Going Mute

It has been almost a month since I've posted a hotpokket. I'd apologize and invent a good excuse, but I don't have one.

For the first week, I decided it was because Kevin likes it when I include pictures and I couldn't decide on a photo worthy of the first week of co-habitation... I mean do large cardboard boxes scream exciting to you?

The second week, I was just too damn tired to talk, let alone write. In addition to working, we painted two rooms, installed a light fixture, re-did our entire closet and dealt with a dog that had severe diarrhea.

The third week was Thanksgiving. And it was time for Kevin and I to go to our separate corners - his in Kansas City and mine in St. Pete Beach. For this past week, I checked out of all imaginable responsibilities and threw out the list.

Today is the second day back home. It feels like home. And the dog has recovered. Thank Gawd. And I missed the shit out of Kevin, which "they" tell me is a good sign.

I've decided that it is simply too hard for me to capture the one hotpokket that demonstrates where and what life is like for me right now. It is too new. And for those of you that know me and know me well, I've spent a lot of time analyzing, understanding situations and people, which mostly resulted in a lot of accepting, even though at moments I didn't agree or like it.

For the first time, I want to live moments without my inner dialogue. Am I doing the right thing? Is this going to back fire? How do I know I know is what I know?

Two of my dear friends got engaged over this past holiday weekend - Ms. Holly and Ms. Rita. I am so happy for you two! What I find most interesting is your experience and your new fiances.

Holly and Juan have been together for over seven years. Rita and Joel first met in April of this year.

The point is time doesn't really matter. Or at least time isn't what makes or breaks a situation. Whether a relationship succeeds is unique to each person and their experience and comprehension of what works for them.

There isn't a perfect formula. How awesome is that?!

Thanksgiving is a wonderful time of year. I love, love it! May you all know how precious you are and how much you are cared for by those who love you, always.

You mean the world to me!

If I could offer one lesson learned this year it would be don't waste your time trying to fit a round peg in a square hole. Protect and support all that you are, cut the rip cord and just fucking go for it.

And don't think about it so much...that bit is for me!

hugs!

HP

Breakfast in bed

For most of my life, most of the items brought to me in bed were glasses of water, aspirin, hot chocolate and of course, the occasional glass of wine. Every once in a while, Kevin will bring me breakfast in bed. And we are talking real breakfast, eggs, toast, etc. He hates wimpy breakfasts.

It is something I truly adore about him. So much so, I moved in.

I could go into the emotional roller coaster I experienced. Am I ready? Am I a good enough partner? Will I be happy? Am I rushing? blah. blah.

But you know. I think we all wonder if we are making the right decisions when we take a leap into the unknown. But to not chance it. Well, that is just stupid.

So I moved my stuff. Because I had already moved my heart. Tomorrow I'll bring Kevin breakfast in bed.

One Mango Tree

Check it out. I am too busy to have an original thought, so check out my friend Halle's fair trade business -- One Mango Tree, www.onemangotree.com; launched today!

BUY IT! I hear the aprons are hot -- minus other articles of clothing. Either way, go to Africa. Find someone cooler than you.

I love you -- buy/support the idea of changing the world we live in.

This is Halle: Murchison Falls, Uganda!

Hugs~

HP

Hodge podge

For the past two days a blower has been going non-stop 20 feet from my cube. Apparently there was a leak on the 11th floor that has thoroughly drenched the 10th floor below it.

Clearly the solution is a non-stop blower directed at the soaked carpet and wall. And I wonder why when I go home all I want is a drink.

For kicks, here is my new favorite photo of Kevin and Norman. We were in NYC visiting Linds! I mean, it is perfect!

And a special thanks to Snoozie, who dog sat Norman this past weekend. The pup contracted an intestinal infection on Sunday and Snoozie was able to get him to an emergency vet (there is much more to the story. But intestinal infection, need I say more?). Much appreciated... from the bottom of the heart!

Sometimes I wish there weren't so many miles between some of us. Life is so busy and I don't always feel like I get the time to tell you how much each one of you mean to me. I may not see you every day, but I am always there in spirit, walking beside you, supporting you and looking forward to the next time we get to visit... Linds! So proud of you for kicking some major PR ass, hang in there, Sissy! The road less traveled, do it.

Take care of you - HP

Locked in, Locked out

This happened a week ago, starting at 6:45 a.m. Monday, September 24. The reason I haven't hotpokketed about this yet is well, I was still plum pissed off about it.

Let me set the stage. Kevin left on Sunday night for a week long work meeting in Atlanta. I was home with our dog, Norman or booger or pumpkin or butthead or Parana, depending on his temperament. We go to sleep and the alarm goes off at 6:30 a.m. The booger is ready to go out and EAT! And I don't usually type all caps so when I type EAT, trust me, Norman wants to EAT.

So I walk to the bedroom door, half awake, and turn the knob to open the door. Nothing happens. Try it again. Nothing happens. And I have this flashback from Saturday am, Kevin and I have trouble opening the door, so his friend had to let us out. Cut to my brain thought.... "HOLY SHIT I AM LOCKED IN THE BEDROOM! And my dog has to EAT!!"

I call Kevin, who gives me his advice, "Sometimes, when I turn the knob all the way to the left and pull, it snaps open." Cut to my brain thought, "HOLY SHIT I AM LOCKED IN THE BEDROOM! And my dog has to EAT!!" But I tried it because what else am I going to do. Nothing happens. Dog is whining because he doesn't understand why I won't let him out to EAT!.

So I grab keys and jump out the window. Yep, it is true. I jumped out the bedroom window. Fortunately, I put a sports bra on, running shorts and running shoes before I jumped, as this is very valuable for later. And of course, Kevin's house is on the first floor. Dog is now freakin out, and mind you it is 6:55 a.m. Every neighbor that the dog hasn't pissed off yet is now pissed off.

Post jump, nothing is broken, so I open the building's front door, walk towards Kevin's front door and place the keys in the door. Nothing happens. Door is locked. Cut to my brain thought, "HOLY SHIT I BOLTED TO DOOR ON THE INSIDE LAST NIGHT! AND I DON'T HAVE THAT KEY. (*&^!!" Friends, I have just gone from locked in to locked out.

To make matters worse, the next door neighbor, who as far as I am concerned was born pissed off, is standing in her threshold, tapping her foot with her arms folded and says, "God, what is that noise, I thought someone was throwing themselves into a wall."

Calmly, I deliberate. I have two options. I can beat her up, which is what I really want to do for having a comment about EVERYTHING! Or, I can just ask her to borrow her phone, which I may need later. I chose the later, but it wasn't until I reminded myself that my escape route after I pounded her ass was no longer an option. So, I call a locksmith, because what else am I going to do. "A technician will be there in 30 minutes," says the operator. It is 7:05 a.m.

Sweet. I go outside and call my supervisor, "I am locked out. This may be a while. I'll call you when I know more." At this point I realize that my dog is starring at an open window. So I run around to the window and call his name, "Norman, Norman." Head peaks out of the window, Whew... He is fine, barking his head off, but he hasn't jumped out the window. Whew... that would suck to have to tell Kevin.

Hallelujah, 7:30 a.m. the building manager shows up and I ask him for his spare set of keys. He hands them over. Yes! I run to the front door of the condo, try the keys, nothing happens. SHIT! Building dude doesn't have the key to the bolt either.... good grief.

Waiting outside... waiting outside.... Thank GAWD, I decided to put on a sports bra and runners. At least I can slightly play it off as an early runner. My one give-a-way, I still have my whitening trays in. Nice! waiting outside... waiting outside...

8:30 a.m. the Locksmith shows up and we immediately start drilling open the lock, awesome. Shit is everywhere and now the dog is freakin out, again. We are onto our second drill hole when the building manager comes over and says, "Did you ask for the keys for condo #140 or #144?" Given that I have a man to the left of me currently drilling open #144 locks, I say, "Clearly, #144." He goes, "Well, I guess it doesn't matter now, but I gave you #140 keys." Cut to my brain thought, "Of course you did, you piece of &^%!"

And building sucky manager goes straight into, "Either way, I couldn't give you these keys anyway, seeing you are not on the lease or anything. Tell Kevin to come down to the office and fill out an authorization form when he gets back in town." I think, "oh, you bet your ass Kevin will fill out an authorization form, as soon as he rips out the damn bedroom door knob."

Success, we break open the front door lock. Norman is going bananas, because, "Yes, this means I get to EAT!" Well, shit, wouldn't you know that we can't get the bedroom door open! It seems I locked the skeleton key at 6:45 a.m. when I was first trying to get out. It is now 9:07 a.m. Will this ever end?

So I go and get a six foot ladder from the not-very-nice building manager, climb back into the bedroom window and unlock the door from the inside. Complete full circle. You have got to fricken kidding me.

$114.00 dollars later the Locksmith leaves. Norman gets to EAT! And all I want to do is go back to bed. As Norman is scarfing down his chow, I take a look at the bedroom. He didn't pee. He didn't eat my shoes. He calmly sat there until I figured it out. That is amazing.

So I sat down at the foot of the bed, starring at the now open bedroom door. Norm trots in post meal, and I thought he would immediately become a parana. As now, he would surely have to PEE! Instead, he sat next to me and put his head in my lap. It felt like it was his way of saying, "wow, I know that sucked. I am sorry. " And you know, I felt better.

So I put my big girl pants on, called Kevin and said, "Hey, baby, we are in!" And then I took our dog out for a walk, gave him the biggest treat on the planet and went to work. Shit happens. But I am so glad that I didn't fold like a cheap lawn chair. And seeing this face when I finally got back into the bedroom, well, it almost made it worth it, ALMOST! :-) HP

Puzzle Piece #2

SPB, FL: I took this photo when I was home in July for my mom's birthday. I slept 200 feet from this view for 18 years, yet never appreciated it, but now, the beach is in my blood.



I have a ritual when I go home. It takes three bridges to cross Tampa Bay and two intercoastals to reach St. Pete Beach. And when my Mom's car crosses the final bridge... Linds, what is it called? shit! Anyway, I stick my whole head out the window and take a huge breath of salt air.

Without fail my Mom says, "You are such a Tulip." Tulip is a term coined by Lindsay. It means reaching towards and basking in the sun, like you can't get enough. Much like the flower.

There is a sister of a friend of mine from home, who sticks her head out the car windows at stop lights to "work" on her tan. Wha?!! Now tell me, what is your silly ritual?

Goober's Hotpokket

Maybe I shouldn't tell this story, and I apologize in advance for those of you who may be offended. But today, when I heard this story, I was uncontrollably laughing at my desk. And this is a huge feat, mostly because I sit next to my boss, his boss and the head of new business for my office. So overall, I try to keep it down.

That said, my boss is on vacation and my bike is currently parked in his office. PHOTO Op... but I can't bring myself to do it.

So I am catching up with a friend from NOLA (New Orleans, LA), who recently made a large jewelry purchase. We exchange the usual 'sharing-news-between-friends-pleasantries, "oh, that is awesome, congratulations!" etc.

And finally, Goober, (his name for purposes of this discussions) says, "Do you want to hear a funny story?" And I say, "Of course!" And he goes into, "A few nights ago, Sam (his gf) and I were sleeping back-to-back and apparently, I let out a huge five-second fart. It was so forceful that it made Sam's boxers ruffle and it woke her up!"

(I am snorting and laughing at my computer. Because this is sooo Goober.)

And he proceeds, when he knows I am now crying from laughing so hard, "You know, she tried to wake me up. But I was completely passed out. So the next morning she said to me, 'You realize you farted so hard last night it ruffled my boxers and woke me up?'"

Goober, starting to crack-up says "and HP, swear, I had no idea my farts were that powerful!"

(I am gasping for air and now have the Admin assistant asking me what the hell is so damn funny.)

And Goober says, laughing "She actually said, 'You ruffled my boxers!' "

I am so happy for them... they are the real deal, obviously! HP

Training Wheels

My sophomore year of college I met "the parents" of my college boyfriend for the first time. They are in short, the most amazing, lovely people. Yet, they are also much like the 1950's family set-up, and it isn't fake! I pinkie swear.

That first night, during dinner, Mr. Therron, who I still call Mr. Therron, asked me, "So do you have any brothers and sisters?" I answered, in an attempt to be clever, "No, but I have a step mother." No one at the table laughed...

I remember coming home that night feeling completely deflated. I have never experienced a family like theirs. And I hate to admit this, but I thought they were damn near perfect. And although I am wonderful in many ways, at nineteen, I knew I was not perfect and neither was my upbringing. I spent the better half of six years trying to find or create what they had. And it took me a long time to accept that perfect for them wasn't enough and maybe even, dare I say it, boring for me.

I think we all try at some point in our lives to emulate what we admire in others. But I think what we admire is their happiness, their security. Maybe I am wrong, but I know that is always what I envied or wanted.

For the first time in a long time, I am in a place where I am not emulating or trying to be anything or anyone. And I find that although empowering, I am flat-out scared shitless. Mostly because it feels real and I know it is finally me in my life, instead of playing a role I thought I wanted.

I think it is easier sometimes to deal with others than to deal with yourself. And I am real good at concentrating on the other person to avoid dealing with my own issues. It has been almost a year since I finally accepted what wasn't and I find I am in my own element of perfect. I have a wonderful person in my life. I have true, life long friendships. I have strong, loving relationships with my parents. And as of right now, I am still employed in a job that I want to be better at.

It even turns out that Mr. Therron always loved me for me. It just took me a while to embrace her and love her too.

Now, I find myself freakin' out about my element of perfect, because I was so use to the dysfunction. I have to train myself not to look for the next shoe to drop or for something bad to happen.

And maybe this is coming off self-absorbed, because I know I am lucky, damn lucky. But I feel like I am in training and I don't deserve all of this good. Because at the end of the day, I still don't fully believe I am worth all that I didn't see growing up.

I know. It is ridiculous, intellectually. But I have those dark places. And I know it will be something I deal with and improve upon my whole life.

Kevin and I rode bikes to work today. If you can do it, go try it -- so fun! I felt like I was ten years old again, carefree and having fun! I even gave into the urge to scream like Tarzan as we crossed over the Conn. Ave. bridge from Adams Morgan. I realized then that I am my whole self around this person, at all times, for better or for worse. And I really like the stability of that.

But I still need training wheels. I still need good people to balance me as I test my ability to balance on my own. ... Even when I don't feel like I deserve it. I am blessed that I have those people in my life.

Perfect is overrated. Balance, love for who I am and love for who I am not, I'll go for that mess any day. HP

Time for a new pair of...

Orginal thought:

I realize I sound like my parents, but man, how about the weather this weekend?! huh? huh? It was absolutely beautiful in DC - crisp blue air. You almost needed a sweatshirt.

The plus is -- holy shit, no more swamp ass! The minus is - summer is winding down. Which means, time to repair the fall shoes. Sunday, as I was completing my list of to dos, I pulled my pile of 'to be fixed' shoes together to take to the shoe repair guy, or as my Mom calls him/her, the cobbler.

Insert additional thought:

Saturday, I did nothing. I recovered from my final birthday week bash and basically relished in the fact that I have the coolest friends ever... no really, the absolute coolest, evvvverrr. I don't remember a lick of the cab ride home, but I remember waking up wondering how long I could hold it. Because the longer I held it, the longer I could sleep. And as soon as I walk to the bathroom, the dog will be up and ready to go. Not to mention the shear pain of my headache while lying horizontal was hard enough to stifle.

Then there was the whole thought of Kevin waking up to my screaming, pondering, "why the hell did I let this person into my house last night?" So what did I do. I put my big girl pants on and went to the damn bathroom. Because for fuck sake, I am twenty-six years old. What were my other options? And you know what, it all worked out. P.S. My dog is my hero. He slept until 12:30 on Saturday. YES!

Back to original thought:

Today like a good doobey, I went to the cobbler, who happens to be a dude. I show him my favorite boots. I purchased them three seasons ago in NYC. Yes, HP loves, LOVES shoes. Anyway, the damn cobbler says he can't fix my boots because the heel has a huge chunk of wood missing... and says, "I don't think they are safe." I immediately began to plead, "can you please just re-do the heel, forget about the missing chunk. I'll wear them until they break. No one will even see the heel under pants."

He repeats, this time squinting his eyes,"I don't think they are safe. But you can call the manufacturer and learn if they can send you a new heel. If you bring me the heel, I'll fix it for $60.00" In my mind I think, "Well, I'll put a $60.00 boot in your... Send me on a wild goose chase only to charge me 60 bones that could go towards brand new boots. Pbbsfftst!That is just bunk!" Instead, I say, "Thanks. I'll try it and see if it works." Grumbling as I walk away I think to myself, "How the hell did I take a chunk out of my boots and not realize it? Who does that?!" And then it hit me, "Damn, hotpokkets!"

By the time I made it back to the office, I was laughing at the ridiculousness of the entire scenario. I mean, seriously!? It is time for some new boots. What they hell was I thinking taking them there to begin with.

Pop!!

Yo! I turned twenty-six this week. Weeee! And I am having the best possible birthday week on the planet. Yes, birthday week. We all should celebrate the week... trust me, a-m-a-z-i-n-g.

The reason the "birthday week" is so wonderful is that you can fit in the quality friend and family time through the week without worlds colliding. This is an extremely valuable feature when you have many friends and family that live in different worlds, literally, planets apart...

I eat it up, because all who I love and adore, although maybe not in each other's galaxy, are in my mine. And I am able to celebrate my friendship, relationship with them throughout the week, using my birthday as an excuse. Because by twenty six, all that really matters is being able to spend your birthday with those you love most.

You know who you are -- thank you for being a part of my life. I love you all very much. I am a happy, happy girl.

Now, if only I could figure out how to insert audio on this post. I would have the constant sound of champagne being opened, POP!!! As Rita says, "shiza," the pic will have to do.

Pour vous!! xxo HP

Puzzle piece 1

My grandmother, Dee Dee, loved daisies. They were her favorite flower. When I would ask her why she would always say, "because daisies never tell."

And I guess that is true. If you play "he loves me, he loves me not," you can end on the one you want if you allow the 'yellow' center of the daisy to act as a petal. Obviously, when I was little, I always wanted to land on he loves me. And if I pulled the last petal on he loves me not, I for damn sure pulled the center. I vividly remember pulling the yellow petal and proclaiming with a huge grin,"he loves me! yes!"

But what intrigued my Gram the most about daisies was their ability to represent the blessing of today and the excitement of the unknown. Life is unpredictable and incredibly humorous. Daisies remind me of the importance of "keeping it simple, stupid," a Gram saying. They are my favorite flower and by far, a cherished puzzle piece.

Puzzle pieces - the random things that make HP, HP.

The Lake | Boats on Boats 2007

Outside of being incredibly beautiful, what I love most about Lake Norman is the person who drove me there.

I don't pretend to know much about real love. But I figure a person who sincerely offers his hand, because he just wants you, is a great way to start.

Boats on Boats 2007 has been a tradition for going on three years. It begins with lots of whiskey and a constant line at the beer pong table. And it ends with a huge poker game and lots of time on the floating dock! Oh, the middle is all fuzzy...

One funny...

Kevin told me on Saturday morning that I had difficulty remembering where the dog was before we all went to sleep. Apparently, it went something like this -

5:45 a.m. Saturday, September 1:

HP says, "Baby, where is the dog!?" He responds, "The dog is in the crate." She says, "Oh, ok. Good." Cut to, HP letting the dog out of the crate. Then, dog and HP going outside for a nite cap.

Immediately, Kevin catches the dog, who does not have his lease on, and puts him back in the crate. 20 minutes passes, rinse and repeat -- three times!! whoops...

This is why Kevin and I get along so well. We both want nothing more than for all of our friends to be in one place, hanging out and having a good time. There is truly, nothing better.

Hope everyone had a great Labor Day!

Give Me a Y!

Ahhh, Labor Day weekend. For the north, this holiday symbolizes the end of summer. Memorial Day weekend is the beginning... who knew? I'm from Florida, where it's summer year round. Therefore, I wear white whenever I want. And if I can wear flip flops without freezing my toes off, dammit, I am in flip flops!

For the last year or so, I have spent Memorial Day '06, Labor Day '06 and Memorial Day '07 in Avalon, NJ, with my Boo, Sweetness, Denise and Scooter. Kevin showed up for this year's festivities... love it.

I was reminded about last year's Labor Day because I stumbled across my free putt putt golf game ticket stub a few nights ago in another purse. (I have many purses. All of which serve a very important purpose, I swear!)
Anyhoo, I won that sucker post game, where I believe Boo beat us all (shocking...). I won it from the return-your-ball pirate game. Visualize an upside down pin ball machine flat against the wall. You place your ball in a whole at the top, and it meanders through in an attempt to find 'treasure'... whole one - nothing. whole two - free game. whole three - nothing. And so it is my turn and weeee, my free game of putt putt golf ticket!

We spent the rest of the day at the Wildwood boardwalk. If you haven't been, change your Labor Day weekend plans now and go, immediately. Wildwood is AMAZING. The eye candy alone. We played skee-ball, go-karted, rode a wooden roller coaster (which I still have the pic) and ate the best carnival food ever!

I love Labor Day weekend. I love Avalon. Mostly, I just love the idea of remembering yourself 'jump up and down excited' that you won a free putt putt ticket only to find it in your purse a year later... what a dumb ass.

This year, I am switching it up a bit. Kevin and I are headed to Lake Norman, NC with 18 of his friends from college. There probably wont be much skee-ball, but hotpokkets are expected.

For fun, here is a pic of HP this past Memorial Day weekend in Atlantic City. Scooter, Denise, Kevin and I decided to take a trip-within-a-trip. Post Avalon, we drove to AC to meet Mario and Lindsay... hilarious. As Scooter says, "Give me a Y!"


Have a great Labor Day weekend, HP!

Here's Looking at You Kid

Today I learned that Ingrid Bergman, star of Casablanca, came in and out of this world on August 29. I mean, who knew. I sure didn't. The only two famous people I know with a similar coincidence are John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, both of who died on July 4, 1826.

Yeah, yeah... I love American Revolution history. Now you know why I live in DC. but my point, and I promise I have one, is today is also Rita's summer goodbye, Wednesday Night Drinks (WND) celebration. And those of you who are not privy to the WND e-mail invites each week, man are you missing out!

Let me provide a few of my favorite snippets from Rita's 'why we all need to celebrate' e-mails:

"In those moments of unrest, when what you want and what you need leave you feeling perplexed, nauseated, and unknowing, I find a helpful trick is to think about what you already have: my desire to be above all trends, yoga, my shoe collection and that wild fearless voice inside me that says never give up..." Bend it WND 18th Street Lounge

"All the prepping and spraying and pinning and styling and posing and smiling brought us to a simple question and a simple answer -- I Do. And with that, let me just say HALLELUJAH, life resumes!! Now the bride is safely off to the Maldives honeymoonin' and I am safely (and oh so gratefully) back in DC. So listen, I realize it's a Tuesday....and I realize it's last minute, but I just simply cannot wait. So here's my one question for all of you: Do you wanna come out -n- play tonight??" Come Play With Me WND PLAY

and today's...

"Sweet summer....in all her muggy sticky glory is coming to a close. She's given us her best -- months of sunshine and swamp-like conditions. The happy hour deals on my blood have sent the mosquitoes into intoxicated bliss as the days of sun-sexed skin and natural hair highlights grow shorter and shorter. In honor of open toed shoes and borderline oppressive heat I think it's high time for a WND...." Perfectly Seasoned WND The Reef

The premise of WND is very similar to hotpokket. We all need and want time to celebrate with our friends for no good reason other than it's Wednesday! And unfortunately, some of those I love the most are not in my zip code. Hotpokket is my way to celebrate all who I love and hold dear without having to consider distance.

That said, this hotpokket goes to Rita, a district resident! She is one of the three real girl friends that DC has blessed me with. In my four years here, we have been through a LOT... moved four times, changed jobs three times, had both hearts broken and drank a ton of red wine. So, "here is looking at you kid." Thank you for being in my corner, for WND e-mails and of course, coming to 'Boats on Boats' this weekend!

xxxx HP

"A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous."
Ingrid Bergman

Straight Hair, 3rd day and Counting...

For the past two days, I have had straight hair. This is an amazing feat given DC is a swamp right now, and well, I have curly ass hair.

And yes, I got my hair did on Friday night. This involves three hours of work. One hour spent with my hairstylist to determine what 'look' we want, to create the hair dye and to place a ton of tin foil in my head. And if you have never had highlights, visualize Medusa but with tin foil, not snakes. One hour spent waiting for my highlights to take hold and then for my stylist to complete the dude's haircut appointment she conveniently placed in between mine. And one hour spent straightening my hair. Don't laugh. It involves using a massive amount of products, drying my entire head of hair with a straight brush and then finally, straight-ironing the whole mop. Final product -- Beeeyooutifffulll. :-) And the best part is it lasts for three whole days.

If you are lucky enough to have Lindsay's hair, see above, which doesn't take hold of the smoke smell, largely because NYC doesn't allow you to smoke in bars, it lasts four days. Beeyotch. But hey, at least she is stuck with the curls too. It's a complete bonding factor. Come to think of it, it was Lindsay who introduced me to a diffuser... so I take back the Beeyotch comment, she might as well be my sister, aka Sissy!

Hope everyone had a great weekend. I know I did, enjoying smoke-free straight hair!!

The Stoop

The stoop is one of my favorite places in the summer. Mostly because the one I frequent is on a busy street in D.C. right by the National Zoo. And trust me, the amount of Saturday strollers on the sidewalk rivals Disney World. But outside of the eye candy, I love the activity of being in the thick of a neighborhood.

And it helps that I have the cutest puppy, ever. More often then not, a little girl, comes up to us and says, "May I please pet your German Sheppard puppy?" I love, love it.

I frequently have coffee, lunch and cocktails on the stoop. And on more than one occasion, the stoop has been the place to meet up post bar or for the last drink before calling it a night.

After one festive night, during the weekend my good friend Campers was in town, a photo shoot commenced on the stoop. Cement stairs, drunk people and a camera do not mix well.

Here comes the hotpokket. I woke up the next morning all excited to view the pics, and my camera would not work... For the life of me, I couldn't remember what happened. Until about a month ago when my favorite person quietly and without judgement returned my now fixed digital camera.

With 30 pictures of evidence, it looks as though after the twenty cigarettes, putting t-shirts over our 'going-out-dresses' and killing an entire tub of french onion dip (or at least I think it was french onion), yes, you can say it, DISASTER, my camera found itself bouncing down cement steps on my beloved stoop.

And since I will be calling the building attached to the stoop home soon, I figure it is time to institute a few stoop rules.

Number 1: "No french onion dip on the stoop." Obviously, the dip directly impacted my ability to hold the camera firmly.

Have a great weekend and enjoy your stoops! I know I will.

@#!$ or get off the pot!

A blog! I have been talking about creating my own blog, well, for too long. And since one of my favorite sayings is, "I do what I want." I figure it is time to get off the pot and just simply start.

Perhaps the best place to start is explaining 'hotpokket,' pronounced, hot pocket. This is a term that took hold about a year ago, when mid my morning-after-post-night-out story, I said to my best friend, Lindsay "We were at Bourbon, then I have a hot pocket, and then, we were in a cab on our way home and I got a text from.... " You get the idea.

And Lindsay says, "You had a hot pocket after the bar? Wha?" And I say, "No Linds, a hot pocket, meaning, I don't remember what happened during that pocket of time... But I remember the cab ride home, yes!" Lindsay says, "Well you dumb ass, I thought you were eating a hot pocket outside of the bar..." So it stuck, hot pockets are those moments of time where you simply don't quite remember what happened or the details are fuzzy.

I love hot pockets. Because eventually, the memory pops back in, and for the most part, it is a hilarious memory. And what are the best blogs, hilarious recounts of moments in time. So mine are called hot pockets, or in this case, hotpokkets. I am very excited about Hotpokket.
It will be filled with 'pops' of memory peppered with visuals... photography, my favorite activity.

That said, I am a twenty-something single gal (only because my Dad says gal...) in Washington, D.C., although I believe I have finally found a good egg. Girlies, you know what I am talking about. I work in communications, and I've been in the Washington bubble for about four years.

I grew up in Florida, but was born in Indiana, and fortunately both took hold. There is nothing like the smell of the ocean and basketball is well, life.

I am a Florida Gator, and let's just say, Gainesville is now officially called, "Title Town." Yes, we are that obnoxious. I am looking forward to keeping track of this life and all the wonderful, amazing people I share it with. This is one roller coaster, and thank gawd, boring is for the birds.

And so it begins.