caption I wrote on FB:

I thought the cover of a magazine was supposed to make you want to open it and read, not weep for society. This piece of garbage arrived in my mailbox completely unsolicited. Read the quote and just try not to slit your wrists open.

And in case you can't read the cover, here is what it says:

The night after the shoot I had like blue hair in finger waves and I went to meet Marilyn at Nobu and when I walked in they thought I was Charlize Theron. Oh and I also did go-sees for Calvin Klein. I showed up and the guy was like what have you been modeling for a minute? And I was like, yeah.

I don't know who I'm angrier at - the vapid model for being so damn stupid or Condé Nast for publishing this drivel.

And that's where this post was meant to end. In fact, I had written it and scheduled it to go live a few days later. But I simply had to add the following...

Turns out, Condé Nast was eagerly awaiting my feedback. They sent me the most delightful email asking for my opinions on their inaugural issue.

I was more than happy to help out. Here are a couple of my destructive criticisms:

*Sorry about the distracting cursor next to the "I" in the second one....

Something tells me I won't be on future lists to receive promotional publications from them. And that's just fine by me. I can't afford to unintentionally lose anymore precious IQ points.

Love notes

2011-12-09T09:37:00.000-05:00

Going through my text history looking for that one about Elwin and the bed, I came across a few other gems from over the last year. It's a love story for the ages.

Sometimes I have trouble getting ahold of Jason during his very busy workday. This is typically when there's something urgent that I need him to do. Jason is generally not very good at remembering to do home-related things at work, urgent though they may be. Jason also tends to be pretty unresponsive to my pleas when he is very busy at work. So I have to get tough if I want results.

And sometimes, Jason is not very good at remembering to do home-related things at home. Things like putting the new loo roll on the actual roll, instead of resting it on top of the holder. I finally decided to take a stand and went on total loo roll replacement strike.

When there was no change in the loo roll status nearly 24 hours later, I felt it was time for another gentle reminder.

Then there are the times I am the one who is not entirely abiding by house rules. This particular evening, Jason had been so kind as to vacate the premises for a few hours while I hosted my sisters-in-law for a chick flick evening. Things got a little out of hand.

And then, of course, there are the random and non-sensical conversations that happen while Jason is traveling for work and finds himself sitting in a bar or restaurant alone with no one but me to talk to.

And then we're back to Jason screwing up. He routinely raids my wallet for cash. I do not care for this.

He might be a butthead, but he's my butthead. And I wouldn't trade him for anything.

You'll have to go around me

2011-12-07T09:03:00.001-05:00

I recently came home one morning after working an early shift at the gym and noticed something amiss with Jason's bed-making technique.

So naturally I sent him a text kindly inquiring about the state of the duvet. You can see his response for yourself.

Here's the accompanying photo in original size:

That is one seriously willful cat.

Denmark (and Sweden) Gets Phuzered

2011-12-05T10:56:00.002-05:00

I think perhaps I promised you, my loyal readers, some European misadventures with our frequent traveling companions Phuze. Well, here you go.

Due to some delay of flight, we arrived in Copenhagen rather late on Friday night. In fact, it may have technically been rather early on Saturday if memory serves.

But troopers that we are, we dropped off our bags at the hotel and made plans to meet Phuze out for a nightcap (morning cap?) before retiring to bed. Suze texted me walking directions (Something like "walk out of your hotel and straight towards giant clock. cross scenic square which appears to be under massive construction. turn left at mcdonald's sign." It made sense at the time....)

Lo and behold if we didn't run smack into them on the street because they had gotten kicked out of the bar. Some nonsense or other about "last call" or "closing time". Whatever. So we made our way to a place with a more lax guest policy and blahblahblah, laughs and cocktails and stories and good times and plans to meet in the morning blahblahblah HOTEL BED SLEEP NOW PLEASE.

And the aimless walking tour of Copenhagen begins...

Let's smushi! Wait, what's smushi-ing?? I don't care! Let's just do it! Okay!

What's this?

Oh, of course. It is a poster graphic. That writing is the design upon the poster. That design is used to help sell the poster. I'm glad they cleared all that up for me.

I think we'd better get this one some lunch soon. All that smushi-ing seems to have worked up quite an appetite.

If there's anything in the world more annoying than a tourist on a Segway, it's a tourist on a Segway wearing a Segway Tours poncho. And if there's anything in the world more annoying than a tourist on a Segway wearing a Segway Tours poncho, it's TWO tourists on a Segway wearing MATCHING Segway Tours ponchos. I express my distaste:

One thing I learned about Copenhagen was that they really like boobs. There were boobs everywhere. BOOBS!!!!! on a building.

BOOBS!!!!! over a restaurant bar.

Oh look! It's a lovely public art project! How nice!

But wait...BOOBS!!!!! on an elephant.

Now, I'm not sure what a replica of the David statue was doing by the Copenhagen waterfront but it was a nice break from all the BOOBS!!!!! Unfortunately, it was also a chance for Jason to attempt one of his most favorite vacay activities - snapping a photo of me positioned so that the, umm, sack of some male statue appears to be resting on my head. Fortunately, over the years I have learned to avoid these attacks by any means necessary. Those means are simply: run...dodge...duck...just move...do not under any circumstances remain stationary.

The whole reason for our waterfront stroll was to see Copenhagen's most famous attraction, the statue of Hans Christian Andersen's Little Mermaid. (What? You thought Disney came up with that story?? Those guys haven't had an original idea since 1928 when Mickey Mouse was created.) We knew it would be disappointingly small. We knew it would be mobbed by tourists. We knew it would be surrounded by cheap and tacky souvenir stands. But one can't truck themselves all the way to Copenhagen and just not see it. So we saw it.

And predictably, we were so not impressed. We all took to our phones and texted everyone we knew about how unimpressed we were. Even Stripey McSadsack back there was underwhelmed.

However...

Next, we decided to do the ultimate-tourist schtick one better and hopped on an open air bus tour. Really, we determined we were too far away from the city center to walk back and figured that we might as well get a bird's eye view of Copenhagen as opposed to taking a cramped, dingy taxi. And hey! We might even learn something! Phuze were pleased.

Turns out, the open-air bus delivered us back to the city center just in time for it to start pissing down rain. But what luck! We just so happened to be right by Phuze's hotel. So we ducked in and camped out in the bar, pointing and laughing at all the people on the street getting soaked.

Though we soon bored of that and when we realized all we had to entertain us was each other, we desperately looked to our arsenal of iPhones for a diversion. Suze was so bored, she was working two phones. "I swear I heard one of these things ping with an incoming email. Come on you little devil-bastard phone! Release me from this hellish social circle! Ping! Please dear god let it ping!"

And remember that thing with me and Suze and how we can rarely keep a straight face for a photo and there's always a slew of pictures that end up on the proverbial cutting room floor while we try over and over again to capture the magic that is us and finally we do but then we end up liking all the other photos better because thy make us laugh all over again? Well... COLLAGE! BOOM.

That evening after dinner, we passed by a coffee shop and decided we could use a fix. Personally, I was just enamored of their policy on babies.

I can't for the life of me recall what is going on here but I imagine it has something to do with the diabolical math-based drinking game Phil insisted we play.

We awoke the next morning to sun! Glorious sun!! I suggested to Jason we skip breakfast with Phuze and head back to the harbor area for some decent photos. I was determined to get a couple shots of this gorgeous area while it was not enshrouded in grey skies.

And then, it was back to the baby-less coffee shop before we hopped a train to Malmo, Sweden for a day trip and some serious Swedish meatballs. P.S. I'm pretty sure the barista had a crush on Jason. (Then again, who wouldn't?)

Meanwhile, I had a crush on my latte. The love affair was short lived though, as we had to make haste to the train station.

And after a short ride, we were in a whole other country! Sweden. (Top travel tip: You can tell by the flags.)

We were immediately taken with the public art displays. I ask you, is this not just begging for some stupid tourists to jump in and act like they're in the marching band for a ridiculous photo they can look back on and laugh at what idiots they were that day?

Done and done. (That'll be Suze on the air guitar and me tickling the air ivories.)

Now this doesn't look like much of anything at first glance but if you lean in and look juuuust a liiiiittle biiiiit clooooser...

RAWR!!!!!

You've heard the slogan "Virginia is for Lovers"? Apparently, Malmo is for Fuckors.

And sluts. Filthy place.

I kid! It's lovely! As evidenced by a bounty of brightly painted buildings!

We arrived to this square round about lunch time and thought we had hit the meatball jackpot. What with all these restaurants, one of them is bound to be serving up some Swedish meatballs, right???!!!???

Wrong. So the boys set about doing some research. Jason immediately got on the horn demanding to know where in Malmo one could get a decent meatball.

While Suze and I pranced around the square, window shopping and photographing and just waiting for the boys to ring the meatball dinner bell.

Alas, there was not a single meatball to be found. Suze and I were positively crushed as we had been gearing ourselves up for a meatball-laden day trip for months. We watched this video and borkborkborked our way through hundreds of emails back and forth to each other.

So we stuffed our faces with some (farking delicious) burgers instead and took a scenic walk to take our minds off the meatball travesty.

Oh, yes...and we also took turns playing Name That Tune using borks. Gaga featured prominently. Borkborkbork (Can't read my) Borkborkbork (Can't read my) Borkborkborkborkborkborkborkbork (No he can't read my poker face). I guess that doesn't really translate to the written word.

And what do you know? We made it back to Copenhagen with plenty of time to hit up Tivoli Gardens. It's like the European version of Busch Gardens. A theme park! With BEER!

How many tourists does it take to find Tivoli's brewery?

Personally, I was hoping it was located on that ship.

It wasn't. But we had a very nice view of the ship while we sipped Tivoli's finest. And by Tivoli's finest, I'm clearly not talking about their barrels-made-into-cocktail-tables. That photo is not crooked. The table top is crooked. So very, very crooked.

Suze was generous enough to buy us each these team pins with our individual home country flags next to a Danish flag. This is Team British Commonwealth. (Booooooooorrrrriiiiiing.)

And this is the far more snappily-named Team America. (Fuck yeah!) Team America appears way more aggressive. Probably due to over confidence regarding their awesome name.

What better way to celebrate polishing off a few brews than climbing aboard a rickety contraption that slowly takes you hundreds of feet into the dark night sky and then drops your ass right back onto the ground at warp speed? (You'll note I wisely watched this mayhem from the sidelines.)

Then the boys' competitive streaks came out. Guns. They'll do it every time.

Things I learned about Jason: He is an excellent marksman! He beat the pants off that pansy Phil! If you don't believe me, just check out the prizes they won for us ladies. I got this awesome stuffed yellow cat...bear...bearcat? And Suze only got that dinky little plastic dinosaur.

Then, as if Yellow Bearcat wasn't enough, Jason won me a pink lei. I was overjoyed by this windfall!

My excitement, however, was short-lived. This is Tivoli's idea of a friendly clown guide. This is Heather's idea of endless nightmares.

Conclusion: Tivoli = quite pretty. (Except for the clowns.)

We rounded out the evening with a few rounds at Vesterbro brewpub. As I was kind of beered out and the place was pretty slow (it was a Sunday night after all) I had the bartender craft me a specialty cocktail which essentially tastes like a key lime pie in a glass. (Or as Anna would probably say if she were of age "It's sweet, sour and beautiful and it feels like a miracle.) We named it the Belle With A Bite. I think he was pretty impressed with it and he even promised me he was putting it on the menu. If anybody ever goes to Copenhagen, stop in and check the cocktail menu and report back to me.

It was so yummy, even Yellow Bearcat wanted a sip.

Turns out, Yellow Bearcat can't hold his liquor. You so crazy Yellow Bearcat!

On Monday, we set out for one more day trip since we felt like we had pretty much seen what Copenhagen had to offer. Suze opened her travel book and picked out our destination - Roskilde. "Suzette, what's in Roskilde?" we asked. "Giant vases." she replied. "Ok, awesome! Let's go!" we exclaimed.

"Suzette, what else is in Roskilde?" we asked. "A viking ship museum." she replied. "Ok, awesome! Let's go!" we exclaimed.

"Suzette, will the viking ship museum be located by the water with lots and lots of boats around?" I asked. "Probably so." she replied. "Ok, awesome! Let's go!" I exclaimed.

"Suzette, will I be able to climb around on some ships there?" I asked. "Sure. If that's your thing." she replied. "Ok, awesome! Let's go!" I exclaimed.

"Suzette, do you think one of the ships might have a picturesque Danish flag billowing in the breeze?" I asked. "Yes. For chrissakes yes. Now shut up and leave me alone." she replied. "Geez! A simple yes or no would have sufficed!" I exclaimed.

"Suzette, will there b......" *SMACK* "Yes, there are viking ships you idiot! Look at them! They're right in front you!"

I'm pretty sure these were meant for children to fill out.

And that was Roskilde.

We made it back to Copenhagen just in time for Phuze to grab their bags and head to the airport for their Manchester-bound flight and just in time for Jason and I to search the city for what we were told was an amazing hot dog, eat an amazing hot dog, grab our bags and then head to the airport for our London-bound flight.

A funny thing happened on the way to the hot dog though. We had been a bit whingey about how Copenhagen was just okay. We liked it. But we didn't love it. We were glad we had gone. But we probably wouldn't have any desire to go back. It was just...fine. However, the Great Hot Dog Hunt took us through the nicest part of the city we had seen. It was full of cute bars and cafes and shops and gorgeous cathedrals.

And colorful buildings...

And, well, let's not forget the hot dog. (And didn't we feel like a couple of jerks for judging a place we hadn't even properly explored. Oh well. You win some...)

But back to the hot dog. All natural, certified organic meat and toppings served from a clean-as-a-whistle food truck parked in a gorgeous square.

It was glorious. And I kind of want to go back to Copenhagen for another one.

Sadly, Jason had to stay on in London for work while it was time for me go home. But at least he knows how to send a gal off in style!

Flying the friendly skies indeed!

Though Elwin was very happy to have me back, he was less than thrilled about Yellow Bearcat's arrival. "Ai heered abowt yew dancin own de taybul at dat bar. Ai down't liek yew, stewpid bare...or kat...or whuteber yew ar."

And I'll leave you with this. A few days after I had returned home, I pulled up my iPhone map. Read the search window. If that isn't a testimony to how hard we were trying to find some damn meatballs in Malmo, I don't know what is.

London...filtered

2011-11-17T08:35:00.000-05:00

One can only post about the same thing/place so many times and if there's one place I've got pretty well covered on here, it's London. So, for this last trip back to my home away from home, I've decided to give you my view of the city through Instagram* filters.

*If you don't know about Instagram, just Google it and get with the freaking program. It's only, like, the best smart phone app ever of all freaking time.

{gloucester road tube}

{a-to-zed}

{victoria regina letterbox}

{the anchor, bankside}

{nap time in green park}

{the george inn}

{cous cous}

{richmond bridge}

{hill rise, richmond-upon-thames}**

{river sunset, richmond-upon-thames}**

**Believe it or not, these two photos are in no way manipulated. I couldn't bring myself to put any filters on them when they're so perfect the way they are.

{mecca}

{shopping and champers at veuve cliquot harrods}

{tea and postcards on a rainy afternoon}

{george regine letterbox}

{routemaster}

{tea for one at Fornum & Mason}

{national portrait gallery}

{glamour at the gallery}

{burlington arcade}

{the burlington beadles}

{posh take away coffee}

{so fancy, you have to drink it with a pinkie out}

{elizabeth the second regina letterbox}

{union jack}

{transport}

{the cadogan for tea}

{and champagne}

{tea room}

{tea time}

{earl grey}

But wait! There's more! For this hop across the pond, we visited not just one...not even two...but THREE countries! And I think we all know by now what kind of shenanigans ensue when Jaser and Phuze get together in foreign lands. Prepare for laughs aplenty in the next installment of the Nutshell.

The Brew Crew at the Beach (The Brew Crew Adventures, part III)

2011-11-10T18:59:00.000-05:00

For the final installment of The Brew Crew Adventures, we will actually make it to the beach. (If you need a refresher, check out part I and part II.) After a rather long wait to get on the ferry that would transport us to the magical island of Ocracoke, we finally arrived and checked into our cosy accommodations.

We wasted absolutely no time and dumped our stuff in the condo before grabbing a few of The Castle's bikes to explore. Scott and Jason got more than a few confused looks and comments as they went around practically all weekend sporting rival baseball gear....Jason in his Pedroia The Destroy-ah tee and Scott in his The Yankees Have No Farm System and Buy Championships Like I Buy Underwear shirt. What?!?!? I'm pretty sure that's what it said.

No trip to Ocracoke is complete without a stop at the lighthouse.

Ain't she a beaut?

Then we took the BLTs to our favorite spot on the island - Springer's Point. (Not sure where I heard this but someone once told me you can catch a pretty decent sunset from out here. Oh right, it was ME.) Scott made it his job to harass the local sea life. Yep, sounds about right for a Yankees fan.

What no trespassing sign?? Did you see a no trespassing sign? Because I definitely didn't see a no trespassing sign. (Oops.)

Jason was pretty sure he saw a large crab hiding around these rocks and thought it would make a lovely dinner if only he could catch it.

Though we left Springer's Point too early for sunset, we made it to the beach for our bonfire just in time.

While the boys were earning their merit badges searching the beach for scraps of wood to throw on our fire, Libby and I were taking care of hostess duties back at the blanket. (Hostess duties = open bottle of wine.)

Not a bad job on the fire by our fearless leaders....

Nothing like fresh-from-the-butcher hot dogs roasted on the beach. That's how we roll. Keep your grocery store Ballpark franks. We'll stick with some Weeping Radish Farm dogs. (Meanwhile, darkness descends upon us and brings with it crabs. Lots and lots of crabs.)

Aside from one crab on an apparent suicide mission, we managed to minimize contact with the little fuckers. We were, however, pretty traumatized by the one casualty. (Don't we look traumatized?) You see, the crabs are very drawn to the fire. Like moths to a lightbulb. They simply can't stay away. Well, this one little guy kept scurrying right up to the edge of the fire pit and running away. And this one time? Well, he just sort of kept on scurrying. And just like that, he was crustacean charcoal.

As Libby started messing around with the camera, we became obsessed with the optical tricks created by the combo of darkness, fire and a lens. Check out Jason's ghost-arms coming out of his pits!!! Wicked pissah!

And then, this happened. Remember when I promised you Libby and I doing tribal dances around the fire? Well, just like Papa John's...I deliver. I highly recommend you clicking on that photo to blow it up real nice so you can experience the maximum effect of our ridiculousness. (Also, hey guess what I found online?!?! A FREE COLLAGE MAKER. BOOM.)

After such an eventful evening, we decided to take it easy the next day. We beached, we lunched, we coffeed.

Oh yes, and we biked.

We were en route to visit the British Cemetery when Libby hit the brakes and pulled off to the right. She had spotted a cute little cafe/shop/wine bar/beer market called Zely's. The boys were smitten.

And both rode away with bike baskets brimming with beer. (Say that five times fast.)

We finally made it to the British Cemetery and as we were all respectfully reading plaques and watching the St. George's/Union Jack combo flag flutter in the breeze...

..., Jason suddenly realizes he's taken the wrong bike from Zely's. So besotted with his beer was he, that he hopped on someone else's bike and rode away. So he jumped back on and pedaled furiously back to Zely's. Remember when I promised you Jason stealing a bike? It may have taken more than thirty minutes, but I delivered.

We had planned on another beach fire for our evening entertainment but the Tunes went shopping for supplies and found out that beach fires are actually currently, um...kind of...a little bit....well...sort of...prohibited due to recent dry conditions. Oops. Our bad.

So, as a substitute we did this:

While overlooking this:

That'll do just fine, thanks. And we enjoyed it so much that we did it again the next night.

And that's when we broke out the Tunes' fancy camera again.

After one shot of goofing off, they managed to pull it together for a very nice photo.

Conversely, this is how many shots Jason and I went through... (Once again I suggest, nay demand, you blow it up for maximum effect.) (Also, hey guess what I found online?!?! A FREE COLLAGE MAKER. BOOM.)

...before we got this one.

But that was not enough tom foolery for us. We had the brilliant idea to set the camera up and let 'er rip. (You know the drill. Blow it up.) (Also, hey guess what I found online?!?! A FREE COLLAGE MAKER. BOOM.)

And finally, one suitable for framing. (Truth be told, I'd sooner frame the collage.)

And I'll leave you with this sentiment... This was posted on the hostess stand at the restaurant we went to that evening. A sure sign you've picked the right place.

And that's the story of how the Sangers and the BLTs became very good pals.

The Brew Crew Hits the Road (The Brew Crew Adventures, part II)

2011-10-26T11:19:00.002-04:00

Picking up where we left off...

The next morning, it was time to begin part two of the adventure. We were headed for the Outer Banks of North Carolina, with a final destination of Ocracoke island. But any Carolina beer tour worth its salt should have a stop-off at The Duck-Rabbit in tiny ol' Farmville, NC. They're not actually equipped to handle regular visitors but I had heard that if you requested a tour and tasting in advance, they would try their best to accommodate you. And they did!

Just the way we like it, the tour lasted about five minutes and the tasting about an hour and a half. The brewmaster even popped out for a while and "tasted" with us. (Meaning, like the good British lad that he is, he downed a pint.) And they really pulled out all the stops. We got to taste a beer that had only just been bottled and hadn't been shipped to any stores yet. In effect, we were the first people outside of brewery employees to taste the Schwarzbier. BALLIN'. They see me drankin'....they hatin'.

The bottles were not enough for Libby. She jumped behind the counter when no one was looking and started pulling pints for one and all!

Bottoms up one more time!

As if The Duck-Rabbit guy hadn't already earned a gold star with us, he was also quite knowledgeable about local cuisine. He first suggested one place and then said "But if you want some reallllllllly good food, I'll tell you where to go." (As if anyone would answer that with "Nah, we're good. We'll just go with the first one you mentioned. Bye!") He warned us that A. - this place looks a bit scary as it's housed in an abandoned gas station and B. - "Y'all better get on because they ain't got no hours. They just cook up a bunch of bbq and when it's gone, they close up for the day."

We showed up and learned that this guy was no joke. No frills, no menu even. Just damn good food. Jason and I walked up to the little sliding window on the side of the building and a very large man stuck his head out and just looked at us. Jason was all "Uhhh...two please?" The guy's response was "Plates or dinners?". We had no idea what the difference was and this guy's demeanor didn't exactly invite inquiries so Jason told him "One of each I guess."

We ended up with dinners for the boys and plates for the girls. A "plate" means que, slaw, cornbread sticks and a ramekin of eastern nc sauce. A "dinner" is all that plus a side of smack your mama. Kidding. It was a side of the most delicious stewed potatoes you'll ever have. Took me right back to my great aunt Kate's kitchen. She used to make me stewed potatoes that would just melt right in your mouth. And taste so good they make you want to smack your mama.

We declared B's Barbecue a raging success and hit the road for our long driving stretch all the way to the coast.

Once we hit the OBX, we headed straight for Weeping Radish, trying to make it in the door for a quick taste before they closed up. We needn't have worried though as their posted hours seem to only be a general guideline. Ahhh, the beach life.

They evidently take their name quite literally, as were greeted by, well... by a giant weeping radish when we walked in.

Four flights, please!

After sampling all Weeping Radish had to offer and buying some goodies for grilling from their on-site proper German butcher, we made our way to our overnight accommodations. Libby is affiliated with a charitable organization that raises funds by having members open their homes as B&Bs and scored us a great deal for our one night in Kitty Hawk. After chatting with our hostess and dropping off our things, we headed out on yet another beer mission.

Our final sampling of the trip would be at Outer Banks Brewing Station. I'll fess up and say that I wimped out here and Diet Coked it up. Even a beer-loving gal gets beered out every now and then.

The coolest part of OBBS was their huge "back yard". (Can a restaurant/brewery have a back yard? Doesn't quite sound right but I don't know how else to put it.) It was chock full of picnic tables, adirondack chairs, corn hole sets, playground equipment, and even a small stage where some hippy played guitar and sang. The corn hole boards were calling. And damn if Team BLT didn't win.

Upon retiring to our B&B, our competitive spirits got the best of us again so we decided that a game of Scrabble was an excellent way to wind down the evening. (Settle down, party kids!! Amiright?) Well, you may be wondering how an intellectual's game such as Scrabble got us to the point that Scott was literally climbing the walls while Libby and our host cat cheered him on from below.

Well, Libby decided to challenge Jason on his use of ID as a word, on the basis that it's an abbreviation of a word and not a word in and of itself. Nary a single bar of service was to be found on any of our smartphones so our only hope was an old-fashioned pulp-and-spine dictionary...Webster's stylie. And Scott, ever the gentleman, offered to search the library shelves on Libby's behalf. Good thing he's not afraid of heights! (As an aside, I have always dreamed of having a wall of bookshelves and a rolling ladder. That night, a tiny part of my dream came true.)

For the record, Jason won the challenge and the game so I'll gladly jump on that gravy train and claim a win for Team Sanger.

It is here that our story shall pause once again. I know I promised you all sorts of things and only delivered on one but just think of all the wonderful tales you'll now have to look forward to in the conclusion to The Brew Crew Adventures!

Introducing...the BLTs (The Brew Crew Adventures, part I)

2011-10-24T10:02:00.001-04:00

Technically, this isn't the BLTs first appearance here. (You may know them as Scott and Libby. Or the Tunes.) But I can't say they've had a proper introduction until now. This marked the first time the four of us got together with no hockey game to bind us. Plus, they didn't actually earn the BLT nickname until this trip. But more on that later.

The BLTs arrived in Raleigh after a couple of days on the road from New Jersey. And they were my favorite kind of house guests - the ones that show up bearing gifts! Having spent the day touring the campus at Duke, and knowing that Duke is the one and only team we have in common, they presented us with a Duke themed mini corn hole set. (It would come in handy when we had to wait for our ferry to Ocracoke.)

But first, we had promised Scott and Libby a mini NC brewery tour so we needed to get started. First up was Bull City Burger and Brewery, a pretty new brewpub in Durham. We were, however, stumped upon arrival.

If the door was not a door, what was it?? And how would we get in???? Was this some sort of existential riddle that we had to solve before they would let us at their burgers and brews????? Thankfully, no. It was just the entrance/exit for the Patty Wagon - their burger delivery service. (Which, by the by, I would love to be walking around downtown Durham one day and see somebody pulling a wagon filled with burgers.)

Luckily, we soon found a door that was indeed a door. And oh my sweet pimento cheese burger...what delights were to be found inside.

Beyond burgers and brews, another "b" awaited us - Bulls baseball. And after a slight rain delay, the game finally got underway. And though we had tons o' fun, the Bulls couldn't quite make the magic that night. Following is my twelve second summary of their performance:

Ohhhhhhhh noooooo. from heathers on Vimeo.

Thankfully, I was able to entertain our group with my Flashdance every time JJ Furmaniak came up to the plate. He's my favorite player, on name alone. "He's a Furmaniak, Furmaniak...on the field!" He even hit a home run so I put a little extra stank on that particular performance. (And if you think video of that exists, you're sorely mistaken.)

We got home that night and threw on the ol' MLB package via Apple TV to watch the Red Sox game but, between the rain delay in Boston and the extra innings, it got to be very late o'clock and none of us could make it past the 12th inning. So we vowed to pick it up in the morning; such is the beauty of Apple TV. Long story short, Sox lose in the 14th inning. I'm telling you all this because this is how the BLTs came to be.

You see, our history with the Tunes looks something like this:

Feb 2011 - Hurricanes vs. Devils (Hurricanes lose)

April 2011 - Hurricanes vs. Sabres (Hurricanes lose)

July 2011 - Bulls vs. Mud Hens (Bulls lose)

July 2011 - Red Sox vs. Royals (Sox lose)

Therefore, Jason declared them the Bad Luck Tunes...or BLTs for short. And the name stuck like gum on a shoe.

But the BLTs were here to stay and there was more Raleigh-ing to do. So we took them to Escazu, a local chocolatier.

I basically have no words to describe the aroma that overtakes you when you walk in. And as you can see, Escazu is also a feast for the eyes. Don't even get me started on the taste. It's a veritable assault on the senses! That is, if the word "assault" had a good connotation...

For our final Raleigh trick, we gathered up a small crowd for a private tour at our favorite local brewery, Big Boss. They even let us crawl all over the equipment!

But sadly, they were not so forthcoming with the ammunition bunker, which stayed decidedly locked.

Bottoms up!

We'll stop here for now, but fear not. The journey will continue as we make our way eastward across the state, beering and beaching. So get ready for such antics as Scott climbing a rolling library ladder in a total stranger's home, Jason accidentally stealing a bicycle, Libby and I doing tribal dances around a beach fire to avoid getting bitten by crabs and all of us acting like total fools while we put the camera on auto-click for 30 seconds.

Now that's what I call a teaser!

Two feels good

2011-10-20T11:40:00.000-04:00

You may remember my despair over my weight back in the summer. If not, here's a small clip from this post:

Now. This photo. I have a love/hate relationship with this photo. Here's what I love about it: 1) the ocean and 2) the fam looking all gussied up. Here's what I hate about it: I look chubby. Which leads me to one more thing that I love about it: this was my wake-up call to get my ass back on Weight Watchers and lose the pounds I'd slowly accumulated over the last five years. Down 13 and counting. (Coming soon - skinny Heather, v2.0.)

Well, four and a half months post-photo, I am proud to say that I'm 20 lbs. down and only 6 to go before I hit my goal weight. At which point I will reward myself with new James jeans. It's been a dreary few years buying cheap "fat jeans"and, more recently, "my-old-jeans-are-falling-off-me-in-betweener jeans". But I gotta be honest, Old Navy cheapies or not...two feels pretty damn good.

(On another note, it's amazing what a few unexpected days off can do for your blogging motivation.)

Eight.

2011-10-18T19:30:00.000-04:00

Eight years ago this evening, at precisely 7:30 pm, I was seconds from starting my walk down an aisle. An aisle at the end of which stood the love of my life, waiting patiently for no one else but me.

It was the least he could do. I waited six years for him to propose.

It was worth it.

Super Nanny's Not Top Plays

2011-10-17T18:15:00.000-04:00

See? This is why I didn't proclaim the Nutshell dead in my last post. I get these wild hairs... But this barely counts because this is an old old old post I wrote a long long long time ago. As in before we moved to Belgium. But since I'm about to take on a little one-day-a-week nannying gig, I recalled writing this and never posting it so I decided to dig it out and dust it off and try to pass it off as new content. So, without further ado, imagine me now throwing fistfuls of glitter into the air as a means to distract you from the fact that I wrote this in 2009:

As my nannyship has drawn to a close with my little charge starting pre-school, I feel it's time to reflect. Not upon those moments where I felt like I was really making a difference in a young child's life. But upon those moments where I really f*cked up. Because those are funnier. So, if I may borrow from my favorite segment on SportsCenter, I present my Not Top Plays:

Red or white?

She loves to play pretend cook so we're playing restaurant and I order a steak. She brings the plate over to me, and I say "Hmm, I need something to drink. What should I have?" She sets down a little goblet and says "Red wine or white wine?"

As a disclaimer, I would like to make it known that we were friends with this little girl's parents before she was ever born and when we get together, there is always wine. So she probably associates me and Jason with coming to her house and drinking up all their wine. (That actually wasn't much of a disclaimer considering it only served to further incriminate me.)

I hope it gives you help.

I typically tried to pay attention to what was on the radio when we were in the car because she loves music and loves to sing along so I didn't want her getting any naughty lyrics stuck in her head. For example, even though she loved Lady Gaga, I turned the station when the Disco Stick song came on because that's just disturbing coming from a 3.5 year old. (It's disturbing coming from Gaga, come to that.)

But one day... the sun was out, the windows were down, we were cruising along Ray Road and one of my favorite songs of the summer came on - Gives You Hell by All-American Rejects. And just for a moment, I forgot that this probably wasn't the best song for a pre-schooler considering it has a pretty catchy little chorus that repeats the word "hell" about 4,000 times.

That is, I forgot until I heard a little voice from the back seat. "Hope it gives you help, hope it gives you help." She thought they were saying help! Thank the lawd! Dodged a bullet on that one.

Oh no, please don't puke. 'Cause then I'll puke and...oh crap...

One day, we were heading back to her house for lunch and rest time and she was a bit pouty because she wanted to go to McDonald's for lunch and I said no since she had been a little sassy that morning. So when we got home and I gave her a few options for lunch, she begrudgingly chose mozzarella sticks. The pout-parade continued and she was basically dipping the mozzarella sticks in sauce and just licking the sauce off, over and over. Not to mention totally ignoring the fruit and veg on her plate.

So I told her she had to actually bite and chew and swallow some of her lunch, not just lick sauce off of it. She said she wasn't hungry. I told her she absolutely had to eat. She nibbled an ant-sized crumb of breading off the mozzarella stick and put it down. She commenced the quivering-lip-about-to-cry thing that kids are so good at. I told her this was not acceptable behavior, especially at the lunch table. So she started to cry in earnest.

I tell her that she has to eat abc amount of fruit, xyz amount of veg and at least one whole mozarella stick. She picks at the fruit, shoves the veg around and starts to eat the cheese. She takes a giant bite, way too big for her, and starts chewing away with her cheeks puffed out to the size of ping-pong balls. And then she starts to gag. And I'll just let you imagine how this one ended up.

Nordstrom or J. Crew?

It's no secret that I enjoy a bit of shopping every now and then. (A bit = a lot. Every now and then = as much as I possibly can.) So it was rather convenient that our preferred weekly story time location was Pottery Barn Kids, as PBKs are often in malls. It seems I used these mall outings as an excuse to have a quick look around my favorite stores a few too many times. One morning as we were getting ready to go to story time, I told her that we needed to go a little early because I had to go somewhere first. Her immediate response was "Nordstrom or J. Crew?"

Christmas is awesome.

Once I had to make a pitstop at my house to pick something up and she started to rifle through a stack of miscellaneous papers. In the stack happened to be one of those sound cards, featuring Michael Scott from The Office waxing poetic about the joys of Christmas. Of course she opened it and here's the quote that spilled forth:

"Christmas is awesome. First of all you got to spend time with people you love. Secondly, you can get drunk and no one can say anything. Third, you give presents. What's better than giving presents? And fourth, getting presents. So four things. Not bad for one day. It's really the greatest day of all time."

Thankfully, the only line that stuck with her was simply "Christmas is awesome." She thought that was a slice of comedic gold and repeated it over and over and over, completely cracking herself up.

To the Red Sox?

Everyone who's been reading here for any length of time knows that my passion for clothes and accessories is rivaled only by my passion for sports. So it's possible I may have made a few passing comments related to my favorite teams. Anyway, the final day of free agency in hockey is one of the most exciting/nerve-wracking days of the year for any diehard fan. I was keeping a close eye on Twitter for Hurricanes news and was getting very nervous that Erik Cole hadn't re-signed yet. I must have had a worried look on my face while checking my phone because she said "Ms. Heather, what's wrong?". I replied that I was sad because my favorite hockey player might be going to another team. Her reply?

"To the Red Sox?"

Back off, filthy child I don't know.

One of our regular activities was going to the NC Museum of Art for kids craft time. This was great because it exposed her to other children. This also sucked because it exposed me to other children. One of whom got a little too close for comfort. We're minding our own business, picking out bits of colored tissue paper for our butterfly and a particularly, shall I say, moist child approached me with her dirty face and wet (wet with what, I have no idea) hands outstretched...going right for my leather Kooba Sienna bag, asking "You have sumting in der for me to eat?" My instant reaction was to snatch my bag out of her reach and say "What?? Ew. No." The worst part? I didn't even feel bad. I had fine leather goods to protect.

Heather Takes On: Everydamnthing

2011-10-10T12:26:00.000-04:00

Folks, I have to be honest. I'm struggling here. I think I am well and truly over blogging. It's become a chore. An item on my to do list. And I'm pretty sure that's not what I intended when I started this thing. Part of me wants to officially call it. Time of death: October 2011. But the other part of me wonders if I'll get the taste for it again and then I'll just look like the foolish dramatic girl who can't make up her mind. So while I stew on whether or not this post will be the final nail in the Nutshell coffin...please enjoy this sampling of what goes on in my bitter, cynical little brain.

I'll have a tall skinny mochachino please.

I recently did my annual knickers shopping spree and noticed that the color assigned to one pair I picked out was "mochachino". Seriously? I really don't know how to feel about my intimate apparel having names that remind me of breakfast...or any other meal for that matter.

Shut up and drive.

I find that I always drive with the assumption that every other person on the road is an idiot. I'm rarely proved wrong.

What? You need an example? Fine.

Here are the fellow drivers I hate the most. You know when you're driving and one of the lanes is coming to an end (due to construction closures or whatever) and there are signs everywhere telling you the lane is ending and all the normal courteous drivers get in the lane that isn't ending and naturally that creates a bit of a backup but hey, that's life, get over it and while you're sitting there in your car a bunch of self-important jerks with no regard for others fly past you up to right where the lane actually ends and squeeze in ahead of everyone? I think there's a special circle of hell reserved for those people. And you know those idiots at the front of your not-ending lane who actually let the self-important jerks in? I might hate them even more.

OMG, I literally died.

Raise your hand if you've ever heard someone say something like "My heart was literally beating out of my chest." (No, it wasn't. If that happened, you'd literally be dead right now.) or "It literally took forever to get home from work today." (No, it didn't. If that were true, you'd literally still not be home yet.) or "There were literally a billion people at the mall on Saturday." (No, there weren't. That would be a fire hazard and also literally impossible.) I'm pretty sure these people literally don't know the literal meaning of the word literal. And that makes me angry.

Are you political-correctionally challenged?

Why do people think the correct term for all black people is African-American? Do those people have any idea how likely offensive that would be to a black person who (or whose ancestors) did not come from Africa, but instead from somewhere in the West Indies, like Jamaica, Grenada, Haiti or Trinidad and Tobego? It's like saying everyone who speaks Spanish is Mexican. Foolishness.

Questions, anyone?

Do I hate it when people answer a question by asking themselves a question and answering it? Yes. Does it drive me crazy when they do this over and over as part of a series in order to make a comparison? Absolutely. Is there anything I can do about it? Unfortunately, no.

Give it up for DJ Dumbass on the ones and twos.

Can anyone tell me why radio dj's exist? Seriously. Hey dj's, guess what - YOU COULD EASILY BE REPLACED BY A $250 iPOD ON SHUFFLE. No one wants to hear their inane chatter between songs. STFU already and just play "Single Ladies" again. GOD.*

*This one is a direct copy and paste from a recently-discovered, long-forgotten drafted blog post that got lost over the years. It's like a study in anthropology because a) this was clearly written before I had the luxury of satellite radio and b) hello..."Single Ladies"! I'll take Irrelevant Pop Culture References for $500, Alex.

Team America

2011-08-17T11:02:00.000-04:00

I'm writing this on the eve of the Annual Sanger Family Beach Trip Extravaganza (If you're feeling nostalgic, take a look back at Beach Trip Extravaganzas of yesteryears here and here.) and it will magically post later in the week while I'm likely to be sitting under an umbrella and sipping on a Firefly cocktail.

So I figured it was as good a time as any to continue the blog catch up game with our most recent family beach outing. A Mini Sanger Family Beach Trip Festivity, if you will. The little cousin of the Annual Sanger Family Beach Trip Extravaganza...

How did you spend your Fourth of July weekend? Here's how we spent ours.

Sadie ate a lot of sand.

Which sometimes made her very happy.

And sometimes made her very sad.

Liam ate a lot of pretzels, which always made him happy.

When Sadie wasn't eating sand, she could probably be found crawling in the surf. Wrong way, kid.

That's better.

Jason tried to freak out Liam by making it appear as though the beach ate his feet.

And Liam spent a considerable amount of time looking for Jason's feet.

Jenny had to take him aside for some Mommy and Me time to try and explain that the beach didn't really eat Jason's feet.

Later, during Sadie's nap time, Liam got a touch of cabin fever when he was forced to entertain himself quietly. We've all watched this video about eleventy billion times and a) can't figure out what in the world he is doing and b) are still cracking up every single time we see it.

Shhhhhhhhh. from heathers on Vimeo.

Sadie woke up from her nap on the fourth bursting with national pride and patriotism. Yay America!!!

But not even America's birthday could stop her from her usual surf crawling.

Meanwhile, Liam couldn't be much bothered with surf crawling when there was surf running to be done.

And when Liam had exhausted all beach activities, he dipped into the wonderful world of accessorizing.

I'm pretty sure this was Sadie's 3rd or 4th Independence Day costume change. She's like Lady Gaga at the Grammys!

And what better way to cap off the Fourth of July celebrations than with a...giant Corona?

Holiday beverage choice FAIL.

Discovering North Carolina...

2011-08-12T17:01:00.001-04:00

...one teeny tiny town at a time. We find that no matter where one lives, one rarely takes full advantage of it because one always thinks "I live here. I've got time to do that later." Case in point: Jason and I have traveled through far more of the United Kingdom than most residents we know because we were there for a finite period and wanted to cram in as much as possible.

Well, we didn't want to be those people in North Carolina. When we returned from living abroad, we made a pact to try and experience the state we love so much the way a tourist might. So, in that vein, we planned a weekend jaunt to the sleepy coastal town of New Bern. But not so fast.

Upon planning our route, we happened to notice that we would be passing by Kinston - the home of one of our favorite breweries, Mother Earth. Being the craft beer geeks that we are, we stopped in for a visit.

So many choices! What ever shall we choose?

Why choose when you can have them all?

We enjoyed our tasting outdoors in the beer garden. Fun fact: The tap room at Mother Earth is 100% solar powered. Kindly notice the solar panels...

I won't lie. It was warm out. Even though we had a seat in the shade, we were very grateful for the GIANT fan providing refreshing breezes. Seriously, GIANT. This photo doesn't do it justice but the blades look like airplane propellers. I said to Jason, "That is one big ass fan."

And that was before I noticed this plaque. It really is a Big Ass Fan.

But enough of those foolish mini-beers. Back indoors, we bellied up to the bar and said "Gimme a pint glass and fill 'er up."

But Jason took it one further and said "Enough of those foolish pints. Gimme a growler and fill 'er up." It was at this point I figured we'd better pack it in and continue our drive east before he got carried away and tried to make off with a keg. The last thing I needed was Jason running down the streets of Kinston with tap lines trailing behind him. And so we left.

And so we arrived at our destination, the Aerie B&B in lovely New Bern. Quick run down on New Bern. It is named after and is the sister city of Bern, the capital of Switzerland. New Bern was founded by a Swiss gent in 17something-or-other and is the original capital of North Carolina. Also, bern means bear. (So prepare for bears.)

Why does it always impress me to no end when I am greeted by name in my holiday lodgings? Be it on paper or electronically on the tv (as is all the rage now), I just love seeing my name. Narcissistic, party of one?

That evening, upon recommendation from the innkeeper, we dined waterside and watched the sun set behind the marina. I do love a good set of flags to remind me where I am. United States. Okay. North Carolina. Got it. New Bern. Excellent. (The New Bern one is, what else, a bear. It's exactly the same as the flag for the city of Old Bern. Though outside of New Bern, I'm pretty sure they just call that one Bern.)

I spent the following morning on bear lookout patrol.

New Bern is many things. It's pretty...

It's quirky...

And it's syrupy delicious!

That's right. It's the birthplace of Pepsi! Invented right there in this very small corner shop, which used to be a pharmacy. I don't know about you, but I, for one, am glad Mr. Bradham the pharmacist decided to goof off a little and take a break from all that tiresome pill counting.

So, in memory of old Brad, we plopped ourselves down at the counter and Jason put on his very best 1940's movie voice said "Hey mister, say, how about a couple of soda pops for me and my best gal here? She's awfully thirsty, see." Then he flipped a quarter over the counter and said "Keep the change, pal."

Oh, right. That probably didn't happen. I sometimes forget I married this guy and not Humphrey Bogart. You can see how I'd get momentarily confused though, no?

You didn't think you were getting out of New Bern without me harassing a bear/bern, did you? This one is the bear/bern version of the flags. Therefore I declared it my favorite. They were all over the city. All kinds. Dressed up in all manner of outfits. Engaged in all manner of activities.

But finally, we decided we had seen and tasted all New Bern had to offer so we hit yonder bridge there to explore foreign lands.

Jason had read somewhere that Oriental, NC (See, doesn't that sound foreign??) is ranked the number one place in NC to retire. Well, we figured there must be some pretty good reasons why people want to live out their golden years in this exotic locale. So we drove there. And we drove right through it. And didn't even realize it. And then we were all "Did we miss it?" So we turned around and tried again. Nope. Still nothing.

So Jason says to me "Get on Trip Advisor and see what are the top ten things to do here." I reply "Yes sir! Just as soon as I get even one tiny bar on my phone I'm on it."

I finally see a wee bar making a shaky appearance so I ordered Jason to stop the car and with a somewhat steady signal, I navigate to the Trip Advisor app. "Okay! Got it! The list is pulling up just now. Hmmm, this is strange. According to this, there's only one thing to do here. No, I'm serious. The top ten list just stops after number one." The number one (and only) thing to do in Oriental, NC is...sailing school. And as were not exactly outfitted in our sailing gear, we decided to pass that up.

Dejected, we got back on the road. But Jason soon noticed an odd structure that looked like two silos connected by a shack of some sort. We decided we were not leaving this town until we did something. So we turned the Mini around to find out what this place was. It was part restaurant (silo #1) and part shop (silo #2). And there was a sign in the middle (some sort of shack), which you may be barely able to make out, that read "Southern Palace".

I told Jason that we were going in that shop and we were going to buy something, anything, that said "Oriental, NC" on it. Well, we did. A jar of locally made salsa and a chip clip, which I Vanna Whited all over the parking lot. Souvenirs. DONE.

Next was a stop off at White's Farm. We had some amazing blackberries in New Bern and when I commented on them, the gentleman told me he got all of his produce at a farm about 20 minutes outside of New Bern and gave us directions on how to get there. We bought a pile of blackberries the likes of which would boggle the mind. "You can't eat all those blackberries!" Jason taunted me. I said "Watch me." They lasted exactly one week.

Next, we made our way to Washington, NC upon recommendation from someone in New Bern. It's one of those places that's worth a stop if you're passing nearby but not what I would call a destination in and of itself.

I was slightly worried when we got close to Washington and started passing restaurants that looked like meth labs. This little gem was called Garden of Eatin'. Yes, you read that right. Garden of Eatin'. Some of the other fine establishments that caught my eye were Buddy's Family Restaurant and Woogie's Seafood Shack. *shudder*

But I needn't have worried. As we approached the little river side town, I could tell it was just fine. How could I tell? Well, I started spotting these lovely decorative crabs here and there.

Soon, I realized the place was crawling with them! They were on every corner! I love a city with an animal themed public art project. The bears of New Bern! The crabs of Washington!

My favorite was the construction worker crab. Alas, it appears that "safety first" is not his motto since I noticed later, once I got the photos on the computer, that he's missing an eye. I don't even want to know what series of events led to this tragic accident.

I will admit that there wasn't a ton going on in Washington as it was a Sunday and almost everything was closed. But there were a few nice places to just stroll around and enjoy the scenery. So we strolled...

Still strolling...

More strolling... And more crabs!

And we had just about made it out of town when we discovered that not all crabs are as friendly as the construction worker one. Jason was accosted by the axe-wielding George Washington crab as we meandered past the historic municipal building, minding our own business, admiring the decorative elevated portico and federal-style architecture. He cannot tell a lie, but he can commit first degree assault and battery.

So I think the lesson here is stop by Washington if you get the chance. But try to go on a Saturday. And watch your back if you're near the municipal building.

We're off tomorrow for the family beach trip and to London and Copenhagen straight afterwards but I might be able to pre-order up some entries to auto-post while I'm away. Depends on how well I manage my time today. But considering I just spent 25 minutes snuggling on Elwin, I'm not off to the best start.

Blame it on the Kindle

2011-08-11T08:29:00.004-04:00

I've always been an avid reader. Thanks to my great-aunt Kate, I was a reading machine at a very early age. I love books and everything about them. I love a brand new book and the feel of cracking the spine. I love an old book and the yellowing pages. I love coming home and seeing an Amazon box sitting in front of my door. I love walking into a book store and seeing the endless shelves.

So I was very skeptical when the Kindle first hit the market. I couldn't imagine myself cosying up on the sofa on a rainy Sunday with a...device. "It's just not the saaaaaaaame", I whined dramatically. It acts like a book but it's just not a book. You know what they say. A cat can have kittens in the oven, but that don't make 'em biscuits.

But the more I traveled, lugging stacks of books with me, the better a precious little device sounded. And the longer we spent adjusting to life in a two bedroom apartment, with stacks of read books sitting in closet corners, the better a tiny little device sounded.

Soon, my love of a clutter-free environment started to take over and I was giving e-readers some thought. Then I was all, "Think of the adorable pink leather Kindle covers!" and that was it. SOLD.

And she arrived. With her adorable pink case (with a built-in book light!!!). It was love at first sight. And I've been a reading machine since. I can't read enough. If I have five minutes to myself, I whip out the Kindle. I've made some serious cutbacks on the amount of shitty tv I watch just to make more Kindle time. Sorry Toddlers & Tiaras, you're out. Take your sad, glittery, little "participant" sash and take off out of the Des Moines Comfort Inn event room 3. I've seen enough to know that the kids are little grand supreme (with extra pepperoni!!!) crazed monsters and the moms are delusional. In every episode. Project Runway, on the other hand...you're in. You can leave the runway.

And the reason for this whole post is to tell you that you can blame my Kindle (and a crap-ton of travel) for the lack of blogging lately. I'm determined to get back on the wagon though with at least one proper post before we take off yet again on another whirlwind adventure.

Because apparently, we just can't get enough of multiple-country back-to-back trips wherein we have less than 24 hours to make a re-packing turnaround.

By land or by sea

2011-08-01T17:59:00.000-04:00

Jason and I occasionally go through spells where we get this urge to just chuck it all in, move to the middle of nowhere and live the simple life. Somewhere no one cares or even knows the bag on your arm is by Louis Vuitton. Where no one checks the back pocket of your jeans to see what brand they are. Where a "Real Housewife" is one who makes scrambled eggs on toast every morning before jumping on her bicycle and pedaling off to work at the local coffee shop. Make just enough money to pay the bills, eat and travel a little. Wear flip flops every day of the summer and chunky fair isle sweaters every day of the winter.

This usually happens right after we've returned from a trip to somewhere like the tiny island of Ocracoke in North Carolina's beautiful Outer Banks. Which is exactly where we've been since Wednesday of last week. What I wouldn't give to be back there, sitting by Silver Lake with friends and a bottle of wine, watching the sun go down over the sound.

And when these thoughts permeate my mind, I usually spend an inordinate amount of time listening to music that reflects these ideals.

The argument for countryside:

Blow up your tv
Throw away your paper
Go to the country
Build us a home
Plant a little garden
Eat a lotta peaches
And try to find Jesus on our own

{From Spanish Pipedream by John Prine}

And for seaside:

I will live my life as a lobsterman's wife
On an island in the blue bay
He will take care of me
He will smell like the sea
And close to my heart he'll always stay

I will bear three girls all with strawberry curls
Ella, Nellie and Faye
While I'm combing their hair
I will catch his warm stare
On our island in the blue bay

Far away, far away
I wanna go far away
To a new life on a new shoreline

Where the water is blue
And the people are new
To another island
And another life

{From Far Away by Ingrid Michaelson}

Either way, it all sounds pretty good to me right about now.

Wedding Mania, Part II...Bahston

2011-07-22T11:09:00.005-04:00

Ok. Let's review. Wedding in Antigua. Quick dash back to Raleigh (with a pit-stop in Miami). Something like fifteen hours to do laundry, sleep and re-pack. Back to the airport to travel to Boston for another wedding. Arrival in Boston. SWAN BOATS.

The waterfoul didn't stop there. Boston is overflowing with all manner of feathered, web-footed creatures. These little guys (Yes, dressed in Bruins jerseys. The city was awash with Cup fever.) are part of a bronze sculpture tribute to the book Make Way for Ducklings - a story about a pair of mallard ducks who raise their family on an island in the lagoon in Boston Public Gardens. As one would imagine, these wee webbed ones are quite popular with the toddler set so it was near impossible to get a photo of one that didn't have a child riding it.

Jason was all abuzz about the Freedom Trail. He hadn't been on it since he was a kid so we jumped right in and got ourselves all learned up real good.

The dome on the Massachusetts State House is gen-u-wine 23k gold. Fan-ceeee! I wonder if they got one of them cee-ment ponds out back?

My two favorite facts about Park Street Church:

1) The first major public statement against slavery was delivered here on July 4, 1829.

2) My Country 'Tis of Thee (everyone's favorite kindergarten Thanksgiving assembly staple) was debuted here on July 4, 1831.

All this Freedom Trailing was making me want to exercise my right to pig out. I spotted this sammich shop and insisted this was our spot. I felt it in my bones.

I was right. This was the sammich to end all sammiches.

Next stop was the Granary Burial Ground. Festive! Skulls and crossbones are so hot right now. That gravestone was a real trendsetter.

Two of the graveyard's most notable residents are Paul Revere...

And Samuel Adams. Cheers!

I'll be honest. I was really hoping I would be able to photoshop this pic (from a pub window in Faneuil Hall) with "IN FAILURE" underneath the "BELIEVE" after the Bruins lost the Stanley Cup to the Canucks but damn if they didn't go and win the thing. Thanks for nothing, Tim Thomas. You beast.

But back on the trail... This is the home of Paul Revere in Boston's North End neighborhood. Everyone loves to tell you that "He and his wife lived in this house with sixteen children!" which makes a nice little fun fact...except it's totally misleading.

Here's the truth: He had eight children with his first wife between 1757 and 1773 and another eight with his second wife after the first one died. PLUS, the family didn't live there full-time in the 1780's and 90's. So there you have it. The more you know!

GIFSoup

The thought of that many children was making me get all clammy so we decided it was the perfect time for a vino break in a propah Italian cafe. Salute! (Or cin cin if you want to get all formal about it.)

The Old North Church played a large role in the American Revolution. This is the very steeple where two lanterns were hung and Paul Revere gave directions to light them "one if by land, two if by sea" to warn fellow patriots whether the Brits were approaching on foot or by boat. Take THAT, Redcoats!

Tim Thomas, is that you??

Nope. Paul Revere. He looks ridiculous. I mean, I know Boston's an Original Six team and all, but I'm pretty sure even the Habs didn't exist in 1775. No way was Paul Revere a Bruins fan.

And that's a wrap on day one. Except, I had my very first lobster roll EVER for dinner that evening and as I'm writing this, I still can't believe I didn't take a photo. Oh well. It will live in infamy if only in my mind.

Day two was kind of a big deal. We had very serious business to attend to. Legends of Boston. First up, the Sam Adams brewery.

Jason was like a kid in a candy store. That is, if a kid could legally consume alcoholic beverages and the candy store had huge tanks full of delicious Bahston Lagah.

I was very happy because our tour guide looked very much like Ben from Felicity (*swoon*) and Jason was very happy because, well...because.

Because of this delicious nectar, obvs.

We had it on good authority that if we went to Doyle's pub after the tour and purchased a Sam Adams beer, they would give us one of these very special glasses, designed for maximum beer enjoyment, for FREE! We also had it on good authority that you could get a wicked awesome bowl of chowdah here. Correct on both accounts.

And now, we continue our Legends of Boston tour. And you'll have to excuse us for the next eleventy billion pictures while we totally nerd out over Fenway Park and the Redsox.

Ted Williams even gave me this hat to commemorate my first ever visit. Nice guy.

Then we found a little hidden gem - a pub in the outfield! Seriously! IN. THE. OUTFIELD! From tv or inside the park, it just looks like an open garage door; like where they might store groundskeeping stuff. But no. IT'S A PUB. IN THE OUTFIELD! Seats are first come, first serve but you can totally watch games from here. This was the view from our bar stools.

And this is what you get if you stick the lens of your camera through the fence.

As if Jason weren't already in heaven, he got himself a Green Monsta IPA to round out the experience.

Is this the face of contentment, or what?

Hilariously, there's also a view from the bathroom urinals as Jason found out just before we left.

But if you thought Jason was happy before, just you wait. His cousin (the one whose wedding we were there to attend) got Jason on a small-group private tour of Fenway before the game. This photo was taken from home plate. Let that sink in.

Which way to the Monsta? Anyone?

The view from on top of the Monsta...

He even got to watch warm-ups at close range.

My first Red Sox game was everything I hoped it would be. Jason's cousin set us up with stellar seats right behind the visitor's dugout. I gorged myself on Fenway Franks. The Sox got the scoring started. Then they staged a comeback victory after falling behind. I even got to sing Sweet Caroline with the Fenway Faithful. (I also got to watch a few drunkies get tossed out.)

And the atmosphere. Well, the atmosphere is just about unbeatable.

And finally, when it was time to close it down in the ninth inning, I got to witness Papelbon's dramatic Shipping Up To Boston entrance. 'Twas all I could do to keep myself from breaking out into a riverdance.

Shipping up to Boston from heathers on Vimeo.

Serious pitcher is serious.

The morning of the wedding day, we killed time with a hahbah touah. (That's harbour tour for those of you not fluent in Bostonian.)

It was a gorgeous day but unbelievably chilly out on the water. Which is why I'm sporting this ratty-ass, giant J.Crew hoodie instead of the super cute top from Anthropologie that I left the hotel in.

The Brothers Sanger getting re-acquainted with their childhood home...

And finally. The wedding. The reason for the season. And the reason for another feather (!). You may read a short post about my feather (!) history here, if you wish. And here is that particular feather (!), the inaugural feather (!) if you will:

This wedding took place on the gorgeous rolling grounds of the Crane Estate (as in Crane & Co. fine stationery) in Ipswich. It overlooks the ocean and is every bit as magical as it sounds. And that's why I knew I couldn't show up in any old getup. So I shopped. I got a new purple dress. I got new Italian leather heels. And I got a new feather (!). In fact, I commissioned it and it was made just for me! Or as the Brits would say, a bespoke feather (!). This one was a bit flashier than the inaugural feather (!) of 2009, but still tasteful and appropriate for the occasion.

Now. This photo. I have a love/hate relationship with this photo. Here's what I love about it: 1) the ocean and 2) the fam looking all gussied up. Here's what I hate about it: I look chubby. Which leads me to one more thing that I love about it: this was my wake-up call to get my ass back on Weight Watchers and lose the pounds I'd slowly accumulated over the last five years. Down 13 and counting. (Coming soon - skinny Heather, v2.0.) Anyhoodle, moving on...

The ceremony positively took my breath away. It was sweet and sincere and beautiful and happy and you could just feel the love surrounding these guys. I'm not really much of a "wedding cryer" (except at my own) but this one got me. It got me good. It got a lot of us. Like most of the best couples, Dave and Adam have many opposite qualities. They touched on this in the ceremony. Dave works in insurance and is a planner. He likes order and for things to go according to schedule. Adam owns a very successful design studio and is impulsive and creative. He likes to go with the flow and embraces opportunities to be spontaneous.

So, obviously Adam coordinated all the design elements of the wedding. And the result was gorgeous. From the invitations with vintage postcards used for RSVPs (and used again to identify which table you were at) to the mercury glass candle holders to the centerpieces and music and food and photobooth (from which I'm hoping to have some photos to share at some point because the Sangers were on FIRE that night), the whole thing was just wonderful.

Purses and empties. Clockwise, from top left: Jenny, Me, and Amy.

(Those last few pics were played around with on Instagram, just for funsies. Want to make your photos look all kinds of vintage-y? There's an app for that.)

There are no words for how handsome I thought Jason looked that day. He was like a walking Brooks Brothers ad. Between my feather (!) and his bow tie, we were quite the fashion plates.

And then reality set in. These were waiting for us in the post when we got back home. They are handwritten thank you notes from Uniquities and Brooks Brothers, thanking us profusely for shopping with them. You know may have overspent on your wedding attire when...

Bring on the hores (de vores)!

2011-07-21T10:29:00.007-04:00

I'm nearly finished with the Wedding Mania, Part II post but in the meantime please enjoy this little morsel...

Someone at the leasing office of our building really needs get their spellcheck on:

Skin Care & Brow Event Wed. 6-8:30pm

Celebrate Summer bronze essentials with Christian Dior artist Billie Jeanne. Get your personalized makeup & skincare consultation for fresh & easy looks appropriate for this season. Professional brow threading and shaping by stylist Randi (complimentary)!

Hores de vores & refreshments will be served.

Wednesday, July 20th from 6-8:30pm in the leasing office.

I almost spewed Diet Coke on my iPhone screen when I saw that email. "Hores de vores" you say??? Sounds fan-ceeeeeee! Sign me up. Or as Jason quipped, "Forget the vores; bring on the hores!"

Just for reference, the correct spelling is hors d'oeuvres. So they were pretty close.

Just kidding.

Not even remotely close.

Anna the sage

2011-07-18T21:52:00.001-04:00

I had the pleasure of spending some additional time with Anna last week, one-on-one. We chatted quite a lot. And most of the time, it was like talking to...well...a five year old. Here are a few of her gems - some one-liners and some conversational:

"Woah! I dropped one big deuce in there! And three little deuces. Can you smell it?"

Anna: "Is that Sprite?"

Me: "No. But are you allowed to have Sprite?"

Anna: "Sometimes."

Me: "Really? How often?"

Anna: "Like sometimes if we go to a restaurant."

Me: "Oh, like a special treat?"

Anna: "Yeah. And you can get cherries in it sometimes. That's my favorite. It's really fancy. You should order it one time."

"One time, I heard a bird so I talked to it in chirps and it talked back to me."

"I wish I could pet a rabbit. But I can't because they might have cavities. *pause* And rabies."

"Heather, what happens if you pee in the pool?" *cue the dirty looks and mass exodus*

As we were enjoying our pool-side snack of blackberries, strawberries and Sunchips, we got to talking about foods we like and Anna got super excited every time we shared a favorite. (Anna: "What's your favorite berry?" Me: "Blackberries." Anna: "ME TOO!" Whether she was just caught up in the moment and wanted the bonding experience or blackberries really are her favorite berry, I don't know.) After several exclamations of "ME TOO!", Anna declared me to be one of her best friends. I asked her who some of her other best friends were and she listed off the following: "Maya, Ava Grace, Leah (her nanny), Noir (her cat who passed away last year), Sophie (her Cavalier spaniel), Jesus, Mary, Joseph and Moses."

And after Jason had told Anna on Monday evening that the Tarheels invented bees, (There is a major ongoing war between those two about who is better, the Tarheels or the "Dukes" - as Anna says. Poor child has been indoctrinated by her UNC-CH grad parents and is a Tarheels fan, taught to hate the Dukes. And in case you were wondering, she thinks the "States" suck too.) she said to me over lunch "Teams didn't really invent bees, right? It was God."

You know, that kid seems pretty tight with the big man upstairs...

Wedding Mania, Part I...Anteeguh

2011-07-14T10:26:00.001-04:00

For this installment of Where in the World are the Sangers, we'll be visiting tropical climes for a wedding. (One of two weddings we were to attend in the span of one week, in two different countries.)

But before I get into this one I really need to clear something up. Almost every time I mentioned to someone that I was going to Antigua (pronounced An-tee-guh), they would reply "Oh wow! Antigua! (pronounced An-tee-gwa) Fun!". Like they were doing that thing where you correct someone passively by repeating what they said but pronouncing it a different way?

Well, folks. I'm here to tell you that both pronunciations are correct, so lay off. Look it up.

Now. Let's start where every good trip starts. With me paralyzed by indecision on what to pack and what to leave behind. Six dresses, two belts, two pairs of wedge espadrilles, one pair of flat sandals, seven tops, one skirt, one pair of white skinny jeans, one pair of shorts and one pair of slouchy cargo capris, not counting my travel outfit of leggings, two layered tanks, a cardie and Tory Burch flip flops. We were gone for all of six days - two of which I wore my travel outfit. And I spent the majority of my time in swimwear. You do the totally effed-up math.

Aaaaand we're off! It's never too early for airport vacay-kickoff cocktails.

However, it is sometimes too early for me to keep up the pace. (Jason tells me I was really not cut out for coach class travel. What tipped him off, I wonder? My cashmere sleep mask? The Tiffany keys hanging around my neck? The Dior lip balm I slicked on prior to takeoff?)

Upon arrival we admired the flora...

And the fauna...

Though the fauna made a hasty retreat before I got to ask him if he knew how I could save money on my car insurance.

But, in reality, the flora and the fauna were just minor obstacles en route to this little slice of paradise.

And paradise it was. I'm not typically an ocean person but when the water is the color of a pool and the temperature of a tepid bath, I'm infinitely more agreeable to a dip.

Though it would have been great blog material, I did not get the very "best in hair braiding".

(Neither did Jason, in case you were wondering. He doubted the braids would fit under his Sox hat.)

But I did realize a life-long dream of ordering and drinking a cocktail in a pool bar. So there's that.

The evening before the wedding, our hosts had arranged a sunset cruise for anyone who wanted to join. And it was stunning. But screw the scenery. I know what you really want to see. And that's a picture of us. Right? Don't say I never gave you anything.

Ok, fine. I'll throw in some scenery. (Next time we come to Antigua, I'm going to stay here. I think it's a private residence but I'll make 'em an offer.)

Huh. I guess that's why they call it a sunset cruise.

Yet, the fun continued well past sunset!

And finally, it was time. This really makes me wish I'd had the type of wedding where a calypso band was situationally appropriate. My favorite part was when the bride walked in to a steel drum version of the Wedding March. Love!

On a Caribbean beach, at sunset. There are worse places for a wedding, people. Not a bad location at all...

No. Really. NOT BAD.

Look, I know this isn't the best photo of us (there is one slight drawback to a beach wedding, and it's called holymaryitscrazystupidhotandnowiamdrenchedinsweat) but how often are we on a beach in the Caribbean, at sunset, dressed in designer duds? Like, never. So I was all, "Listen up, mister. I paid a pretty penny for this Patterson dress and these Dolce Vita shoes and I want this outfit documented. I don't care if you're two minutes from a heat stroke. You will stand here next to me and take a damn picture. AND YOU WILL LOVE IT."

Too soon, the next wedding back in the States was looming around the corner so we had to bid farewell to Anteeguh and its colorful flag.

But, thanks to an odd flight schedule that had us staying overnight in Miami before continuing on back to Raleigh, we had one of the best hotel stays of our entire lives. I can't possibly say enough about how amazing The Tides was. It sits right on Ocean Drive with a gorgeous view of, well...the ocean. (Duh.) I knew I was home when I stepped out of the cab and the porter said "Welcome to The Tides. You must be Ms. Sanger." I can only assume we were the last guests to check in and that's how he knew who I was but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't majorly impressed.

From the complimentary welcome cocktails (delivered to us in our ridiculously large room) to the delicious breakfast (served under a massive umbrella on the front patio), the only thing that could have made our stay better is for it to have been more than one night. I was heartbroken to leave! Despite the fact that, between the hotel and one dinner out, we dropped more bones on one night in Miami than we did for our ENTIRE four-day stay in Antigua. (It's quite the shock to go from all-inclusive back to the real world. "You mean I have to pay you for this meal? That is an outrage, sir!")

Stay tuned for Wedding Mania, Part II...coming soon to a Nutshell near you.

How do gummy bears make you feel?

2011-07-12T20:59:00.001-04:00

We are the best aunt and uncle ever. No. I'm serious. EVER. Don't even try to compete with us because we will beat you.

Yesterday afternoon, I took Anna swimming and when Jason got home we walked to Chick-Fil-A for dinner. And since Jason and I live in what amounts to Disneyworld, Chick-Fil-A happens to be about 50 feet from Ben & Jerry's. And since all Jason and I had to do was feed the child and drop her back off at Nana's for bed, we couldn't think of a single reason not to get her jacked up beyond belief on sugar.

Get a load of the size of that sundae. Oreo ice cream, topped with m&m's, sprinkles, gummy bears and whipped cream.

We started to realize that we may have underestimated the repercussions when Anna started singing an ode to the gummy bears that quickly segued into the Cruella De Vil song:

Ode to gummy bears from heathers on Vimeo.

Even though she didn't finish the sugary monstrosity (we discreetly took it away when she started pirouetting over and over and over) Jason got her a little cup of extra gummy bears to take on the road as a consolation prize.

How do the gummy bears make Anna feel? I'll let her tell you:

How do gummy bears make you feel? from heathers on Vimeo.

In case you didn't catch all that, I'll transcribe. "Sweet. Sour. And beautiful. And it feels like a miracle."

Have fun getting her to bed Nana!

In the meantime, read this crap that probably won't interest you in the least

2011-07-08T08:59:00.003-04:00

Since we've been very travel-y as of late, blog duties have fallen by the wayside just a bit. But the difference is, this time...I actually care! So, while I'm working on the next installment I'll leave you with a few bits and bobs (as they say in jolly ol').

Does it disturb/irk anyone else that Aidan from Sex and the City is narrating the Applebee's commercials? Because it's really starting to annoy me. What with all the furniture making, buying trips to the Middle East and cheating with Carrie, how does he find the time???

I read a really good book recently - American Wife by Curtis Sittenfeld. She is a very different type of author in that her books will suck you right in despite the fact that nothing major is actually happening. (If you haven't read Prep, do it now. Not one significant event ever occurs but I promise it will keep you turning the pages. I've never talked to anyone that's read it and didn't have the same opinion.) (Sidebar: I didn't much care for Man of My Dreams.)

Last week I got a wild hair -pun intended- and decided I wanted bangs. So I got bangs. Nothing severe. Just a little side-swept thingie. I texted Jason a picture after I left the salon and his reply was "Nice! Hot.", which is so very un-Jason like. (The "hot" part, I mean.) I was all "Simmer down, McLovin. They're just bangs."

In other news, despite being very travel-y (which, as we all know, wreaks havoc on one's weight loss efforts) I have lost a grand total of 10 pounds. I know it would have definitely been more if we'd not been galavanting around the coast of North Carolina for the past two long weekends but I refuse to deprive myself when I'm on holiday. I try to practice some restraint but if there's crab dip, I will damn well eat it. And I will love it. Even if it means the weight doesn't come off quite as quickly. Some things are worth it. My short-term goal is 5 more pounds before our Ocracoke holiday the week of July 25.

What the puck?

2011-06-29T21:31:00.001-04:00

So, now that I've started my blogging renaissance by time-traveling all the way back to February I figure let's just continue on playing this game of catch up. We arrived home from Colorado the day before my birthday, leaving Jason precious little time to get his act together. But, as he usually does, he managed to sort something out.

He knew he had to travel to Philly for work later in the week. He knew he wouldn't be able to fly due to having had a small procedure on his leg. He knew the Hurricanes were playing the Devils in New Jersey that Wednesday evening. He knew that Newark is less than two hours from Philly.

We smelled a road trip.

But not before some birthday ~~cake~~ pie. Key Lime. Accented with colorful wax drippings. He even scraped the whipped cream off because he knows I hate it. That's true love right there.

But back to the road trip. We figured D.C. was a pretty good stopping point on the drive and a nice enough place to find a nice posh bed and a nice delicious dinner. And because our timing was actually perfect that day, we arrived to our top floor, corner room just in time for sunset. I think we paid extra for this view. Worth every penny.

Our hotel was located on Pennsylvania Avenue, which made no sense because we weren't nearly to Pennsylvania yet. But I hear it's a pretty prestigious address.

And I guess it is. Our neighbors had a HUGE house. But they didn't seem very friendly. The place was surrounded by an iron gate and guarded by guys with semi-automatic weapons. But they were nice enough to let me stick my camera through the fence at least.

Once we realized the neighbors weren't coming out to say hi, we ventured toward our next stop. And on the way, we happened upon the World War II memorial. There are 56 granite pillars - each inscribed with the name of one of the 48 contiguous states along with the District of Columbia, the Alaska Territory and Territory of Hawaii, the Commonwealth of the Philippines, Puerto Rico, Guam, American Samoa, and the U.S. Virgin Islands. Since they seem to like Pennsylvania so much here, we chose our photo-op accordingly.

After the let-down of the (non) encounter with our other neighbors, we were very pleased to see this one had a much more liberal policy regarding social callers.

Even if the host was a bit stiff. (Harharharharhar...)

You know, I hadn't visited D.C. since I was a sophomore in high school. And I can assure you the impact of viewing the seemingly endless rows of names on the Vietnam Wall didn't stick with me like it should have. So I'm glad I got to see it again.

Finally, after a pretty ridiculous dinner at a French bistro our evening was done. It was very early rising the next morning. We had to get on the road to be in Philly by 10 am. The only benefit of waking up that early was this:

So, that's our D.C., from sunset over the Washington Monument to sunrise over the Capitol Building.

After dropping Jason off at the office, I drove to our hotel in Philly to check in. It was less than one mile between the two and I only missed one turn and only peed my pants five times. City drivings. I waz nawt made for it.

I passed the next few hours plotting the Caniac invasion into hostile territory. When the time came to make the journey, we removed the Hurricanes season ticket holder magnets from the back of the car and hit the turnpike.

Arriving at the Prudential Center in Newark was quite a shock to our southern, small-market senses. We pulled up to the attached parking deck and I caught sight of a sign bearing a Devils logo and reading: EVENT PARKING $30. I almost choked on my own tongue. I actually said out loud to Jason "They don't mean that, do they? Like, they're not serious, right? They're just trying to scare people off because they want you to park somewhere else. " Oh. But they were serious. (To compare, parking at Hurricanes games is $10. And we only pay $7 with our STH discount.) Whaddayagonnado, eh?

But we were shown to a lovely parking spot quite near the arena entrance so we grabbed our 'Canes jerseys, carried them strategically so that the logo wasn't easily visible and made our way.

WE'RE IN. Operation Caniac Invasion complete.

We were there pretty early since we gave ourselves plenty of extra travel time in case of bad traffic or navigation failure. Which meant we got to watch warm-ups. Which meant I scrawled "It's my birthday!!! Puck?" on a piece of paper and held it up. Which meant Troy Bodie flipped me an official NHL practice puck over the glass! (Look, I know it wasn't technically my birthday. But this trip was my birthday present so it's close enough. And Troy Bodie doesn't need to know the details, mmkay?)

And here's my analysis of the game, in a nutshell:

*Okay, Kovalchuck makes different amounts in different years but that's the number you get when you straight divide his preposterous $100 million contract over the ludicrous 15 years he's signed for. ARE YOU SERIOUS???? It's a FRACTION of a cent away from being all 6's!!! He plays for the DEVILS!!! I'm not saying he sold his soul to anyone or anything for that contract... BUT I'M JUST SAYING.

And while I'm ~~not~~ saying things... Can I just say how nice everyone was to us? Seriously. From the ticket-takers to the concession workers to the seat ushers to (about 98% of) the fans. We were stopped by a few fans who wanted to chat about hockey and wanted to know if we'd really come all the way from Carolina for the game. We were warmly welcomed by the guys in the seats in front of us. In fact, they were such good sports that they turned around to give us an on-the-down-low high five when the 'Canes scored. I can only hope that visiting fans at the RBC are treated similarly. (The well-behaved ones anyway. Feel free to accidentally-on-purpose spill your beer on the a-holes.) (I KID.)

The best part was that we were able to meet up with fellow-former-London-expats Scott and Libby between periods. And we had such a nice time chatting it up with them that we invited them down to Raleigh to catch a game at the RBC. And dang if they didn't show up a couple months later. And dang if we didn't have such a good time hanging out that they're coming back to North Carolina and we're renting a cottage in Ocracoke together in July. Fun times surely await!

And I'll probably only give them shit about being Buffalo and Jersey fans if we dip into the beer supply a bit too much one night.

Which is to say I will 100% be giving them shit about being Buffalo and Jersey fans.

P.S. The Hurricanes lost. And that stung a little.

Party in the USA...The Rocky Mountain Hiiiiiiiigh

2011-06-21T22:25:00.007-04:00

I told you I'd be back soon! I promised and everything! And here I am!

I figured I'd start up way back where I left off so many months ago. Mainly because Suze is currently traveling and isn't likely to be checking my blog, therefore allowing me to say whatever I want with no whinging from her.

Since it's been a rather long time since I last visited this topic, feel free to review here: Party in the USA...The Raleigh Chronicles.

So. Denver. We did this part on our own since Phuze were very keen to start ~~skiing~~ willingly pitching themselves off perfectly good mountains as soon as possible.

The first day was a bit of a haze because I was not feeling well at all. I vaguely recall getting up, showering, getting dressed, getting dragged out of the hotel and down the street to a drugstore and being made to take some medication. So I wasn't entirely sure at the time whether this pegasus was real or not. I can clearly see now that it was a sculpture. That's kind of a relief if I'm honest.

One thing I recall very clearly is the cafe we visited on Larimer Street in LoDo. I remember it because at that moment, nothing in the world had ever tasted better than that cappuccino and warm flaky, chocolatey pastry. It's called The Market and should you ever find yourself at Larimer Square, I highly recommend you stop in.

We also happened upon this very hip hat shop and I bought myself a fancy little 20's-style cloche hat. Thanks Goorin Bros! (Just a couple months later, who do I see on tv in Montreal buying what appeared to be her very own Goorin Bros. 20's-style cloche hat but Bravo's own Bethenny.)

Some very clever crocheting on this otherwise ugly chain link fence bordering a construction site. It ran the whole length of the fence, which I thought was mighty impressive. (Thankfully, I was feeing better by this point and the medicated haze had worn off a bit. So, unlike the pegasus encounter, there was no confusion at the time as to whether or not these flowers were real.)

Day two and I was feeling fine, just fine thankyouverymuch. Now, get me some beer. In fact, get me on a beer walking tour. Micro-brews only please. And let's start at Great Divide.

Your basic brewery operation here... But let's zoom in on barrel number 7.

They believe.

Long story short... Beer = good. Me = tired. Bedtime.

We had an early start the next day and we were eventually en route to the high country to meet back up with Phuze. And we almost made it there without stopping at a micro-brewery for a sampler. Almost. All the way to Frisco. So close.

Our arrival in Breckenridge was preceded by a metric shit-ton of snow. Most of which landed on the patio of our rental condo. Anyone up for a bbq or little dipsy in the hot tub?? Awesome! You grab the shovel; I'll alert the avalanche authorities!

Phuze set right in to making us feel at home with a delicious, (and personalized!) dinner.

The next day, I braved the outdoors and the millions of giant, icy death sticks just waiting to drop off and plunge into my skull. (Seriously, do you see the one that hangs down to the bottom of the window frame???)

One thing I probably should have mentioned is that I DO NOT SKI. I tried it once. I hated it. So, you go ahead and fling yourself off the top of a mountain and careen down an icy slope with nothing more than a couple of carbon fiber sticks strapped to your feet. I'll meet you in the lodge for a cocktail when you can't feel your fingers or toes anymore and need a nice thawing out by the roaring fire where I've been reading my book all day with a mug of hot cocoa in my hand and warm cosy Emu boots wrapped around my feet.

But, you know, you three enjoy!

However, despite my aversion to skiing, I was game for an hour or so of snow tubing. So Jason and I trucked ourselves over to Keystone to do just that. Plus, GONDOLA RIDE! ZOMGSUPERAWESOMEYAY!

Did I mention the GONDOLA RIDE?!?!?

Or the views from the GONDOLA RIDE?!?!?

Because they were pretty awesome.

Look at me! I'm sporty! Watch me sit in this here giant tube while some strapping young college student gives me a massive shove down one of these here pre-carved out lanes with plenty of soft snow built up on the sides in case my giant tube goes flying out of control. I fancy myself quite the daredevil.

Here's a really bad scan of the photo we bought there. It's basically us, mid-slope, trying to look like we're not crapping our ski pants.

I know it doesn't look all that steep from the bottom but um, let's just say we picked up a pretty decent amount of speed. I seriously thought the centrifugal force was going to rip my toque off my head on one of the trips down.

And on the final day of our mountain adventure, we drove through the Colorado countryside, making our way back to Denver with a pitstop in Fort Collins. There are exactly four things to do in Fort Collins.

You can get fitted for a nice new 10-gallon hat, as Suze and Phil demonstrate. This involves standing on the sidewalk in somewhat close proximity to any object in your immediate environment that could be made into a hat by another person in your party who is working to find the perfect camera angle to get said object to appear to be sitting on your head.

You can observe the sheer terror on the face of this fish who is about to be caught by that bear, who will surely eat him, even though he looks friendly-ish. (If there's one thing I know about bears, it's that no matter how friendly-ish they look, the will maul your face off and/or eat you.)

You can look at the colorful horse and see if you can find his naughty bits.

And finally, it was time for our visit to the crown jewel of Fort Collins, the fourth and final thing to do - the New Belgium Brewing Company. Or as most of us know them, the makers of delicious Fat Tire Amber Ale. This company has a whimsical and wonderful back story and I urge you to check it out (Though the one I linked to there on the website is very edited down and really why don't you just go to Colorado and find out for yourself right there in person, huh?) because I can't possibly write it all here.

How any brewery tour worth its salt starts - with beer for one and all.

Portrait time. Attempt #1. Suze = not ready. Me = definitely not ready. Phil = marginally ready but doesn't look entirely happy about the readiness levels of Suze or myself.

Attempt #2. Suze = still not ready. Me = super ready. Phil = marginally ready but appears as though Suze's unreadiness is creeping over to him.

Attempt #3. That's about as good as it's going to get, I'm afraid.

Blah blah blah bicycles.

Blah blah blah bicycle tire rims hinging from the ceiling.

Blah blah blah beer bottle light fixture.

And finally, the moment we'd all been waiting patiently for... A new-born, just off the bottling line glass of Fat Tire. Which we enjoyed...overlooking the bottling plant. See how I brought that all together there?

And then, the tour was over. Or so we thought. But then our guide lowered the boom on us. You wanna get out? You gotta go down the swirly slide. Unless you're a big ol' scaredy cat and you want us to call your mommy and tell her to pick you up when you get off the elevator which is right behind me here. Anyone want the elevator?? Anyone?? No? I didn't think so. Happy beering and hit the slide, bitches!

Something about this just didn't feel right. You're not supposed to get on a spiral slide after a beer tour. RIGHT??? But no way was I going to punk out with all those people watching...

Once we were finally safe, sound and downstairs (without the use of any stairs whatsoever), Jason lured Suze into a competitive game of washer toss. Little did Suze know that washer toss is the official game of the Sanger Hockey Tailgate Experience. (Just ask Scott and Libby if you'd like to learn more about the Sanger Hockey Tailgate Experience. They can tell you all about how Team Sanger beat Team Tune with some last minute strategery.)

When Suze and I spotted the silver Airstream trailer parked out front and open for all to explore, we knew it would be a treasure trove of fun. So let's go ahead and get the photo of the two of us totally cracking up out of the way right up front. (Because if you've been reading here for any length of time, you'll know that there is always one.) See? And see?

Now that's out of the way... It's more business as usual.

I think this is some kind of New Belgium Brewery timeline. Read it. If you dare.

And with that, Phuser's American adventure comes to an end. What's next for our merry band of hooligans? Who knows. But rest assured one or more of us will do something embarrassing and one or more of the others will be right there with a camera.

Tap tap tap. Is this thing on?

2011-06-20T12:34:00.001-04:00

Soooooo....do I launch into a long soliloquy about my absence, explaining that pure and utter devastation - bordering on depression - over George's passing rendered me incapable of communication with anyone besides Jason and that eventually gave way to general busy-ness and that led me to the "Blog over. I'm getting off this journaling merry go round and not looking back." mentality but so many people have been asking me to start blogging again (Why, hello flattery!) that I eventually started thinking "Eh? Maybe? I don't know. Bleh. But, then again...maybe?" or do I just act like I was never gone and be all "Hey y'all."?

Or maybe I'll jump right back in with what may be my most incomprehensible run-on sentence yet. Yes. Let's do that.

You may be wondering what I've been up to since...hold on, let me check...(HOLY HELL.)...Friday March 25. In true Heather fashion, I'll tell you in photos. (But only the minor stuff. I've got a lot of major stuff that each deserves its own post.)

After the Hurricanes missed the playoffs by two points on the very last game of the regular season, we road-tripped to Charlotte and watched the Checkers hustle and flow their way through the Hershey Bears and the Wilkes-Barre Scranton Penguins in the AHL Calder Cup playoffs.

Puck you, Fahey.

Good. You guys celebrate that amazing come-from-behind victory by hugging it out.

We're going to celebrate at the bar in the A-Loft hotel by chugging cocktails and playing Jenga.

Those two things go together, right?

Ahem.

WRONG.

We watched Elwin go through a very strange phase wherein he spent approximately 20 hours a day in this Whole Foods bag. He loved it so much I put it in an out of the way spot so he could keep it until he moved on to his next thing. (His "thing" used to be to sit/sleep on top of the dryer. How he got the laundry closet door open day after day I'll never know. And now, it's under the blanket on the bed, even when the bed is made. We usually come home to a small white lump.)

Seeriusly yoo guys. I can haz a privasee??

And since everyone knows what an Anglophile I am (I left a little piece of my heart in London two and a half years ago.), I bet many of you wondered how I celebrated the Royal Wedding. Well, I celebrated like this:

Royal Wedding tat/swag provided courtesy of one Suzette, a princess among women.

Then we watched the Charlotte Checkers end their playoff run kind of like this:

Bad Sutter. You go to the box. Two minutes by yourself. And you feel shame.

Of course we watched Sadie grow cuter every day.

Be my valentine?

The Easter Bunneh brought me a cute! I has a cute!

It's my baptism after-party and I'll pout if I want to.

Dancing on the bar is cute when you're 7 months old.

I has a swimming!

I has a cosy!

I has a Hollywood!

And we watched Liam slowly realize he was going to have to be sharing the spotlight with his little sister.

Now wait just a minute. Are you telling me that Sadie is getting cuter by the day? This will not do.

Don't worry, Liam. Something tells me you can hold your own in that department.

Remember when I did that cute thing a few minutes ago? Was that cuter than Sadie? How about this? With the sunglasses? Is this cuter than Sadie in her sunglasses?

For my last trick, I'll tell you all the story about how I came back from a trip involving two amazing weddings (which both count as a major thing and will be covered in their own posts), saw a rather unflattering photo of myself, burst into tears, immediately signed up for the Weight Watchers online program, lost 8 lbs. in the first two weeks and am well on my way back to being a skinny girl! And since I just told you the whole story in the part where I was telling you I was going to tell you a story, I'll be signing off for now. But, this time, I really truly promise I'll post again very soon. And this time, I mean it. BOOM.

Here goes...

2011-03-25T09:29:00.001-04:00

Well. Just when I thought I was ready to jump back into the blogging world, something else took over my thoughts. Something I haven't been prepared to talk or write about. Best laid plans and all that, eh?

But, as it seems talking about something bad is a good way to start healing from it, I'm slowly starting to try to do that. So, in that vein...

Remember how I said George Kitteh was not so well? And how we had high hopes for his recovery? Sadly, those hopes did not pan out. After a couple of weeks back home, George took a bit of a downturn and had to go back to the hospital. I should have started preparing myself for the worst when his doctor took one look at him and said "I'm putting him in the ICU." That was last Thursday.

Jason was in London, but thankfully got home on Friday. We went to visit George that night. And again on Saturday morning. And again on Saturday evening. And then the phone rang at about 11:00 on Saturday night. When you get to be 33 years old, you know that no good can result from any phone call that comes at that hour. I took one look at the caller ID, threw the phone at Jason and immediately burst into tears.

As expected, the news was not good. George was slipping away and they were certain he wouldn't make it through the night. So we got out of our pjs and got back in the car to make the by-now-too-familiar drive to the vet hospital. George looked pitiful. He couldn't even lift his head. After discussing things with his doctor and asking all those questions you never wanted to have to ask, we made the decision we thought was best for George.

We stayed with him through the end, tears flooding down both our faces. And just like that, for the first time in 12 years, we had only one pet.

And that's about all I'm prepared to say on the subject for now.

So, mainly as a catharsis for me, let's take a look back at the early days of George.

Our first, very blurry, family portrait.

"Who are these people? Wait? Wha..? You're my parents now? But you don't even have fur! I'm doomed."

He met his first friend at a young age. (Turtle was sadly lost in our move from Greensboro to Raleigh.)

"What do you mean you can't fist bump? Okay, let's head bump instead."

In his formative years, he showed great promise as a model. He practiced all the time.

"Look at me, Tyra! I'm smizing!"

And then, with no notice whatsoever, his life was flipped arse over teakettle with the addition of Elwin.

"He's right behind me, isn't he?"

George was unsure at first.

"Seriously? Him? But he's so fuzzy. And little. And squeaky. So so so squeaky."

But he was soon won over and took Elwin under his wing.

"Okay, I'll share. But you stay on your side. And the teddy bear has to go. Three's a crowd."

He taught Elwin all the important stuff.

"And after your paws, you get as much of your belly as you can. But you've really got to get those paws clean first."

George has always enjoyed a nice roaring fireplace.

"Well hello ladies."

Even if he did have trouble with telling the difference between a real one, and an iPad app one...

"Seriously guys, why can't I feel the heat from this one? Weird."

He mysteriously lost feeling in the end of his tail about five years ago and consequently, would sometimes do things like this without knowing.

"What?"

But the best thing about George was how much he loved Baby Bear. We got him this little catnip toy when we moved to Raleigh and realized Turtle had been lost. It was true love at first sight. George carried Baby Bear in his mouth everywhere he went. To bed. To the food bowl. Everywhere. And if one of us was sick or upset, he could tell. He would use Baby Bear to try and comfort us. Like when I found out I didn't get that job I really really wanted last summer, I laid on the couch and cried my eyes out. George carried Baby Bear over, jumped up on the couch, dropped Baby Bear next to my face and went to the other end of the couch and then laid down by my feet.

But while it's nice to dig out all these old photos and remember George as a kitten; in the end, Elwin has lost a brother and best friend...

And we have lost our sweet boy.

Party in the USA...The Raleigh Chronicles

2011-03-11T17:30:00.002-05:00

I'm feeling slightly overwhelmed with blog content now that I've recommitted myself (again) to writing more often. So I'm just going to start with the biggest event of our recent history and work my way from there. Okay? Okay.

If you read Suze's blog, you may already know that Jason did her pretty much the ultimate solid by upgrading her to business class for her trip across the pond. Flying the fancy skies, indeed!

So you can imagine it was quite a shock to her senses when she got to her room and saw the conditions under which she would be living for the next several days.

The evening of Suze's arrival was very low key, you know, due to the jetlag and all. Also due to the fact that I had a few weeks' worth of Jersey Shore on the DVR. We settled in for some pizza and teeeeee-shirrrrrrt tiiiiiiime and all was right with the world.

Tuesday night, the plan was to introduce Suze to the world of hockey. We reckoned it would be best to throw her right in and got some pretty decent seats. Well hello team bench.

We were so excited to see some crushing checks and maybe even a fight or two, we could hardly contain ourselves! Our bloodlust is obvious, no? (Who wins this Hair Off: Ponytail Edition? Me. Of course. Because of my snappy red headband. Duh. Winning.)

Finally, it was time to get crunk. Remember how I mentioned we had pretty decent seats? Well hello Cam Ward, Stanley Cup winning All-Star goaltender.

Suze even developed a little crush on number 44, Jay Harrison. (And is it just me, or does Patrick Dwyer seem to be part ghost?)

Oh, and remember how I mentioned we had pretty decent seats? Well hello Jeff Skinner, leading rookie in the NHL and youngest player in history to play in an All-Star Game.

It didn't take long for things to get chippy. Suze's love for 44 grew by leaps and bounds when she saw him go a few rounds with Milan Lucic. Looks like someone had their tigerblood for breakfast!

We had no idea what this conversation was about but it sure looked to be an interesting one.

Unfortunately, things were not going so well for the home team.

Time out Carolina. STRATEGERY!

Alas, whatever Ron Francis was cooking up in the photo above didn't work and the Canes dropped one to the Bruins. However, I'm not blaming it on the team. No no. I blame it on Suze. You know how she's a bad luck magnet for shitty weather? Well, here are the facts:

1. We take Suze to the Bruins game. We lose.

2. We take Suze to Carolina Ale House to watch the Leafs game. We lose.

3. Jason and I get wi-fi on our flight to Colorado and sit way across the aisle from Suze, listening to the Thrashers game without her. We win.

4. We watch the Devils game with Suze and Phil in Breckenridge. We lose.

5. We watch the Flyers game with Suze and Phil in Breckenridge. We lose.

6. We watch the Thrashers game alone once Suze is safely tucked away on another continent. We win.

I'm not saying anything. But I'm just saying...

On Wednesday, I continued my quest to pump Suze full of all Raleigh's best culinary delights. And since proper Mexican food DOES NOT EXIST in the United Kingdom, I knew it was my duty to give her the good stuff. Cantina 18 in Cameron Village knows what's up. Suze didn't know the difference between an enchilada, a quesadilla and a burrito but she was sure as hell familiar with these.

Wednesday night was gig night at Lincoln Theatre. We were rather enamored with the first opening act, Andrew Allen.

So enamored, in fact, was Suze that she ran to the merch table - like a preteen chasing a Bieber - as soon as the band left the stage. She came back looking very smug and showed me this photo.

Not to be outdone, I ran to the merch table like, well, like a preteen me chasing the New Kids and got a photo of my own. I returned looking even more smugger than Suze. (Smugger is probably not a real word. But it should be.)

Well, Suze's competitive nature reared its ugly head and she ran back to the merch table like Charlie Sheen chasing hookers. And she returned looking the smugest of all. (Smugest is also probably not a word. But also should be.) I gave up after this because the headliner was due out any minute and, truthfully, I was a little scared of what she might do to try and top me.

And the main event...Joshua Radin. He did not disappoint.

After Suze and I took turns assaulting a vending machine for Fritos and Reece's Pieces (I think? Suze, feel free to jump in here.) Jason decided no trip to Raleigh is complete without a stop at Krispy Kreme. I never fail to be awestruck by the doughnut conveyor belt.

TRAGEDY!

Doughnut makers everywhere, we salute you.

And here it is. I've said before that every single time Suze and I get together, there is a photo of us totally cracking up.

And here's where my past indiscretions catch up with me. You might remember that time Suze visited us in Brussels and Jason fell asleep first so we decided to try that old hand-in-warm-water slumber party prank on him. Well, my bad. I fell asleep first and Jason wanted to get me back.

Again, it didn't work. But I love how Elwin just sat there on my lap and watched him, without so much as a warning meow for me.

When they were done torturing me, they turned their attentions to Elwin. Who, you should know, does not care for hats of any kind.

You know it was a good night when you wake up with a wristband.

And you know it's a good day when there's Chick-Fil-A.

The American adventure continues with a chick flick matinee and very American sized refreshments. Suze was pretty horrified at the bucket of Coke they handed her.

We even cooked up a storm that afternoon. (With some "mother's little helpers" in the background....)

As you already know, the Hurricanes lost this game to Toronto, but the night wasn't a total wash because we got our picture with Big Mike. (Plus, I totally win another Hair Off. By my count, that's Me - 3, Suze -0.)

For our final trick before we head west, we decide to go bowling at the fancy new alley across the street. Well, it wasn't so much us as it was our alter egos - Dre Doctor, Noodles Mahoney and Babs McCoy.

So from Babs, Dre and Noodles...we bid you farewell for now. See you in Colorado!

P.S. Sorry for the Charlie Sheen references. I hate that he's culturally relevant for being a jackass but come ON! TIGERBLOOD? HIGH PRIEST VATICAN ASSASSIN WARLOCK??? DUH. WINNING. It's too good to leave alone.

Remind me. Who are you again?

2011-03-09T14:35:00.001-05:00

Holy hell. Every time I think I'm just going to throw in the towel on the blog, something drags me back. I don't know why. I really have to get my shiz together and start posting on at least a semi-regular basis. Either that or give it up for real.

Things here at Sanger HQ have been...less than perfect lately. George, you know him - the 13 year old cat we have had since he was a preshus bebeh kitteh, has been sick. Very very sick. As in, two weeks ago our vet told us to take him home and love him, pet him, cuddle him and just spend time with him and if he makes it through the night, tomorrow we have to talk about putting him to sleep. THAT sick.

I really can't write about all that was wrong and all we've been through in the past two and a half weeks because my heart can't handle it. It breaks all over again every time I even think about that night we spent crying and thinking he was gone.

But for now, after spending over a week at the NCSU vet hospital, he's home and hopefully recovering. He has diabetes which means two doses of insulin each day. And by doses, I obviously mean shots. And if you know me, you know I've had a serious needle phobia my whole life. I almost passed out when the doctor showed us how to do it.

Anyway, I promise to at least try real real hard to post again before the week is over. Because believe me when I say there have been some very blogable things going on around here.

Mini Me

2011-01-27T23:51:00.007-05:00

Uh, woah. This thing kind of got away from me I guess. I sort of just remembered I even HAD a blog. But considering I haven't posted in...ohh, round about a month or so now...I imagine there are approximately two of you still there.

But, you two are in luck! Because I've got some excellent material to catch up on as well as some serious misadventures with Phuze coming up in the very near future. Let's get things cracking with Christmas.

So, guess what I got for Christmas. A NEW CAR! But not just any car. My dream car. A brand spanking new 2011 Mini Cooper. With all the bells and whistles even! Heated seats, dual sun roof, bluetooth phone hookup and a sound system that would make Dr. Dre proud. (And I think some other fancy stuff but I zoned out once my rear end got all toasty.)

Jason somehow managed to sneak around for two whole weeks, making several covert trips to the dealership under the guise of "doing some work at Starbucks". (How do you trade in someone's car without them EVEN NOTICING???)

On Christmas Eve, as we were walking out to load the Lexus up with all the gifts we were taking to my family, Jason stops and tells me he wants to give me my gift now. I was all "Seriously? Now? I've got about a metric ton of presents in my arms and you want to exchange gifts NOW?" He pulls a small box out of his pocket. I open it. I was in a state of confusion. He had rendered my logical thinking skills totally useless. I just kept saying "I don't get it. What is this? What is happening right now???"

And he pointed across the parking deck. At this:

I still don't even know what my reaction was. But once I came to grips with the fact that this beauty was mine, all mine...I guess I hugged her. Photo evidence certainly suggests that I did exactly that.

What's not to love?? They even left Mini chewing gum in the cup holders! (I'm a sucker for little touches like that...)

Sadly, we didn't have much time before we had to hit the road so I only got to take a quick spin around the block before we had to park her for the next few days. We couldn't take her on the road trip because of Snowpocalypse 2010 that was supposedly on its way.

But I'm making up for lost time now. Zipping all over town in my sweet wheels. Practicing my Italian Job moves. I even got my racing stripes!

"Plz to make me go moar faster?"

The cutest little activist

2010-12-15T11:41:00.000-05:00

Much has been going on in the World of Sanger as of late, as is generally the way this time of year. Mostly lots of family time, lots of Christmas decorating and of course lots of hockey.

But, also something else.

Last Saturday morning, while Jason was flying the friendly westbound skies over the Atlantic, I was standing in the freezing cold and, eventually, the pissing rain with hundreds of strangers and a couple of friends.

"What in the name of all that is holy", you are probably asking yourself, "would possess Heather to get out of her pajamas and willingly leave the cosy confines of her home and brave the elements on a weekend morning???".

In short, this.

When I heard that deranged cult who protests military funerals and spews hate in the name of God under the guise of religion was planning to show up to Elizabeth Edwards' funeral here in Raleigh, I was shocked. I came to find out that they were doing this for a couple of reasons.

One, because Ms. Edwards used her position in the world of politics to promote and support equal marriage rights for gays, among other so-called liberal viewpoints. (Don't even get me started on why allowing fellow citizens to marry whomever they happen to fall in love with is considered "liberal". In my opinion, it's called "common sense", "decency" and "basic human rights".)

Also because, in their opinion, she and her husband "did not humble themselves before His mighty hand" when their 16 year old son died in a car accident. Instead they "reared up in rage, decided they would show God who is boss, and meddled in matters of the womb, resulting in two more children, now motherless".

They said that God gave her breast cancer and a "whoring husband" as punishment for these things and that she deserved every bit of it.

People, this not regular run-of-the-mill crazy. This is an extra special brand of crazy.

This, at base, is a funeral. A funeral deserves a respectful environment. The family of the deceased deserves to mourn in peace, surrounded by love. Not hate. So when I heard about the peaceful counter-protest being organized, I felt like I needed to be a part of it. From my Facebook status:

Please come out tomorrow morning and join the peaceful movement to protect Elizabeth Edwards' family from spiteful, hateful protesters (who I, personally, will not name because I don't want to give them the recognition). No signs, no yelling. Just people joining together in the name of peace, love and tolerance.

And so, I went. Aren't I just the cutest little activist you ever did see?

Actually, no. I'm pretty sure that my protest buddy Mark, with his precious pink ribbon, is the cutest little activist.

In the end, it was hundreds against five. Three adults and two children. Children! That's almost the worst thing about these lunatics. They're raising children to think like this. I didn't make an effort to try and read all their signs but a few of the ones I caught were "Elizabeth is in hell", "God hates fags" and "Thank God for breast cancer". Yes, really.

My friends and I were there until some people from our side of the street started yelling back and engaging with the psychos. At that point, we sort of felt like that wasn't the type of thing we wanted to be involved in and left. I was hoping for a totally peaceful and respectful gathering and when it became something else, I was out.

(That last paragraph is a straight up c+p from a Facebook thread where I was telling somebody about the event, but there's really no other way to say it, so...)

But, in the spirit of ending this on a positive note, I would like to share with you all something that my friends and I laughed at many many times that morning. Despite the fact that the event organizer specifically requested 'no signs', of course there were some. And none amused and confused us more than this one:

First of all, this gentleman may want to consider a Protest Sign-Making 101 course at the local community college. Where I'm pretty sure the first and most important lesson will be "Focus on ONE clear and concise message". Isn't the whole idea of a sign, be it at a protest or sporting event or somewhere else entirely that a) it shouldn't take more than a few seconds to read it; b) people shouldn't need their glasses in order to make out the words and c) it should make some sense?

But, the real humor extends from some of the text. Have a look at the right-hand side, roughly one-third of the way down, just north of the four circles. Can you read it? It says, and I quote, "My kitty likes fish."

Marinate on that for a minute.

Done?

Okay.

You may double over with laughter now.

Because the three of us sure as hell did.

With or without you

2010-12-08T09:32:00.001-05:00

When Jason travels, things are very different around here. And, trying not to sound harsh, sometimes the changes are for the better. For example, this is what the bed looks like every morning with Jason here:

A twisted, rumpled mess. I basically have to take the sheets off and start fresh every day.

And here is what the bed looks like every morning without Jason here:

It takes me all of two seconds to fold my corner of the covers up and the bed is made.

This is what the floor next to the bed looks like with Jason here:

It's like the laundry basket exploded.

And this, of course, is what the floor next to the bed looks like without Jason here:

So fresh and so clean, clean.

But...sometimes the changes are for the worse. For example, this is what dinner looks like with Jason here:

A juicy filet with a side of edamame.

And this is what dinner looks like without Jason here:

A microwaved Weight Watchers meal with a side of...

Jelly Bellys. (What?? That's basically fruit.)

Not to mention that Jason is the main giver of George's belly rubs. So George rarely handles these absences well.

And that leaves me and Elwin to entertain ourselves. Which we often do by staging elaborate murder mystery dinners. And when you stop to think about that, it really doesn't seem like a healthy use of our time.

So, even if it means an endless supply of clothes in the floor and day after day of tangled sheets for me, I think it's in everyone's best interests for Jason to travel as little as possible.

Me, me, me, me, me...it's all about me

2010-11-15T22:08:00.000-05:00

I've been tagged by my favorite Aussie-turned-Northern-Englander, and since - like her - I can't be arsed to come up with my own content at the moment, I'm happy to oblige. Even though this one is more difficult than your run-of-the-mill-answer-this-list-of-questions tag. I have to actually make up a question and answer it. But because I love me some Suze, I'll do it. It's a shit question but it's all I've got because I'm writing this while also trying to watch the Blues and Avs beat the crap out of each other. Man, I love a chippy hockey game. (I really am a girl. I swear I am.)

1) The best investment you ever made:
I'm going to break this down into two subcategories.

Emotional investment: Do you even have to ask?

Monetary investment: Lord, how can I decide? Basic black Tory Burch flats. Louis Vuitton Damier Speedy 30. Cashmere sleep mask. The iPrecious4. Jillions of dollah dollah bills spent on traveling the world. Center ice season tickets to Hurricanes hockey. Obagi skincare. The cosiest blanket of all time from Restoration Hardware. Quarterly shipments of amazing wine. Matching non-slip hangers for every single item in my closet. Le Creuset doufeu. Basically, if I can ask myself the question "Does it add immense joy to my life or make my life easier in some way?" and answer "Yes.", then it qualifies as the best investment I ever made.

2) If you could’ve written any book, directed any movie, and composed any song, which three would you pick:
Book: Twilight. Because I'd be rich ten ways to Sunday right about now.
Movie: La Vita e Bella. One of the most beautiful stories ever told.
Song: Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen. Just try to listen to it and not get chills. I dare you.

3) Weirdest quirk:
I had to ask Jason what he thought about this and he decided it was that "You won't touch raw meat." It's true. With the exception of sushi, I will totally vom if I'm made to touch uncooked meat. If I'm on dinner duty alone, I will use all manner of utensils to handle the stuff. I've perfected the art of piercing the hell out of chicken breast in order to get it from the wrapper to the pan. If we're on dinner duty together, it's understood that I will take care of any and all veg and/or starch as long as Jason deals with the "other bit".

4) One wish immediately granted:
A gay sidekick friend to go see Burlesque with me when it opens on November 24. Seriously. I'm accepting applications. Hit me up.

5) Most expensive hobby:
Good grief, just one? Hockey. Travel. Handbags. Take your pick.

6) An inexhaustible gift-card at which store:
Saks Fifth Avenue

7) In another lifetime, you’d be:
as funny as Tina Fey. Or maybe a TopCat. But probably the Tina Fey thing since I lack two things required to be a TopCat. Ahem.

8) The most famous/interesting member of your family tree:
Assuming my family tree now includes Jason's, I would have to say Margaret Sanger, famous for her activism in promoting birth control but, unfortunately also for her involvement in the eugenics movement.

9) What would you say to your teenage self?
Don't listen to people who tell you "these are the best years of your life". SO. NOT. TRUE. Your thirties will be miles better. You'll be able to afford laser hair removal and you can eat Froot Loops and a popsicle for dinner if you want.

10) Which celebrity would you most want to look like?
Anne Hathaway. And while you're at it, I'll take her personality too.

The rules tell me I'm also supposed to tag people so I'll hand it off to Beth and Peaches n' Curry if they feel like taking a break from coming up with their own material. But don't forget - you have to add your own question at the end. If I have to do it, so do you!

No tradesies backsies...UPDATED

2010-11-12T09:07:00.002-05:00

First things first - I'm trying to sit quietly in Starbucks right now but I'm having a major squee moment and I have to get it out of my system. On the way here, Jason and I are in the elevator of our apartment building heading down to the 1st floor to walk over to the 'Bucks when I see the elevator is stopping on the 2nd floor, presumably to pick up a fellow resident. You may remember (and if not...pay attention!!!) me mentioning some time ago that some Hurricanes players live in our building.

Well, sure as shit, the elevator doors open and who walks in but none other than Tuomo Ruutu. According to Jason, my eyes got about as big as saucers as I stood there next to him grinning like the village idiot. I managed to squeak out "Good luck tonight" as I slipped out of the elevator and he smiled and said...wait for it...get this..."Thanks."

Squeeeeeeeeeee!!!!

Ok, I think I'm good now. Carrying on.

***UPDATE as of 9:00 Friday morning: Jason tells me I am no longer allowed to speak to Hurricanes players on game days since we suffered a humiliating 8-1 loss last night. Add to this the fact that we ran into Jussi Jokinen in the mailroom on Tuesday but I was too surprised and caught off guard to say anything to him and we ended up beating the Oilers into oblivion 7-1 that evening, so Jason has convinced himself that I might be a curse. With at least six players that we know of living in our building (and others rotating in and out as callups from the Checkers) and at least two on our floor, the potential for disaster is too enormous to ignore and I have orders to not leave the confines of our apartment on home game days until I am reasonably certain all players have departed for the arena.***

You may remember (and if not...pay attention!!!) me mentioning some time ago that lil ol' Raleigh is getting the 2011 NHL All-Star Game. This is, as Ron Burgundy might say, kind of a big deal. As you know, events like this don't just happen. They take an extraordinary amount of planning and near endless numbers of people to come together. So the NHL put a call out for volunteers and as someone who would give just about anything to work in sports, I was all "Me me me me me me!!!!!" and Jason was all "Sure, sounds fun."

Now, as season ticket holders, we have been given the privileged opportunity to fork over hundreds of dollars for tickets to both the game and the skills competition. Which we did. Willingly. In fact, I couldn't get somebody to take our money quick enough. I was ready to make it rain for these tickets.

But there will be All-Star events going on the whole week leading up to the main event. And they need people to help out with these events. And that's why we spent last night at the RBC center with well over a thousand other hopefuls filling out volunteer applications. But we were rewarded for our time. Upon turning in our papers, we were each given....

...a pack of trading cards! Whoop whoop! So, as soon as we got back home, we started inspecting cards and wheeling and dealing to work out some trades like a couple of third graders. First, we both called out our one untouchable card. Mine was Rob Schremp of the Islanders, the sole reason being that I follow him on Twitter and he seems like a very nice guy. Jason's was Mike Richards of the Flyers because he's team captain. Then we make a few trades and decide on a few more keepers until we're each left with two cards still on the table.

One of whom is this guy. Look at the face on him! I'm going to have nightmares! Jason was all "Good luck getting rid of that one. HA!"

And then Jason offers up his last two for me to choose from. I quickly scan stats and read the first line of one which included the words "career-high" and "highest scoring defenseman" and immediately declare that I'll take this one.

And Jason immediately grabs my last card and says "OK! No tradesies backsies!" I was like "Ok fine. Why would I want to...HEY! Wait a minute! Two goals against CAROLINA on December 9?!?!?!? GAH! I don't want it!" But by this time, Jason's halfway across the apartment repeating "No tradesies backsies! No tradesies backsies!"

And that, dear readers, is a small glimpse into the life of two 30-somethings who never actually grew up.