Greetings. We're in Idaho.

When my mommy came to visit last year, she was astounded at the incredible SLOWNESS of everybody around her. She hustled her car up to the front of the line, drove agressively and defensively... just in case. I tried all weekend to impress upon her that Moscow is filled with slow-moving people, and just to get used to it. I hadn't yet come up with the perfect explanation, but I found this little tidbit on CNN this morning!

"There's this sense that we're so important that every single moment has to be filled; we can't even pull over or we're going to miss five minutes' driving time or 10 minutes' driving time. The pace is at this breakneck speed," said Condren[...] "The truth is nobody is that important or that in demand that they can't practice safety and good common-sense behaviors."

Exactly my thoughts. I dislike visiting L.A. for this reason: people think they have to get somewheres right away. Common-courtesy=Common-sense. Open doors for people. Let them in at the light. Smile like you might have something in common; because, chances are, you do!

Bad Analogies

Who doesn't need a good laugh? I shared this story with my neighbors yesterday, and thought you might want to roll around on the floor for a while, clutching your stomach.

In that discussion about children, the one that most couples have at some point, Matt voiced his concerns about being in the delivery room.

"Imagine if I were taking the biggest dump of my life, and it hurt, and you knew it was your fault. How would you feel?"

"Hm. No. Not the same at all."

Immediately I conjured images of Metamucil, Apples, and 8g Fiber Bread. Would that produce the equivelant pain of passing a human through something the size of a quarter? Perhaps not. Maybe if they were the size of cannonballs, as pictured above.

And yes, I am aware that this picture is really, really gross. It was my intention.

Goodbye, Frank

In the wake of Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Walter Cronkite, a mere, normal author follows suit.

The death of a most wonderful and beloved writer, Frank McCourt, is upon us. He passed on June 19, 2009 at the ripe old age of 78. Haven't read his books? It's time to do so. I'll do a little free publicity, because I admire the man so much.

Angela's Ashes: A painfully funny, overly honest, heart-breaking memoir of a boy growing up

Limerick.

'Tis: Immigrating to America; the discovery of the Promised Land--whatever you want to call it. McCourt's writing advances past journal scribbles here, and makes you want a better life.

Teacher Man: I'll attribute my goal to be a teacher to this book. What I wouldn't have given to have met this man.

If ever you think your life has been difficult, read these three. It may not be comparable, or even relative to your situation, but you can pull a lifetime of wisdom from Frank: even if you don't use it.

Harry Potter!

Kim, Katie, and I went to see Harry Potter & the Half-Blood Prince. AMAZZZING!!! Absolutely worth the $8 I spent. Definitely the next movie to my collection. I know I may seem a little obsessed, but I really do believe that Harry Potter made a phenomenal change in the reading world--reaching everywhere from elementary schoolers to adults.

Katie and Kim (thanks for treats Kim!)



And... just to be self-absorbed & a little obnoxious, I took a picture of me after a strenuous workout this evening... feeling a little like Jillian Michaels, except less hot.

Today you weren't here for...

So, Matt is out and about in Los Angeles these days. I feel like one of those girls I like to make fun of who get mopey whenever their husbands are gone. Yup. It's as if I've forgotten how to be alone. I think this means: we should do this more often. Without further ado...

Matt, today you weren't here:
1. To crack my lower back when it got annoying.
2. To whine about my indecisiveness when I threw out the bathroom rug.
3. To walk with me to church.
4. To laugh at Farley when he grabbed the frozen blackberries from me.
5. To take naps with me.
6. To go on a bike ride to the reservoir.
7. To tell me what you wanted for dinner.
8. To clean up after.
9. To congratulate me on finding my ipod.
10. To lecture me about my garments poking out my dress.

I'm so happy he's out having fun, but the place feels hollow without him.

The Makings of an A**hole

Please read the below comment (lifted from CNN) and let me know your thoughts.

Do men really want to get married? In short...no.Being single allows you to do whatever you want, whenever you want. Keep all of your money. Be with whoever you want. Follow your career goals. It allows self-fulfilment on your terms, not your wife's. Anyone who thinks marriage is the only way to raise children is in denial, children are viewed by most parents, men and women, as accesories, not responsibilities. Being single is democracy, marriage is communism: everything is divided up equally, in divorce you lose your money and your possessions.I made my girlfriend a deal: the instant we find 3 couples +/- 5 years of age of us who are happy after 5 years of marriage then we'll get married. To sum up a long story...we're still dating and not married.

Wait... if I have children, they are merely accessory appendages that I don't have to care for? And I must surrender any hopes of self-fulfillment and happiness if I get married? I'm so delighted that you, monsieur know-it-all about marriage and life, have enlightened me!

This brilliant man sounds like a winner, and apparently he's on his way to becoming a miserable narcissistic a**hole to boot!