It's Spring!

Team Molly

 March 18th marked the 1 year anniversary of my cousin Molly's passing. Molly being a crazy runner and all, running a race in her honor seemed like the right thing to do, so  last weekend T-rav and I trekked down to Virginia Beach with my dad and sister Kate, and Aunt, her family, and my cousins' boyfriends and family. Together we made up Team Molly.

T-rav and I ran the 8K (we had wanted to do the half marathon, but sadly registered after it was already full. I just need to make that clear because I felt like a big wimp only doing 5 miles). Aunt, uncle, boyfriends + family, and cousin Jane ran the half, cousin Sarah ran the marathon, and my dad and Kate cheered us on. We were kind of a ragtag bunch: I was still feeling rather ill and hadn't eaten in 3 days, uncle got a stomach bug the day before the race, Sarah had a seriously pained knee, and Jane's boyfriend had a torn ACL. And he ran anyway (with dr's permission). Now THAT is dedication.

Team Molly was a great success. Our t-shirts were quite a hit--Molly loved tie-dye and bright blue--and you could hear fellow runners (mostly teenage ones) whispering about our awesome shirts as we walked/ran around town. There was an exciting energy in the race that I haven't really felt since 9th grade track meets. And although the weather wasn't fantastic (I actually think it was warmer in Palmyra for once), being at the beach and enjoying what sun we had was exactly what Molly would have wanted. She was born with one toe in the sand and the other already running.

We love you, Molly!

saltines are my salvation

I have spent the past 48 hours in various states of stomach distress. I was bloated to the point that I looked pregnant (Yes, really. T-rav noticed while I was changing but was too polite to mention it until I did). I couldn't take a deep breath and for a while I thought my appendix might be rupturing. That was what finally inspired me to go to the doctor for some unpleasant poking, prodding, and x-rays. The results of which revealed insides that showed a belly full of too much food and bubbles and acid, getting in the way of my lungs and causing significant pain in my stomach and intestines. Apparently I ate too many raw vegetables and fibrous products at once? Weird. I was sent home with instructions for liquids only for 12 hours, and then a soft and bland food diet for 3 days (which may make running my 8K on Saturday at a respectable pace a little difficult). Of course the lack of any food in my stomach or sugar in my bloodstream was almost as upsetting as all of that undigested food, so I spent today in the fetal position on the couch watching reruns of Law & Order while trying to shove  jello and plain white rice in my mouth. Things were a little sketchy until T-rav came home on his lunch break armed with crackers and apple juice. It was at that point that I started to feel significantly better. Thank heavens for Saltines.

And Zillah, if this was a fraction of how you felt the majority of the time before your surgery, I have a new level of PROFOUND respect for you.

king of the house

He's the type you'd be wise to tip-toe around. You offend him and he'll hold a grudge forever. His name reflects his personality better than most. He's smelly and rude and lets loose a string of profanity at the drop of a hat.  He must be given treats. He must not be yelled at. He must be pampered. He's very clearly the king of the house.

And he's my mom's cat.

Rascal is his name. And he's the most curmudgeonly animal I've ever met. He has a history of urinating on whomever/whatever has offended him. Case in point: while home for a short visit, my sister once yelled at him, he crept in her room while she was out, and she returned to a suitcase full of rank-smelling clothes. We've learned that if you shut the curtains in the living room and block Rascal's view of the sun, he'll let loose on them. I dared to step around him with an armful of laundry (neglecting to pat him on my way) and was treated to the most savage sounding hissing I've ever heard. And today a few hours after a I politely asked him to go into the other room while I vacuumed (Really. I spoke as congenially as I could muster), I discovered that he had again relieved himself on the mirror on the door that houses the vacuum. And now I can't get the stench out of the hall.

He's completely psycho. How do I get through the next 4 days at home without my mom to pacify the beast?

The Old Post Office

Yesterday we had the dubious pleasure of visiting another one of DC's historic, and free, points of interest: the Old Post Office. It's really an impressive building. Built in the Romanesque style at a time when it was already fading out of style, the fact that the post office survived into the 20th century is quite a feat. They considered tearing it down soon after it was built, partly because of its old fashioned facade, and partly because the postal system had already outgrown the building. During the 1970s, it was again threatened with demolition, but some vocal citizens and the chairwoman for the National Endowment for the Arts convinced Congress to reverse its decision.

So the exterior of the building is pretty fantastic. Surrounded by the bleak FBI and EPA buildings, it's certainly an architectural breath of fresh air. There's a free tour guided by the typically peculiar park rangers up the grandiose clock tower, offering one of the highest views of the city. You can also take a gander at the official "Bells of Congress" (I bet you didn't know that Congress has their very own set of bells). On the 9th floor (the highest main floor of the building) you can see a few photos that make up the pitiful "exhibit" explaining the building's history. But the saddest part of the post office is the interior. Their website boasts "some of DC's mouth-watering international cuisine, diverse shopping, and musical events." But in reality, the main floor hosts a profoundly depressing food court complete with an arcade and kitchy souvenir shops.

The most ironic thing of all is that the building serves as overflow for several different government agencies, including the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation. HA! It's a perfect example of the worst kind of "preservation:" let's turn it into a mall! A shop! An arcade! The worst kind of American commercialism. It's such a tragedy that I find myself looking forward to the day when Donald Trump starts work remodeling the post office into a luxury hotel. Maybe he'll put some class back into the poor underappreciated Post Office.

peevish

Adjective: 1. Easily irritated, esp. by unimportant things.
Synonyms:
sullen - petulant - morose - testy - crabbed - pettish

And that pretty much describes my mood the past 24 hours.

Example 1:  BA comes to class unprepared (again) and then proceeds to ask me questions that I have literally just answered to the rest of the class. He doesn't "understand" what a noun phrase is and asks what the topic is for the Thursday presentation that we've been working on since last Thursday. I try not to explain things to him like he's a 4-year-old. I'm only moderately successful and it takes all my self control.

Example 2: T-rav was in charge of loading the dishes last night, but neglected to run the very full dishwasher before going to bed. It doesn't really affect me that much since he handwashed a spoon for my oatmeal this morning, but I have a compulsive need to lash out about it. I refrain...until on the way to work. (Sorry, tio!)

Example 3: AK, one of the most extravagantly wealthy students I've ever had (no really. This guy dropped a double digit grand to buy an imported chess table) comes to class unprepared (again) and somehow manages to turn every group discussion topic into an illustration of his wealth or high-level connections. I listen as politely as I can without rolling my eyes in front of him. Frankly, AK, I don't really give a damn that your clothes are from some Italian designer, your watch was purchased in a fancy shop in Switzerland, or that you've had personal tours of such and such famous factory. Your English isn't awesome and you never bother to do homework assignments, and that's really all I need to know about you at this point.

Example 4: I run for 40 minutes, drink far too much water, and promptly feel woozy. There's no one to blame but myself, so I send myself to bed so I don't say anything nasty to poor tio for no reason.

I have more examples, but even if you're fond enough of me to read this far, you probably aren't interested in a list of all the things irritating me today. So I'll stop. On the positive side, I finally remembered to bring my electric blanket to work (there is no heater in my office, and the building almost never turns on the main heating when the outside temperature reaches 52), so I am now snuggled up at my desk like a little kid. Hopefully it will bring some improvements to my testiness. Also it's Leap Day which seems important somehow. 

Gettysburg

This weekend I was itching to get out of town, and to be quite honest, I would have preferred somewhere a little warmer and a little farther (like Florida. Or Spain), but instead we settled for 80 miles north to the Gettysburg battlefield. And this way SS could come along, which made it a bit more worth it. ;) 

Gettysburg National Military Park has a rather ostentatious new museum and visitors center, and I'm sure the displays were very nice, but I wouldn't know. We were feeling a little cheap (surprised?), so we skipped the $36/person total package and opted to create our own tour using a brochure the lays out a 24 mile driving tour of the area and a printout of the Wikipedia article on Gettysburg. If I’d had the money, I might have paid the $65 to have a personal guide ride in our car with us and tell us all about the sites. We saw them at almost every stop, and they seemed to know everything—a true dream job for a Civil War nerd. 

My overall impression was just how huge the battlefield is (at one point the Confederate line was over 5 miles long) and in the 3 1/2 hours we were there we only saw the major highlights. Even though I’ve read about the battle and studied it in history class and seen the movie Gettysburg, I still imagined a nice mostly open field where the soldiers lined up to slaughter each other. Not so, however.  

The powers that be have constructed a road along the battlefield that mostly follows the battle lines. The big monuments you can see in the picture above mark the center of the line of each group of men so you can get an idea of what kind of area they were defending. They were all built by the state or group that they represent and show a little character of the home state. They usually say "Pennsylvania 5th Regiment," or something like that, and then list battle dates, casualties, and other campaigns they were involved in. Between each of the large monuments there are often small stone markers that show where the left and right flank of each group were. Some groups held a line that was only 50 or 100 feet long, while others held several hundred yards. 

On Big Round Top

This is the view from Little Round Top, looking down into the Devil's Den. The picture doesn't really do it justice, but from the top you can see most of the battlefield and you can see why it was such an important strategic position. 

Apparently the Pennsylvanians didn't want to feel left out, so they built this 110' tall monument in the middle of the battlefield. I think it looks more like a Hare Krishna temple, personally. Our driving tour ended, naturally, at the cemetery where Lincoln his legendary speech. For whatever reason, I didn't take any pictures there, but mostly it looks like a cemetery. I thought I would feel solemn and somber in such a location, but I didn't really. Maybe it's because all of Gettysburg seems like a cemetery, and the whole place seems somber. I also decided that with all of the soldiers that died there, there's no way it isn't haunted. If you believe in that sort of thing, of course. 

a gastronomic adventure

I've eaten my fair share of exotic food since I started teaching ESL. My general rule is that as long as it doesn't have multiple, still-wiggling legs, I'll try it. I've discovered that: I really really like (almost love but not quite) Korean food, yes, even kimchi. Chop Chei is my favorite. Kim chi pancakes (at left) are not awesome, but might be better warm than cold like the ones I ate. Japanese food made with ingredients found at the regular grocery store is not nearly as good as the "real" thing from the Asian market. Empanadas/samosas are pretty much awesome no matter where they come from. Eastern European food has a bit too much vinegar and cabbage for my taste. Chinese rice balls have the texture of eye balls (at least what I imagine eye balls would be) and should be avoided at all costs. Tongue tacos are the best. Tamales made by a student's mom who woke up in the middle of the night to finish cooking them so her daughter would have something to share with the class taste infinitely better than the ones you buy at a restaurant. Mongolians make killer dumplings. If I could spend a week lounging in the Middle East doing nothing but eating kunafa (see the picture-shredded phyllo dough on top of a layer of sweet cream cheese and soaked in rose water syrup), Lebanese pudding, and baklava, I might never leave. I might also collapse from a sugar overdose and then look down at my hips to see them double in size.

Today, however, I am bringing something home that I haven't yet tried, at least in this form. You see, today was they Gtown potluck lunch, and when the Saudis cook khabsa (rice and meat/chicken) they don't mess around with small pieces of meat. They roast the entire beast. And then they serve the entire beast...including the head. So today I am carrying the skull of a lamb in my bag in order to carve out the tongue because the tongue is the best meat, and I simply "must" try it. So I was blessed with the leftovers and the dubious privilege of digging out said tongue. And while this seemed like an excellent, adventurous idea while at school with my co-teachers rooting me on, it's suddenly feeling like a less good idea, especially considering that I'm only carnivorous these days when someone feeds me meat. And now I'm going to dissect a poor lamb?

Yes. I think I am. After all, I might as well try it, right? Wouldn't you?

in which I describe my preferences on social events

I'm married. Y'all are single. No, I don't want to go to your dance party.

Now before you misjudge me or act surprised at this recent turn of events (having been married at the tender young age of 20, I've been going to parties with single people for years and years), let me explain. Back when all my friends were still single, it never bothered me to go to things together. I went to, and sometimes even helped host, myriad house parties, movie nights, bbqs, etc. It was never weird. I tried to remember to wear my ring, and if it so happened that a nice boy started to chat me up, I or one of my friends usually managed to mention T-rav. Sometimes said boy would keep talking...more often he would move on to his next prey. Totally understandable. But I don't believe in the mysterious "line" between married and single people. There's no reason to stop hanging out with your single friends just because you're married. That's weird. And dumb.

So now we live in a new place smack dab in the midst of a bundle of LDS singles. Obviously they're all lovely people, but I only really know about 4 of them, making it a bit awkward for me (and possibly for them) to go single's events where the main point is to mix, mingle, and, most likely, scope out any potential inamorati. Which, again, is totally understandable. If I were still single, I would be doing the very same. But I know very well that the highlight of their evening is not going to be making small talk with the one married girl from down the street. I've been in situations where a boy doesn't know my marital status, is acting very flirty as he introduces himself, and then when I mention the word husband, he suddenly starts squirming and the conversation abruptly ends. And I start squirming because I dislike watching other people feel uncomfortable almost as much as I hate the feeling myself.

In summary: I have no problem socializing with single people. I would be a weirdo if I did. I do feel more than a little awkward going to events that are intended to help people hook up (in the PG kind of way) where I don't know anyone. I'm happy to go to, say, a bbq or a casual get together. Or something that didn't involve dancing or a romantic holiday. Otherwise, thank you for the invite, but please don't think me rude or ungrateful if I don't actually show up.

belly buttons...

...give me the willies. I hate them. I hate how they feel when you poke them (shudder), like your finger is going to go all the way through your stomach to brush the inside of your spinal cord. I hate how lint can get stuck inside, especially if you have a bottomless crater like T-rav, and then you have to clean them out with more vigor than usual because they're all foldy and wrinkly. I hate seeing someone with their belly button pierced because it means that they let someone get that close to their button with a sharp object. (double shudder). I hate how they become deformed on pregnant bellies and even pop out. 

They're horrible. My arm hair is sticking up just writing about them. 

That is all.