Writing, editing, and organizing grant proposals, and preparing gargantuan-sized grant budgets feverishly, to meet deadlines both old and new.

Snuggling with my pug and enjoying any downtime I have been able to muster.

Writing! I’m so excited about three different stories I have in the works, and thanks to a recent prompt by Danny, I’ve been sitting down daily to translate my excitement into actual words on a page. (Not unlike snakes on a plane. Only better. And with less Samuel L. Jackson.)

Ruminating on some writing feedback I received from a poetry competition (Spoiler alert: I didn’t win), and from friends regarding the first chapter of one of the three aforementioned stories.

Sucking at email. I’m sorry! I promise next week will be better. (I think!)

Editing photos from last weekend’s sisterly homecoming in Spokane. These are a few of my favorites:

Cleaning my apartment to an anal-retentive degree in preparation for Kristin! staying with me this weekend.

Absolutely riveted by the first installment of The Hunger Games. After a gentle prompt from Kali (It went something like, “Have you read these?”), I skipped over to Powell’s and bought the first book, not thinking I was going to be into the story, having read the back cover before and convinced myself I wasn’t interested. By page five Collins had completely hooked me, and I gave the Jiffy Lube attendant the stink eye when he interrupted my reading to ask me to pay him for my oil change. (And yes, I verily realize I’m late to the proverbial party, being that the first book was originally published in 2008, but I like to pretend I fall in love with series when they are basically over so I don’t have to wait years/months/days in between installments. See also: Patience is for suckers!)

Using the note I found on my car after leaving an apologetic note for the person I parked way-too-close-to (There is construction in our parking garage! It is a nightmare!) earlier this week as a bookmark.

Not getting much sleep.

This weekend I am going to:

Have way too much fun with Kristin.

Eat at Andina for the first time.

Introduce Kristin to Hans, and watch hilarity ensue.

No doubt cry as I watch Rhi walk down the aisle toward Bill, and then back again holding his hand, happily married.

Dance my face (or maybe just my feet) off with Kali, and Amanda, and Kristin, and a slew of other people who are in town to watch Rhi and Bill begin their happily ever after.

Take Way Too Many pictures, especially more ridiculous hand-held group shots.

——————-

What are YOU going to do this weekend?

(Whatever it is, I hope you enjoy it.)

*Title is a literary hat tip to Joyce Carol Oates’ Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?

*For the record, 90 is much too hot for my delicate (pasty white skin, yes, and) sensibilities. I’m a huge fan of moderate-to-cooler temperatures pretty much always, hence me (loving) living in this particular city in this particular state.

Stay cool, kids.

My mom got pregnant and for awhile they thought I would be a little boy. My name was going to be Jason. When they realized I was going to be a girl, my mom wanted to name me Melanie. Or Melody. Something I can’t imagine my name being. Melanie or Melody. My grandma liked Melanie. Or Melody. My dad said no, she’s Kerri. Kerri Anne. And so they agreed. Mostly. My grandma still likes the name Melanie. Or Melody. But she mostly calls me Sweet Pea. Everyone’s happy. Especially Sweet Pea.

I was born in 1982. On June 15th in 1982, in fact. At 5:15pm. In a hospital. My mom was there. And my dad. And some doctors. Also, my grandma and grandpa (my mom’s parents). My grandpa was wearing his cowboy boots. My grandpa was always wearing his cowboy boots. He is a man born to wear cowboy boots. At one point during the delivery they lost my heartbeat. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. And then: nothing. Alarms sounded. A doctor rushed in and flipped my mom one way or another and found my heartbeat again, having successfully and efficiently removed the cord from around my neck without actually touching me. I didn’t rush out. It took me thirty-six hours to say hello to everyone who was waiting for me. I didn’t actually say hello, of course. That took awhile longer.

They took me home and hung a plaque in my room that I would learn to read years later. It said I was a Gemini. And it rhymed. Dual personalities are born to this sign. You’re lovers of nature and sweet. Brilliant types and loads of laughs. But watch those eyes, and restless feet! I couldn’t forget that plaque if I tried. There was something else hanging on the wall, an artistic version of my very own “Today in history.” Behind framed glass it preserved June 15th 1982’s top song, popular news headlines, the price of a gallon of gasoline. It didn’t rhyme. I didn’t memorize it.

Apparently quite a few great, and hilariously not-so-great things happened in 1982. Instead of taking my word for it, I’ll just show you. After all, I’m nothing if not a loyal fan of visual learning.

I Like You, 1982, The First: Eddie Money’s Shakin’ Video

A tip o’ the birthday party hat to my friend Danger, for sharing this gem with me last month so I could happily share it now. Dedicated entertainer, or actually having a stroke during his solos? It’s a mystery!

I Like You, 1982, The Second: E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial

E.T. was released four days before I was born, and ended up being hugely successful, nabbing nominations for Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Original Screenplay. It didn’t win any of those, but it did take home four Oscars, including one for Best Original Score. It also made an entire generation of kids long for bikes that could spontaneously lift off and take us soaring over our respective neighborhoods.

I Like You, 1982, The Third: Hey Mickey!

In December of 1982 Toni Basil’s “Hey Mickey” topped the best-selling singles charts, and so not only do we have this, but years later we were also gifted the musical entertainment featured as part of the end credits of one of the more hilarious movies I’ve ever watched. Yes, I’m totally talking about Bring It On. You’re either totally with me, or totally laughing at me right now. Either way, I will never forsake The Toros.

I Like You, 1982, The Fourth: Prince William

While just this year learning that I share a birthday with (Ms. Jamie Varon! and) Neil Patrick Harris, I’m also exactly six days older than Prince William of Wales. I remember my mom smiling and telling me how she felt a kinship with Princess Diana, as they were pregnant at the same time (William’s younger brother, Prince Harry, was also born the same year my little sister was). Maybe that doesn’t make a lot of tangible sense, but I totally get it, and I loved hearing my mom talk about how much she liked Princess Diana. My mom also told me she cried when Diana died, two years after my dad did. I still remember watching Prince William suffer the loss of his mother while all the world watched, wishing I could somehow save him from the grief I knew he felt, save him from how publicly he had to endure it.

I Like You, 1982, The Fifth: Knight Rider

There was no shortage of hilariously horrible TV shows premiering in 1982; Knight Rider just happens to be the most hilariously photogenic. I will never stop loving this picture of David Hasselhoff. It’s just impossible.

After contemplating sprinting through the large marble arch separating the U.S. and Canadian sides of the border crossing station, or just doing cartwheels on the grass, we decided instead to blast the Glee soundtrack and sing to pass the time. I had my window down, because it finally decided to be gorgeous outside and the fresh air felt amazing, when over Lea Michele’s stellar pipes I heard “Can you turn that up? I like it!” from a woman occupying the passenger side of a large maroon Ford Expedition in the lane next to us. “Oh, sure!” Cue to thirty seconds later and Jen giggling as we noted the woman was totally singing along and happily bopping her head to the beat. (I may have been dancing in my seat the entire time.)

The rest of the waiting passed similarly, with more (bad) singing by yours truly, and more giggling, and a very agile group self-take that Cayly (Hans!) managed to snap from the backseat.

When we finally arrived at the guard booth, we were met by two steely-faced blond men wearing sunglasses, one of whom tapped on my windshield and asked me to remove my sunglasses (”You just got told!” Jen says from the passenger seat, laughing), while the other asked for our passports. Alas, it was time to turn down “Don’t Stop Believin’.”

“What were you doing in Canada?”

“Visiting friends.”

“How do you know your Canadian friends?”

Me, thinking: Pretty presumptuous, Mr. Border Patrolman, that we even have Canadian friends, though of course in this case we do, but is this some rule I wasn’t aware of? That to come to Vancouver you have to be invited by Canadian friends?

Realizing I haven’t actually answered the question, and Mr. Border Patrolman is still waiting for an answer.

“Through…blogging?” I more ask than tell. Jen and Cayly start laughing.

“What do you do for work in the U.S.?”

“Ummm…” I say, again wondering why this question is relevant and how specific does he want us to be, and how would he be able to verify that we work in the U.S. at all; is that why this line is so long?

Cayly decides to go first.

“I’m a student.”

“Is that why you have so much time to blog?” quips Mr. Border Patrolman, without hesitation.

“Oh, BURN!” I can’t help myself. It just comes out, with a slew of giggles from Jen and Cayly, and finally a smirk from Mr. Border Patrolman.

After Jen and I answer the question, he seems less than interested in our respective professions, and we are apparently not deemed enemies of the state, we go on our merry way.

Miles later we are still laughing, and Cayly is thinking of retorts she wishes she could have uttered to Mr. Border Patrolman’s snarky assumption that she spends all of her free time online, no doubt writing about what she ate for lunch.**

“I’ll blog your face” was definitely my favorite of her potential retorts, and is also my new favorite go-to phrase.

————–

*Twenty bonus points and a high-five to anyone who knows which movie (and movie quote) I’m referencing here.

**The best part of this assumption is how utterly wrong it would be, seeing as how Cayly spends less time online, and even less time blogging, than anyone I know. Anyway, Cayly would never blog about her lunch. She only blogs about really important global issues. Like Mariah Carey.

a. Lack of sleep

b. Amazing amount of fake (and very real) mustaches

c. Amazing amount of fake (and very Ed Hardy) tattoos

d. Hilarious border crossings

e. Poutine

e. All of the above

I am hereby leaving you with a teaser of my time in Vancouver for TequilaCon*, wherein “teaser” mostly means “my favorite pictures, that I have thus far looked at and managed to edit and upload before falling asleep sitting up at my desk I’m not even kidding right now.”

Brandon! (one of the founding fathers of TC) and Jen! (and Brandon!). This might be my favorite picture of Jen that I’ve ever taken, and my doubly favorite part is how she exclaimed, “Why do I always do that? I look like I’m having a seizure or something!” after noticing that she tilted her head for the shot (which happens to be my favorite part of the shot).

Sizz! and I, laughing per usual.

Jen helps me document an Assisted ‘Stache at Steamworks Brewery in downtown Vancouver.

So my group self-take skills are a little rusty, but I still love this picture. Please note Angella’s impressive amount of flair.

This picture makes me “Awwwh.” (Angella! & Vahid!)

This is Hillary! Hillary is fantastic.

LIKE BUTTON.

This is Dayna! Dayna is related to Angella, but she would be awesome even if she weren’t.

Where do I even start with this photo, and the story behind it? Suffice it to say this picture pretty perfectly embodies why I love Cayly (Hans!) with the fire of a thousand suns.

The crew, post brunch at Granville Island.

*I do not drink tequila. Ever. You can trust me on that being a very good thing, for everyone. I do, however, love to spend hours with great friends who make me laugh until my stomach is literally aching and then we all dance and sing to (highway to the) “Danger Zone” and “Footloose,” amen and the end.

The end, that is, until I come back to tell you more stories about this weekend, like the story featuring a U.S. border patrolman who (was a very big fan of himself, yes, and) dissed blogging. Oh no he didn’t. (Did you just picture me snapping my fingers while moving my arm in a downward zigzag motion with a very incredulous look on my face? OK, good.)

Oh, yes. He did. And it was hilarious.

Yesterday morning I revisited the crazy that is signing up for a race on an early Sunday morning, with friends as (awesome! and) crazy as you are, and then freaking out for 48 hours before said race because you are extremely adept at concocting ridiculous scenarios in your head that will never actually happen. (I do this for job interviews, too. It’s the neurosis that keeps on giving!)

“But what if I can’t run like I want to; what if I have to walk the entire race? Or what if I break my leg or something, or I’m too nervous to even start the race, OR the officials think I’m not running fast enough and tell me I should have just signed up for the Shamrock Stride, and what am I doing thinking I can run 3.1 miles anyway? What if they kick me out because I’m not wearing any green? OMG, what if I’m the very last runner across the finish line?”

Yesterday morning Kali and I galloped our way from the start to the finish of the Shamrock Run, and while it quickly became very apparent I need to be fitted for running shoes that don’t make my feet ache and throb and oh hey, fall completely ASLEEP while running, I felt better than I ever have at that distance, and I knew I could finish, and finish strong. I was bummed we couldn’t find Rhi before the start (it was madness down at the waterfront), but it was hard not to grin at the sheer energy bouncing around like the runners who were gearing up to put their feet to pavement on a crisp but clear spring Sunday morning.

It seems a little nuts on paper: paying money to get up way too early on a weekend morning to join throngs of strangers to run a distance you could run without worrying about packet pick-ups, nerves, crowds, parking. But the second I was standing in Waterfront Park, freezing and bouncing and stretching, I remembered why races are exciting, why they sell out year after year. It’s the energy, electric and contagious, bouncing off every single person who made the commitment to show up and participate, radiating to the friends and family members (and complete strangers) who line the route and clap and cheer as people pass by, pushing themselves to reach a finish line that is as much mental as it is physical.

Kali was an amazing running partner, and we laughed at the ridiculously chipper race announcer and his affinity for calling everyone “Leprechauns,” and watched people running in bright green tu-tus and huge hats and even saw a guy jogging while playing a banjo.

I was nervous about the distance and about doing it sans iPod, and about the incline up Broadway around mile two that was admittedly pretty brutal, but once we rounded that corner and started the last leg of the race heading downhill, I had to fight the urge to start laughing, because I was DOING THIS and feeling awesome (despite not really being able to feel my right foot, whoops), and I had forgotten how hard you can push your body and see it respond favorably. I had forgotten how far you can go even when you think you’re not ready.

I know to anyone who runs distance regularly 3.1 miles is a walk in the park.

To this girl it was one of the best things I’ve done with my body for years. And I’m admittedly excited to do it again. You know, when my legs stop screaming obscenities at me.

You could even wish her a happy! birthday. You know, if you aren’t a birthday curmudgeon want to. No pressure.

Happy! birthday, Theresa. Love love love you.

December 31st we checked into the Seasprite (which I definitely recommend) and quickly realized we were staying literally yards away from one of the prettiest stretches of beach on the Oregon Coast. I’ve always been quite smitten with Cannon Beach, babycarrot sister having lived there for two years and me having spent ample time there with her and Will and other awesome friends and family (and it also being Iggy’s favorite place on the entire planet), and will forever maintain that it’s impossible for me to visit Cannon Beach and not have a profoundly shiny, happy time.

Cannon Beach plays host to a slew of wild rabbits all year round, but the ones who live at the Seasprite, I quickly discovered, run toward you when you approach them exclaiming “BUNNIES. Hey, you guys! Look at the BUNNIES!” Here’s Lola (which I just named her even though I’m not sure she’s really a “her” at all):

The view from our beach house, which also doubled as the reason I was pouting at check-out on Saturday:

On Thursday night Sizzle made us a tasty dinner of stuffed chicken and couscous, because she is amazing:

When we first talked about renting a place on the coast for New Year’s Eve I said I thought it would be AMAZING! to jump into the Pacific Ocean at midnight. (Filed under: Things you should never say to Long Story Longer if you don’t 100% mean it.) I did (mostly) mean it, though at five minutes to midnight with rain pelting down and wind whipping so hard it was comical, the ocean didn’t so much look inviting as, you know, INSANE.

We did it, and I’m so glad because it was incredible (albeit incredibly frigid, HOLY CRAP), symbolic, and laden with a lot of laughter and screams that went something like “OH MY FREEZING.” “SHIIIIT.” “I CAN’T FEEL MY FEET!” “WOOO-HOOOO!”

Me, standing on the beach post Pacific plunge, taken around 12:10am:

Some of my favorite quotes from NYE day, and night:

“I love the wind. It’s my favorite weather.”

“That bunny is scaring me right now.”

“I can’t see! I have glaucoma! Oh wait, it’s just the windshield wiper.”

“He’s a bouquet-maker.”

“A BOOMBOX. How badly do I want put that on my shoulder and walk down the beach right now?”

“Peppermint Joe-Joe’s, I love you.”

“It’s been two dates; we don’t know how we feel about this guy. We’re neutral about this guy.”  “We’re Switzerland.” “YES EXACTLY.”

“I got in trouble for dancing.” “JUST LIKE FOOTLOOSE.”

“I can’t feel my feet.” “I know! It’s AWESOME.”

“I want to travel internationally, eat ice-cream, and surf.”

Some of my favorite shots from our coastal getaway:

In summary:
It was an incredibly moving/hilarious/peaceful weekend with three incredibly wonderful women I am so thankful to know.

Also:
This year is going to be incredible for all the right reasons. I just know it.

6:30am(ish) on Thanksgiving morning, heading from Portland to Spokane with Hans:

Her car was bewitched, I think, because we managed to make it from Point A to Point B with two stops in less than six hours. (That’s a new record, and a bit nuts, actually, though I promise we weren’t really speeding. I’m telling you, her car is a magic carpet living inside a Ford Focus shell.) The drive was also one of the best ever, mostly because I can’t imagine a better person to be stuck in a car with for a long drive than Hans. She even laughed when Iggy repeatedly made eyes at her and snarfed on her arm.

Gingersnaps for my first ever sweet potato pie crust:

More sweet potato pie prep (Have I mentioned how much I hate cooking but love! baking?):

The verdict: the pie was definitely tasty, but I really shouldn’t have put it on the bottom of the oven to bake, as the crust was a little burnt in places. (Thanks! again to Ali for the recipe.)

The oven was doing some serious multitasking on Thursday:

My parents live on a lovely little lake:

The resort area where they live was incredibly quiet, so peaceful, and so so cold.

When we arrived my mom had her famous homemade stew on the stove (I could eat it for weeks, seriously), and while I was wholly expecting to have a fantastic weekend, I wasn’t prepared for the (generous/unexpected/crazy) gift waiting for me in my parent’s garage.

Exhibit, My New Car (that is my parents’ old car and also: awesome):

(The car pictured above is not my exact car, but it’s a Ford Focus in that exact color, so close enough. My version had a rad red bow attached to the antenna. “Thankful” doesn’t even really begin to cover it.)

This is what happens when I’m trying to take a picture while Iggy is attempting to pull me in the opposite direction:

It’s a tradition of sorts in our family to decorate the tree the day after Thanksgiving. My mom and I managed to get the tree up and fully glammed in less than an hour, mostly because this year we decided we didn’t need lights on every single solitary branch, amen.

On Saturday afternoon I (very reluctantly) came in from the lake to spend a night with my grandparents, wherein Iggy somehow received even more attention than he does when we’re with my parents. (”Very reluctantly” because the lake is just so perfect and so peaceful, not because I don’t love my grandparents endless amounts.)

Aside: Iggy literally looked out the back window at my mom and yelped and yelped as we were driving away, that’s how much he loves her. He also succeeded in making my mom cry. I may or may not have been laughing, only because it’s endlessly amusing to me that I ended up with a dog sappier than I am.

Home, and promptly so exhausted; can someone please bring Iggy a San Pellegrino?

I hope you all had a great! Thanksgiving holiday (or non-holiday for all you foreigners* out there).

*I am unable to write, think or say “foreigner” without getting Juke Box Hero stuck in my head.

[Post title from one of my favorite holiday movies of all-time, Elf.]

The movie is pretty great (for a movie about baseball, ha! and is also) about a younger sister trying to step out of her older sister’s shadow. (It’s also about 101 other Very Important Issues, but I’m simplifying lest I plot spoil or send you screaming for the door with the length of this post.) The elder sister (played by Geena Davis and her pre-scary-plastic-surgery-face) is the shining star of the family, and her parents’ favorite. At least that’s the familial scenario as told by her kid sister, Kit (played by Lori Petty).

At one point early in the movie Kit (hilariously) defends the favoritism premise by recounting how her parents typically introduce the two of them to strangers.

“This is out daughter, Dottie,” Kit says with a sweeping hand motion and a voice dripping with mock adoration and pride. “And this is our other daughter,” she continues with a wretched face before again crooning, “Dottie’s sister.”

Ever since first watching the movie I have loved quoting those lines to Theresa, in half-hearted assertion that she is my parents’ favorite, the proverbial golden child. It’s funny because it’s (half) true and (half) vexing (to my sister, and isn’t that the job of an older sister? To protect and nurture and annoy her younger sister?).

“Yay for random endearing sister stories, Kerri, but, um, what’s the point?”

Right!

The point is: I miss my sister. A lot. Her currently living in a country that happens to be separated from this one by a very large ocean is exciting! and challenging! and other great exclamatory adjectives! It’s also particularly difficult during holidays, when our family is gathering together to give thanks and break bread and tell ridiculous stories that only families can tell. Will and Theresa are some of the best storytellers I know, and they are also two of my favorite people on this planet, and so I miss them.

Despite The Hearty Missing, Thanksgiving really is one of my favorite holidays, and as such I have every intention of enjoying every second of my four-day weekend, baking the best sweet potato pie (thanks! to Ali for the pie recipe and to Erin for the crust recipe) and watching copious amounts of football. There is also a plan to dress Iggy in a ridiculous elf costume and take pictures of him in the (Eek! Ack! Zoinks!) snow.

Oh, how being easily amused while owning a pug is endlessly amusing.

On the emotional front I’m just….really tired. Work has been obnoxiously monopolizing my time as of late, and while being so busy keeps my mind and my hands perpetually occupied, it also leaves me little time to process feelings I know I need to, and I’ve been feeling less “strong” and more “teetery” (which is totally a word, I just decided) as of late.

Work has also been devouring my preset time for NanoNano (as I like to call it), and I will herein admit that attempting 50,000 words in 30 days given my current emotional landscape was probably a bit too ambitious. I’m in no way quitting, and in fact as of today I have managed to write 14,200 words of which I am proud, and actually sort of like.

More than anything this month is teaching me that I do have time to write daily; I just have to make it. Which how elementary a revelation can you have, right? But it’s true, and it’s taken me awhile to get here. Logging 1400/1500/1600 words a day is 100% doable for me, if I possess the desire and the discipline to get up early or stay up late, or forsake that stack of dishes for two hours.

Prioritizing has become the name of my game, and slowly but surely I’m discovering how to maximize the hours in the days I’ve been given.

I hope this weekend you can find the time to tell everyone you want to how much they mean to you, and to give thanks for everything you have, and/or supremely stuff your face with large amounts of tasty starches and sweets while contemplating sending yourself out into the fray on Friday morning to elbow a woman in the face for a half-priced sweater.*

I’m thankful for (so many things this year, including) each and every one of you, truly, and I would never elbow you in the face, no matter how cute and half-priced the sweater.

*Don’t worry; I heard that woman totally had it coming.