Sometimes I forget how awesome it is to live in Seattle. I think the rain clouds my view.

Friday night reminded me of how beautiful Seattle is. Especially in the summer time.

Our little family met some friends down at the waterfront. The waterfront is mere blocks from our apartment. Which means we tend to forget about it and rarely go there. This must be pretty typical, as the only people down there are tourists.

We requested a table outside, and quite frankly I’m glad we did. The birds were also happy since they were able to eat all of the food Babboo threw to them.

The King nursed a malt the entire time we were there. He didn’t even bother with ordering a plate of food. He went straight for the ice cream. Just one more reason why I know he’s the guy for me.

After dinner we were heading towards the harbor steps only to be stopped at the crosswalk by a gaggle of bike riders doing their monthly ride. There were like a million of them, so we stood there and watched. It was interesting to see the different types of people taking part in this ride. There were hippies and bike messengers. There were girls in dresses and boys wearing wigs. There were people on homemade bikes and some on very expensive bikes. There was one playing the drums while he rode.

In the middle of watching all these bikers pedal by, one of them caught my eye. I noticed he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Then he stood up on his bike and I noticed he wasn’t wearing any shorts. Or underwear.

It was a naked biker.

I admit I did not divert my attention. My eyes darted up and down. I totally saw his junk.

It wasn’t pretty. Or thrilling. It was just an excuse to see someone naked.

Eventually the riders had all gone by and we headed on our way up to the new Seattle Art Museum, which was only a few blocks away. Before we even got inside the museum we noticed the bikers coming our way again.

This time I would be prepared. I got my new camera out of my bag and waited for the naked guy to head my way. Our friends also got their camera out and their camera phone. Three cameras would ensure us a good junk shot.

As you can see, we did not get a good picture of the naked biker. It was as if fate was not on our side. Every picture I have of him has someone strategically covering his special parts.

It is awesome that this picture is totally in front of our local nudie club. The club that always has the most comical marquee.

Since I failed horribly in getting you the money shot I’ll try to make up with this photo of Babboo playing Keno at the casino we visited on Monday.

I promise we just stopped there after a day of shopping at the mall to partake of their buffet.

By the way, he didn’t win anything at Keno. But he did have a churro for dinner.

It being a 3 days weekend, I had some extra time on my hands. What did I do with that time? For no apparent reason, I spent it watching crappy movies. By choice.

The first crappy movie I watched was the Amanda Bynes made-for-television movie Lovewrecked. Unfortunately, I found this movie to be very entertaining. And also horribly unbelievable, although it did make me want to sit on the beach and eat fruit and drink pretty drinks.

The second movie was Cheaper by the Dozen 2. While I’ve seen the first one, the second one seemed cuter. I may or may not have even shed a tear at the end. (It’s hard to admit to that.) Interestingly enough, both movies had Jonathan Bennett in them. In one he plays the typical love-struck teenager and the other he plays a no-nonsense expectant father. His acting range is very broad. Apparently.

Speaking of squeaky-clean movies, have any of you watched ABC Family lately? It’s not a channel that we typically watch at our house. While I wouldn’t say that The King and I watch smut exclusively, we don’t search out family oriented Grounded for Life programming either.

While searching through our guide I decided to TiVo a show we’ve always liked; Grounded for Life. You’ve seen this show, right? You know it’s about what happens to a couple who got pregnant and married while in high school. They are now all grown up and have three kids. It’s a funny show and we’ve always liked it. So you know, I decided to TiVo it this weekend.

Remember, this was on the ABC Family channel.

The episode we saw was about their daughter turning 16 and deciding it’s time to lose her virginity. And not even to her boyfriend. She ends up doing it with her neighbor boy. She gets caught postcoital by her Mom who all but high-fives her.

It was a funny episode. The King and I both laughed.

But then….

Oh wait, this is on the family channel! That really isn’t what I’d call a family oriented show.

Again, not that I’m a prude, but they market themselves to be a family channel. Doesn’t that mean it should have cheesy, clean shows like Lizzie McGuire and Hannah Montana? Shows that you would feel comfortable with your kids watching when you aren’t around. Shows that don’t talk about teenagers having sex. Save those shows for the regular network channels to air.

A coworker of mine (who is also not a prude) and I were talking about this same subject last week. She said her and her boyfriend don’t even let their kids watch the ABC Family channel.

When I think about this subject it all makes sense in my head. When talking to others about it, I feel like it makes sense. But typing it out and getting ready to share these thoughts with the interweb, well that makes me feel like such a Mom. The kind of Mom that puts a lock on her TV for fear that her kids will hear words like condom and postcoital. A Mom that won’t let her kids see PG-13 movies until they are 18. The kind of Mom that hides in the backseat of the car when her kids go to Prom. The kind of Mom that I’m not really wanting to become.

I’m disappointed in myself for being disappointed in ABC Family.

Its Memorial Day weekend. This holiday represents so much to so many people. For me it represents something completely different.

Seven years ago was my last day at work. I had been with the same company for three years. My last day was spent going out to lunch with my co workers. My desk was covered with good-bye gifts, sweet notes and some flowers from The King wishing me good luck.

Quitting time came and I packed up my desk, got in my car and headed to the airport to pick up The King. He had a one way ticket from Seattle to come and get me. I was thrilled to see him. That feeling of excitement overshadowed my feelings of dread.

I was leaving home.

We spent the weekend packing my little Civic full. I had promised myself I would only take what I could fit in my car. That really wasn’t much, especially since The King would be driving with me and thus taking up the entire front of the car. We managed to fit everything I wanted to take, including one of the new little kitties that had just been born on the farm. I felt like taking that kitty would be the closet thing to taking my entire family with me.

My mom was at work the day we left. My dad was out in the back in the horse stalls, my younger brother and sister were out with their friends. I took some of the sidewalk chalk my dad had given me earlier in the month for my birthday and wrote little messages in all of their parking spots. I drew little hearts, flowers and smiley faces. I wrote that I loved them.

On the way out of town we stopped at my friend’s apartment to say our goodbyes. She was dating some new dude and I was bugged that he was there during that moment. He got the hint and went outside. We talked for a minute about the drive to Seattle. She returned a book I had loaned her years ago. A book I had forgotten about. I hugged her and as I was walking out to my car I turned and said; see you at my wedding in August.

I hate to say it, but I wasn’t sad. Yes, I would miss my family. Yes, I would miss my friends. Yes, I would miss my familiar surrounding. But the thrill of driving away with my future eternal companion into the sunset washed my fears away. I was embarking on a trip that would change my life forever. And I knew it. I appreciated it. I understood.

Every Memorial Day weekend when I see flags flying and flowers being placed at gravesites, I think about that Memorial Day seven years ago.

The day my life began.

There really is no way to fully intruduce my guest poster for today. I was lucky enough to meet her (and Christar) a few months ago. She’s sassy (like me) and wacky (also, like me). And because she’s a giver, she graciously accepted my request for a guest post.

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What happens when there aren’t any mysterious bags in front of the local Sephora? Or cowboys crossing the streets of downtown Seattle?

I’ll tell you what happens, Isabel takes a day off and leaves her blog in my hands. So here I am writing to you from far, far away where the grass is green mostly dead and the girls are pretty freakin’ hot!

May I preface this post by telling you a little bit about myself and how I met Isabel? My name is Brittany, and I blog at Weekday Wisdom. You may call me Brittany, Britt, or even Buttany which is my older brother’s endearing nickname of choice. I found Isabel about a year and a half ago via a link to a link to a link (you know how it goes), and I must say I heart her. She has taught me so much. Before there was an Isabel in my life, I knew nothing about Veronica Mars, Sephora, Rhett Miller, nudist Mexican beaches, or the phrase ‘balls to the wall.’ I am all the wiser thanks to our friend, Isabel.

In December I had my first baby and became a stay-at-home mom. This lifestyle is completely new to me. I’m not sure how to use my time now. I make a lot of bottles and wipe a lot of butts (well, just two actually) and the highlight of my day has become spying on looking out for my neighbors.

My street has become a Wisteria Lane of sorts. Over the past few months, there has been an increase in boobage among the ladies on my street.

The first set of new boobs in my neighborhood lives across the street from me. They belong to Linda, mother of four. I noticed Linda was looking quite alert one day (or at least her boobs were), and everything was revealed one Sunday when my husband came home from church and said, “Guess what! Robert got new boobs for his birthday.”

Very clever. The man across the street bought his wife new boobs for his birthday, and then told all of the men at church about it so they can all buy new boobs for their birthdays, too.

The second set of new boobs lives down the street. They belong to Nancy, also mother of four. Hers were her college graduation gift. Apparently having nice boobs is a requirement for becoming a registered nurse, right up there with purchasing your own scrubs.

I’m a pretty observant person, so it’s very obvious to me that cup sizes are on the incline. The third and fourth sets have yet to be confirmed, but my boobie radar has been going off like crazy, and I think it’s only a matter of time before I hear the truth about Beth and Tiffany.

When a woman makes such a change to her body, it’s hard to know the appropriate way to react. Some women flaunt their new boobies as if they might win an award for ‘Best Sidekicks.’ Others take the sneaky approach and wear baggy clothes until they feel that everyone believes their ta-tas have always been large and perky. I never know if I’m allowed to speak to a boob job recipient about her new boobs. In fact, I’m pretty sure that I’ve never openly discussed boob jobs with someone who’s had one.

As for my boobs, well… let’s just say there’s something special about being able to whip ‘em out at a birthday party and watch my friends take turns trying them on.

Like most 18 year olds I moved away to go to college. The college I went to was only about an hour and a half away, but it felt like another planet. Again, like most 18 year olds I couldn’t wait to move.

My senior year of high school was fun and amazing and I loved it. I had a boyfriend I liked and had made a gaggle of new friends. I was really into politics, art and music and kept pretty busy with these things. My new friends were into the same things, so we would go out to Denny’s and just discuss topics. I felt smart and challenged. I liked it.

About April of my senior year I started to get antsy. I was so sick of seeing my dad every place I went. He was my teacher at school, my teacher at church, and my teacher at home. As much as I loved my dad, I was sick of him being there all the damn time. I knew it was time to move on. I fully appreciated that I was growing up and that life would never be the same for me.

I remember the night before I moved away from home and into my new dorm room. I had packed up all my things, including the new kitchen and bathroom wares I’d received for my birthday back in May. My desk was packed. My clothes were packed. I pretty much packed up all my earthly belongings. As if I wasn’t going to be back home the following weekend (and every weekend after that).

My mom came into my bedroom while I was packing the last of my things. She told me to come to the basement with her. I was bugged that she was interrupting me and my very important packing tasks. She said it would only take a minute and that I’d thank her later.

We walked down into the basement and into the laundry room together. There, in the middle of the room, was a laundry basket, full of my sibling’s dirty clothes.

“Since you’re moving out on your own, I’m going to teach you how to do laundry. First thing you need to do is separate the clothes into piles.”

“It can’t be that hard, right?”

“It’s not hard. But pay attention. The most important part is making sure to separate them correctly.”

“Why haven’t you shown me how to do this before?”

“I always figured I paid too much money for clothes for this family, I didn’t want them ruined by some teenager. So I just did all the laundry myself.”

“Good point.”

It took my mom about 30 minutes to impart of all her laundry wisdom on me. She told me her secret of using liquid detergent for all her bright color, cold water washes. She explained why she hung dry most of the clothes and went on to tell me if you get your clothes out of the dryer as soon as they were done, you never have to iron them.

From that day forward I did all of my own laundry. I am not kidding when I say I had never done laundry before then. I made it 18 years without ever separating clothes, or scooping detergent, or even hanging things up to dry. (I had helped my mom fold clothes. But that was it.) From that day forward my mom realized she liked having one less person to do laundry for.

From that day forward my Mom taught my younger siblings to wash their own damn clothes.

And she kicked herself for not teaching us all sooner.

It’s interesting how a simple thing like teaching your child to do laundry can change things so much for the entire family. It’s interesting how learning something new, albeit mundane, changed my own life. It’s interesting how that little thing taught me responsibility and personal pride.

I wonder how long until I can teach Babboo how to do laundry? Heck, I wonder how long until I can teach Babboo how to walk, or ride a bike, or be nice to others?

I can’t wait.

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After a year of the same boring template I finally upgraded to something a little more colorful and sassy. Sassy, like me. (gag!)

Unfortunately I can’t take any of the credit for the new look. It’s all about Carrisa. So please head over and tell her she’s pretty. And also tell her how sad you are about last night being the last Veronica Mars EVER.

About five or six years ago I read an article in Vogue (or some other fashion magazine, I can’t really remember). In this article they were saying that the next big trend would be charm bracelets. I got really excited. I had always thought charm bracelets were fascinating, but had never put in the time to get one. I felt like this was the perfect time to get into charms. I mean, if Vogue says it’s going to be cool, then I have no other choice.

As part of this plan, I also decided I was going to buy charm bracelets for my family and friends that year for their birthdays. And that’s what I did. Each friend and family member (that were, you know, female) were given a bracelet and one charm to get them started. I figured for each following birthday/holiday/celebration I would give them another charm to coincide with what we were celebrating.

And that’s what I did. I gave snowflake charms for Christmas and engagement ring charms for engagements. I bought birthstone charms for births of babies and Statue of Liberty charms from my trip to New York. I have even been able to find charms in Mexico, Germany and France to bring back home. My mom started to buy charms for all of us girls when her and my dad went on vacation. My sister bought me charms each year for Christmas. Even The King’s mom started to slip one into my Christmas stocking.

When I would fly to visit my family I’d always bring my charm bracelet with me and some new charms for everyone. My Mom, sister, sister in law and I would get together and show off our bracelets and all of our new charms. We’d tell the story behind our new ones that we had bought for ourselves and talk about cute one we’d seen but hadn’t bought yet.

(annotated picture over at Flickr, you know, if you care.)

I guess a few years ago my charm phase started to peter out. I would still buy charms when I went places, but only for my own charm bracelet. While at the Vatican a few years ago, I couldn’t help myself and bought about a billion charms with different Catholic symbols on them. Something about buying charms from an actual nun at the Vatican was very, very cool. That year for Christmas everybody got a charm.

Yesterday I came into work and found this little treat sitting on my desk:

I recognized the packaging immediately. It’s the same little baggie I brought all of my charms home from Rome in. I still have one of them saved in my little charm box. It comes from the little gift shop that the nuns run at the Vatican in Rome. One of my coworkers had just returned.

What was inside the package? It’s my very first charm of the new Pope. I think it’s awesome and I can’t wait to add it to my bracelet. (You know, even though I’m not Catholic.)

So tell me, am I the only person above the age of 8 that still collects charms (and postcards)?