Life Things

You know how I know I'm adult?  I almost went to Fred Meyer to buy files.  Files!  (I also had an ulterior motive to invest in fancy apples.  Drew once harassed me about the cost of my favorite apples [Sweet Tango, Pink Lady, Granny Smith, in that order], but now he's gone and married me and there's nothing he can do about my expensive tastes.)  Instead, I will ransack our stinky office/guest room/cat lair and use old ones.  You could call me Frugal Kelly... Frugal Kelly Except for the Apples.

This file mania stems from three situations, two major and one minor.

Major #1: We are going to leave redfin.com and explore the real world of houses.  Living the American Dream will go well with our love for Settlers of Catan.  OMG capitalism.  Anyway, paperwork like "whoa."

Major #2: I officially changed my name today.  The process was made easier by the social security lady who was also born on good ol' April 16th.  You know how when you share a birthday with a stranger, suddenly you're friends?  Yep, we're getting tattoos together tomorrow and then making a tape to be on the next season of Amazing Race.  Anyway, paperwork like "kind of whoa."

Minor #1: Harper Dog murdered our comforter.  It's a relief that the comforter was filled with down rather than grenades or wolverines or volatile sacks of poison, but it still made a mess.  Dust busting our bedroom (because our vacuum cleaner broke the day we received that dust buster... we were destined to hunch while removing grime) sent us into a cleaning frenzy.  Thus, the tossing out of 3-year-old bills.  Get out of here, 3-year-old bills.  (Do NOT get out of here, 3-year-old Bills.  Most of us can agree that non-crying three-year-olds are adorable, and ones named Bill? The vision is a fluffy dream.)

What's next?  Putting away the rest of the wedding prezzies?  Haaaaa.

A silly bird.

Double-crested Cormorants love Hammersley Inlet, the fjord my parents live above. I watch them waggle their wings like the barely evolved rascals they are.

Drew tells me they hold out their wings like football players saying, "Appreciate my masculinity!" because they never acquired whatever it is that allows most birds to dry off.  He's probably right.  However, I choose to think that they do it to entertain me.  I hold binoculars to my eyes like a weirdo to entertain them.  The Cormorants and I have an unspoken agreement to amuse one another.

Nature is considerate of my need to giggle.

Hamb and I got hitched four weeks ago.

Our wedding was so much fun I puked.

The ceremony with a pal's fancy iPhone touch on it.

A shot of the handsome, married, Hamblecouple.

Happy bride, happy parents.

An owl named Pigwidgeon could have delivered this.

I went to Harry Potter land for my bachelorette party. Oh yeah, I totally outbacheloretted you. There, I received the poem below and several tasks that I failed. (Don't judge me. It's hard to order butterbeer in Parseltongue....)

KJDub, the girl who lived,
Many missions you will be gived.

All these tasks you must complete
Or Harpy Walden, Voldy will eat.

You will be given tasks one at a time.
None involve coronas and lime.

Don't look for owls. Florida is too hot.
Task by text is what you've got.

Blimey! Each task will be hard.
Always be vigilant, be on your guard.

Strange people may approach you.
You must complete those tasks too.

After completing the tasks you'll be ready to wed,
And be ready for hippogriff-style in the marriage bed.

Like Harry Potter, you can rely on your friends.
They'll be with you until the end.

We hope you succeed. We hope you don't flunk.
Because once you succeed, we can get crunk!

Paws Up: A Good Week

1. Lady Gaga's new album comes out tomorrow. I plan to sing "Edge of Glory" all day every day until I die or until I discover an even better Gaga tune, whatever comes first.

2. Thursday, I am hopping on a plane with several of my besties and flying to Orlando, Florida. There, we will enjoy Harry Potter land, vitamin D, and an unheated pool.

And Kindle was its name-o

I'm looking at John Steinbeck. He resembles 20% of the men I'd see on Seattle's trendy Capitol Hill. His hair is lightly floofed, his expression is slightly pompous, and he's mustachioed. Don't ask me on a date, John Steinbeck. Do, however, stay on my Kindle because you're a delightful screensaver.

What? Oh, yeah, I have a Kindle. I'm one of thoooose, and I love it. Here are the books my teensy weensy machine has awaiting:
-Moby Dick
-War and Peace
-Poems by Emily Dickinson
-BOSSYPANTS! Booya!

(I ended with that last one by Ms. TINA FEY! Booya! for two reasons.
1. It makes me sound like less of a d'bag than those first ones did. I have no no problem sharing my appreciation of old, snooty books, but I do have shame about listing books to sound awesome. I listed them because they're big and my Kindle is small. Plus, they were free. So it's cool. And anyway, I have about 15 other books like those, and I didn't even tell you about them. 2. Bossypants will transform you into Peepants. I cannot count the number of times it has made me cackle aloud, and my counting skills are above average. Truth. Ask me to count something.)

I also use my Kindle to lose at chess (it keeps me humble), distract Hamb with the word jumble (it keeps him from interrupting bad TV shows I like), and stay up on the terrible, free books that are released every day (it keeps me from being a productive member of society).

I'm not an electronics nerd, but this thing has made my life wonderful. Owning a Kindle + knowing Tina Fey exists and continues to write = the happiest lady on this couch.

Pileated Pal

It's a good thing gray skies don't stop the Walden, because if they did, I would have never made a new bird friend. Yes internet-users, today I saw my first Pileated Woodpecker. "Ain't no thang," you say? You think it's just a bird? You're silly. Look:

The Pileated Woodpecker is funny! It has a red fan head, a gangly neck, and pecks dead trees like there's no tomorrow... or maybe there will be a tomorrow, but all the dead trees will have vanished by then. Either way, the Pileated Woodpecker is a manic with the beak.

I saw the goober today in Carkeek Park. Harper Dog and I were huffing and puffing up a hill (that, if I were in better shape, would not be huff-and-puff-worthy) when I saw a massive, flying, hunk of feathers zoom in front of me. It soared like this other creature did once right before Hamb said, "That was a Pileated Woodpecker that just flew by! Did you see it?" And I was like, "Hamb, you weirdo, you can't tell what the bird was just by how it flew!" But I was wrong. It was my biannual mistake. He could tell what kind of bird it was.

I know this because today when I thought, "Whatty what what... that flew like that other thing Hamb said was a Pileated Woodpecker. Could it be?" I snuck up the trail because I didn't want to scare it away, but it wouldn't have mattered it anyway. It was a Pileated Woodpecker, and it didn't give a Spotted Owl's hoot that I was watching it like a creeper. That bird flicked sawdust this way and hopped that way and totally owned that tree.

It was a thrill, and it didn't even matter that I hadn't brought my new binoculars (a gift from my future in-laws who tricked me into liking these rascally, winged beasts) because it was only fifteen feet away. If Hamb were there, he could have stretched out his freakishly long arm and poked it.

Way to be in my life, Pileated Woodpecker. Also, thanks for coming along after I had already locked down an awesome man so that it doesn't matter if my excessive nerdiness scares of future mates. I don't need them. Just give me my Hamb, my pup, my park, and more goofy-looking birds.

Hypothetical "Most Awesome Day" Becomes Reality

If someone had asked, "What would be your ideal Saturday?" I'd answer, "Well, Asker, I'd want to go on a short hike with my dogger, bake cookies, spend an hour or two reading, socialize a bit, and find free money."

Well stomp your foot, it totally happened.

Harper Dog and I trotted around Carkeek Park, my favorite King County location. It cancels out so much urban crappiness. Plus, we met a well-behaved dachshund named Moe.

I baked thumbprint cookies for our neighbor because he always takes out our garbage on Wednesday mornings when we've forgotten. I saved a couple for Hamb, because that is one of the perks of being engaged to me. Cookies.

I flopped on the couch and read The Bishop's Man. Solid characters, interesting story.

Tonight, Hambo and I are heading to the neighbors for dinner, cards, and dog frolics. (Their pupper Coal is a black lab mix. He makes sounds like Chewbacca.)

And the free money? Yep, that happened too. The federal government decided that I overpaid them, so they're giving me a pile of cash back. I love tax refunds almost as much as I love taxes. Truth. "Taxes are a down payment on the common good." The common good is wonderful! Give me a hug, common good! And feel free to toss me a couple dollars!

It's too bad you weren't here, reader pal. Today was a winner.

In case you missed it, here is an adorable picture of Harper and Drew's feet.

Sugar water and songs

Anna's Hummingbirds are obsessed with my sugar water. It's nothing special - 1 part sug, 4 parts water - but they freaking adore it. They won't leave my feeder, not even when Abe is lurking nearby. (Do they know Abe is useless?) If birds used Yelp, my backyard would have 40+ reviews averaging 5 stars.

It's fortunate they love my sugar water, too, because the hummingbirds' presence (and then a little research of my own) confirmed that I am not a nutter. See, sometimes at work, I hear a "chippy ch-ch tsschhh pch". I could tell immediately it was a bird, but then I started connecting with the hummingbirds perched in the trees. "But hummingbirds don't make noises like that!" I thought. "They're just supposed to float around and look dainty!"

Nope. They make noises. They "chippy ch-ch tssschhhh pch" the crap out of my backyard. Also, they're sassy. I even watched two hummingbirds fight. It was like West Side Story.

What else can I tempt to my deck so that I can smile at nature? What would it take to get a baby elephant? I will think about this for all of 2011, minus yesterday.

Linguistically Correct

I frequently force Hambers to answer probably-never-going-to-happen, so-hypothetical-it's-almost-a-waste-of-breath questions.

Examples:

Hamb, what should we do if we win $300,00? How about only $30,000?

Hamb, what would you do if my leg turned into a giant wart?

Hamb, how mad would you be if I kissed Ludacris? Just kissed him. Hardly any tongue.

Since H put a ring on it, I've realized that I get to factor him into all of my decisions, big and little. Should I spend $25 on season 4 of Friends? Should I invest some of my money for a down payment on a house a thousand years from now? Should I eat the whole bag of yogurt pretzels? (Answers: no, maybe, no but I did it anyway)

Anyway, I wondered, "What term best describes this relationship? "Fiance" doesn't mean anything, and "future husband" is precious at best... OMG, he is totally my life partner. Because we make decisions together! Like a team! Life Team!"

I probably won't call him anything but Hamb or "the man" because I only use excess syllables on jokes, but if I wanted to use the most accurate label, I'd probably gay it up and say "Here's my life partner, HamberHambyHamb." And then goobers would give me the scoff eye or wonder if one of us was a tranny, but I wouldn't care at all.

Harper can be Life Mascot. Abe is Life A'hole. My tea is Life Beverage. This is perfect.

Look out, fancy Mercedez Benz.

Unlike you futuristic weirdos, Drew and I do not have wireless internet. As I'm blogging this, my computer is attached to a cord that is attached to a cable outlet that is attached to a whole, wide, world of information and smut!

To you, this non-wireless business might be restrictive, but I like it because it keeps me closer to

this:

This wildly important piece of art is titled "Dinosaurier auf der Autobahn" (oooobviously), and it used to be in the Hambletons' shed. I bet if we took it to the Antique Road Show, they'd say, "This poster is worth one trillion dollars", but I still wouldn't sell it... well, I wouldn't let Drew sell it, because it's not technically mine until the wedding.

Should I move up the wedding so I can be half owner of this poster?

If you were with me (physically), you'd be able to see the face of the guy who's driving that green truck. If you were with me (mentally), you'd be able to think, "Woweewowwow, this dino fills my soul with joy and whimsy!"

I would feel differently if this dino's last name were Rossi, but I don't think it is. I bet its full name is Dino Clompy.

Stay here in my sight, Dino Clompy. Never, ever go extinct.