I have been BUSY for the past couple weeks. We spent a lot of time with family. We went to a Phillies game. I ran SEVEN MILES last Saturday. That was pretty wild. For a lot of people, that's nothing, but I usually hit a wall around mile 3 or 4. I am either too hungry, too thirsty, or in some kind of pain, but lately I've been making a real effort to run with better form and stay hydrated, so that was an exciting breakthrough.
Earlier last week I was at the mall getting my engagement ring repaired (because apparently I can't take care of nice things, and knocked two of the prongs out of alignment when I bashed my hand on my desk at work - what gives?). I wandered into "The Shoe Department," which is a store I can't quite figure out. They carry some name brands, but their niche seems to be the purveyor of hilariously blatant knock-offs. Bob's shoes - for every pair you buy, they'll donate TWO pairs to poor kids who have to walk 39 miles over broken glass and molten lava to fetch dysentery water. I'll just post this picture and let you all digest this confusing bundle of possible intellectual property theft and charitable one-upmanship:
This past weekend we celebrated my grandmom's birthday and, obviously, Mothers' Day. For Miss Iowa's big day, my mom and I took her to a nice little lunch outside at a local restaurant. Well, it would have been lovely, except for the traffic that made it necessary to shout. And the waitress who acted like we ruined her day by sitting in her section. Then she messed up the birthday girl's order and brought her a cheese steak instead of a chicken cheese steak. The horror. Just for the record, though, my portobello and zucchini wrap was bangin'. Just saying.
We tried to put the shortcomings of lunch behind us. We headed down to Wheaton Village to take in the Paul Stankard glass paperweight exhibit. Before you go into a coma, let me 'splain. These aren't your average, desk-dwelling, memo-holding paperweights. These things are AMAZING. So intricate and detailed and beautiful. My favorite was called "Morning Glory Orb with James Joyce in a Potato." A very tiny image of James Joyce's face was hiding inside a potato. Don't question it. Also, it costs $12,500 if you want to buy it for me.
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| Taken from http://www.jsauergallery.com/sagemoon/artistPages/PStankardShow.html |
Also, this, because how can you not love that little face?
On Sunday, my mom and I joined Andy's family and friends-who-may-as-well-be-family at the Tap Room in Chesapeake City for the traditional Mothers' Day crab feast. My feast ended prematurely when I saw the inside of a crab's body cavity for the first time. Mustard? Oh my god, I can't even. Luckily there were lots of bay fries and clams and Yuengling. The beer was instrumental in alleviating the mental trauma I experienced when Andy broke open my crab (which immediately became his crab). Sweet Jesus.
The weekend capitulated with the most hilarious juxtaposition I can think of. On the way home from Maryland, on a three-lane highway somewhere in rural Delaware, we sat at a traffic light. I heard Adam Lambert's "Whataya Want From Me?" blasting from a nearby vehicle. I glanced around casually trying to identify the source. Was it the teenagers in the little coupe to my left? No. Was it the hoss with the eagle tattoo on his bicep in the giant white pickup? No way...yet it sounded like...but it couldn't be...oh, but it was. I rolled down my windows to verify that the dulcimer tones of Adam Lambert were indeed coming from the truck to my right. Not only was this dude blasting Adam Lambert, but he was jamming. out. Drumming on the steering wheel, bobbing his head. He was so into it. Best thing.
Actually, I lied. Best thing award goes to the old man in my apartment building whom I observed peeing on the dumpster at 4:30 in the afternoon the other day. I pulled up in the parking lot and his cane was dangling from the rim of the dumpster, which he was facing with his back to the parking lot as he fumbled around with the fly of his pants. The next day I was heading out to my car when I saw him getting out of the FANCY ACURA that he drives, with his fancy tortoise-shell pimp cane. That he actually uses because he is crippled - it takes him about 8 minutes to climb up the single flight of stairs to his unit. Lest you form a mental picture of a geriatric Shaft, this man is feeble and very, very white. Crazy old man living large and peeing on dumpsters in broad daylight? Best. Thing.
