Saskatch

Country wedding, part deux

I have been procrastinating on writing this post—not because I have nothing to say about the beautiful wedding we attended in Point Arena, but because nothing very funny or clumsy happened. (A good thing, I suppose.) The gorgeous bride walked down the aisle, said I DO, and kissed her sweet groom. I met the groom only once prior to the nuptials, but in classic form, when the music began and his eyes welled when he saw his bride, I cried. Either sasbeau slipped some hormones in my Coors that afternoon, or I am that girl now. 

Country wedding, part 1

We drove to Point Arena for a wedding a couple of weekends ago, winding passed towering Redwoods and Douglas Firs along Highway 1, stopping for pee breaks and wave checks every hour or so—any excuse to suck in a chest full of salty air. The dramatic coastline is rugged and not just a little bit stunning. Waves crash against the rocks sending splashes 40 feet high, and thick fog cloaks the horizon, making the scene ethereal and dreamy. And can I get a shout out for good car convos? (Or, "conversations" for those who do not use abreves.) 

Not enough cooks in the kitchen

I once took a personal day from work so I could clean and cook for about ten hours straight. Granted, I had guests arriving for the weekend, but the act of spending the day scrubbing, sweeping, dusting, and whipping together a big meal was therapeutic and fun. I blasted my favorite tunes, chatted on the phone, meandered around Trader Joe's for a solid hour, picked up soil and flowers from the plant shop—all in all, making a major dent in all the chores I'd been putting off for, eh, months.

Leaving in a...Jetta

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go. I'm standing here outside your door. I hate to wake you up to say goodbye. Raise your hand if you love John Denver. Don't fight it, admit it. He's the best and whenever I leave town, I can't help but hum his tune (which Ben Affleck ALMOST ruined for me in Armageddon). This afternoon sasbeau and I are hopping in his Jetta and taking the 101 north to spend the weekend in Marin County and Mendocino. I've never been to "Mendo" (as the locs call it...I think. Hopefully it's not the equivalent of saying "Frisco" or "San Fran" because I'm pretty sure there is a special cell on Alcatraz reserved for people who use those terms). 

Does this color make my butt look big?

I'm trying a little something new with my background color...It's summer, it's warm, and I think we can all agree that we could use a little light in our lives. Thoughts?

Have pack, will travel

Recently, sasbeau and I escaped our city woes with a backpacking trip to the nearby San Rafael Wilderness. I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, but I'd never been backpacking before. Hiking? All the time! Hiking with everything I need for an overnight trip neatly bundled on my back? Nope. We both split from work at 5-on-the-dot on Friday evening, drove about an hour out of town, and hiked a mile-and-a-half from the car. After our jaunt, I thought, Backpacking, pffff, EASY! 

Om, yeah

 Remember when I told you I was training for a half marathon? Suffice to say, that goal crashed and burned (like I very well may have done on the track). I tried to register for the race, but I tried too late, and... [insert genuine sadness that I didn't get to run, followed by excuses, naps, and cupcake consumption]. Don't get me wrong, I love working out—but yoga, walks, pilates, hikes, and dance classes (you don't need rhythm to shake it) are more my cup of chai. 

School house rock

Last night, I saw an idol! A hero! A genius! 

Well, at least that's what a history-dork-who-wanted-to-be-an-anthropologist-(still might!) would tell you. Filmmaker Ken Burns stopped through Santa Barbara to speak about sharing the American experience. A fast-talking historian with mind-blowing recall and a, eh hem, signature hairstyle, Burns eloquently shared personal anecdotes and favorite moments from some of his most popular PBS documentaries, like Civil War, Baseball, and Jazz. 

Honey, I'm home

Next time I say something as tempting to the universe as "I'm ready for a change!" or "I need a house project" or "I like being busy!" please remind me of the week when I was 29 and I had not one, but multiple fever blisters on my lips, and scarfed a malt with extra malt AND onion rings AND a cheeseburger more than once in a 24-hour period. To top it off, my boyfriend (who I now live with! High-five, chest bump!) is officially afraid to wake me from a slumber on the couch to gently suggest I move to the bed. Why? Please refer back to my intake of malt-with-extra-malt accompanied by the universe tossing me a hefty load of "Oh yeah?" 

If you're a bird, I'm a bird...

Have I told you about my side business as a dog-sitter? I'm a regular Saskatch Millan. Although, unlike Sir Cesar Millan, I play favorites and admittedly get embarrassed when people assume certain types of dogs are my own (I won't name breeds!). You might be wondering why I don't have any pets-not-even-a-dog if I love them so much. I'm currently living with my boyfriend and his three girl roommates (who, incidentally, are not fond of his alleged squatter-meets-live-in girlfriend, even if she is as elusive as her nickname). Since living with roommates-who-are-not-my-roommates is tricky to begin with, owning a dog is not in the cards at the moment and dog-sitting fills the void. That is, it did until I met Corvus.