I haven’t written much for the past few days - and apologize for that - because instead of sitting around doing the semblance of work, and then some real work, lately, we’ve been out doing actual things that involve talking to the locals and being outdoors.

I was glad for the change of pace. Not that we’ve been taking living rent-free on the Chesapeake Bay for granted, not at all, but I did feel that sort of tense I-am-on-vacation-vibe. You know it. Like, unless you’re doing the whole Ernest Hemingway in “A Moveable Feast” thing - staying up all night and into the dawn eating local fare and drinking wine, hobnobbing with minor celebrities, and spending your days skinny dipping in the ocean or something - you’re not really making the most of your time.

Back to back shrimp and oyster festivals this weekend, however, did the trick. My parents, Justin and I ordered a three-pound Ziplock bag of seasoned shrimp at the Shady Side Kiwanis Club annual Shrimp Feast Saturday night, sat down at a card table, and dug in, while listening to a local blues and rock band. We talked to our parents’ friends who know all the dirt on everybody in town. We ran into this guy who had us over to his place for beers a few weeks ago after a group of us drank way too much wine and then sang karaoke at the local bar, the Snug Harbor Inn. An 80-year-old in suspenders asked me to dance, and I graciously accepted.

Point being, I felt like part of the community. Like I was truly experiencing this place and having a great time while doing so.

This feeling continued the next day at the Oyster Festival, where we listened to bluegrass - including the band that played while I walked down the aisle and during the reception at our wedding two years ago - ate fried oyster puffs, ran into many of the same people we had the night before, and drank $3 glasses of wine, or $2 beers, while watching the boats drift by, enjoying the perfect fall weather.

Too much? Too annoyingly cute and ridiculous, like a bad novel? I can’t help it. It’s true!

And it gets worse - because yesterday J and I decided to go on a day trip (I’ve stopped working completely for a while - a decision I feel both very good and kind of guilty about) to Calvert Cliffs State Park, where we took a hike through the woods to the shore and the feature attraction, the fossil-filled cliffs, rolled up our pants legs, and waded in the water looking for millions-of-years-old sharks’ teeth. We talked to others who’d make the trek and were doing the same thing, or who were simply enjoying their days off, and the amazing weather.

And then guess what happened? We saw a Bald Eagle soar from the treetops above and down to the water, where it grabbed a fish in its talons and headed back to shore. Then another. Then, like, three more. Bald Eagles everywhere, flying over our heads and along the cliffs.

I’m not naming any names or anything but someone who happens to like birds was extremely pumped. Even started pointing them out to strangers. “Bald Eagle,” he’d say, pointing upwards, smiling, his just-used binoculars swinging around his neck.

You get the picture. It’s been an unforgettable few days, days that, I think, upon looking back, will really shape the memory of our sojourn here.

Or, at the very least, I think we’ve surpassed our reputation as simply “those drunk out-of-towners who sang ‘Glory Days’ and ‘Son of a Preacher Man’ at the Snug couple weeks ago,” and the next time we join the locals, drinking at the bar, hey, they just might know our names.

J and I are taking the night to clean up our house, which has become somewhat of a disaster in the past few weeks. A great disaster though. A disaster where every abandoned box and bag you find on the ground contains a forgotten treasure. That striped button down shirt! The first season of “The Dog Whisperer” on DVD! Cucumber melon shower gel! A Starbucks gift card! The entire works of Shakespeare contained in 25 illustrated volumes! (My dad, that one was my dad)

Seriously, our families gave us a wonderful Christmas, and travelling to both Connecticut and DC meant our Christmas was not merely a day, but several days. Days that we got to spend lounging with our loved ones, giving and receiving, laughing and eating and playing with Mina.

In between Christmas and New Years, we opted to come back to Chapel Hill. Despite the fact that I end up driving up and down the east coast what seems like a gagillion times around the holiday season every year, saying “I’m not doing this next Christmas,” well, I end up doing it the next Christmas. This year we figured we both could work during those quiet, almost eerie days, between Jesus’s birth and the huge party that is New Years Eve. And we both got a lot done, as well as enjoyed the unpopulated town’s perks - eating out, going to a bar with friends - and never having to look too hard for an excellent parking space.

The result, however, was that by the time this past weekend arrived, I felt like I’d been running some sort of crazy marathon. Like I was seeing my life in fast forward. That I’d been acting in a way I don’t normally act since the beginning of December. Dropping my bag and coat on the floor upon arriving home. Off to the store to get presents or party supplies. Spending way more money than usual. Eating whatever I wanted all the time and never bothering to work out. Turning the lights out without my normal, much loved reading time. Sleeping as much as possible, but not much. Packing up my belongings again. Getting on the road.

I know I’m not the only one who feels this way around this time of year, and don’t get me wrong, it’s not even that I don’t like it. I mean, it’s kind of what makes the season awesome, you know? If you sit down to a big Christmas dinner with a great bottle of wine and all these wonderful people and you don’t feel an immediate surge of relief because - damnit, you made it! You did all the stuff and you made it to Christmas! - well, it’s just not as fun, is it?

Plus, I’m not complaining. I can’t complain. I’m pretty sure J and I are the luckiest people on Earth. In fact, I’m positive we are. I mean, the presents for instance, like the fact that we now own a copy of “Mean Girls” and can watch it whenever we want. But also because people love us and stuff like that.

All the travelling and lack of down time also made me very excited for New Years Eve, perhaps even more excited than usual, which is really something because New Years is my favorite of the more minor holidays. I’m not really sure what I mean by that, except that I mean that I like New Years better than the Fourth of July, for instance, but not better than Christmas, of course, because I’m pretty sure that would be sacrilegious.

My brother and I, who planned a party out at my parent’s house, on the western shore of the Chesapeake Bay, spent a fair amount of time worrying if enough people would attend this year’s party to make it a success. The fear exists because of this party we threw for New Years 2004, this party people still talk about, where about 20 million people showed up and almost set the house on fire, but luckily didn’t. It’s hard to bounce back from that. Not that I want to ever have a party exactly like that again, I mean, I’m almost 29 for Christ’s sake, but, you know, I do want our reputation for throwing decent parties to stay intact.

Turns out we didn’t need to worry, because a lot of our very cool friends showed up, and many brought their friends and all together it was an incredibly fun group - a group that didn’t mind when Adam Ant’s hit “Goody Two Shoes” was played about 20 times - they just screamed like they’d never been blessed with such fortune and danced…and danced.

And now, the quiet. I almost felt a little sad tonight. A little like I did after J and I got back from our honeymoon, to our cozy house and I realized the planning and stress and yes, the raucous group dancing, was over for a while and I felt, I don’t know - I guess just a little down. That feeling never lasts for long though - and not only because you realize you have time to take a long bath, catch up on all your magazines, and that makes you very, very happy - but because the quiet, literally, never lasts for long. There’s always some new adventure around the corner, and I have no doubt 2007 will bring many.

A few highlights of Christmas and New Years below, including one of my brother standing with my father, who was dressed in an authentic Ethiopian outfit all day Christmas Day. What? What’s that? You want to know why my father, who is white and born of Italian parents, dressed in an Ethiopian outfit on Christmas Day? An interesting, and valid question. And my guess is probably as good as yours.

Also, you can see my all New Years pictures here, and Jed’s pictures (which are much better than mine) here.

The fact that I had carefully laid out a plan for myself Monday - work out, get some coffee and do a little writing, then do a few errands such as buying some appropriate clothes for an office environment - didn’t really save me from the fate I eventually succumbed to, a.k.a. I went shopping, and not just for the necessities mentioned above, but for, like, some new makeup and these really cute black heels that were on sale at Nordstrom, and before you go saying I shouldn’t have even gone into Nordstrom, not having a real job and all, let me just mention that upon arriving I realized that it was the MID YEAR SALE at Nordstrom, and I know you guys will understand and forgive me.

Normally, when I have things I need to shop for (and not too much to spend) the task becomes tiresome, boring. I might need brown boots, for instance, or a black cardigan (and watch it, people, probably men, who I’m sure are muttering things like, “you don’t ever NEED brown boots,” believe me, sometimes you do) and because I feel I need the item, and am not simply looking around at all the fashionable, wonderful things I don’t need, not at all, shopping becomes a chore. It doesn’t happen often, but it happens from time to time.

This, luckily, was not one of those times. This was one of those other times, when, in addition to efficiently finding the things you need, at a reasonable price, you also find other things you need at a reasonable price, and - the best part of all - you discover it is Clinique Bonus time, and if you spend enough money at the Clinique counter, they’ll give you an adorable little travel bag full of makeup samples. Will you use them? Who knows. But you will certainly go home and lay take them out and love them dearly and try them on and celebrate the joy and esctasy that is free makeup, especially free Clinique makeup, which is especially nice.

The thing was, that after having amassed several bags full of things I maybe didn’t need, per se, but that I had really, really enjoyed purchasing, I started to feel guilty. I don’t think anyone should ever feel guilty for shopping from time to time. There isn’t much better therapy than just going out and doing some nice things for yourself and not feeling bad about it. You’re worth it, you know? But I started feeling guilty anyway, because despite the fact that I had, indeed, gotten some work done earlier in the day, I mean, it was Monday. And not even Monday night, but Monday, early afternoon, when most people were getting into their workweek and making a living and such, and it is at these times that I start thinking about how I left my job to go on vacation (I’m not romanticizing it anymore: I left my job to go on vacation) and that I should be home, and if not working, at least doing something sort of unpleasant, like creating Excel spreadsheets documenting our future financial plans.

Since I was already at the mall and not exactly ready to go home, I did what I could, and sauntered down near the Macy’s, and tried my best to look available. See, there are these market research people who stand down at that end of the mall with clipboards and try and talk people into doing surveys. I’m sure people who live down here and go to the mall have seen them from time to time, maybe even taken them up on their seemingly-shady offers. I always do. First, they ask if you have a few moments to be part of a survey, get some initial information, and then take you around the corner to this office with little cubicles and various products, mostly food. Once there, you realize the alleged “few moments” is a total crock and this is going to take a while because they are going to ask you about 12 million questions about granola bars. Or fried onions. Or cookies (but honestly, who doesn’t want to be asked 12 million questions about cookies? Cookies deserve that attention.)

If you’re curious why I always participate, why, on a totally free day dedicated to shopping I’d willingly spend half an hour in a kind of dirty little office rating salty snacks on a scale of 1-10, well, there are a couple reasons. Basically, I’m a sucker for surveys. Anyone can come up to me, at any time, whether I’m in a hurry or not, and I’ll participate. Part of it is that I like to help out. No, really. I do. Whether it’s women’s health or juice boxes, I like being part of the grand movement. I like knowing I’ve made a contribution that could change something - great or small.

Secondly, and more selfishly, these surveys usually result in some sort of humorous, or at least interesting, interaction with my fellow human beings. And that’s one of my favorite things. I like to spend my time talking to strangers and asking them a lot of questions about what they’re up to. Sure, you might find this strange, but if someone said I could have a job participating in a lot of surveys and then writing about the experience, I’d probably say, “Alright, I’m in.”

But the big pull with these mall surveys is that they pay you. I’ve been paid as little as $5 and as much as $17. Cash. Sometimes you get to take food samples home with you, too. So needless to say when I was feeling bad about having spent all that money on myself, I went down there looking like I had all the time in the world, glancing from store to store as if to say, “Gee, so much stuff. I don’t know where to start! I wish some kind soul would ask me to come sit in their office for a while and talk about where I normally do most of my shopping and my household income.” My natural inclination towards looking like this - friendly, open, innocent - is why, I think, I got invited to join a well-known Boston-based cult in college. I said no, thanks, after talking to this really nice woman for, like, 20 minutes and then suddenly realizing, with a gasp, that this was exactly what our resident advisors had warned us about.

The more aggressive survey-takers try for everybody, but from time to time you see one of them standing around, looking coy and innocent, and you just know they’re not really working for their commission. Those are the ones you have to cater to. This interaction - between the interviewer and interviewee - is one I’ve carefully studied in my work as a reporter as well, to the point where I can scan a room and figure out, in mere seconds, who I’m going to go up and talk to. You don’t want to waste your time on people who don’t want to talk, especially if their name is going to be in print, or who, on the other hand, are going to waste a good deal of your precious time going off about the current political administration and then say they don’t want you to quote them, because they don’t trust the media.

J, apparently, is pretty good about looking like he’s got the time and won’t say no as well. I know, because one night he came home with an ultra shiny fingernail, and explained to me that the people at the “All Things Natural” nail care booth in the mall had accosted him and he’d allowed them to buff his his index finger, massage his cuticle with vanilla-scented lotion.

There were a a bunch of people from the market research group out recruiting Monday and getting in for an interview was a cinch. I made a little money, which was good, and helped get rid of the guilty feeling. Was it more than I spent? Definitely not. But it was a good reward for the hard work I’d done. Really hard work. In fact, after answering like, the 50th question (”How would you rate the nut clusters among other nut products? Extremely different, very different, somewhat different, not very different or not different at all?”) I started thinking about how I’d like to get a manicure, and got distracted. It was difficult to concentrate, but I did, for the good of my shopping habit and for the good of humanity.

This morning I checked out a new office supply store in a shopping center near our house. I use the phrase “office supply store” loosely here, because this is more the kind of place that sells some office supplies, sure, like notebooks and pens and staplers. But also millions of Hallmark cards and stuffed animals and totally weird stuff, like, you know, a plant or two. Just so much inventory that I’m pretty sure the place doesn’t have a chance in Hell of surviving more than a few months, but still, good luck to them.

The store did have good prices and so I stocked up on several reporter-style notebooks. I figure now that I’m out interviewing people and all, trying to make a go of this lifestyle, I should have places to write down what they say and not keep using really old notebooks that are falling apart, and contain to-do lists from, like 2002, such as “To do today: 1) get a job 2) make more glycerin soap for Christmas presents 3) have coffee 4) plan party Friday 5) buy tequila.”

People should not be forced to view my private life like that, I thought, and using those notebooks provides just that opportunity to arise. Plus, people might see that stuff and think, I don’t know, that I’m lazy. And an alcoholic.

And I’ve found, too, that interviewing people and using the back of the MapQuest directions I printed out the other day to take notes might make people think that I don’t think what they have to say is all that important.

So I gathered up several notebooks and grabbed a package of pens while I was at it, because I heard the store owner telling a customer, “Did you see our pens? Our wall of pens? We have the most pens at the best price IN THE ENTIRE COUNTRY. That’s our claim to fame.”

I’m pretty sure that’s not true because this store is about 60 million times smaller than Office Depot and Staples and places like that, and have you seen how many pens those guys have? But anyway, I bought some because I thought it would make him feel good. It didn’t really matter though - making him feel good - because, as I found when I walked up to pay - the man was pretty much nuts, anyway. He asked me how I was doing, like a normal person, and I said, “Fine,” and I asked him how he was doing, and he said “not so good” because he was having trouble with his computer, and that was ok, but quite honestly I just thought he and I were going to perform the “Fine”/”Fine” method of greeting each other and I hate it when someone asks you how you’re doing just so you’ll ask them how they’re doing so they can then regale with you stories about how they’re doing. It’s kind of like when you come back to work after a weekend and your coworker asks what you did this weekend and you tell them and then they’re just about to explode because you know perfectly well they really REALLY want to tell you what THEY did. And usually it’s something not that great. Like that they painted their living room baby blue or something like that.

Anyway, since we were getting into it, I decided to add that I could, in fact, “use some more coffee,” which in my opinion is a pretty normal thing to say early in the morning - you yawn a little, maybe start to stretch - and people usually nod, and laugh and say, “Me too!” and it’s really heartwarming, but this guy, instead, screamed “Coffee is BAD!” And since I was starting to sense that I didn’t want to get in any deeper than I had to, instead of the obvious, “Why?” answered back, “No it isn’t, it’s great.” To which he replied, “It’s bad,” and I replied, “It’s great.” I was seriously getting ready to add a punchy little, “Take that, punk,” when he looked at me, his natural morning energy radiating behind his blue eyes, and said, “I haven’t had a drop of coffee in my life,” and I realized I was arguing with a guy who owns an office supply store and thinks it has the biggest pen selection in the world and sells Hello Kitty pencil holders and wind-up toys, and what’s more, he’d never even tried coffee because someone had obviously told him it was “evil” or something, and I decided to let it go and get out of the store before he invited me to stay for lunch and tell me what he’d done over the weekend.

This past weekend was my ten year high school reunion. It was a great event, and I’m glad I went, but have to admit that my favorite part of the weekend was hanging out with the people I’m already friends with. Don’t get me wrong, it was good to talk to people I hadn’t seen in a while, too. I didn’t even get to break out my “I’m a freelance writer” line because we were all more interested in remembering the times than catching up. That, in the end, seemed far better than trying to impress one another with our new, amazing lives.

One of the highlights of the evening - for me at least - was upon arriving at the reunion (held in a bar in DC) and immediately receiving a few comments on my breasts. Like, that they were bigger than they used to be maybe. While it would have been awesome if these comments had come from people I barely knew, that wasn’t really the case, so don’t get too impressed. Most of the attention came from Matt Johnson, our former class president, and he and I kind of have a history of getting right into the heart of the matter. That’s just how the boy is. And he loves boobs.

Despite the fact that I’m pretty sure my current appearance is based on knowledge I’ve gained in bra technology, and not at all in any actual size increase, I’m still glad it came up. I mean, what more can you ask for at a ten year reunion, right?

I’ve uploaded some pictures from the reunion, a get together at my house, and from when Sarah was in NC earlier that week. Pictures I’ve stolen, by the way, from other people. I didn’t take any, so thanks to Sarah, and all the other people I stole from.

Below is my favorite. When we all sat down for the Class of 1996 group shot, and had to wait there for multiple pictures from multiple cameras, Jennifer and I got bored and decided to make things more interesting - putting our hands on each others’ legs and whatnot, just kidding around. One of the male faculty members there got really pumped and rushed up to take a close up, which goes to show that it doesn’t matter where you are, the thing people are going to be most excited about is even the remote possibility that two girls might make out.

You can see all the pictures here.

Pretended to be a flute-playing duck

Played catch

Rode in a convertible



Made a feast

Spent a lot (a lot) of time looking up things on Wikipedia

“I slept like a rock, didn’t dream at all. And I was really, really hot when I woke up.”

“I know. Me too. Really hot. Plut, everything is out of control.”

“Out of control? Like, our life?”

“Yeah. I feel like - like I just go to work every morning, and then I come home, and there are these people there. Guests. And we take care of them, or not take care of them, but do stuff with them. And it’s really fun, but the house is messy, and - is this what it’s going to be like to have kids?”