How to Defeat Your Own Clone and Other Tips For Surviving the Biotech Revolution

In full disclosure, I should probably tell you that I probably wouldn't have even considered reading this book if I hadn't already known the author from college, because science is just not my thing. And Kyle is not just brilliant, he's hilarious. I remember bonding with him freshman year over our love for The State and how we couldn't believe that it wasn't yet on VHS. (Yes, VHS. I'm old.) So I knew that it couldn't be too painful - you know, for science. Ick.

It's only fitting that he wrote a book. And it's a pretty great book. When the first page of the prologue had me laughing, I knew that I was in for a treat.

Terrifyingly informative and absolutely hilarious, How to Defeat Your Own Clone is a preparative guide for the future. The main point is not that cloning and biological advances could happen, it's that they will happen.

Ahem. They already are.

As an aside (and if asides bother you, don't read this book. There are many asides), I was not a fan of science. Were you like me, doodling in your notebook during chemistry, never really understanding those things called "moles," and hoping to God that the next lab assignment wouldn't have you reaching for a fire extinguisher? Well, that was definitely me, so the premise of this book was a bit off-putting. I thought, "Do I have the brains for this book?"

Answer: ten year-olds have the brains for this book. Well, brainy ten year-old brains. It is so well-articulated that the layperson should have no trouble with the scientific prose. It is written in such an intelligent way that the non-intelligent will feel brilliant!

Kurpinski and his co-author, Terry Johnson, have written an informative, interesting, entertaining book. They stick to the facts, but offer real-world examples to help the lay person understand all those science-y type words. For example, in the first chapter entitled, "Cloning and You," the reader learns about viruses:

"A virus is a lot like an unwanted house guest. Some don't seem so bad at first, like the guy who crashes for the weekend on your pull-out sofa bed. The first night he's passed out and appears relatively harmless. But two days later he's still hanging around, and the next thing you know he's overloaded your washing machine and flooded the basement. In the virus world, these seemingly unassuming little visitors incorporate their genetic material into a host genome and may lay dormant for years before causing any noticeable problems such as AIDS. Other viruses are more like the ultimate party crasher who barges in uninvited, messes with all your stuff, and moves on when the booze dries up - except that the virus makes thousands of copies of itself and they all set fire to your house on the way out."

One of my favorite chapters is "Common Misconceptions About Cloning and Biotechnology [Popular Culture is a Poor Teacher]" which explores and debunks the myths about cloning and the like that we gleaned from science fiction movies and books. Would your clone have a soul? Would it be able to harvest your thoughts and memories? And most importantly, would your clone be... evil? All of these questions are answered!

You will also learn what is needed to clone yourself (or what someone else needs to clone you). Be warned: they don't need much. Because "...complex organisms don't exist as a single cell, but they start as one..." that is all that is needed to start building your clone.

Something important to keep in mind is that because clones will most likely have to be built from scratch and inserted into someone's uterus (for the time being, of course), the clone will always be younger than you. But in case science discovers a way to create your clone just as you exist today, remember that the whole nature vs. nurture thing will eventually be your clone's undoing.

I'll leave you with the authors' careful words of warning:

"In the end, your genome can be copied, but the precise series of cellular events that built you cannot, and that just might be enough to spot a rogue clone."

At 180 pages, How to Defeat Your Own Clone is a quick, fun read. Now I'm off to put my retinal scan on file so that my clone won't beat me to it.

Peep Mobile!

Laurel sent me the most amazing pictures when she was in DC's Chinatown. I give you... the PEEP MOBILE:


You see, I think that it is funny because it is a take on the Popemobile. PEEP MOBILE!

I Hope Santa Has a Backup

It was all downhill from there for poor, poor Rudolph.

Are You Like Me?

Are you like me? Do you imagine tiny moments your life as if you were visited by the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future?

I fell asleep last night without brushing my teeth. I knew that I should get up and brush them, but I was in the middle of a game on my phone great book. Later, I thought about it again, but I was so warm and comfy in the covers. Then I got thirsty and sat up enough to drink water, and again thought that I should probably get up and brush my teeth, but then I thought, "Meh, fuck it," and promptly fell asleep.

The next morning, I brushed my teeth EXTRA well. But my mind started wandering. "I really should have gotten my lazy ass out of bed and brushed my teeth last night. What if last night was the catalyst for gingivitis? Or another cavity? Or what if it was the kickoff toward a root canal?? OMG!"

Was last night the moment? The moment when that tiny molecule from the ill-advised can of Coke entered my bicuspid (that's a tooth, right?)?"

Ghost Goofy wants you to brush your teeth EVERY NIGHT.
(One of the best Christmas Carol versions, btw.)

And then the ghost of Christmas whatever teaches me a valuable lesson about oral hygiene. I don't know.

You think that I can't get crazier than this? Well, I didn't wash my face, either. Ta ha!

So, are you like me? Or are you a normal person?

Donut Sundae? Are You Serious?

No, not the name of my band (which would be borrowing heavily from the best band of the nineties, Hot Sundae), but an incredibly ridiculous dessert.

A dessert that was FORCED upon me at Zingerman's Roadhouse.

That is a donut. With gelato. Whipped cream. Caramel sauce.
Peanuts. Cherry on top.

It was delicious.

Also, the nineties were weird. Why is Jessie wearing a belt?

For Sale: One Kick-Ass Magic Couch

It is with deep regret that I must say goodbye to one of the best couches ever created:

Color: Blue...ish, lightly faded
Measurements: Who cares? It can go anywhere! It's practically an accessory!
Manufacturer: The great Ikea (Ektorp series)

For just a small dip into your wallet, you can own a third-hand couch! And it is a GLORIOUS couch. Let me tell you more:

-I bought it used from a super sweet gay couple in Thomas Circle in the summer of 2003. They were "completely redecorating" and were not planning on "blue."

-During the relocation (in Dealey's Montero) from Thomas Circle to Arlington, we forgot the feet. So it sits quite low to the ground directly on the frame. But this is okay! It is not at all a problem! Falling into the couch is romantical.

-It is slip-covered, and therefore washable. I mean, I assume that it's washable.

-It has lived many places, including its current home in a storage unit. It has never known cold, and that is why I need to find a new home for it. Before it gets really cold.

-I have only heard rumors about hook-ups on the couch. As I did not witness these supposed events, I choose to believe that the rumors are false. No sex on this couch! I have spoken!

-I am almost positive that no one has vomited on, near, or around the couch.

-There have been children on this couch, but they are adorable children. Here's one now:

"I love Aunt Heather's couch!"

-Is comfortable to EVERYONE. When six-foot tall K-10 would visit, she preferred to sleep on the MAGIC COUCH rather than a bed. Did the MAGIC COUCH alter its length to accommodate her? IT IS ENTIRELY POSSIBLE. Also, falling asleep on the couch is like a pastime. Here is Merrick, asleep only 3.7 seconds after sitting on the couch:

Granted, we'd had a long day, but still.

Remember earlier, when I mentioned a "small dip into your wallet?" Yeah, you can just have it for a song. Or some ice cream. Whichever makes you most comfortable. Magic couch just needs a good home!

How to Make Baking Tolerable

I am not a baker. I mean, baking is fine and all, but I am a much better cook than baker. And yes, those are different things.

A cook can add or omit ingredients, can make substitutions, and can cook something to her desired consistency, temperature, or doneness. I think that it is fun to cook.

Baking, now? Everything has to be perfect. The butter has to be room temperature, but cannot be softened in the microwave because it will change the consistency of the dough. Do you not have cream of tartar? Might as well kill yourself, because those fucking sugar cookies are not going to happen.

Baking? Is STRESSFUL.

But still, I decided that baking cookies would make for a fun afternoon while Mike and Larry played drunken Twisted Metal. Drunkenly. And this is how I coped:

Lemon drop shots with a Woodchuck chaser. Some of the sugar cookies are too crisp, but at least I don't give a fuck. Just like the honey badger.

Is it wrong that I want the coveted Kitchen Aid Stand Mixer for the one time all year that I make a concerted effort to bake?

If it's wrong, I DO NOT WANT TO BE RIGHT.

This is the Most Glorious Thing That You Will See Today... Or ANY Day

Remember Surf Style?

This van looks just like those 1990s jackets (which you can find on etsy, omg).

You wish you lived near me so that you could see this bitchin' van every day. WITH MATCHING RIMS. You do.

I = Lazy

This is our Christmas tree:

This is our tree next to a poinsettia:

It's a tiny tree, you guys.

I have a six-foot tree that I've decorated for years now, but my extreme laziness, coupled with Kohl's insane deals, led to the purchase of this four-foot pre-lit tree.

(I mean, it's on sale for like, $13 or something, and then you get a discount, plus another discount, and then a scratch-off discount at the register. Question: How does Kohl's stay in business, anyway?)

Right, so pre-lit trees, in my opinion, are the FUTURE OF TREES.

It took 32 seconds to set up, followed by three minutes of ornament-hanging. Mike still hates it, but hates it on a much smaller scale. Plus, all of the ornaments are birds, dinosaurs, a Detroit Pistons bobblehead of some player I've never heard of, and a 5-hour energy bottle with a string around it.

(Which ornaments were Mike's contribution?)

MERRY CHRISTMAS.

Who Drew This? Your Three Year-Old? GOD.

Stop it, Target:

"DINO Dinosaurs ruled the Earth Jurassic Period"

So, who made this? Non-English speakers? That's my guess.

Because FIRST OF ALL, you guys, dinosaurs lived in several different periods. The Tyrannosaurus Rex pictured here so anatomically correctly lived during the Cretaceous Period, GOD.

Second of all, run-on sentence much?

THIRD OF ALL, Target needs to stop selling things from China.

Nope! I Don't Understand.

Do you have $42 to spend on nail polish? Neither do I. Neither does anyone in her RIGHT MIND.

Most intelligent purchase EVER.

I suppose that it's considered a deal as one bottle of polish goes for $18. Savings!

Arguments for and Against Personalized License Plates

Yes, the Michigan Secretary of State thought that this license plate was just a-okay. This one, though? Is brilliant:

I have much respect for the owner of this car. Much respect.

A Leader Emerges

It's been established that Mike and I are... special. We have stuffed animals. And we are weird. So it comes as no surprise to me that as we amassed more and more creatures, alliances were forged, friendships made and broken, and there was even an attempted murder (I am told that it was a ploy to get my attention, but it doesn't excuse Mr. Happy Dinosaur and Sammy the Sauropod from putting Babbity Rabbity on a dinner plate).

Apparently, Teddy has declared himself the leader of all animals. Perched atop Ms. Pillow (oh, have I not explained Ms. Pillow? It's a good story), he seems to have demanded an audience with all animals in the kingdom.

To be completely honest, I don't know why there has yet to be an uprising.

Onesies

"Rawr!"

I don't know that there is a single inanimate object cuter than a onesie. I mean, LOOK:

Look at the dinosaurs' smiles. Incredible! I purchased two of these ADORABLE onesies for Mike's nephews, but they will never wear them because I am an idiot.

Yay!

You might be wondering, "But Heather, what happened? That is the cutest dinosaur onesie ever! Children should wear those always! If they made that onesie in adult sizes, I'd be wearing one right now instead of this Snuggie!"

"I mean, wouldn't you be?"

HERE IS WHERE OUR STORY BEGINS. I have two nieces. Mike has three nephews. You would think that I would have figured things out by now, but ALAS I HAVE NOT.

This Christmas, I was (happily) tasked with purchasing the most adorable, comfy, dinosaur-y outfits imaginable for Mike's nephews, age: almost 2. I would have sent Mike to get them himself, but I have a feeling that it would not have ended well, I would have ended up at Target and/or Kohl's myself anyway, and time would have been wasted, the end.

And so, with explicit instructions to buy 12-month clothing, I went shopping.

"Hey! Idiots! The twins are like, 20 months old."

I found the CUTEST things: matching outfits (they are twins, after all), pajamas, shirts and pants... I saved an assload at Kohl's with their scratch-off coupon at the register and headed to Target to spend more!

"This isn't going to end well."

The next day, I shipped everything to Seattle and felt mighty proud of myself. Until Mike called on his lunch break:

"What size clothes did I tell you to get for the twins?"

Heather, confidently, "Twelve months."

Long pause.

Mike, dejectedly, "Yeah. They're almost two."

Heather and Mike, simultaneously, "Fuck."

And then I got to go shopping again! I figured that it would be easier, but let me tell you, IT WAS NOT. Shopping for infants is easy. Colors are important, but not tantamount. Onesies are not only acceptable, they're pretty much mandatory.

It gets so much more complicated when they get older. There are many levels of complication:

First off, there are about eleventy billion more options of clothing for little girls. Like, 90% of the children's clothing is for girls. I mean, obviously that's great when you have girls to buy for, but I did not. And it was frustrating.

Secondly, two year-olds don't really wear onesies that much, right? I wish they would. Onesies, as mentioned earlier, are the best and the cutest. Why can't they just be babies forever??!?

Third, girls can wear whatever they want. If they like outfits with dinosaurs or trucks or football, they are totally welcome to wear them, and hopefully are encouraged to wear them if that is what they like. So not only can they already wear 90% of the toddler clothing, they have access to the remaining 10%. Boys aren't so much um... able to wear pink princess shirts without inviting unwanted commentary and parental criticism.

Not that I would buy pink clothes for Mike's nephews, even if I wanted to, but you know what I mean.

"I would totally wear Disney princess pajamas,
but that's because I am a pterodactyl."

ANYWAY. I found new clothes. They were purchased and mailed to Seattle. The 12-month clothing was donated. All is well. I remain - and Mike remains - stupid for not remembering how damn old the twins were as of December 2011.

Gah.

MINI RANT: Is 24-month clothing the same as 2T? If so, WHY HAVE THEM BOTH? Why do you buy months-sizing for a while, and then switch to "T" sizes? Are those ages? I DON'T KNOW. Conspiracy.

Oh, and not only is Mike's sister preggers with another boy (Four boys! Kill me!), my lovely sister-in-law, Kari, is pregnant as well (sex of child TBD in March)! So I'm thinking that I should probably figure this out, and figure it out soon.

Or at least keep a better calendar.

Thanksgiving is Tiring, You Guys

Oh Holy Baby Jesus, Thanksgiving came and went, and lo, it was awesome. Let me tell you about it.

First, there was the turkey. A massive 22-pound bitch of a turkey, which took over FOUR DAYS to thaw, including an overnight bath in the set tub in the laundry room. That's sanitary, right?

Heather almost dropped me on her foot.

And then there was the stuffing for the mother bitch bird. I had to TRIPLE my mother's recipe, which meant I cubed three whole loaves of bread. It's a good thing that I don't have a life, let me tell you, because my perfectionism sure as hell didn't allow me to fly through this step.

That's a roasting pan. Full of perfectly cubed bread.

Then came time to add the remaining ingredients to the massive amount of bread cubes. Onions, celery, and BUTTER. I am not going to tell you how much butter ended up in that pot, because you will no longer have to wonder about my weight. It's not a thyroid problem, people. It's Thanksgiving stuffing.

It was a butter stew, basically.

This is what a triple recipe of stuffing looks like, with sage, thyme, salt, pepper, and of course, BUTTER.

I am going to be honest and tell you that some of that stuffing never made it into the bird. Or the oven.

It was finally time to stuff the bird and throw her in the oven, and much to my dismay, the inner, um... cavity... was not very large. Plus, whoever packaged this whore bird for sale sloppily removed the neck and whatnot, resulting in a turkey that now had a vag where the neck once was.

It was obscene, is what I'm saying.

The mighty vag-bird!

She went in upside-down, as is my super-secret method for awesomeness.

And then, five and a half hours later, she emerged.

Perfectly cooked vag-bird.

Oh, and even though I made delicious cranberry sauce from scratch, my mother FORCED me to serve... this:

I was so embarrassed, oh my God.
And you should have heard the sound it made when it came out of the can.
Horrifying!

Then it was Friday, and I stayed in bed. ALL DAY. Apparently I can no longer handle hostessing duties with the same enthusiasm as I did when I was twenty-five and still expect to be physically mobile the following day.

I did make stock with the carcass, though. It took hours, but I'm hoping that it was worth it. It's in the freezer right now, waiting for me to regain strength and actually want to cook again.

Onions and carrots and carcass! (Oh my!)

An Ode to Leggings

Oh leggings, you are the bane of my existence
You are unforgiving and cruel, thin and sometimes baggy.
You are plastered to the legs of everyone around
Clingy and annoying and leaving nothing to the imagination.
But.
I have realized.
You are so comfortable.
You are so freeing.
My over-sized sweater hides my crotchly area.
Why have I resisted for so long?
I LOVE YOU.

I Have Strange Memories

Is it weird that when I was getting dressed this morning, I thought to myself, "Hey! I got this pair of panties at Macy's after Northwest lost my bag on Christmas Eve?"

I know where and when I acquired all of my underthings. I love shopping for underthings. UNDERTHINGS! Seriously, it is the most fun. They are pretty and girly and when they're on sale it's like Christmas.

Oh, and I have a pair of panties that I bought in Marks and Spencer in London when Continental sent my bag to Florida instead of Gatwick. So there's that.

Hmmm. It seems that airlines are fully connected to my choice of underthings. But I never would have purchased said underthings (at the airlines' expense!), if not for the incompetence of said airlines, so perhaps I should be thanking them? THANK YOU FOR MY UNDERWEARS, AIRLINES!

Did I just write an entire post about my underwear?

T-giving Countdown

For the first time since 2007, I am cooking Thanksgiving Dinner. And I am SO EXCITED.

When I lived in DC, I hosted many a dinner for my friends, and I loved every minute. Maybe it's because I just love being a hostess, but loving to cook helped, too.

So this year, Mike suggested that we host Thanksgiving. I was expecting a little push-back, but once I heard my mom's reaction you would have thought that I had just told her that she won the lottery or something.

She's been making T-giving dinner since, I don't know... the 90s or something. She teaches ten year-old little fuckers, and then makes food for three days straight. Her Thanksgiving "break?" 100% exhausting and not really much fun for her.

(Oh, and the principal just hired at her school? Younger than ME. Let's just say it's like she has another ten year-old to deal with every day. The woman is STRESSED, is what I'm saying.)

So I offered to make everything - except for the pies and the gravy, that is. She's the pie master, and my last five attempts at gravy resulted in some pretty inedible creations.

So here is where the fun begins:

Shopping cart of AWESOME.

My mom, Kari, and I hit up the grocery store today at 8:00 in the morning. And let me tell you, the grocery store is one of my favorite places on Earth, but at 8:00 a.m. on a Sunday? HEAVEN. Even with four days to go until Thanksgiving, there was NO ONE THERE. It was brilliant. Just brilliant.

Thursday cannot come soon enough. Hee!

I think that I found my Christmas cards:

Thanks, Urban Outfitters!
And Merry Christmas to all!

Soccer Star

Okay, so I might be a little biased, but my nieces are the best nieces in the world. They are the cutest and the sweetest and the BEST.

First, Alexis. She is six years old... going on sixteen. My poor brother wants to lock her in the basement for the entirety of her teens, and he might have to rely on a gun for all the boys that will inevitably come calling. Or nunchucks.

Alexis had a soccer game this weekend, and I figured that there was probably nothing better for me to do than attend that game. I mean, watching a group of 6-8 eight year-olds run around like banshees for an hour wasn't going to be the most entertaining thing in the world (it wasn't), but it's nice to support family, right?

Alexis was pretty much incredible - scoring three goals and successfully defending the goal. Basically, she's awesome.

Savannah. She's almost four years-old. LOVE.

So it was a fun day, you guys. Profile on Savannah is forthcoming.

The Way

I had the opportunity to see an early screening of a movie last night, and the director, writer, and star were in attendance afterward to answer questions and to talk a little bit about the film and the experiences they shared.

The film is The Way, about a grieving father walking el Camino de Santiago de Compostela, also known as The Way of St. James, as a way to honor his deceased son who died on the first day of his journey on el Camino. Pilgrims have been walking the Camino for over one thousand years. It is an intensely spiritual journey for many, and though Tom attempts to keep to himself, he meets wonderful characters along the way and learns to open up and share his once closed-off life with others.

Tom Avery (Martin Sheen), an opthamologist from California, lives a "bubble life." His estranged son, Daniel (Emilio Estevez), has abandoned his doctoral studies and has decided to see the world. Estranged from each other since the death of Tom's wife/Daniel's mother, Tom wonders if he'll ever be able to bridge the gap between them.

"It is the life I chose," Tom tells his son, Daniel, in a flashback. Daniel replies, "You don't choose a life, Dad. You live one."

On el Camino, Tom learns how to live his life once again, outside of his comfortable California bubble.

The Way is an intensely intimate look at a man discovering life for the first time, exploring a part of the world he never planned on seeing, and coming to terms with the relationship he once had with his son. It's beautiful and thought-provoking, the acting is superb, and while the storyline is a little predictable, it takes nothing away from the meaning of the film.

After the film, Martin Sheen, Emilio Estevez, and the Producer, David Alexanian, came on stage to answer questions about the film. People gave nothing but praise, and I was surprised to see over 50 people stand up when asked how many in the audience had walked el Camino.

There was even a group of nuns in the audience, who presented Mr. Sheen with a rosary. It was really something.

What a fun night!

The Eye of the Beholder and Whatnot

I took this picture a few months ago, and I still can't decide if it's cool, or just a blurry rose.

Hmm...

Sunday Lunch

Because apparently I revert to my seven year-old self on the weekends.

Peanut butter and honey sandwich (CUT IN HALF), apple slices, cheddar cheese, and crackers.

Look What My Boyfriend Brought Me!

A kick-ass case of beer.

He really does love me.

We Went to DC! And Shane Got Married!

When I moved to DC for graduate school, I didn't know a soul. I met a few lovely ladies in classes, but they went home to Texas and Nevada for the summer. Shane was pretty much my first friend there. He went above and beyond as a friend (I'll never be able to tell you how many drinks he paid for, knowing that I couldn't really afford them), introduced me to his friends, and made it so that I finally felt at home in DC.

So when he told me that he was getting married, there was no way that Mike and I were going to miss it! We decided to drive down a few days before the wedding, so that we could have a mini-vacation, and that was a great idea. Besides, Mike had never been to DC, so it was my time to play tourist again, and I was really looking forward to it.

Mike's favorite part, I think, was either the metro ("It's like we're in a movie!"), or the goldfish that they brought to our room. I'm not sure.

We left for DC a little later than we had planned, which was fine because we avoided rush hour. The drive was one I had taken many times when I lived in DC, and it was a nice bit of nostalgia. Especially that one rest area on the Ohio turnpike. GROSS.

Yes, the animals came with us. Yes, all of them.
Yes, I am aware that we have issues.

Me and the Garmin are totally in a fight though, as the bitch told us to stay on the Beltway when I knew that we should take the GW Parkway, and GUESS WHO WAS RIGHT, GARMIN? Thanks for the hour-long traffic jam in rush hour, GARMIN.

But when we finally arrived at the hotel, all was forgotten. It was gorgeous:

The animals liked it, too.

After unpacking and relaxing, we walked two blocks to Red Mei, one of my favorites in Old Town Alexandria. We sat in the window, people-watching as we decompressed from the trip, and returned to the hotel early. Mike passed out almost immediately (in the kick-ass king sized bed!), and my darling Merrick walked the few blocks from her house and we sat in the lobby of the hotel, catching up.

Oh, and she was just about nine months pregnant at the time. This is her now:

We slept in on our first real day of vacation, and it was AWESOME. I mean, we didn't roll out of bed until 10, you guys. We had a tour scheduled for the afternoon, so we metroed in to DC and grabbed a quick meal at Union Station.

From there, we strolled around Capitol Hill, checking out the changes, and stopping by my old apartments. I still can't believe that I lived in that shitbox on 4th Street. I don't think that Mike was too impressed, either.

Remember my bitch of a landlord who wouldn't fix our door even though it didn't shut all the way and snow was getting in? Yeah, she was the worst.

I'd never taken a tour of the Capitol before - at least, not with someone other than my father. And OH SWEET GOD, I wish my dad had been there for this tour, because I was ready to punch our guide in the throat. He was absolutely awful, always sidestepping questions yet never really answering them. Then he got into a bit of a "discussion" with a British tourist who wanted to talk about the cowardice of the French. It was... weird. But now Mike has been to the US Capitol.

"Gerald Ford was mauled senselessly by a circus lion... in a convenience store."

We hit up Austin Grill in Old Town for an early dinner and then Mike went to watch baseball or something. Kristen escaped Arlington for the evening, and she and Merrick and I went shopping. As you do.

The rest of the trip was fun, but extremely tiring. I forgot how incredibly taxing it is to be a tourist. We hit up a few museums, saw the sights, ate some great food, and generally exhausted ourselves to the point of idiocy.

I mean, can you be more awesome than this?
The answer is no. No you cannot.

This is Grant. He was in our minibar. We decided to keep him. Mike named him Grant because he has awesome facial hair like our 18th president.

Look, the White House!

Look, the Old Executive Office Building!

Look! Grant is at the Washington Monument!

Coffee at Peregrine.

Mr. Happy Dinosaur hanging out with
Dickens and Dumas at my favorite bookstore.

Mike and the animals watch the Michigan football game.

Wisenheim is a coffee snob, fyi.

And OMG, you guys! I almost forgot to tell you about the best part! Our hotel brought us a goldfish to keep us company:

His name was Jon.
I mean, seriously, could the hotel be any awesomer?

Sunday was the day of the wedding. It was scheduled for a little later in the afternoon, and it was our last day of vacation before the long drive home, so we thought (I thought) that it would be an absolutely grand idea to go to Arlington National Cemetery so that Mike could see the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and other assorted sights.

Y'all, that place is HILLY. I don't know the total distance that we actually covered, but by the time we got back to the hotel, it felt like hundreds of miles. And before we knew it, we were getting ready for the wedding, held at River Farm - the headquarters of the American Horticulture Society.

Shane and Katie's wedding was gorgeous and simple. The details made it one of the sweetest weddings I've ever attended, and seeing so many friends made it a fun social event. Katie was absolutely stunning in a simple, flowing gown, and Shane was dapper (Dapper. How often does anyone get to use that word? Dapper.) in a pale yellow suit.

Thanks for welcoming me back, DC. I hope to see you again soon!