Our honeymoon, in doodles

In November, Martin and I went to Hawaii to celebrate the fact that we put a ring on one another’s finger and agreed to put up with each other’s gas until we’re old and incredibly gassy.

(I jest. It was much more romantic than that.)


These are the iPad doodles I drew from our trip. We began in Oahu, where we camped on the beach at Waimanalo Bay while we played in an ultimate frisbee tournament. (I know. I know. On our honeymoon. But it was only fitting! We met playing ultimate, so why not celebrate our marriage by playing ultimate?) Afterwards, we drove up to the North Shore, where my cousin got us a family discount to a fancy resort for a couple of nights.

Then we flew to Kauai and stayed in a rental house I found the night before on the Internet. It was perfect: Ten minutes up a single-lane road outside of a historic plantation town that’s outside of the slightly larger historic plantation town that’s outside of the tourist outpost of Popui (on the sunny side of the island). We had a majestic view of the ocean from our lanai, where we could see the private island Niihau on the horizon.

The trip was relaxing and wonderful, save for the moment I slipped off of a trail while hiking on the Napali Coast, rolled my ankle and somersaulted off the edge, catching onto a palm as I rolled to stop my fall. Nothing like hanging off the edge of a cliff to make you thankful to be with the one you love.

I drew most of these in Hawaii, without my stylus (which went missing right before we left). I drew the rooster and the cat when we got home—you can see the difference the stylus makes.

After a drought comes the flood (of words, dog pee, what have you)

Okay, so last week didn’t work out so well in the “blog twice a week” department. But hey—what can you do?

So, here we are on Monday, and I’ve got a mental list of tiny things to tell you about. Here’s to hoping I remember at least some of the items on it:

Calla update!
Last week Calla went ahead and developed an allergic reaction to something—possibly her new incontinence medication. Seemingly overnight, her head, neck and cheeks grew more scabby pockmarks than the face of a hormonal teen. So not only did she have to stop taking the anti-leak drugs, but she needed a cortisone injection to reduce the itchiness, which also happened to make her extremely thirsty. It doesn’t take a biology PhD to put that combo together: One incontinent dog – incontinence meds + increased water intake = a sea of urine vast enough to host the next sailing world cup, located (of course) on the bed of yours truly. Like the age-old saying goes: If it’s not one thing, it’s sure fucking is another.

Last weekend was Kleinman, a big ultimate tournament that comes to Portland every year. I had a great time; my team went 4-3; it was very hot; lots of people contracted food poisoning from the burritos they served for dinner. The most exciting thing was that a couple of my shining moments were caught on tape (in the first photo, I’ve just completed a diving catch in the endzone for a score; in the second, I’ve grabbed the disc even as a taller male defender closes in):


Heat wave!
So the hottest place I’ve ever visited was Arizona in late May, about 4 years ago. It was 105 degrees, and “dry heat” or not, it was downright unpleasant. (I wrote about the trip on this blog — it was the time Chelsea made a beeline for my friend’s mother’s swimming pool, much to my host’s shock, who was worried not that a dog was in her pool but that the dog may not know how to swim.) Anyway, two weeks ago it was 105 degrees IN PORTLAND, which is considerably worse than in Phoenix, where even the attic is air-conditioned. In Portland, the land of constant rain and moderate climate, we don’t own air conditioners, just like we don’t own snow plows: they are unnecessary. EXCEPT, of course, when there’s a ridiculous heatwave that makes you want to do nothing but complain all the live-long day. UGH. I am SO glad that is over.

I am going on a bonafide vacation this week, starting on Wednesday. First, I fly to New York City for ONE DAY ONLY (New York readers of this blog, take note, and then email me if you’d like to meet up), then I drive to Vermont with two friends I haven’t seen in years to go to our SUMMER CAMP REUNION (!!!) for the weekend. I am so excited I can barely think about anything else. Oh, so this is funny: at Alumnae Camp there is always a silent auction. This year, they’ve gone high-tech (sort of) and put the items up for bid online, to allow people who can’t make it the chance to out-bid me on the hand-knit hat I really want. But the person who registered the URL misspelled the word “auction,” and in typical camp fashion, they decided not to correct it but to proceed onward anyway. So, if you’d like to participate in a silent aution, you can do so at http://www.blcsilentaution2009.com. As a friend put it: even the ‘c’ is silent in this auction.

Reunion II!
Sadly, it’s been five years since I graduated college. WTF?! I received an invitation to my 5th year reunion this weekend. It announced: “Register by October 4 and get the discounted early-bird registration fee!” That’s great and all, but the reunion takes place on… October 8! A mere four days after the “early-bird” fee ends. What this means: a) were a student body FULL of procrastinators, not unlike myself, which is why we chose a school that runs on a block system in the first place and b) “early-bird,” at least to Colorado College alumni, actually means “at the last possible second.”

Goodbyes, and plans for more reunions.
My roommates, Rachel and Hanu, left yesterday to head back to Pennsylvania for graduate school. It was awesome having them here for the summer, sharing CSA veggies and dog-watching responsibilities and freshly-picked raspberry smoothies. Calla and I will miss them both dearly, though I am luckier than Calla as there is a chance I’ll see her in November for a “meet up with all of my friends who left Portland and moved to the New York area” reunion. There are some more goodbyes coming up in the next week or so that I’m not looking forward to. Sigh. Why does everyone move to New York? It makes me fear that someday, I’ll go back, too.

That’s all she wrote. I’ve been staring at a computer screen for nearly 12 hours now. Time for a beer.


I haven’t played frisbee in over a month—doctor’s orders.

Actually, physical therapist’s orders. I’ve got tendinitis in my left rotator cuff, thanks to too much disc-throwing. So, for now, it’s weekly PT appointments for a dose of battery-powered anti-inflammatory (seriously! She sticks little nodes on my arm!) and daily shoulder exercises with a nifty latex stretchy resistance band thing. And NO FRISBEE.

(Calla is none too keen about the exercises, by the way. She sits and watches me like I’ve gone insane as I swing my arm back and forth and then pounces when I look away.)

So, there I am, not allowed to play frisbee. It’s killing me slowly. But then! On Friday, my physical therapist announces that I can make 25 short throws every other day. Excited by the prospect of this, that night I dream I’m tossing a disc. Suddenly, the disc wisps passed my head and, with Matrix-like instincts I reach across my body (with my right arm, because somehow even in my sleep I know I’m supposed to take it easy on the left) and dive after the disc. My hand touches plastic and—


I wake up with a start as my right hand slams into the wall above my pillow.

I guess I was so into my game of imaginary catch that I was actually going through the motions in my sleep. I wonder what Calla must have thought about all of that: What the hell? Mom’s acting weird. First that whole arm-swinging thing and now she’s punching walls in her sleep. She should get up and feed me breakfast, fer feck sake. I think I’ll pounce on her now.


The envelope, please…

A couple of days ago, I posted an “Is it or isn’t it?” quiz. Only three people responded. None got an A+.  Posting the people who got every single answer right would look kind of like this:

Instead, I will announce the winners (i.e. participants) in order of degree of correctness.

In third place, with 4 incorrect answers and 8 correct ones, is Michael5000, the mastermind behind the “is it or isn’t it?” genre.

In second place, with 2 incorrect answers and 10 correct ones, is the Internet’s only other Laura.

And finally, in first place, with only a mere 1 incorrect answer, is the world-famous Head of Tim.

The answer key, with definitions:

1. Layout is. It’s when you dive for a disc.

2. Hippie dust isn’t. I have no idea what hippie dust is. Maybe the powdery stuff at the bottom of a bag of pot? (Just Googled it: apparently, it’s nutritional yeast. Which makes sense, because Asa LOVES nutritional yeast. It’s a good source of B-vitamins, which is not why he likes it but I thought I’d throw that out there. But more importantly—MDIC is Hit Number #3 for “Hippie Dust.” Nice.)

3. Scoober is. It’s a very difficult inverted throw that I can’t do. You use a grip similar to that of a forehand, except that you throw it at shoulder height and you release it upside-down.

4. Poofer isn’t. Poofer is, however, an entirely made-up word. (Or not. I just Urban Dictionaried it, and it turns out that poofer has many meanings, including the following: 1. A gay man. 2. A quiet fart. 3. Someone who tells you only what you want to hear; a yes-man. 4. Someone who listens to Neil Diamond (PS—went to his website to find a good image and got really into listening to his new album. Guess that makes me a poofer).

5. Assist isn’t. I think that’s more of a basketball thing.

6. Thumber is. It’s another advanced frisbee throw that I can’t do. Actually, in my experience, most people can’t—but lots of people try anyway. You basically grip the disc with your pinky—just kidding. With your thumb! Because it’s a thumber! Right. If you want to learn more about it, read about it here.

7. Hammer is. A hammer is very similar to a scoober except that you release the disc over your head instead of over your shoulder.

8. Sickle isn’t. Sickles can go hand and hand with hammers—just not on the frisbee field.

9. Flick is. It’s another way to say “forehand,” and it gets its name from the motion of your wrist as you release the disk. You know, like, a flick of the wrist.

10. Going ho is. It’s basically when you lay out for a disc, and it’s short for “going horizontal [to the ground]”.

11. Flashjack isn’t. Pretty sure that “flashjack” isn’t anything. (Wrong again—I guess it’s a kind of wallaby. Goddamn internets! You can’t make up any words these days! They’re all taken.)

12. Goose egg isn’t. I think a goose egg is just one of those things that hatch baby geese. The Urban Dictionary provides several other alternative defs, some of them more appropriate than others. Actually, Asa uses it to refer to injuries that result in giant bulbous masses protruding from your body (which do happen occasionally while playing Ultimate—often after going ho while laying out for a disc—a scoober, perhaps, or maybe a thumber). So I suppose you could consider this a frisbee term, in which case TimsHead deserves a round of applause for his A PLUS!

The cleats they are a-changin’

My last pair of cleats crapped out at exactly this time last year. WTF? Why not wait until, say, November? Why fall apart in the middle of the busiest part of the season?

Note: the duct tape you see below is the only thing that keeps my toes from poking out the sides.

This year I sprung for the expensive kind, made out of a leather that I don’t even want to type here because it makes me cringe. (hint: it rhymes with bangaroo):

Shiny! They’re going for a whirl tonight. Here’s hoping they produce fewer blisters than the last pair.

It’s Thursday already?

Sorry, I don’t know where I’ve been. Still a little floored by the news from the Magazine Mansion, I haven’t had much desire to post anything on this site in the last few days. Plus, I’ve been pretty busy, which makes it difficult to write blog entries.

A few days ago I discovered that I have a plant growing in the trunk of my car. Yes, folks, a plant. Apparently, the latest Traquer escapade transformed my car into a portable container garden. You see, now that my back window doesn’t close, and since the rain has returned to Oregon (hellooooo orblogs.com), the trunk has turned into a particularly hospitable ecosystem. It’s had moss for awhile, but now there is a fledgling weed sprouting through the carpeting. Nice, huh? I’ll post a picture soon.

I don’t use my car very much. I take the bus to work and bike as much as I can, which means I fire up the Crapper only a few times a month. I should sell it, except that between the roof and the tires (both of which need replacement) I might net about negative $50 if anyone was actually dumb enough to purchase it from me. But now it has a new purpose in life: gardening. I think I might scatter some lettuce seeds back there just to see if I can grow anything edible. Not that a head of Tracker-grown radicchio would be particularly appetizing, but it sure would be funny.

Anyway, in the Department of Unwanted Mydogischelsea’s Health News, I have developed shin splints from playing too much Ultimate frisbee. Sucks. I chased the bus this morning for about fifty feet, and when I boarded and sat down, my legs said, “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!?” in that excruciating, allcaps kind of way. I said, “Legs, come on guys, it was just a short sprint. Cut it out. You’re hurting me.” They weren’t having it. “EXCUSE ME, BUT YOU’RE WEARING YOUR WORK SHOES!” they responded. “YOU RUN ON CEMENT ONE MORE TIME AND WE’LL SELF-AMPUTATE.” The conversation did not go well. My guess is that we won’t even be on speaking terms after the frisbee tournament this weekend.

RICE: rest, ice, compress, elevate. That’s what I’m supposed to do about shin splints. That and these funny feet exercises to strengthen my calves. Unfortunately, my frisbee schedule doesn’t allow for any RICE, so I’m all about the AIMF regime (Advil is my friend). We’ll see how that works out this weekend.

Drawing a blank

You’ll be pleased to know that I finally scheduled an appointment with an oral surgeon. And I only have to wait a month! Not too shabby. Anyway, so I am going to share the following video because I’m infinitely proud of it.

It’s something that Asa and I threw together last night as a bid for a tournament called Potlatch that our team is hoping to go to this summer. Every year in July, more than 100 teams trek to Seattle for two days of a ton of frisbee and gift-exchanging (part of the deal is that you bring an offering to each team you play). I’ve never been myself but everyone I’ve ever asked about it has said it’s the most frisbee fun they’ve ever had.

But you can’t just sign up for it like you can for most other tournaments. Instead, you need to submit a “creative bid.” Something with photos, a peace offering, a case of beer, whatever your team comes up with to show how spirited they are. And not everyone who submits a bid gets in.

The deadline for bids is Wednesday but the tournament isn’t until the end of June, so our team was caught completely off guard on Saturday when we discovered that we had to act REALLY FAST. We brainstormed on Sunday, and A and I got to work last night and another teammate shot it off in the mail this morning.

NOTE: Since Youtube reduces the quality of videos to make them load faster, it’s kind of hard to see the letters of our Scrabble game, but on the version we mailed it was better. Also, all of the words we played were frisbee-related, although some were more of a stretch than others (“vie”—vie for the disc; “skied”—she jumped so high in the sky! She skied him; “heart”—that team’s got heart, man) and you can’t really tell, but that last piece I’m holding is a Q that I end up playing upside down as an O. Oh, and, we’re temporarily using the name “Drawing a Blank” as our team name. OK, I’ll shut up now:

PS, is the video working for anyone? I got it to play once but now it’s not loading at all. Could just be my craptastic Internet connection, though.