i am a terrible flyer. naturally.

Chuck’s getting ready for a big day tomorrow.

That is, a big day dealing with me. Flying.

Me alone is a handful. I recognize that (first step). Me flying is your basic nightmare. I hate flying. I mean, I really, really, really, really hate flying. I find it unnatural. I find it terrifying. I find it to be a terrible experience that no one should ever have to endure. Like socks, shoes, and a summer dress.

It’s ironic with Chuck being a pilot and all. All he used to do was fly every day, many, many times a day. At first it was little planes, then it was big commercial planes. Him flying never bothered me. But, him being a pilot did not, has not helped with my issues. In fact, I always joke that it’s made it worse: I know what the guys in the cockpit are like. Therefore…

But for the record – and this always kills people – I LOVE flying in little planes with Chuck or our friends. It’s commercial flights that I can’t handle. I know. It makes a lot of sense. Don’t try and analyze me or you will end up being the one who needs analyzing.

Basically, flying with me is a real treat.

Lots of hand wringing. Lots of “what’s that sound??” (usual answer: “landing gear” and a slight eye roll). Lots of face winces and gasps. Be there turbulence and I be basically inconsolable.

Last week, I was so mid-panic attack about flying to DC that I went into total meltdown over Burger King being closed at SeaTac. It was one of my best performances. Crying. Stomping. Threatening to go back home. Pretty normal day-of-flight stuff. (Let me explain: I will only eat at BK in an airport because a)I’m a picky eater and don’t like to eat at places I don’t know – seriously, I have so many issues, it is exhausting; b) actually, it’s really just “a”. I don’t like new things. I wanted BK before the flight and that was that, but it ended in a complete meltdown and a train ride out of the main terminal to the one remaining BK on the entire SeaTac campus. Issues…)

Tomorrow, we fly home. Good luck Chuck.

I am a wreck. I have spent all day trying to convince Chuck we should drive home or take the Panama Canal, which I hear is beautiful this time of year. I think these are reasonable requests; he is not even entertaining my ideas. Apparently, this portion of our marriage is not an equal partnership.

The other problem in this whole “I hate flying” situation is that I don’t get much sympathy. I don’t get the “I know, flying stinks, let’s just make the best of it.” Oh no. I’m flying with Mr. Airplane. I’m flying with the man who at age three drew an airplane picture and said “Chuck’s home.” I’m flying with “Anyone want to make the plane stall?? Anyone?” I get no sympathy.

Maybe that’s all I want. Sympathy. Maybe that’s why I’m writing this. Someone tell me they also hate this because the guy next to me is no help. No help.

Tomorrow, he will be some help in that he won’t leave my butt on a curb. He’ll answer every question. He’ll explain every noise. He’ll deal with my crazy. He always does.

Last round of pics from DC:

Washington Cathedral

A flag at Arlington National Cemetary

George Washington's Mt. Vernon

Inside Washington Cathedral

The Washington Monument at night (duh)

Us "garage sitting" at Mt. Vernon. We're pretty sure the Washingtons were big fans of garage sitting like the Allisons are.

my shoe failures in dc. naturally.

I may (may) have made inappropriate shoe choices in DC.

I attempted to pass a bill today in reaction to this devastating realization. No takers. I tried singing “I’m just a bill” and lay on Capitol Hill, but again, no takers. Government, smovernment.

I say I made inappropriate foot wear choices, but really, I made the best shoe choice for what I had available at time of packing. Please to also remember that we left 24 hours after school ended, which was 12 hours after I finished hosting my staff’s party. Time was not of my essence. Hence, I did the best with what I had.

I know. You’re hearing excuses. Bear with me. I mean, really, what do you have to lose? You can laugh at me, shake your head, know that you would never do the same thing, but this is my life people. This is as good as I get. Sometimes, I wish this was “Diary of” on MTV. “You think you know, but you have no idea. This is the diary of Susie’s shoes.”

OK. I own dresses.

I do not own shorts. I do not own capris (seriously, I’m a munchkin – they look sad on me). I wear dresses when it gets hot out. I have about 45 or so summer dresses. That’s my uniform, and I love it. LOVE IT. Chuck was unaware of it being about 45 dresses until we did this thing at school to see which teacher owned the most dresses and yada, yada, yada, Chuck said he doesn’t think he or our bank account wanted to win that competition. Basically, I may have been put on dress restriction.

So. When we started packing for DC, I started picking dresses. Then came the inevitable shoe debate. Great Allison battles have been waged over shoe choices in the past 10 years. I was prepared for a battle similar to Custer’s Last Stand. Except instead of Custer, it’s me and Nordstrom.

It didn’t take long in my packing for me to realize I was up a certain creek without any responsible shoe paddles. I didn’t have time to go shopping and I didn’t have shoes. Running shoes do not actually go with summer dresses and be it vacation and all, that’s no excuse. I will not be a frump queen. I will not be in a yellow t-shirt, Lee shorts, and a fanny pack. So, I started looking for clothing options that could handle DC heat AND running shoes.

I don’t actually have any of those options. All I own are dresses.

So. The dilemma was go and buy 6+ new outfits fit for running shoes and 90 degrees OR tough out DC in my standard fare for free. We went with the free option AND (for the record) Chuck approved of this decision and what I decided to bring.

I did pretty OK the first three days walking 11 miles a day in either flats, Grecian sandals or J Crew flip flops that I bought when my age ended in –teen. I mean, I was in a fabulous amount of pain, but I wasn’t giving up.

Today. Today, I woke up and could barely walk. My feet are so cut up. I had wanted to get a pedicure the moment we return to Seattle, but I am reasonably sure that I have too many open wounds. I look like a band-aid ad, or rather, the band-aid mascot. It’s bad.

So bad (How bad is it!? – that’s a Match Game reference. Culture yourself.), that I had to resort to something I never thought would happen.

I wore white Keds, WITH SOCKS, with a sun dress.
I love that my biggest ethical dilemmas involve shoes with socks. To each his own (attire).

Oh and don’t you love that H&M didn’t have white socks? Or sockettes? Oh no, I got to wear – that. Whatever that is.

And there is me. Frump queen. Walking around DC in white Keds (that Fe threw at me at the 11th hour – God love her), cream and black socks, and my favorite red dress - which is hindsight is probably a little too short and baby dollish for my age. I was a treat for all the senses.

It’s the end of an era.
I feel like I lost.
I really believed I could do DC in my standards. Dang. Point DC.

 I feel like a complete failure, but (as I keep telling Chuck as if it makes it any better) I wouldn’t have packed any differently. I couldn’t have. I physically couldn’t have. And I didn’t want to. For days one through three, I looked fabulous. Fabulous. And that’s all that matters. Because now I am definitely anything but.

The Capitol Building.

The rotunda at the Capitol.

Us in from of the Capitol Building.

Chuck said "See, this court is different because it comes with sausage, mushrooms, black olives, and green peppers." I said "Oh, is that the Supreme Court?" (this is what I'm dealing with.)

The flags around the Washington Monuments.

Lincoln Memorial at night. I liked all the people taking pictures below it.

this is what we spend time on.

This picture could have caused a divorce.

Basically, I wanted to do this picture, I had dreams about this picture, I had high hopes about this picture. It’s funny, because the idea of this picture was much like the ideas I had about marriage. And just as that failed, so did this.

From where we were starting from today, I thought I’d be close enough to easily do this picture without much effort. After walking 11 miles yesterday (in about 5 hours), I was hoping to keep today to a little more manageable Susie amount of walking (normally, that would be zero, but since this is a vacation, I’m willing to up my ante ever so slightly).

But I wasn’t close enough, so we walked. And walked. And walked. And walking trying to judge perspective and distance, depth of field, blah, blah, blah. Then we spent the next 10 minutes trying to set up this picture (resulting in one Susie-meltdown – hence why I am the one holding the bill and not the one taking the picture).

I think this picture added about 2 miles to my daily total and 50 points to my blood pressure and for what? I mean really, for what? When am I EVER going to use this picture (present company excluded)? I will not be printing it out and framing it. I think it’ll make a photo album eventually, but that should be sometime around 2053. Which means never.
It’s a funny thing about vacation pictures. We take so many but then we rarely ever use them. Ever. Does it make us feel better knowing they are there? Kind of like knowing a guarantee is on a box? Or maybe this is just me. I take a lot of vacation pics. I like knowing they are there.

After today’s fuss-fest over the Lincoln Bill Picture, I started watching what other people were taking pictures of and – no offense – a little bit laughing because really, what do you plan on doing with a picture of the Spirit of St. Louis or a large ruby or dinosaur bones.

But it doesn’t matter. I will continue to take my pictures. I like taking my vacation pictures. They make me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Like this one.

And this one.

And this (in my defense, Chuck wanted this as his computer's desktop...).



Oh and this one, because this was a) really appropriate; b) really fun to try and take in public. He’s an Adonis. And this, this is definitely the kind of vacation picture that we will keep, display, and have around for many years to remember our trip to DC.

I'm so glad I'm lugging my camera (and back-up appropriate shoes) around with me at all times.

washington, dc (dump chuck)

Oh, hey hey.

We are in DC. That’s right. This is officially vacation Susie writing to you. Literally: Oh, hey hey.

We decided for a summer vacation to DC. Why? Because we are nerds and we wanted to learn things. And that’s what we nerds do. We learn things. So here we are: in DC learning things.

Today, I got to learn why it is that I hate going on vacation with Chuck. I mean, I hate and love all at the same time. Mostly, being on vacation with Chuck is just like normal life: just the two of us, the things he thinks are funny, and a lot of eye rolls and sighs by me.

Chuck likes puns. Chuck likes stupid humor. Chuck likes to run jokes into the ground. If I’d say the joke once, he’d say it at least 50 times. Really hammer it home. It makes his jokes really funny. And by really funny I mean not at all.

For example: we are staying in a neighborhood called “Foggy Bottom.” I have been told I have a “foggy bottom” or look at that “foggy bottom” or burritos give me a “foggy bottom”. We’ve been here less than 24 hours and I already want to kick his “foggy bottom”.

And see at home, I can just walk away.
On vacation, I am trapped. TRAPPED with him and his “Oh Pennsylvania Avenue? I feel like I know someone who lives on this street”-type jokes.

I’ve been told “huh, there’s a lot of US flags here. Wonder why?”
And “how funny that everything here is named after presidents. What a coincidence!”
I’ve been asked which shops I was looking forward to visiting on The Mall. And if local squirrels were called Mall Rats (or is that just the name for homeless folk?).

I swear if I was walking by the two of us and I heard even a snippet of the things Chuck says, I would blog about the moron I was listening to asking his wife “if McDonald’s bought a sponsored spot in the National Arch-ives.”

I feel like it’s been a long time since Chuck and I went on vacation together just the two of us, and I feel a bit like the frog in boiling water. I got used to him at home and I forgot what him is like on vacation. And him is a lot to handle by myself.

At this point, the best I can hope for is Patty Hearst syndrome and some sort of identifying with my captor. Beyond that, wish me and my foggy bottom luck.

Here’s some pics from DC: Day One.

let's just do a quick catch up.

And here we go.
So. I've been gone for a bit and yada, yada, yada, I'm back. Poltergeist style. "She's heeeerrrrre." This blog is a little like a marriage. For better or worse, in sickness and in health, or until one person just stops talking to the other person. That was me. I'm that person. Sorry might not cut it, but hopefully it will get me somewhere.

It's been a heckuva a month.
You really didn't miss much except for getting to watch Chuck practically go from majoring in to receiving a doctorate in Susie-melt downs.

There were a few things that I missed blogging about during my sabbatical (that's what we'll call it from now on. Kind of like a contract: Hence forth, the intermission or lack of blogging, shall be referred to as The Sabbatical.)

Truly, not much happened. But a little bit did so we'll just do a quick run down, call it good, and move on with our lives in a timely, orderly manner.

And begin.

You missed the day that I came home to Fe's house and found this sitting alone in the back yard with her thoughts and some Rite-Aid chairs.

She was getting her Apple Juice on, basking in the one sunny day that magically happened in May, and watching the waterfall. I DI-ed. I told her this was fine and all, but you're on notice: if I catch you napping at a park or standing in line at 4 pm at an Old Country Buffet, we're skipping grade school and going right for the retirement home. Nursery to nursing home. Bam.

Also, Someone makes this face.

A lot.

And this one. This is her doing "fabulous" a la Real Housewives of New Jersey. I couldn't decide what to get Shelley for Mother's Day, so I taught her daughter to pose and say "fabulous". I'd say that was a pretty solid present and I get a win for thinking it up. Next year: table flipping.

Over Memorial Day, I actually went into "nature". Nature is a two bedroom cabin with wifi and a bathroom, but this was big for me. Fe raised me under the assumption that "roughing it" was sharing one hairdryer.

ALSO, I stayed in sweatpants the whole time. Soak up that natural beauty.
1. I didn't know I owned sweatpants.
2. I had to borrow that sweatshirt.
3. Check out my impressive shoe choice. Oh that's right, it's appropriate. Count it.

We even did a five mile or so hike up to a look out and I only whined for like the first 400 meters (Chuck said he'd never been prouder, which is true and sad). Of course, I treated getting to the top with the same joy and reverence as one does who finishes the New York Marathon, but to each his own.

Naturally, we did nuun publicity shots from the top.

Our suggested slogan - nuun: for the (in)active. I think we really have something there. It just feels right to me. Right and wrong.

And again, no showers, sweatpants only, no makeup.
I feel like some people clean up well, and this picture CLEARLY demonstrates that we UNclean up real nice as well.

On the other sunny day as of late (there's really only been 2, so I feel like I'm being pretty date specific here), we took Lu to the pool.

First, we did some light swinging as a warm up. I got (was ordered) to push Coat. "Push Coat. Him want to swing".

"Sister, you going too high. Stop. Coat gonna get hurt."
In her defense, fallen hems can be a nightmare to fix. Obviously, she was thinking ahead and should probably be Tim Gunn.

Also, she's basically Britney Spears here.
Long, out of control multi-toned hair. Check.
Belly hanging out all over the place. Check.
Really, the only thing she's missing in her re-enactment would be flashing her Britney or going the bathroom sans shoes. Just sayin.

 BTdub. She loved the water.

And for the record, she was fine with getting the bottoms of the swim suit wet, but not the top. Ok.

Moving on, it was also the "Month of Maggie" as of late. Mags is getting married in 3 weeks and everything is wedding right now. Bridal shower one weekend, bachelorette party the next. Hence: Month of Maggie.

You remember Maggie right? (ps: I heart this picture. Sometimes point-and-shoots are an obnoxious girl's best friend).

 We unclean up nice, but really, we do cleaned up pretty well too.

Oh and this is Emy and Jessica remembering that the trailer for Twilight: Breaking Dawn would be released in just hours post-this picture. We did a lot during my sabbatical. Maturing was not one of them.

Ok. So I feel good about where we are at right now. I think we're caught up - enough caught up for now - and that'll do pig. That'll do.

Don't worry. Lots more to post. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon.

i know, i know, i know.

I met this girl over the weekend. Stacy, to be exact if anyone is keeping score. Introductions, politeness, and then her confession "I stalk you. I read your blog."

Really, what blog? Because it stinks around here.

Meeting Stacy made me a little sad. Not her (great girl), but the state of things around here. Somehow, I let this blog get away from me. Life took a little dump on me and the only thing I had control over was blogging. So I stopped doing it. It was my rebellion. It's funny, because something that makes me so happy was the only thing that I could dump. And it sucked to dump it. Big time sucked.

But now I'm wondering if I'm a little bit miserable because I miss blogging a little bit.
Or a lot bit.
Or I'm just tired of my besties nagging me to post something. Anything.

So. Let's do the introductions and the politeness and I'll try (really, truly) to not disappear again. My name is Susie. Thanks for coming back to my blog and letting me try again.
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