June 30, 2010

My Ethnic Baby.

My ethnic baby would be named either Lucrezia or Raphaella. Neither of those go well with Petersen, though. Curse you, non-Italian heritage!

Keene already told me he likes Raphaella, but I think he's just trying to change my mind about having a baby. It's not going to work no matter how much I want to name something.

My dream-narrator is snarky.

The other night, I had a wonderful dream.

I dreamt that I was on a quest which led me to a desert. There were many incidences leading up to this moment, most of which I can't remember now. Nearing the end of the dream, though, I was reunited with a group of friends who were going to assist me in my quest.

As my dream-camera panned away from our crowd, walking through the endless desert, a narrator said:

"And so they began their journey. Some of them were searching for fame. Some were searching for wealth. Some were searching for answers. And Jon, well, he was searching for the light-rail station."



Sick burn! High-five, dream-narrator!

My apologies to Jon, by the way. I don't know what my brain has against you.

Everyone Loves an Asian Girl...and Other True-Dats

Did you know blenders bleed?

I've had this blender for about five years. It's a Cuisinart, which is a pretty good quality brand, right? We first noticed the blender was sick a few months ago, when, upon blending, it emitted a slight odor. Maybe passing gas is a sign that the end is nearing? As is typical in our household, we ignored it.

But then the blood started.

It began innocuously enough: a single drop on the counter. I wiped it away without a thought as to what caused the black splotch. Then it happened again. And again. Every time we used the blender, it died a little more. Looking back now, I see the sacrifice it made for us. With each spiked piña colada or late-night smoothie, it dripped more of its life onto the counter. And still, it kept blending.

Within the last week, it has become impossible to ignore the blood. Not only does it trickle out from the crevices while blending, reminiscent of the bleeding walls in Amityville Horror...


It also spits out a final gush after it is turned off.


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Marie Callendar pot pies do not like to be eaten:


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As is evident by the pot pie dinners and excessive piña coladas, the kids are not home very much for the summer. While Maia is visiting her mom in Las Vegas until August, Kayden stays with his dad every other week. When you have a blended family, it splits into about thirty directions during the summertime.

For all the fun they are having with their respective families, I think the kids miss each other (though they would never admit it).

I took a stealth picture of Kayden talking on the phone to Maia, trying to make her laugh:

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Last week, I paid for gas at a station. After I handed the money to the elderly attendant, he gave me a strange look. I hesitated at the door, wondering if I short-changed him.

Then he said, "Dear, you aren't Asian."

I said, "No."

After a pause, he laughed and said, "I like that."
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One of the best reasons to learn to moonwalk is practice in the aisles of grocery stores, to a bathroom stall, or while walking down the line of Subway.


You can tell this is at Subway, because Keene has no idea what he wants on his sub.


A note to Subway: there are a lot of people out there who neither know nor care what goes on their sub. If you want to help these people out, offer an "Indecisive Ingester" option, in which your knowledgeable employees just create a tasty sub without further instructions.

You want to watch something funny? Ask a Subway employee to add whatever they think would be tasty and watch the "um"s fly. Alternatively, you can ask, "What usually goes on it?"

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I can't think of a way to explain these advertisements or to elaborate on why I'm posting them here, suffice to say they are laughingly horrible:


June 29, 2010

Doc Holliday and the Two-Headed Fish: A Visit to Glenwood Springs

On Saturday, we packed our gear into the car and headed towards Glenwood Springs, a mountain town three hours away, where we would camp for the night with Kayden's fellow Cub Scouts.



One of the greatest things about Colorado is that the journey is just as beautiful as the destination.




We arrived in Glenwood Springs just before 11:00 a.m., with me on the verge of death since the air conditioner in Keene's car doesn't work.

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Our first stop was to the...


Where we met up with the other families for a guided tour.

A ranger explained the process of gathering fish eggs, putting them in baskets with shock absorbers, where they cook into real fish. (I may have not been fully paying attention.)


First they look like tapioca:


Then they turn into enormous, bug-eyed sperm:


Then they sometimes accidentally turn into a two-headed fish:


But usually not:




...and finally, they end up as my two-headed dinner:


After the tour, we got to go outside and feed the big fish.

This:


+ this:


= this:




Next stop was Two Rivers Park for lunch and rock-skipping at the Colorado River:


I didn't see the second river of "Two Rivers," so I Googled it and discovered there is supposedly (I say this with suspicion) another river nearby that we missed called Roaring Fork River. I wish I could have seen that. Is it like an army of roaring forks, or just one big fork?

At this park, there is a memorial to commemorate fourteen firefighters who died while fighting fire on Storm King Mountain in 1994.


...And a chipmunk that eats potato chips.


After lunch, we headed to Glenwood Springs Cemetery.

(Look! A lizard!)


(Ooh! Rocks!)

We hiked to the top (good thing this cemetery is now defunct...I can't imagine a funeral procession successfully climbing this path), we found the grave of John Henry Holliday, better known as Doc Holliday, the cowboy/dentist pal of Wyatt Earp. Just after moving to Glenwood Springs, Holliday croaked of his long-standing tuberculosis.


To honor his gambling nature, someone left playing cards. Supposedly, when he realized he would soon die, in his bed and not in a saloon, he spoke his last words: "I'll be damned. This is funny."


When I saw this gravestone, I didn't know who it was, but with a name like Kid Curry, I figured he/she had to be special. And he was! Sort of. You know Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid? Well, he wasn't that kid. But he was in their gang. From VisitGlenwood.com, "Harvey Logan, alias 'Kid Curry' was also buried in Linwood after committing suicide following a train robbery in 1904 near Parachute."


I like this plot because it takes the guesswork out of where to step. I really don't like the idea of stepping over dead bodies.



"Funk is my middle name."




After traipsing around the fairly well-maintained and occasional ornate headstones, we headed farther up the mountain to the Potter's Field. I'm fascinated by the idea of a final resting place for all of the "unwanted" or uncared for people of the world.




While Doc Holliday's gravestone is in the main portion of the cemetery, he was actually buried in an unmarked grave in Potter's Field.



Finally (finally!), we went to the campsite, where we set up the tent and explored the area.





Keene watched hummingbirds:



While Kayden got stung on the neck. Yowch. That is no way to have a good time.


After dinner, volleyball, and general merriment, it was time to sleep on the cold, hard, bug-infested ground.


Bright and early, we packed it back up and headed home to Denver.

But not before stopping for our Starbucks fix. You can take the Starbucks out of the camper (or wait long enough and it will take itself out), but you can't take the camper out of Starbucks.


I often say Kayden is exactly like me. This is one of those times. Here we are: same tired eyes, same irritated expression directed at Keene who kept snapping our picture before we had even fully awakened.