Dear Diary, Tuesday, September 30, 2008

It seems like everyone on the internet is buzzing about journals lately. A few of my favorite bloggers have been referencing passages from their middle school diaries - one even published a book about it. I never kept a diary. I would journal from time to time, but I don't possess any heart-wrenching, anxiety-inducing series of diaries from the era in which I discovered my own bershon.

This means, of course, that I have no literary documentation of my own life's significant moments. Moments like:
- my first kiss
- my sixteenth birthday
- my ever-changing pool of Jr. High friends
- my keychain collection
- my ridiculous 12-year old crushes
- my first dance recital
- my time on the elementary school percussion line
- my first supporting role in a musical

And I have to admit that I'm somewhat disappointed by all of this navel gazing - mostly because I can't do it myself. The kicker is, I had such a great childhood! It was relatively free of any kind of trauma (emotional, physical or otherwise) and now I feel as if it all just kind of slid past me, the way butter slides off a hot knife. I definitely didn't hit my overly dramatic peak until college - some journals exist from that time period which, quite frankly, need to be promptly located and burned.

The trouble is, journaling is inherently bittersweet. One gets that sense of memory - the vivid recollection, the emotions, the picture in my head, the song that was playing when...and, on the other hand, looking back can be embarassing and/or painful. In not keeping a consistent journal, I have both denied myself the luxury of documented past events and protected my own ego from things I woulda/could/shoulda done differently (or not at all).

Maybe someday I'll hunt down those little 6X9 notebooks that existed intermittently throughout my adolescence (assuming I even kept them) and read them with a big glass of wine nearby. Until then, I'm content to keep this little journal here on the web.

Lazytown: Population 1 Monday, September 29, 2008

It's gloomy here in Chicago, and I'm cranky. This is all you get. Taken from Rachelle B.

Instructions:
1. Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2. Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3. Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.

Note from Jamie: I'm going to italicize the last category of "foods that I would never consider eating" b/c Blogger won't allow any strikethrough on text.

1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare
5. Crocodile (does alligator count?)
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes (does Boone's count? heh.)
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters
29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. Clotted cream tea
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O (jello shots)
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat
42. Whole insects
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
64. Currywurst
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
87. Goulash
88. Flowers
89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake

Reading Sunday, September 28, 2008

Because I lack religious belief, I have never considered my accident to be divine retribution for my "immoral" activities. I know exactly why my accident happened. Because I was high, I had a hallucination of arrows coming at me. To avoid the imaginary arrows, I drove my car over the side of a real cliff. the gasoline in my tank only did what gasoline does, which is to ignite when introduced to sparks. When flames engulfed my body, my body started to burn according to the laws of thermodynamics and biology. There is no deeper meaning.

I understand that some people find God after misfortune, although this seems to me even more ridiculous than finding Him in good times. "God smote me. He must love me." It's like not wanting a romantic relationship until a member of the opposite sex punches you in the face. My "miraculous survival" will not change my opinion that Heaven is an idea constructed by man to help him cope with the fact that life on earth is both brutally short and, paradoxically, far too long.

Trackback Thursday Thursday, September 25, 2008

Enjoy the following phrases that were google'd and ultimately led to someone reading this here blog-thingy:

pop quiz on movies
tangential thinking OCD

and my personal favorite...
worst case of gas fart

Thanks for that, whoever you are. I talk about gas ONCE and now I'm all over google. Awesome.

In other news, Duran Duran's "Ordinary World" popped up on my iPod this morning, and suddenly, I was transported back to summer 1993. There I was in my white socks and brown, suede Birkenstocks, collecting Anne Geddes paraphenalia and brushing my hair when dry. Yikes.

I Love Them, but They Don't Love Me Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Earlier this evening, I was chopping up a small, white onion for a roasted potato dish. I had barely gotten the ends off and peeled away the outermost layer before my eyes started burning with the fury of a thousand overstimulated toddlers. I immediately started crying and had to literally remove myself from the kitchen for a minute. Upon drying off, I returned to do a *very* quick chop and throw them in the dish, which I basically slung into the oven before I could start crying again.


I've tried everything - cutting the onions under running water, keeping my mouth closed while cutting, hell, I even have a Vidalia Chop Wizard! Any ideas on how to solve this problem? I'm clearly desperate, otherwise I would not be blogging about something so completely mundane. HALP!

Vroom Vroom Monday, September 22, 2008

Recently, Sean and I spent time in Indianapolis at the Brickyard - the Indianapolis 500, or Mecca, as many folks call it. It's a 1,025 acre racing complex with several variations/combination of track. As a motorcycle racing neophyte, I was somewhat intimidated with all the stuff I didn't know. Hell, I STILL don't know all the specifics of the bikes.

What I do know is that camping and attending a primarily outdoor event on the weekend that a Category 3 Hurricane is ripping the central United States apart is...well, a risky proposition. So we packed, prepared as best we could, and hoped for the best.



When we arrived on Friday, the rain was constant and light. And annoying, but I digress. We set up camp, and killed some time in the tent wishing we'd brought a deck of cards. We hopped back and forth between the campground and the stadium for a couple events, made some dinner and hit the hay. And by "hay," I mean our freshly inflated Aerobeds. Heh.

Saturday, the weather took a turn for the BEAUTIFUL! I took a break from my constant henpecking and fretting about the forecasted precipitation, and we hit the track for some qualifying rounds. Then we wandered around the infield, I got super cranky in the heat, and when we finally got back to the shower trucks and I saw myself in the mirror, I suddenly knew why. I was sunburnt. All over - especially my face.

Since I'd pretty much ruined the possibility of makeup and/or looking generally presentable for the rest of the weekend, I put on some clean clothes (huzzah!) and prayed for a good hair evening. We jetted over to the Indianapolis State Fairgrounds complex to see the Lucas Oil Flat Track Championship. Yes, a dirt race at the state fairgrounds. It was particularly interesting upon arrival because the interior streets of the fair complex were LITTERED with bikes. They were EVERYWHERE.



The races were kind of cool, even though the bikes spit up hard bits of mud into the stands (we were in the third row). We left early after doing some mental math and realizing that we wanted to escape the crowds more than we wanted to see the results of the race. We're hermit-y like that, what can I say?

Sunday was the BIG DAY, the inaugural running of the RedBull MotoGP at Indianapolis - the first motorcycle race at Indy in nearly 100 years! Unfortunately the rain was heavy, frustratingly intermittent, and accompanied by 40-60 mph gusts of wind. Oh boy. Let's just say that our ponchos saw some major use. The race was really awesome to watch and the crowd was so supportive and loyal to their favorite drivers. It was like NASCAR, only high-brow and slightly European.



Despite the sad weather, I had so much fun. I hope we go again next year!

The Legend of the Poo Dollar Friday, September 19, 2008

In looking back at my most recent post, I feel it necessary to explain the whole "picking-money-up-off-the-sidewalk-and-checking-for-poop" reference.

Freshman year of college, there was a girl living on my floor by the name of M. She lived in our building (which was the furthest out and least popular) because it was air conditioned and her allergies necessitated her to have filtered air. I lived in our building because I was late in committing to the university and got myself and my dance team roommate/buddy banished to the crappy, unpopular dorm. But I digress.

M was a reed-thin brunette with a hilarious Midwestern voice. She grew up on the Mississippi river. Her family is a large group of wonderful people who work hard, and party harder. Once, they invited me to spend a long weekend on the river, and that is when I was initiated.

It was time for me to come face-to-face with the Poo Dollar.

The Poo Dollar was one of M's mother's greatest party games. Basically, you wait until everyone at a party is drunk enough to consider wiping their own butts with dollar bills. Once you choose someone who is (ahem) prepared to do so, you send them off to the restroom with a couple dollars. They do their business (OMG I CANNOT BELIEVE I'M TELLING YOU THIS), wipe their arses with the dollars, then head outside to put the money poo-side-down on the sidewalk/deck/whatever flat surface can be stealthily observed by the rest of the party.

Note: this game works amazingly well in crowded, multi-leveled apartment buildings with open courtyards in the center. Not that I would know or anything.

Then the perpetrators sit back and wait for some unsuspecting Joe or Josephine to come along and pick up the dollar. Because let's be honest - it's human nature to see money and pick it up. The only challenge is to be able to view the Poo Dollar transaction without breaking up into hernia-inducing laughter. You have to play it cool with the Poo Dollar, or you'll blow your own cover.

The moral of the story is this: Wash your hands because money is dirty. So is the Poo Dollar.

Can a Protestant Give Confession?

Riddle me this: I'm walking across S. Dearborn in the early evening, and I find $16 sitting in the middle of the pedestrian crossing area. I pick it up, check for poop (LONG story, remind me to tell you later), stop the person who was walking in front of me (it's not theirs), and eventually pocket the cash.

But I feel slightly guilty. Why is that?

Black Thumb Strikes Again Wednesday, September 17, 2008

A couple weeks ago, I needed fresh basil for a recipe that I was experimenting with. In the produce section of my local Whole Foods (otherwise known as the home of all things heavenly and lovely, like nectarines and fresh guacamole), I saw Michigan-grown sweet basil plants. The potted plant was $4.99, and next to it, there was pre-picked, pre-packaged basil for $5.99.

Now I'm not an economics expert, but I know a good deal when I see one. So I bought the plant. It lasted roughly two meals, then I started to see brown spots eat away at some of the leaves. So I googled "basil plant care" and followed many instructions - watering occasionally, providing occasional sunlight, etc. And the damn plant still died.

What went wrong? Anyone out there have any tips for keeping basil alive? HALP!

Yes or No Monday, September 15, 2008

Pick one: would you attend a monster truck rally?

I'm just asking. Let me know.

Please Leave a Message at the Beep... Friday, September 12, 2008

BEEP! I'm not here, but you are, so thanks! Your reward for stopping by today is this meme I got from Free & Flawed. She's been very busy lately, but I'm so glad that she took the time to post this. Because then I have an excuse to steal it! Heh.

You’re stranded on a Desert Island:

1. What one person would you wish was stranded there with you?
Sean. He's terribly smart, and I suspect quite handy to have around in a dire situation. Like McGyver, but thankfully without the mullet. Also, he makes me laugh, which would be key to preventing the inevitable depression that comes with being stranded.

2. What one tool would you want to have?
Umm, GPS? Something that the Coast Guard can track, so I don't have to be stranded for long? Is that cheating? If I can't have GPS, I want a very sharp knife.

3. What one food do you wish you would have an unlimited supply of?
Does Diet Coke count as food? No? Then I want honeycrisp apples. They say eating one a day keeps the doctor away...then again, how would a doctor find me if I'm stranded on an island? I digress.

4. What one luxury item would you wish for?
A white, silk cabana with a canopy and walls.

5. What one book would you want to have with you to read and re-read?
I would rather have no books at all, than be made to choose just one and read it repeatedly. I would like a blank journal, to be used for documentation purposes.

6. You have one piece of paper, a pencil and one bottle ~ who is the message going to be written to?
My parents.

7. What skill would serve you best while on the island?
The possession of an iron stomach. Seriously, I can eat pretty much anything. I might not like it, but I have very hearty innards. They can take just about whatever you throw at 'em. Everything except shellfish.

8. How long do you think you could last before needing rescue?
Honestly? Maybe a week? Maybe. Let's hope I never have to find out for real.

9. What one island animal would become your pet?
Monkeys. They are the multitaskers of any tropical environment. Plus, they are highly functioning, so there's always the possibility of basic communication.

10. Your island is unknown to you, and you need to give it a name - - what would it be?
No idea, but I'm pretty sure it would start with a J. I'm unoriginal like that.

11. What would you do to pass the weeks, days, and hours?
Sing aloud, figure out which natural items produce the best byproduct for controlling frizz, seek shade, aimlessly wander just because I can, and create some sort of shelter for when night falls and weird noises freak me out.

12. You’ve been rescued! What is the first thing you’re going to do when you get back home?
Take a shower. Hug my dog. Eat a cheeseburger. Blog about it.

Mama Needs a S'More Thursday, September 11, 2008

So Sean and I are off again this weekend on another adventure - to Indianapolis for the Red Bull MotoGP Race Event. When he bought the tickets (a long time ago), I thought to myself, "Camping! I haven't been camping in forever! Fun!" And I do truly love camping, in case you just thought I was being sarcastic.

Now that our trip is imminent, I have to admit that I'm a little dubious. I packed up all our stuff last night, and I'll be frank - for two people, we have a lot o' crap. When I started putting all the gear in one place, to get ready to pack the car, I was astounded at the volume of STUFF that was sitting there. It was like those toy sponges that start out in a capsule form (usually out of a $.25 vending machine), then explodes into the shape of a baby elephant! You know what I'm talking about? It is truly mindblowing.

That said, we're not *exactly* roughing it. We are taking Aerobeds, and our tent is 12' X 12'. But still. I keep running through the item list in my head, wondering if perhaps I've overpacked, but I really don't think so. Just five minutes ago, I actually realized I never packed pillows. GREAT. SOMETHING ELSE HUGE AND BULKY TO STICK IN THE CAR. HOW DID TWO PEOPLE ACCUMULATE SO MUCH CRAP?! HOW?!

Hopefully it will all feel a lot less STUFFY when we get there, and get set up. Until then, I'll be over here, breathing heavily into a paper bag.

Big Sky, Big Adventure Tuesday, September 09, 2008

This past weekend, Sean and I traveled to Montana for the wedding of one of his closest college friends, B. He married a wonderful woman named E, and they lived happily ever after. Amen.

Actually, that's not all that happened, OF COURSE.

It was only my second time visiting anywhere even remotely close to the Pacific Northwest, and I have to say this - the Flathead Valley area of NW Montana is absolutely S.T.U.N.N.I.N.G. So gorgeous! We were only 45 minutes away from Glacier National Park, but had too busy a schedule to go and investigate it - although it did go straight onto the list of "vacations to take."

Day One - Friday evening, I drank too much and tasted my very first huckleberry. Apparently huckleberries are native to that area of Montana, and they were delicious reduced on top of and as a glaze for roasted chicken. Mmm! Also, I drank from a growler on a shuttle bus. Don't ask.

Day Two - The Wedding! The ceremony took place on a bluff overlooking Flathead Lake, which is the largest body of freshwater west of the Mississippi River. It sparkled and the day was clear, sunny, if a bit chilly, and perfect. Click here for my Flickr set. The reception was held on property owned by B's family - a long, spectacular piece of property stretching along the lakefront. I managed to stay under control for 98% of the time, until the alcohol kicked in and I started wandering around the dance floor taking video footage of white people dancing badly. I would post those as well, because I really don't know how ANYONE present on the reel would find this blog...but in truth, my voice in the clips is so shrill that I can barely stand to listen to myself speak. Totally embarassing.

Day Three - Post-wedding brunch at the home of the groom's parents. Gorgeous food, gorgeous views, and the hilarious vibe of caution where everyone sort of looks at one another and wonders if they all remember what they did last night. (I'm telling you, the wedding attendees were dancing and drinking fools - FOOLS! Myself included. It was awesome) Thank goodness for B's mother's cheesy potato casserole, or I would have been a mess. Flew back to Chicago through Denver, and put myself to bed.

Phew! Enjoy the pictures. Visit NW Montana. Have a great day.

Reading

Cookie: Ad I wad screambing, "GID OFFA HIGHWAY GEETZ BABIES!" and dey were honging ad me ad runnding all ober and FREEGING OUT.

Crisis Of Conscience Monday, September 08, 2008

Have I mentioned lately how much I love Craig Ferguson?

No? Okay, than. I LOVE CRAIG FERGUSON. I recently happened upon this clip, which I've seen before, and I just love it.

Much Needed Change of Topic Thursday, September 04, 2008

Good Lord. I apologize for dragging you all along in my vain attempt to wrap my brain around this upcoming election. Let's chat about something a little less weighty, shall we?

I haven't blogged too much about my trip to Italy. Somewhere deep within the heart of my Type-A body lies a lazy travel blogger. I'm HORRIBLE at giving the play-by-play, simply horrible. But what I will tell you is this: I particularly liked Venice. As my friend Jen has said, "it's like being in a fantasy." And it is. There are also random things about Venice that just make me smile. Here is a list.

1. Strangely European hotel room keys

Our hotel was really fancy - right on the Grande Canal, and about as modern as European hotels get. But the thing that struck me as hilarious was our room key. It was a modern, push-it-in-the-door-and-wait-for-an-access-granted-beep key. You know, except that whole BROOM-SIZED attachment. Which, if you flipped it upside down, made an excellent miniature of Bob Marley's head.

2. Dachshunds everywhere!

I mean, really - who doesn't love a wiener dog? I am particularly biased towards these lovable goobers, but it would seem the Italians are as well. They were everywhere! This one was in the middle of Piazza San Marco, and very busy running after all the pigeons. So cute.

3. Venetian Gothic Architecture

In my personal, everyday life, I tend to prefer clean lines and a classically American style of furniture, design, etc. But hey - when in Venice...you know? Some of the buildings there look like they leapt straight from the pages of a set designer's plan for the next Tim Burton film, but they are undeniably FABULOUS. And the detail! I could stare at the Doges Palace or the Basilica for hours. Just when you think you've seen some complex facade, you turn a corner and there's another spectacular one, just waiting to be investigated.

4. Losing perspective on scale & balance completely

Since Venetian buildings are not very high - lagoon soil, after all, cannot support much weight - the city itself tends to feel small at first, then grow in your brain. So when Sean and I took a boat tour, we were shocked to see a cruise ship pull through the Grande Canal on its way to port. The sheer size of the thing was a jarring image - this picture doesn't even really get across the juxtaposition of the ship and San Giorgio Maggiore (the island and church across the way). It was CRAZY.

Since we've come back from vacation, I have been keeping ridiculously busy. Every other day or so, I'll flip through my photos and think about what an amazing trip it was. It was definitely a dream vacation.

Where do YOU dream about traveling someday?

Reading Comments

"Absolutely nothing of value. I am saddened that this woman who has such an unbelievable forum to discuss women's issues could only muster conversation around being a Hockey Mom. Where's her position on equal pay. Obama had the class to be gratious to her, sadly, her only tactic is to attack. Thats not the woman I wish to represent me."

"the whole "drill baby drill" chant frightens me to the core."

"So many negative attacks and such little substance. It is depressing to see this."

"Disgusting speech filled with hatred. Where is your substance Palin? The whole RNC has been nothing more than a bashing-fest and a poor attempt in trying to scare people into voting for their poor excuse for a ticket. Where is the integrity? As a Christian, I am disgusted by this level is bashing."

"How very, very sad that the GOP continues to appeal to the fears and prejudices of the American people. I pray we are a better nation than that."

"The Obama campaign has McCain all wrong. This isn't four more years of George W. Bush. This is worse."

"I have been watching this for days to determine how I should vote. Palin's speech has been the deciding factor for me. Aside from the issues, she has about as much experience as my next door neighbor. I can't believe she has the nerve to ignore the obvious and come out as if she isn't a bit aware of the fact that hardly anyone knows who she is and she hasn't earned the standing to be attacking other's experience. The only thing that I have seen that is similar is George Bush's complete obliviousness to the public view.

I'm feeling mixed about Sarah Palin's speech. As a woman, I really want to give her the benefit of all the doubt people are throwing around. Unfortunately, she did very little last night to prove herself as a politician or role model. There was no reason for the overall tone of snark from either herself OR NY's own messiah, Rude-y Guiliani. I hope Palin realizes that by showing disrespect to the Democrats, she has lost what little faith I had in her as a leader and a professional, powerful woman. I'm just so disappointed in her. I wanted so badly for her to prove us all wrong, and instead, she turned out to be just another puppet.

Negative Space Wednesday, September 03, 2008

So I'm not sure how to fix that enormous gap underneath my recycled masthead, but I can tell you this - I really had to get rid of that masthead and all that ORANGE. I was really over seeing myself, and over all of that orange. Blecch.

That said, this masthead is an old one, and keep on the lookout for changes in the near future. Until then, it's disco balls, baby.

Food, Water, Shelter

The logy middle ground is Wanty's wheelhouse. Certainly, there are times when you can instantly pinpoint what you want. You want health and happiness. You want a ham sandwich. Simple. Between the incredible and edible, though, somewhere between vast and speck, is where Wanty manufactures his dissolute brand of perfidy. Those medium deals are the ones that can break you. It's too tempting to fold up medium-size wants into neat little packets and tuck them away on a high shelf. Left unattended, they can go from hiccup to Hecate before you realize what boiled you alive.

I've been thinking a lot this past year about needs, wants, and all that messy in-between. And as much as I detest all things Oprah, this article (which was originally published in O Magazine) really spoke to me. I have SO been that wishy-washy "I want you to want what I want but I'm not going to tell you" person. This article really helps me understand how COMPLETELY IRRITATING that can be.

Official Retraction Tuesday, September 02, 2008

So in my hatred of the miscommunications on both sides of the hotly contested American political situation, I have made some pretty judgmental statements. One of those was talking about how formal and stiff John McCain looks while holding a microphone.


This evening, while watching MSNBC's coverage of the RNC, I found out that John McCain's arms were repeatedly broken, twisted, and used as instruments of torture during his time spent as a POW in Vietnam. Despite my research on all of his views, his platforms, his record of voting...I never came across this fact. I sit/stand corrected, and would like to withdraw all previous judgment of his oratory posture.

Despite the fact that I think John McCain is a pandering, elitist, out-of-touch, conveniently forgetful, harshly unforgiving asshat, I would NEVER deliberately make light of what he sacrificed for the freedom and democracy that our country has been afforded. So please accept my apologies, dear conservative readers. I'll never vote for him, but I do think he deserves our respect.

FFP Welcomes Another New Reader

This past Saturday, I did something brave.

I told a family member about my blog.

Now, this is sort of mindblowing because while my parents know about the blog, they think it's completely pompous and only occasionally read it (particularly my father, who is still angry with me about putting images of my face on the internet). They truly couldn't care less. And my sister (obviously) knows about it. But other than that, my readers are primarily outside my gene pool.

Until Saturday, when my beloved Aunt Judy asked me for the URL. She's new to a lot of the internet (not necessarily new to computers) and so I wrote down my site location. And I wasn't expecting it, but within 48 hours, she had emailed me asking how to comment, how to access archived entries, the works!

So in an effort to introduce her to all of you, here's what you need to know. Aunt Judy lives in Wisconsin, is (and always has been) politically active "on the left," and is married to a wonderful, wacky guy named Jim. Jim is a politically active lawyer, Judy was a social worker for many years. They are both retired, and while Jim enjoys collecting sports clothing and paraphenalia, Judy runs an antique store in her hometown. She's a sharply intelligent straight-talker. She is also my godmother.

Hi, Aunt Judy! Welcome to the inner workings of my mind! Hope it doesn't scare you. Love you!