Dumb People and Smart Phones

Clay had had the same flip phone for at least 7 years. It's small and the only thing you could do with it was make phone calls. No texting. No camera. Nothing. I think it even had a rotary dialer on it, but I might have imagined that part.

My phone is junky as well but it has a killer keyboard and I can text like an 8th grader. It's also turquoise.

For some reason Clay decided WE were going to join the 21st century and see what these smart phones were all about.

I'd like to go on record at this point and say I did NOT want a smart phone. My phone may not be "smart," in fact, I think it was probably held back a grade or two and probably earned an "incomplete" at community college, but I was loyal to it. It was always there for me.

So, we went to University Village and Clay got the fancy new iPhone 4S and I got a 3G, which was free. So, we both walked out holding our new smart phones. We felt so cosmopolitan.

Anyway, let's cut to the good part. Four hours after the purchase we're home and Clay's in the bathroom and I hear, "Noooooooo!"

I knew immediately what had happened and yelled "Get it out! Just grab it!"

To quote our dear friend Margot, my husband is "more decorative than functional." He dropped his brand new iPhone in the toilet, thus proving you can own a smart phone and still be a big dummy.

The crazy part is we dried it and submerged it in rice for three days and Monday morning it fired up and has been working perfectly ever since.

It just smells a little funky.

What The Hell Is Wrong With Me and Some Pie

My dear friend Debbie sent me an email a few weeks ago with a link to a pie baking contest being held in Seattle and said I should enter. She often sends me emails with recipes I should make for her. She's bold. One time she visited Camano Island with us and upon leaving thanked my parents for inviting her when George interrupted and said, "We didn't invite you, you invited yourself."

True story and exactly why I love Debbie. She's fun and I only have room in my life for friends who are fun.

By the way, my editor, Clay Martin, is off gallivanting around town with his buddy Brendan who is in town for the weekend. I mention this only because he'd be editing me and telling me the aforementioned information isn't needed.

Back to the contest. Debbie believes in me and I have nothing to lose. I guess I'll enter.

Thursday night, the week of the contest, I made a practice apple pie. Clay took a bite and said, "this isn't award-winning." He was right.

I made some adjustments. Saturday morning, tweaked pie in hand I drove myself to the City Arts Festival pie baking contest.

I thought I was going to throw up.

I sat by myself in the back row and a friendly lady, who runs city-wide baking contests, came over to chat with me. She asked me which pie was mine and I couldn't even tell her. It looked terrible and I was feeling sad. I wanted to bolt but couldn't because I had borrowed my friend Curtis' fancy pie plate and had to stay to collect it at the end.

I listened to celebrity judges poetically talk about pie and why it was important in their lives. A blogger named Gluten Free Girl told a very funny story about Jerry Seinfeld and one of her pies. (By the way, what's up with a gluten free judge? We all know what she needs, gluten and some counseling.)

Once again, I digress. Sorry Clay...

I watched the judges cut and sample the pies. I was almost sure I saw Cormac, the owner of Madison Park Conservatory, bite a slice of my pie and spit it in the garbage.

I sank lower into my chair, cursing Debbie and madly texting her from my seat.

Finally it's time for the awards. All pies will be judged on "appearance," "taste," "nostalgia factor," and "overall awesomeness."

The first prize goes to someone who made a lovely meringue. It's a gorgeous pie for certain.

I sink lower.

Cormac (and Tilson) take the stage and talk about nostalgic pies. Cormac gives my pie best runner up in the the nostalgic category.

I straighten up a bit.

The rest is blurry but someone else gets up and my pie wins another runner up award! I don't even know the category because I was so shocked. And confused.

Then the lovely and talented Sara Dickerman gets up and gives my kick-ass pie the final award for "overall awesomeness."

Is this a joke? Did my parents hire all these people?

I call Clay and I also call Leora because she said, "Call me when you win."

And what's with all these nice friends who believe in me?

Then I stepped in a photo booth and took a picture of myself. I'm holding my prize, which is a certificate to have coffee with the pie master of Seattle, Kate McDermott.



By the way, my pie was salted caramel apple and I guess it was pretty good. Good enough to win prizes.

Pinch me.

Something's Missing

Look who lost his first tooth!

Act Now! Don't Miss it!

Last weekend my mom "babysat" George and Goldie for one hour while I ran some errands.

As I drove out of her driveway I could practically hear George yelling, "She's gone, let's turn on the TV."

When I returned, ONE HOUR LATER, George said the following;

"Mommy, there is a really big sale happening this weekend. They are going to have all the things you like. They even have bedroom sets!"

He also informed me "There's a fair happening. It's called the Puyallup Fair. We have to go. They said 'don't miss it.' That's what they said Mommy, 'don't miss it'."

George and Goldie have never seen broadcast TV at home. We just aren't TV watchers. So, this was George's first exposure to the very helpful world of commercials.

The next day as I was doing laundry, he saw my box of Oxy Clean and said, "Oh, this stuff can get out any stain. Seriously ANY stain."

Days later he was still talking about the Puyallup fair and how he "can't miss it" and I'm getting increasingly annoyed. So I called my mom, who thought all of this was hilarious. I told her that her punishment for corrupting George was to take him to the Puyallup fair.

And she did.

And the first thing she and my dad did when they got there was to buy him a cotton candy as big as his upper torso.



Hooray for T.V.