The New Addition

Meet Briar Patch.

The Pugglett

The Resident and I went on a walk the other night, as usual, with The Roo in tow. It was getting dark, shadows draping over the streets.

Out of a shadowed driveway, a small pug appeared. He was adorable--little smashed face and black collar with a tiny bow with no tags. After some deliberating, we christened him The Pugglett and brought him home to spend the night with us.

We made him a bed next to ours out of soft blankets, but as soon as the lights went off, he jumped into our bed and snuggled up, squirming his way through the night.

Sadly we found his owners and had to give him back. They were glad to have him safely home, but he left a little hole in my heart.

My Devil Wears Talbots

I've been looking forward to the opening of The Devil Wears Prada, so naturally, I dragged the Resident to a Saturday matinee. The movie did not disappoint. Meryl Streep was amazing as a demanding, cold-hearted, inscrutable fashion maven and head-hauncho. Loved her. Anne Hathway was decent as the wide-eyed turned vicious assistant. Particularly, I loved Miranda's fashion speech which pointed out the true industry that fashion is (i.e. NOT just anorexic models and gay men)---made me rethink the sweater set I just purchased in a unusually hideous shade of Olive Green.

The In-Law Grandmother gave me a gift card for Talbots--as store I had not stepped foot into until this weekend. Unfortunately, Talbts is more a store for the older generation and women's whose vocabulary contain the words "Knit Sportswear." But I couldn't let the gift card go to waste.

I spent hours browsing in Talbots, pawing through the racks of tapered-legged dress pants and brightly colored tops. Finally, I settled on a sweater set. I know that sounds awfully sorority sister of me, but I felt like it was really the only option.

After watching Prada, I think I might be returning it.

HipHipHooray, or, The Day I Became Gainfully Employed

After three months of job hunting and 35 resumes, cover letters and applications later, I am officially entering the "Professionally Employed" phase of my life.

That's right, people: I GOT A JOB!! And it's even in my field of study!

I am the Health Education Program Coordinator for the American Lung Association of New Mexico.

I think it will be a really interesting job and I'm looking forward to leaving the house on a daily basis AND having a purpose!

So, virtual beers for everyone!!

Muddified

In a desperate attempt to make friends in this godforsaken state, the Resident signed us up for a Mudd Volleyball Tournament to benefit the Carrie Tingley Hospital . It sounded vaguely fun, until we received instructions to bring duct tape, which would be used to tape our shoes to our feet.

We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. This is apparently the event of the year in ABQ (mostly because there is nothing else to do except roll in mud) . You could see the enormous parking lots filled with cars, glittering in the sun, from the highway.

Although I am loathe to admit this, the experience was pretty fun. The mudd was up to my knees and I sloshed around, trying to chase after the ball (not often successful, since my feet stuck to the bottom of the mudd). The mudd was cold, though, and squished between my toes, even with my shoes on (and yes, everyone duct-taped their shoes to their feet---play does not stop to look for shoes!). The beer (and illegally smuggled liquor--how college was I?) flowed freely, which helped with the whole "What filthy diseases am I picking up from this foulness" feeling.

But the best part was really just getting out of our house and talking to another live person besides the Resident. We met some really neat people, one of whom is in his Intern Class, so we will be seeing more of her and her fiance, I'm sure.

The only downside (besides the raging hangover)? I now have mudd buried deep within crevices and nooks and crannies of my body. I showered, of course, but being covered in mud repeatedly over a several hour period makes it tough to get our. Even the natural lines in my skin feel dusty. And don't get me started on my hair, which not only feels dirty, but has the texture of filth.

Definitely an experience of a lifetime.

Aqua is the New Blue

The Resident and I decided to use some of our wedding money to buy ourselves a new bed and mattress since the double bed was getting a little small for our family of 5.

We ordered it from the store in Tucson before we moved, but arranged for it to be delivered from the ABQ store (mainly so we didn't have to move across the Desert).

Today, after weeks of waiting, the bed finally arrived. It was fantastic to put all of our new sheets and quilts on the bed. Getting the bed also meant that we could unpack the few remaining boxes scattered through the house. And we hung all our pictures on the wall, which gives it a "home" feel.

So everything is nice, neat and in its place.

Domesticated Goddess

Since we're almost 100% unpacked and I have no job, I've become a veritable 1950s housewife. I fill my day with laundry, vacuuming, scrubbing and cooking. I'm not alone in this domestic spree--The Resident pitches in and does chores right along side me.

But it's funny, this feeling that I am becoming my mother. I find myself saying the exact phrases she always says, "Will you please put the dishes away," "Don't go too far, dinner is almost ready," and "Want to go for a walk?"

It's not bad...it just makes me wonder how I turned into this domesticated goddess overnight. I mean, what happen to spooning peanut butter out of a jar for lunch and letting my laundry pile up until I had no clean underwear (no small feat, considering I have over 100 pairs of panties).

Too much time is a bitch, people.

And now, I have to go get my cherry pie out of the oven.

MySpace

I reluctantly signed up for an account on MySpace a few months ago. Truthfully, I didn't really see the point and it seemed like a complete waste of time....

Until yesterday.

I finally figured out how to effectively search for people on MySpace---And I realized you can search for old classmate---even as far back as high school! Or even middle school, I suppose.

So, I ran a search on all students that graduated from Stonewall Jackson High (yes, the South) in 1999. MySpace came back with 76 hits. Amazing. I haven't thought of most of the people that came up in YEARS, if ever.

It's been hysterical reading people's profiles. Some people have really neat lives now, cool jobs and still seem like fab people. Others are still in Manassas, working as waitresses, living exactly the kind of life I thought they would have at age 25.


Like my friend Lindsay says, MySpace is like a high school reunion you can go to in your pjs.

"I didn't claw my way to the top of the food chain to eat vegetables."

One of the intimidating things about moving to a new city where you don't know a single soul is trying to figure out where to eat. The second night we were in ABQ, we still didn't have any food in the house, so making dinner was out of the question. We were driving home from Walmart with a car full of essential odds and ends and realized it was 9:30 pm and we still hadn't eaten (this daylight savings thing really throws off my internal clock and sense of time in relationship to daylight. Dammnit.). The Resident looked up and saw a sign for "Rudy's BBQ," which is one of my favorite things.

We parked and went inside. The interior of the restuarant was a counter and lines of picnic tables covered in red&white table cloths. At first we were a bit confused because there was no apparent "real" menu, except listings of various meats by the pound. After some asking, we determined that you actually ordered your chosen meat by the poundage, were given some slices of bread and at the table, you make your own sandwich with the meat and the "sause" (your choice of "BBQ" or "Sissy") provided on the table.

Oh.My.God. I love meat. We had 1/2 a chicken and 1/2lb of pulled pork. The meat was delicious---tender, juicy, falling off the bones. We ate every single piece of meat that was on that tray. Plus a side of beans, creamed corn and greenbean salad.

Since Tucson had a dearth of good BBQ places, I'm very excited to find that ABQ has at least one good meat-eatin' place.

The Great Desert Move

Despite the 11 hour drive, two cats and a dog, a thunderstorm and hail, from one desert to another, we've arrived in Albuquerque in one piece. The new house (OUR house) is as adorable as I remembered. The adobe is yellow, the yard is huge, the rooms are tiny. We've been busy unpacking, hanging curtains, filling our kitchen with the unused appliances we receieved as wedding gifts. Unpacking is far and away more wonderful than packing. Even though I packed a mere few days ago, I have forgotten half of what we have. Opening the boxes are infinitely exciting, disovering pots and pans I've never used, books I still haven't read.

Adjusting to the city is hard, but I forgot just how hard it is. I feel lost, even with a map. I feel so alone and isolated. Nothing is familiar, everything is new. The newness is exciting, to be sure, but also overwhelming. We drove around for 20 minutes trying to find a Denny's (Spanish for next to La Quinta Inn) for breakfast because we don't even have a phone book.

I know it's only been a few days, but I keep catching myself thinking, "When I get home..." and it's with a pang of sadness that I realize this is my home. I am living here for the next three years. And the reality is, I may never live in Tucson again, a reality that makes my heart wrench a little.

I watch my husband build bookcases and install curtain rods, smiling at his man-ness. And I am relieved to know that, at least this time, I don't have to make a new city home all by myself. I have a friend by my side.

The Big Move: Stage One--Preparation

The Big Move to Albuquerque is beginning. Take Off Date is June 1st---a mere few days away and we are in the throes of packing and cleaning and putting away memories.

Today, the IRC came to pick up our unneeded furniture (my couch, his chair, my bed). My apartment is now empty of all large furniture, but filled with boxes of wedding presents and books. I haven't even started on my clothes (right now, I'm envisioning trashbags).

It's sad, though, this packing away of my life. I know how corny this sounds, but it really is saying goodbye to a stage in my life. My single life is over, for real this time. Even though we're married now, not sharing space makes the marriage feel a little fake. We still have "mine" and "his." But in a few short days, we'll just have "ours." Our house. Our yard. Our dishes. Our couch. Our bed (beautiful and new!). And Our Bathroom (the biggest adjustment, I'm sure).

I'm scared about moving. Will I find a job? Will I make friends? Will Albuquerque someday feel like home? Will I find good stores to shop at? I know the true answer to these questions is yes, but how long will it take?

Tucson has been my home for the last 1.5 years, and some of them have been good months. But there have also been very sad months. Even though I am brokenhearted to be leaving the city that I call home, in some ways, I feel like I am finally saying goodbye to one of the saddest and hardest times of my life. I truly am closing a chapter in my life and moving forward to the new, the exciting and the completely unknown.

Wedded Bliss, Again

So I thought I'd post some wedding photos taken by a some of the guests. However, if you would prefer to see the professional ones, feel free to check out my photographer's website:
www.paulvanhelden.com

Go to "online proofs," find the Williams-Gross wedding and the password is 050706

Tropic of Capricorn

Not to, you know, make anyone too jealous, but this was the view from our hotel room in Jamaica. And yes those colors are real.

The vacation was very relaxing---plenty of sun, sand, swimming, SCUBA and sex (you know, the essential "S's"). We had a great time just being alone together, especially after the prior week of family and graduation.

The weather was gorgeous and sunny most of the time; it rained twice, but since we live where it's sunny 300 days a year, it was nice to snuggle inside and listen to the rain patter on the porch.

I also learned to SCUBA dive and actually got certified while we were there. I know this will sound corny, but I fulfilled a life dream by SCUBAing and I am SO proud of myself. Kneeling on the bottom of the ocean was absolutely amazing and was not nearly as terrifying as I initially thought. I had a few moments of panic on the surface when my feet just hung down, not touching anything, but after we descended to the bottom, the fear completely disappeared.

I have to be honest though. Driving to the resort from the airport was a bit strange. Since most Jamaicans are of African descent, I felt very much like I was back in Kenya. The school children in matching uniforms, driving on the left, the verdant rolling hills. The houses even had the same jerry-cans on the roofs to collect water; I could even tell which out-buildings were the toilets and showers. I almost felt like I was betraying my roots or something---I lived like that and now I was one of those rich white people who got chauffered around to spend their thousands of dollars that I despised. And the disparity between rich and poor is so evident, and like most places, racially divided. The hotel is staffed by Jamaicans, again most of whom are black, and even though I applaud the hiring of locals, it smacks so much of neocolonialism---whites being served by blacks. I'm having a difficult time explaining in words what I felt, but it was definitely an uncomfortable feeling.

White guilt, perhaps?

Wedded Bliss

Yep, yep. The knot has been tied. It was lovely- simple, short and beautiful. Even the hot Arizona weather cooperated with sunny skies and temps in the low 90s.

This week has been crazy between the wedding and graduation (the Med Student is now The Doctor and I am now a "Master"-- a concept I find laughable!). Honeymoon starts on Monday.

I will update with more wedding pictures and details before the Big Move to NM.

The Art of Using Gift Cards

The Med Student often mocks me because he claims I "hoard" gift cards. People often give me gift cards for birthdays/Christmases/(soon to be Hannukah!) because I live far away and it's cheaper to order a gift card online than it is to mail a bulky present.

Gift cards are like two-in-one gifts, mainly because not only do I get "free money" I gte the excuse to go buy things! But I also like to save my gift cards and not reckless spend them on the first new perfume at Sephora. Consequently, I have hundreds of dollars in gift cards. Some (like my Banana Republic ones) are being saved for something big (like a suit for job interviewing and the like). Others (like my Sephora) I was saving for when I found something I REALLY REALLY REALLY wanted (and I haven't yet).

But yesterday, I spent two cards.

After the stress of Match Day and the reality of "Oh my god, we're moving and I have to pack and UHaul and how are we going to get a dog now?" set in, I realized I needed a massage ASAP. The Med Student had given me a gift card to a favorite spa/salon for Valentine's Day (last year), so I called to cash for an appointment.

I also decided to go naked for this massage and honestly, it was 100 times better with panties to get in the way. Getting my ass rubbed was as close to heaven as I can imagine.

Then, after the massage, I realized I need new panties. I get made fun of from a number of my girlfriends on this....but, I love cotton panties. I just do. They're always comfortable, they breathe and they're good for both workout days AND the menstrual cycle. I own a wide variety of panties, from your basic boyshort to the tiniest of thongs, I have mesh, lyrca, no-show, etc. I think I the last time I counted I had over 100 pairs. But the last time I had purchased new cotton panties was sometime after I got back from Kenya (it's been over two years).

Megan had sweetly given me a gift card to Victoria's Secret for my birthday, so I decided to use it for some new cotton panties! I got five cute pairs in multiple prints (all of which looks vaguely Sixties-ish).

So now, my ass is covered in comfortable printed cotton and my back is loose and limber! Yesterday was a good day.

The Land of Enchantment

Well, the verdict is in.

Match Day has come and gone.

We are moving......


.....to Albuquerque, New Mexico!

A little suprising at first, but after the shock wore off, we're both looking foward to another adventure and another new place.

Good things about Albuquerque

• surrounded by mountains
• inexpensive living
• as white people, we'll be in the minority
• still in the Southwest
• on Route 66

Bad things about Albuquerque

• gets cold in the winter (it IS almost a mile high)
• actually SNOWS (will have to buy a winter coat)
• job market is a little iffy

So that's my list so far. But I don't know enough about the city to make any other judgments, yet. It's going to be a crazy few months. Here's the rundown:

April: 7th--thesis presentation, 10-13--Mother visiting, 17--thesis paper due, later April---fly out to NM to find place to live

May: 7th--WEDDING, 13-14--Graduation, 15-21--Honeymoon, 31---my lease is up (must be packed and moved out!)

June: Early June--move to NM, 25 June---the Med Student starts work! (I guess I'll start calling him The Resident? The Intern?)

Truthfully, I'm not sure how we're going to get all this accomplished....but I'm sure we'll get through it, one thing at a time!

Women, Infants and Children

I've been spending lots of my mornings in the WIC office lately. As part of my internship duties with the IRC, I drive refugee clients to the office (out in the middle of nowhere) and register them with the WIC program.

The WIC program is a "nutritional supplementation" program that gives pregnant women, infants and children (up to six) food packages every month. The food varies depending on whether the woman is nursing or pregnant or the age of the child. Don't get me started on the evils of the food that WIC includes---it's all politics and makes me mad! But it's a good and needed service for many women.

Anyways, the office is a great place for watching people. The waiting room is always filled with mothers and babies, most of whom are very cute. It's always chaotic and busy, and usually, we have to wait an hour before getting seen, even though we have an appointment.

Last week, there were teenagers from a group home signing up for the services. Some of these girls could be no older than 12. One girl must have been newly pregnant because she didn't have a baby with her, but she looked terrified. These poor girls looked so young. My heart broke for them for two reasons. Firstly, they are so young to have a baby. In my opinion, unplanned pregnancy is a tough situation no matter how old you are, but a 12 year-old just has it so much harder than even an 18 year-old. Secondly, these poor girls had no family support. They had no mother to show them love, despite her disappointment. I know that we all make mistakes and some are worst than others, but these girls need love and support more than anything right now---not being kicked out and living in a group home.

Calling All Irish!

Okay, Lasses. I need an instrumental version of "Danny Boy" for my wedding!

Help?

(My grandfather, who is of Irish descent, will not be able to attend my wedding and I wanted to play the song as part of the preludes to honor him).

Le Baron, Cont.

Le Baron has been recovered! I got this email last night from John:

"Coppers found Jim's car this morning and she's back at the pimp palace. Robber even cleaned the outside. But no gas was added. yippee!! Found at 707 W Miracle Mile at Wayward Winds Lodge next to TD's West. Shady area and no workable prints. End of story"

Let us note that Miracle Mile Road (real name) lives up to it's name; hordes of prostitutes (real women AND transvestites) roam the area at night (if my memory serves me correctly, the No-Tel Motel is nearby). TD's West is a notoriously trashy strip club where Weds is Chicken Parm night (Entree for $3.50). This is not a high class area, people.

Ah, the adventures of Le Baron.

Le Baron

Jim is one of my closest friends here in Tucson. Like me, he is a returned Peace Corps volunteer and together we share a love for Africa. This semester, he has abandoned me to do his thesis project in Niger; a public health project involving a nutritional assessment and the British Red Cross. While he's gone, Jim kept his apartment and car here in Tucson, entrusted to our friend John, also a RPCV and recently returned from a whirlwind trip to Ghana with Engineers Without Borders (we're an Africa-loving bunch); he's currently living in Jim's apartment (nicknamed Pimp Palace because of the hot pink flashing flamingo sign proclaiming "Realto Palace") and driving Jim's car, a 1992 Le Baron (nicknamed "Le BarON").

Le Baron is a piece of shit, though it has served Jim well over the years. It's gears are shot and the battery regularly dies, needing a jump every few. However, it's a (mostly) working vehicle, so John's thankful for the loan.

Or was.

I got a phone call last night. "Elisabeth, it's Johnny. Qick question: Do you know Jim's birthday?" After we determined that Jim's birthday was either at the end of June or July and he was either 28 or 29, John told me his reason for call.

Le Baron was THIEVED!

John parked the car next to the dumpster, which is right behind Jim's apartment window. He went out later that day to throw some trash in the dumpster and.....Le Baron was GONE! At some point, someone had come by and stolen the Le Baron right behind Jim's apartment window.

The irony of the entire story: The thieves stole a complete lemon. Le Baron's gears had shifted out of place and were held only in place with some duct tape. John had made an apointment with a mechanic to tow Le Baron in for some work for the next day.

Tucson is the Capital of Car Theft and apparently the thieves are as dumb as shit.