Winning the argument


Two Fridays ago, Kris and I went to Seattle and visited with Ben, Lisa and Jake. Ben, at one point, showed us Jake's Michelin Man legs and arms, where his baby fat rolls jiggled and folded. At some point soon, Jake will hit his second baby growth spurt and lose all of the jiggles. Until then, however, Ben is showing it off.

On Wednesday night last week, at communal dinner, I mentioned we had journeyed north and seen Jake, and wasn't he just the most adorable butterball? Beth commented that, look, everyone has a line on his arm, just above his elbow, where his roll of baby fat made a permanent crease in the skin. No, really, look, look.

We all looked, and sure enough, we all had those lines. Sure, some were really faint, almost invisible, but still there.

So, today on the drive from the airport with Kris and Heather, we talked about this fact when Heather and I were catching up. When I said everyone has this crease, here, look, look, Kris chimed in, "No, not everyone."

Well, the man with less than 4% body fat could be right, but I wasn't going to admit it any time soon. I pulled up his shirt sleeve and tried to find his crease. "It's there," I insisted, looking.

We found Heather's really fast, and mine was findable. Kris' not so much. "Well, it's there."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is. You just can't see it."

"If I can't see it, doesn't that mean it's not there?"

"There's a subcutaneous crease that isn't visible from the surface. So, yes, just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it's not there."


"Okay? That's it? I won the argument? I can't believe you're giving up that easily."

"You used 'subcutaneous' in an argument. How can you not win?"

Heather piped up from the back seat, "You two are such geeks."

Heather's got my back


This morning, Kris and Heather were up early to move a truckload of Heather's stuff up north to Oakland (so sad! Our roomie is leaving us!).

On the way out, Heather said to Kris, "I need a Starbucks!" so off they went to the nearest Starbucks. As they arrived, Heather turned to Kris. "I'm buying, order anything you like!"

So he ordered a coffee.

Once he had it in hand, Heather\ looked at him (presumably squinty eyed and all) and responded, "Hmmm... Kitt's not here.... Coffee! You're having coffee!!?"

Heather, just for you


Hey, Heather, I added some pages that you may miss because they were backdated to when I wrote them on my computer, not when I posted them. Here they are:

Different world
Stuart Foreman
We roll twenty strong

Hope the tournament was fun. Welcome home, roomie.

The Nice thing about tearing your ACL

Guest Post Blog

The nicest thing about tearing your ACL is the fact that you have one concentrated injury - and that's what hurts. There's no ifs ands or buts, if it hurts - it's your ACL.

Now that I'm on the mend, despite the ever present swelling anytime I do more than sit on the couch for a day, I'm back in the world of varied aches, pains and scratches. Suddenly it's not about crawling into bed the same way to avoid putting weight on the bum knee; it's suddenly about inching my way in without bumping the scratches on my right elbow, right knee, left ankle, right toes and oh yeah still not putting weight on that knee.

However, the nicest thing about tearing your ACL is not really so nice in the end. I am so glad to be horsing around in pools, waltzing on terraces and playing ultimate again! Thank you Dr. Masters!

My day in Kitt's car

Guest Post Blog

Kitt and I have been discussing trading cars for weeks so that Kitt can be the fourth best roomie ever and get me new rockin' tires on my car. So far as a roomie she's slightly behind Kris who catapulted me into backflips in the pool on Tuesday (but to be fair Kitt has never tried that - who knows maybe she could catapult me higher!)

So far, one or both of us has forgotten the plan and I keep ending up at work with my own car. It's starting to be a little unnerving as the gods keep sending me signals in the form of ripped rubber on the freeway (once even in my lane!). So this morning I took the bull by the horns and stole Kitt's car.

Ridiculously early I stepped out of the house with the excitement of being able to be a convertable owner for a day - too bad my perfect sexy red dress has yet to be found.

I awkwardly slipped into the driver's seat in my heels and carefully backed out of the driveway experiencing for the first time what it was like to drive before the wonderful invention of the rearview mirror.

Completely yuppied-up after a quick stop at Starbucks, I pulled into the gas station to uphold my end of the bargain for the car switch - filling up Kitt's tank. Finding the gas tank opener button was a new puzzle and not the fun kind like sudoku or LSAT logic games. Very difficult. Hmmm....good thing I had a sports car today because by this point I was running late.

So boo - Honda decided the best place to hide a gas tank button is on the doorframe, which of course is only visible if the door's open! But...yay - Honda decided it was a good idea to put a label on the inside of the gas tank with instructions on which kind of gas needs to go in the car. So I was off to work and getting very good at the km/hr to mi/hr mental conversion.

Now I've decided that the reason white collar men in their midlife crises don't get convertables to compensate, they get convertables because the only thing that keeps a person who works in an office for at least eight hours a day in a cubicle without windows somewhat sane is to put the top down and fly during a lunch break. But so much for my sanity anyway, since I'm headed to law school in a month!

The only thing that saved my rotten full-time, rut of a day was the thought of being able to put the top down and speed down the freeway, which is exactly what I did. I was falling asleep at my desk after an awesome four-day weekend but as soon as I hit 120 km/hr I was wide awake!

And then the ice cream on the cake was Kitt waiting at the end of my temporary forget-about-everything-but-the-wind fix to help me with a more permanent fix. Okay maybe Kitt could be second best roomie ever. Obviously my day in Kitt's car was infinitely better than her day in my car. Thanks roomie!!!!

Underwear, the continuing saga


Sometime last month, Kris came up to me and asked me, "Are those Heather's clothes in our room?"

I had just moved the basket of Heather's clothes from our room to her room, maybe an hour or so before, so answered, "No, I already moved them."

He was insistent, however, and asked me to look at the clothes. Fine, I'll go look at the clothes. I already put them away, why do I have to look at the clothes again? I stomped into our bedroom.

To find Heather's pajamas, and a pair of underwear all chewed up.


The underwear explained the bumping noises I heard earlier near her door: they were Bella rooting through her clothes basket.


So, I went over to Heather's door, and knocked on it. After she answered, I tried to explain through the door that, well, Bella really likes the taste of women's dirty underwear, and, well, could she please keep her bedroom door closed so that Kris' dog didn't eat all of her underwear?

She couldn't undertsand me through the door, and yelled, "What?"

At which point, Kris burst into laughter at the awkwardness of my delivery. Hi, my dog likes dirty underwear, but only girl underwear. How's that for an ice breaker at parks?

I opened the door and was barely able to explain everything; Kris' laughter making me laugh, too. Heather laughed, too, and, okay, dumb dog.

This weekend, we washed, dried and nearly folded every piece of laundry we own that wasn't already on our bodies. I did my "Count the underwear and see if you need to buy more" ritual when we had finished the laundry.

I then went online to buy more. On Kris' credit card.

In four days, I'll have 24 more pairs of underwear.

Which will probably last me a month.


Oh, my, gosh. Oh, my gosh!


A couple days ago, yeah, the one where I was home all day sick, so that would be Wednesday, Heather came home early from work. Thus far, when she's come home from work having not eaten, if there aren't known leftovers in the fridge, she'll stop by some place and pick up lunch. As she did on Wednesday.

So, she arrived home, said hello, puttered in the kitchen, then came out to the living room, where I sat with migraine fairies sprinkling headache dust all over me, the dogs lying on the couch next to me. She jumped on her computer and started typing away. After a few minutes, we heard a little bang!

Hmph. The fairies moved to the kitchen.

Heather looked up, then around. I thought little of the sound.

Twenty seconds later, we heard a louder, most insistent bang!. "What was that?" Heather asked.

"It's the toaster oven. Something's just settling in the oven."

"The toaster oven?" she asked, dubiously. She stood up, eyeing me carefully, possibly seeing me pull one of the fairies out of my hair and throw it against the window, and walked into the kitchen.

"Oh my gosh."

I turned to look at Heather, who was standing in the kitchen door.

She rushed forward. "Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!"

The fairy I was in the process of crushing momentarily forgotten, I stood up and hurried into the kitchen. Heather was near the toaster oven, trying to figure out what to do. The dogs ran in behind me, howling. "You're supposed to howl before it catches on fire!" she yelled to the dogs, the room a dark yellow glow from the smoke billowing from the toaster oven.

I hurried over and looked over her shoulder. By opening the toaster oven door, Heather had put out most of the flames. Enough for me to see the source of the flames was the paper wrapping around a burger she was heating up in the toaster oven. "How are we going to get it out?" she asked, looking at the smoldering lump of her lunch.

"Eh, tongs," I answered, pulling a set out from the door next to me, and reaching in and pulling the burning ember out.

I set it down and hurried away, as she picked up the burger with the tongs. Three seconds later, I was hovering over her shoulder, camera in hand.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Documenting the best roomie ever. Today was a crappy day. This is making the blog."

Best UNO game EVER


unfinished post

Heather's brother and his family came over tonight for dinner. Heather spends most Friday nights with them, usually heading over to his house for dinner. I offered the house to Heather last week for today, as the cleaners came today (barely - miscommunication that almost left us with the house in its normal state of, um, dust, yeah, dust).

The evening started out a bit awkward, as they weren't used to heading over to the hosue, four of the five peope meeting me for the first time, but the conversations loosened as the evening progressed. At one point, I wandered into the office (shock and surprise, me, away from my computer for one WHOLE hour - that was as long as I could manage, admittedly), to be followed by Alex, who asked if she could play UNO. She phrased the question oddly, "Can we play UNO because if we don't have something to occupy us, we grow restless and then we annoy everyone and no one wants to be annoyed so can we play?" Rephrase that in 7-year-old-speak and you're all set.

I said sure, and went out to play with them.

Best roomie EVAR


Heather mentioned to me today that she was heading to the grocery store. I asked to go with her, as I needed to pick up items for Kris to make his world famous curry dinner (where world is defined in this case as the 6000 square foot lot known as Krikitt Downs, of course). That, and honey. Didn't have any honey for this morning's English muffins. Few things will make me grumpier than honeyless muffins.

Come to think of it, no toliet paper would make me grumpier. And we needed toliet paper.

After wandering back from the grocery store, Heather started putting the cold groceries into the refridgerator. After a few moments, she commented, "You have a lot of rotten fruit in your fridge."

Um, yeah.

She continued, "And what's this?"

I peered into the fridge to see the glop of something that had spilled on the second shelf maybe two, three years before. "Um... condensed milk? Maybe?"

A look of surprised horror came over her face as she looked back at me. She then lifted up the knife she had in her hand and started scraping it off. One! Two! Three jabs of the knife and the blob was gone. The nearly three year old, hardened white something that I had no idea what it was any longer was gone.

Heather wasn't done yet, oh, no. Pffft! Out came the shelf, lickety split cleaned. Zip! Out came the crisper drawer. Shwoosh! Clean.

As she began putting things back into the refridgerator, she commented to me, "I've found putting leftovers on the top shelf means they'll be seen. And eaten." New rule number 4 in the house, to follow the current rules of:
  1. The noise maker can be on by default at night, unless Kitt specifically requests it be off. Then it's off, and there are no arguments. (This one replaced the rule the first one in the bed decides, which resulted in one of us going to bed fully clothed, without any teeth brushing, on numerous occasions, just to be first in the bed.)

  2. Dirty dishes go into the dishwasher, if they aren't hand-wash only dishes.

    An extension of this rule is, if the dishwasher is full, and you can't put your dirty dish into the dishwasher, unload the dishwasher and put all the dishes away.

  3. No balancing more trash on the top of the trashcan. If the trash is full, take it out.

    An extension of this rule is, the trash isn't fully taken out until there's a new bag in the trashcan. Kris made me put that one in.

There are a few other house rules, like no farting around guests unless they fart first, or blame the dog when you do said fart, but they're usually unwritten and unspoken rules.

But now we have number four, to put leftovers on the top shelf, so that they'll be eaten.

When Heather was done with the bottom half of the fridge, she moved to the top. Out went the frozen tomatoes from the harvest three years ago. Out went the veggie dumplings that we bought by accident two years ago, along with the frozen creme brulee that had more freezer burn than brulee. We also pulled out steaks and, what do you know, frozen potatoes I had purchased a while ago. They'll make a tasty dinner tomorrow.

So, in the span of less than an hour, the fridge was cleaned out. Heather is the best roomie EVAR.

Heather Wolnick

Heather Wolnick

Heather moved to the Bay Area late 2003. I met her via rec.sport.disc.