Otter: *trot trot trot. wag wag wag*
Karen: *trot trot trot*
Turtle: *turtle turtle turtle*
Karen: Hey, Otter, what's that?
Otter: OMGWTF?!?
Karen: Let's go say hi to the nice turtle!
Otter: OMG NOOOOO!!!
Karen: Come on, it's a nice turtle.
Otter: TURTLE EAT OTTER
Turtle: .....duuuuude?
Karen: Hello Turtle!
Otter: .....
Karen: Come on!
Otter: Hello turtle.
Karen: Good boy! Nice turtle!
Turtle: .....duuuuude?
Otter: *sniffs turtle* Hello Turtle! Hello Turtle! Hello Turtle! (Mom, Turtle no eat Otter, you SURE?)
Turtle:.....bye, duuuuudes.
Otter: COME BACK TURTLE!
Karen: Come on, let's go.
Karen and Otter: *trot trot trot*
Turtle-Shaped Rock: *is a rock*
Otter: *pounce* Are you a TURTLE? Aw. No. *trot trot trot* *pounce* Are YOU a Turtle? Aw. No. *trot trot trot*

....studyin' electron config-ur-ation....
....tryin' not to gag when a puppy gets sick on you...
....stickin' your hand down the mouth of a pit bull....
....Be-in' a vet had bet-ter be awesome!

I guess I must be on the right path, because the journey of a thousand miles is pretty great so far.

The origins of the word "Moomba" came from an Aboriginal word meaning 'Lets get together and have fun'.

(I plan to start using this word regularly, so fair warning.)

Also, "posh" comes from "Port Out, Starboard Home." In the early days of luxury cruising and pre-air conditioning, the wealthy British did not want the hot sun shining in their staterooms as they sailed to India. Booking agents would initial these expensive cabin requests with the coveted acronym.

When the weather gets warmer, windows go down. Instead of being isolated in your car with the heater and your own radio station, suddenly you can hear everyone else's music. And they can hear yours, of course, which is less than ideal if you are currently enamored of the new Britney song and have to choose between rockin' out and not embarrassing yourself. (For the record, I usually choose to rock.)

The city becomes less insular. You walk more slowly on the street, head up rather than down against the wind, and you run into friends and don't mind standing around for awhile chatting. You can stretch without dissembling your layers of clothing and letting cold drafts in. You can sleep without wool socks. Your windows stay open at night, and you can hear the guys playing midnight basketball down the block. At first your dog is nervous about all the noise drifting from the street to the house, and marches around whuffing at unseen strangers.

You remember that grass has a smell, and that sunshine is warm on your skin. The idea of leaving the house after work starts to sound more like "Margaritas!" than "But where am I going to park?" Already it is still light when you get home. Soon there will be little ducks and cherry blossoms. Soon I'll have my own apartment for the first time in my life. I'll leave the balcony doors open and invite friends for wine and dinners with tomatoes and basil and avocados.

Last night I dreamed I was visiting a place I'd always wanted to go. It was India, it was New Zealand, it was Iceland. It doesn't matter, and I don't remember. In the three weeks I was there I visited the Kingdom of Butterflies and the famously beautiful Silent Valley. I ate the local specialty: sweet wheat and milk soup. I danced to the native music. But this wild, colorful, exotic country was a little disappointing. It was difficult to navigate. It was cold. I didn't speak the language, and no one spoke mine. It was the longest trip I had ever taken, and I felt anxious that I wasn't succeeding more at these travels.

On the plane ride home I sit with people who have had more fun than me, and they tell me that the Silent Valley I visited was the wrong one--didn't I see the signs? They had been to a bigger, more Silent valley, and a Kingdom with more beautiful Butterflies. The sweet wheat and milk soup I'd liked was just cereal; they'd had the real local specialty in a village inn, served to them by a plump matron who hugged them all.

I had done it wrong! I had wasted my time! And it would be a long time before I built up enough annual leave to go anywhere else!

Was I supposed to rue the day my wrinkles arrived? Because really, I'm rather proud of this crinkle in the corner of my eye. It lends a rich texture to my self-expression. Substantiates my stories. Punctuates my jokes. Implies all the empathy, passion, lust and joy that a younger me would struggle to convey. A real, grown-up, I-know-how-to-walk-in-heels, let-me-show-you-how-to-work-that-power-drill, I-don't-need-a-boyfriend-but-I'll-take-you-as-my-lover crease. A prism to refract the twinkle in my eye, an ornament that gilds the window to my soul . . . This, right here, is character, and it only deepens with age. What's not beautiful about that?

~Life as Haiku


Higgledy Piggledy
Karen of Jitterbug
Perfume the Livejournal,
Blogger with pluck,
Reaches this birthday and
Hyper-ironically
Cannot articulate
Much more than "&$*!"

~almost completely stolen from Gene Weingarten

Anyone have any interest in the following events?

Korea Gallery
A new permanent exhibition explores the nature, geography, history and culture of Korea. National Museum of Natural History - Smithsonian Institution 10th Street and Constitution Avenue NW, Washington, DC

San Francisco Ballet (11/25 - 11/30)
The company celebrates its 75th anniversary with a repertory program that includes selections by Christopher Wheeldon and Mark Morris, and a second program featuring Artistic Director Helgi Tomasson's full-length "Giselle." The John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts 2700 F St. NW, Washington, DC

Boom (Through 12/7)
A grad student, who studies the sleep cycles of fish, could change the course of the world when he meets a journalism student through a personal ad. Woolly Mammoth Theatre 641 D St. NW, Washington, DC

Faces of India
At Studio 14, a display of Kathy Udell's striking photos from her travels in India. Torpedo Factory Art Center 105 N. Union St., Alexandria, VA 

Uncommon Beauty
In this group exhibition, artists will examine beauty and imperfection as well as the root of some standards for beauty. Ellipse Arts Center 4350 N. Fairfax Dr., Arlington, VA

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all my jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.

~Wendy Cope

Because I hate to think that any of you have not experienced this:

• My first night in Cairo, I was all alone, and walked along the banks of the Nile as the sun was setting, watching the sails of the feluccas catch the light.
• The hotel was small, airy, and garnet-colored, on the top floor and roof deck of a tall commercial building, and currently houses three generations of the French-Egyptian family that runs it.  While we were there, I nibbled their delicious 8-month old baby and watched her attempt to take some steps in her rolly walker, and I befriended their two small dogs. It was like visiting friends.  When we were on our way back from the desert, they called to see if we'd be home for dinner.  One night we were served a meat pie that (Oh, what's the use?  No one will believe me!) was ACTUALLY.  BETTER.  than my Moroccan Chicken Nut Pie.  No, I swear. 
• The first night Jess was there, we wandered around the downtown market area, where goats and cows and donkeys shared space with cars and pedestrians, and then shared an enormous juicy pomegranate on the balcony overlooking the city, and catching up on some stories that couldn't be told to full effect on the phone.
• When we went to see the Pyramids, we were besieged by Egyptian schoolgirls in bright head scarves.  They were there to practice their English with the tourists, and took lots of pictures of themselves hugging us and kissing our cheeks.  They could all say "Hello," "How are you?" "My name is _____" "What is your name?" and "I love you" (which they used in place of goodbye).  They taught us how to say those things in Arabic, too. (I can't remember most of it now, but at the peak of my talents I had eleven Arabic words, two of which essentially mean "I don't know.")  Then as we were leaving, a group of schoolboys accosted me and wanted to practice their English...oh, wait, NO they didn't, the wanted to feel me up!  Jess got a great picture of  it, opting to capture the moment rather than intercede.  My feminine attributes got a LOT of attention over those few days. 

If I had been on foot, I would have stopped in my tracks.  Behind us was grimy, squawking Cairo and its lush suburbs; just ahead was the gentle swell of pale horizon, the abrupt end to the fertile land and the beginning of the desert: hundreds of miles of sand and shimmering heat.  We were in a speeding vehicle, loaded up with a full tank of gas, a tent, water, dinner, snacks, a radio playing songs like "Milkshake" and "Hot and Cold," and mint tea, but my stomach clenched instinctively at the sight.  Don't send me out there.

I have done this to myself, of course--if I had been kidnapped in the Egyptian desert you would have either heard about it in the news or read my bitching about here earlier in the week.  Jess and I had figured out early on that Cairo is not a place to spend more than a couple of dusty days, and lacking the time and luxurious patience necessary for a slow-moving Nile cruise, we opted to go camping in the Western Desert.  And now I am dozing in the front seat of our guide's RV while Jess lounges elegantly in the back, wrapped in a white scarf.  The desert flashes by, changing from pale dunes to reddish plains to hostile black mountains.  The mountains go by too quickly, which disorients me.  Later we will discover that it takes about fifteen minutes to scramble up one of these charred peaks, and there is a picture of me beaming, filthy, on top of what honestly amounts to a sinister-looking and pointy hill.

Otter has never acknowledged the TV unless there's a siren sound or a doorbell to be barked at. But lately I've been watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer (from the sumptious Sabis library) before I go to bed, and every night when the theme music comes on, Otter hops up onto the bed and curls up on my pillows, behind my head.  When I look back at him, he is always watching intently, eyes wide and shining. 

Friday night, I was getting on the highway on my way to my friend Paul's birthday party when I lost control of the car.  It was raining, and the curve I was going around was a lot tighter than I had thought.  I crashed into the median and most of the way over it, snapping the front axle and scraping the undercarriage badly. 

After a few seconds of shock, I grabbed Otter's leash and we scrambled out of the car and into the rain, to the side of the road where we watched dozens of cars come way too close to hitting mine.  A police officer showed up, and a tow truck driver, and a VDOT guy, who ended up driving my trembling dog and me home an hour and half later, because I had left my cell phone on my bed.

I'm fine, just shaken up and very grateful that there a median there. Otter was mad and wet. My car is likely totaled.  How was your weekend?

So where do you go to school?
I don’t. But thanks! I'm almost 30.
You don't look it. That's a compliment. I'm in college.
…Thanks. Um. Where do you go to school?
(puffs out his chest) Montgomery Community College. They call it "Yale on the Rail." It's the best in the area.
Huh. And what are you studying?
Music and theology. It's important to get a well-rounded education, so I major in business, but my heart is with my music. I think music is what humanity is all about. And also philosophy. I don't know what I want to do with my life, and that's okay. I'm just going where destiny takes me. I think I'll try to get a job here at the animal shelter, because Corporate America is just about stealing money from the poor, and I'd rather help others than harm them. I'm that kind of guy. I value others--
(At this point, one of the dogs we are walking breaks the gate lock to escape from him. Karen exits, choking back laughter and pursuing dog.)

I can never get anything done the day after vacation. Unfortunately my current job means I'm expected to at least try. Sheesh.

Our trip to the Dominican Republic was alternately pleasant (90%), gritty (30%), relaxing (25%), and nerve-wracking (10%). As most of you know, I am not very good at relaxing, and so only the first day was supposed to involve lying around on the beach, drinking rum drinks and eating lobster. After that we needed to DO things! Expand our cultural HORIZONS! Eat lobster SOMEWHERE ELSE! So we rode four wheelers over rocky paths, through sugarcane plantations and mud puddles. We took a tour up to the mountains and climbed up then jumped down a series of waterfalls. We went snorkling and fed bananas to some very pushy fish. We tried very hard to run up a hundred dollar bar tab in one day (which is difficult at an open bar). We went fake-Latin dancing in what turned out to be pretty much a meat market for prostitutes--I'm sure at one point we were the only non-professionals on the dance floor. We even rented a car and tried to drive down to Santo Domingo one night but experienced an epic fail in the forms of road signage. My vacations are exhausting.

On our last morning there, after we had been snorkling around looking at fish for forty-five minutes or so, I spotted a beautiful purple jellyfish, and then another and another. I kind of eeped, because although obviously the resort wouldn't let you snorkle anywhere dangerous, jellyfish are slimy and I don't want to touch them. The guide was waving us back to the boat anyway, so I swam back and floated around, waiting for other people to climb the ladder back onto the boat and discussing with Mike what we had seen. When there were four of us left, I remembered to tell him about the jellyfish. The man in front of me, who was trying to help his enormously fat wife climb the ladder, whips his head around and says to me, "Was it purple and near the surface?" Um, yes, I told him. "Don't touch those," he says firmly. Those are Portuguese Man-o'-War." I assumed he was kidding me, one of those not-very-clever people who think lying to you and watching you panic is hilarious. After all, why would a resort let you go swimming in Portuguese Man-o'-War infested waters? But no, he was very certain and grave. Naturally once I realized he was serious I wanted to get out of the water immediately, but I couldn't because his enormously fat wife couldn't haul her bulk out of the water and into the boat, and flopped about on the only ladder while her husband pushed her from behind, and I shrieked inwardly, hated her, and tried not to flail.

So, that was exciting.

Speaking of flailing, we learned relatively early on that Dominican TV is HILARIOUS. Below is a sampling of the things we saw while channel surfing:

1) An infomercial for a butt bra. To make your butt rounder and more perky.
2) A show about doggie fertility clinics, and a very cute gay couple that seemed to have no idea that calling their chihuahua "munchkin princess," taking her shopping, and dressing her in pink feather boas was anything but normal.
3) "Britain's Worst Teeth"
4) A show that was being broadcast live from our resort, which seemed to be a game of musical chairs involving fruit, and which was mostly people running and falling down.
5) A Jackie Chan movie about vampires, whom Jackie subdues by squirting blood packs into their mouths and then forcing them to eat pills that make them dance when he drums.

You're wearing mismatching socks again.
So?
They're MY mismatching socks.
No they aren't. The left one is mine.
*beat*
I didn't help my cause at all there, did I?