Mary Bellamy

As the possibility of building a house grows stronger and stronger, I'm moving into the dreaming stage. You know, the part where you plan a million different iterations of the same thing. I imagine it's what some girls do with their weddings. But since I don't know if I'll ever get married, I've funneled all my what-color-should-my-bridesmaids-wear, what-should-our-first-dance-be energies into creating the most perfect house for me possible.

Here's what I do know: It's going to be small and energy efficient. The entire reason behind building instead of buying is that I want it to be just right for me. I want one bedroom. One glorious bedroom with clothing and shoe storage beyond Imelda Marcos' wildest dreams. Why do I need two bedrooms? People tell me I need a guest bedroom. I've had guests approximately 3 times since I moved to Alaska. And almost always in the summer. I'll just build a guest yurt. People have also cited resale value. I'm not building a house with the plan to sell it in a few years. Or possibly ever. If I just wanted to own something with the intention of eventually leaving it, I would buy some hideous little 3-bedroom, 1.5-bathroom ranch house.

My priorities for house extras seem to go in the following order:

1. sauna
2. hot tub
3. garage

Yeah, garage is last on the list. Wait, put "guest yurt" somewhere above it.

So with a basic design in mind, I've started wondering recently about my kitchen needs. This is very important to me. I lovelovelove to cook. I need to have enough space and storage in my kitchen without going overboard. And lately I've been pondering the double oven. Out of everyone I know, I'm the most likely to ever actually make use of a double oven. But what is really the point? Sure, I can cut my baking time in half with two ovens, but isn't there sort of a zen to baking? My parents have double ovens and I can think of only a few occasions throughout the year when both are in use. Those are usually the big holiday family dinners. I'm single and will live alone. I will not be having those dinners. Perhaps it's better to forego spending the money for a double oven and instead get one really kick-ass stove/oven. I don't mean a professional-quality one with 27 burners. Again, how often is that necessary? I just mean brand new, fully functional. Maybe even with an oven that maintains a proper temperature without my constant monitoring. Oh, and I think I'm finally going to go to gas. I've never had a gas stove. They kind of scare me. It's my shameful cooking secret.

No one told me The Reader had that much sex. I knew that there was sex in it, but not quite so graphic. And yet there I was. Sitting in the dark. Next to my ex-boyfriend. Oy vey.

Lost is getting absurd. I couldn't even begin to sum it up with one of my breathless monologues. And yet it's still some of the best television out there today. What other show can make me scream "No!!!" and Yes!!!" within 20 seconds???

I am officially signed up for the Gold Nugget Triathlon. I got back in the pool mere hours after signing up. It turns out I'm still kind of good at swimming. Shit, I did not use "and yet" in this paragraph.

Maja brought some sort of raspberry, cream cheese, cake concoction to the Clucking Blossom meeting today. It was delicious and put me in a mind to experiment. How do you think chocolate whoopie pies with lemon and raspberry filling would taste?

Up late. The registration opened for the Gold Nugget Triathlon at 12:01 a.m. I stayed up to register both myself and my coworker Oralee. Across town, Hailey should be registering herself and Liz. The race is on. And I'm going to dig out my swimsuit and go to sleep. It's time to start training.

I think the end times are near. Examples:

• a volcano keeps erupting in the south, which seems to be affecting my lifestyle 350 miles away
• my sister got a cell phone

This weekend was .... interesting. Friday night was a slapfest. I could explain more but won't. Saturday was the final meeting of the Battlestar Galactica group. The finale had a bit of the Return of the King effect. I liked the ending, all 27 of them. At some point, you've just got to stop filming.

Have I ever mentioned that I am a strange draw for people in Tennessee? I don't know how, but they keep finding me. I'm starting to wonder if they have my picture up on billboards or something.

And finally: It is almost spring (no, really!) which means it's time to kick it into gear for Clucking Blossom. May 30 at Birch Hill. But more importantly, the fundraisers are starting up. First up: This Friday at the Marlin. Open mic hosted by Carrot Puddin', featuring Worst Band in Fairbanks.

Spring is on its way. I know it is. The sky is staying lit until past 9:30 at night. I hear more birds. It even got above freezing a few days ago. I have a stockpile of new, impractical shoes that I can't wait to wear on non-icy ground. So why is it that I still feel a touch of kevadväsimus?

This morning I looked out the window and thought that the sky looked like a gray, dreary, snowy sort of sky. But at least it wasn't snowing. When I got out of the shower, I noticed my car was white instead of blue. And now there is a downpour of white fluffy flakes.

I'm starting to understand why so many people commit suicide in the spring. They just get tired of hoping that winter is over. Me? I just want to wear a dress without my winter coat.

Where to begin? On Thursday I was notified of a superheroes and villains costume party, which coincided with Dara’s birthday. Last minute, but that’s just more of a challenge for me. I skipped yoga Friday night in favor of shopping for supplies. On Saturday I baked 2 dozen Irish Car Bomb cupcakes and made a costume. I was just pining up the hem when Dara called to report that our plans had fallen through for the evening, as the only person we would know at the party wasn’t feeling well and would be skipping.

I’ve got the cojones to show up in costume anyway, but it was her birthday, and she wasn’t feeling it. So I put on normal clothes instead and went to Dara’s house. We started at the Marlin, where we found few people and no band. I texted a guy I met on Wednesday, but he said he couldn’t make it that night. The decision was made that we should do things as out-of-the-ordinary as possible, so our next stop was Kodiak Jack’s. After convincing a guy there to buy us drinks, we had almost decided to go all the way to North Pole to go to the Refinery when we instead hit upon the idea of the Silver Spur. Yes, that’s two country bars in one night.

Our arrival at the Spur prompted the immediate departure of one of Dara’s exes and his new wife. Score one for the birthday girl. Now I’ll be damned if I know how to line dance, nor do I really want to try unless I’m going for the kitsch factor, but I met a man named Jeff. Jeff is not datable, but he is danceable. He taught me the two-step, cha cha cha and some basic swing. I am going to go back to that bar in the near future to see if I can find Jeff for some dancing again. Did I ever mention that I love to dance?

When the novelty of being in a country bar wore off, we headed out again. We were on our way to the Loon when we realized we’d have to pay a cover charge, so we went back to the Marlin. Still dead, but I found out that the guy who had said he couldn’t make it had shown up after all. But was gone already. Any sadness about this was soon alleviated by my introduction to another young man. He tried to debate me about the geography of Vietnam and the location of Hanoi therein. I was right, he was wrong.

On Sunday, as if I hadn’t had enough of the bar scene, I went to the Boatel Sleazy Waterfront Bar (the official name) for Alec and Amanda’s going-away party. They are heading to Nepal this week, where Alec is going to climb Everest. I normally don’t go to bars on Sunday afternoons. I know now why. Watching desiccated women down shots at 4 p.m. in the sunshine is about the saddest way to spend a lovely day that I can imagine. I vow to do healthy things this weekend that don’t involve bars. Like watch the end of Battlestar Galactica with my friends.

It's not yet 9 a.m., and someone is already singing the Gilligan's Island theme. Ah, Fridays.

I am going to run the Gold Nugget Triathlon again this year.

There...I said it. Now I have to do it. Crap. Now I have to do it.

I think my friend Liz and my coworker Oralee are both going to do it as well. They will both beat me, but that only means a bigger group to cheer me on at the finish line, right?

I have been going out of my mind with dance for the past few weeks. The troupe agreed to perform a show that, for various reasons, could not include any of our choreography. So we worked our butts off up to 5 days a week to a) learn a new choreography, and b) learn to perform group improvisation. The performance was yesterday, so I think now I'll get a chance to relax.

Enough blogging. I need to get some sleep so I can go run 5K before work tomorrow. Training and all... What am I thinking?

The internet was down at work today. Our tube was broken. Seriously - a DREN fiber optic cable got cut. I spent almost 10 hours without access to e-mail or web. I nearly died. The Borg never had this problem. In the end, I amused myself with iChat, forcing various coworkers to answer trivia questions. My favorite? Who was the 1971 Nobel Poet Laureate? This plan backfired, as people then tried to quiz me back. Mary doesn't like that game. She much prefers the third person and being the only one who knows the answer.

Jenny Schlo has gotten me hooked on Mad Men. It's a great show, if only because the clothing fits my personal aesthetic so well. I wonder - if the show actually aired in the 50s or 60s, would I be supposed to feel sorry for Joan Holloway? I also have to say that they spend just a bit too much time emphasizing the differences between now and then. Yes, smoking everywhere and drinking at work. But the emphasis on drinking while pregnant? The polio vaccine? That's trying a bit too hard. I've got to say, though, that I love the fact that there are almost realistic ideals for women on that show. Christina Hendricks' curves? Stunning. The stripper in episode 1 or 2? Chunky by today's emaciated standards, but still utterly human. I plan on returning the favor by gifting J Schlo with the current seasons of Lost and Big Love next time I see her.

Pardon my French, but it snowed a fucking ton last week. Almost a foot of the fluffy white stuff fell on Thursday alone. Don't get me wrong - I'm glad. These last few winters have been less than snowy, and I didn't move to Alaska for the warm weather. Still, I've got impractical new shoes, and I look forward to the arrival of spring, which should happen sometime in May.

And to complete my post of non sequiturs, I have had several friends trying to set me up lately. Some of them seem to be more of the "well, he's single and you're single, so it's perfect!" variety. I do not approve. Please only set me up with people whom you think are my intellectual match. I get bored otherwise.

At open mic on Wednesday, two men got onstage calling themselves Mr. White and Mr. Right. I couldn't tell you who was who, but I can tell you that they covered a song by The Ink Spots. I can also tell you that I have a great love for the music of the 30s and 40s. By the time they were done, I had developed massive crushes on both of them. I talked to them later, and they both high-fived me and told me I earned major points just for knowing who The Ink Spots were.

It snowed on Friday. I know, news flash! I live in Alaska. But when I left the Marlin, big fat flakes were pouring down from the sky. Big enough and fat enough that I turned my face upward and cried, "It's snowing!" And sure enough, by Saturday morning, several fresh inches of snow coated my world.

The only downside to this was that I had planned to go skiing with Amanda and Marmian on Saturday. Fresh snow is not the greatest thing in the world for cross country skiing. Marmian checked the trails and pronounced them rolled but not set, so we decided to go anyway.

On the bright side it was warm. I mean warm. Like don't wear long johns warm. Take off your gloves warm.




Many skiers before us had broken down the trail. Their tracks always look like maybe - just maybe - they are part of a set trail. Not so much.


But still we persevered, taking in a long loop on the UAF trails.


Forcing other people to take our picture.


Taking our own picture.


In the end, just enjoying a day on the trails together.

I just wandered through Fred Meyer because I needed to get some cream to finish making a cheesecake for the auction tomorrow. Normally, not so newsworthy, right? But I was wearing insulated overalls, a giant purple Cookie Monster fleece and ski boots, since I had just come from a ski with my friends. This is what I love about Fairbanks: I can wander through the grocery store (which essentially serves as the town social center) dressed like that and no one bats an eye. I like it here.

Today I finally emptied a can of air freshener. Why do I deem this ordinary event to be blog-worthy? I bought that can of air freshener at KMart when I moved to Alaska six years ago. This makes me realize that:

a) I've been here for six years!
b) I'm getting old.
c) My roommates were still in high school when I bought that air freshener.

This weekend will be another busy one: a reading tonight, seeing one of Tom's plays tomorrow and hopefully some skiing on Sunday. Sunday is also the Ester Library Lallapalooza. I'm going to be bringing an item for the dessert auction. I put it out for some votes, and it looks like I'll be making Salted Caramel and Pecan Cheesecake. I have a thing for salted caramel lately.

Let's recap. 5K yesterday. 60 minutes of ATS dance yesterday. 60 minutes of hip hop today. 90 minutes of ATS dance today. 120 minutes of tribal fusion dance tomorrow. To say nothing of the 200 or so situps each day. I promise I won't run another 5K in the morning.

I was making plans to go skiing with a friend this weekend when I realized that I have not been skiing yet this year. It's a tragedy. One of my roommates saved my skis during the flood, but it looks as though my ski poles may have floated down the Chena to Nenana. Crap. And Play It Again Sports does not have any ski poles in my size. Double crap. And I refuse to shop at Beaver Sports because of their new towing policy for patrons of the Marlin. Triple crap. I think Tom has my old, a-little-too-short ski poles. Otherwise I'm heading out to Goldstream to search for ski poles. This makes me nervous to look around and try to guess what else might have floated away. I don't remember seeing my snowshoes anywhere recently....

I decided to be all goal-oriented this morning. Instead of running for a certain amount of time, I just decided to do a 5K. I have a feeling I'm going to regret this tomorrow. Everyone says that if you stretch after exercising, you won't be as sore. The problem I run into is that most stretches do nothing for me. It's the curse of being super bendy. I can get something out of my hamstrings, but my quads just yawn no matter what I'm doing.

I went to Joyce's house after work to practice improv. We'll be performing at Fruitcake's wedding in a few weeks, and need to get our improv skills up to speed. If you don't already know, I'm studying American Tribal Style bellydance, which is cued group improvisation. That means that one person leads and gives cues or signals to indicate the next move. When it's done well, it looks like choreography. Ours does not look like choreography, plus there's lots of swearing.

After I got home, I decided to make bread because, well, why not? It was chappati, a kind of Indian flat bread, which should go well with an Indian lentil stew I made on Sunday. Tom and I are trying to share some of our food, since we both cook big batches to eat throughout the week. I get bored eating the same thing all the time, so we are arranging for a little swap tomorrow.

Work is kind of sucky right now. We've got some big stuff coming up which means there is a lot of stuff to be done and not enough people to do it. It's just manageable as it is, but I know that someone will have a last-minute NEED. I don't think I'll be able to do much to help them. Debra and I worked out a good game plan to get everything we need ready in time. There's just not wiggle room to help people who didn't stop to consider that we might be otherwise occupied. Soon the panels will be over and I will be able to focus on the magazine and the web redesign again.

I'm tired and want to watch an episode of Big Love before I go to sleep. I'm happy that modern technology allows me to watch all sorts of TV without actually watching TV. I think if I had cable, I'd end up spending a lot of time just searching for something to watch. Without it, I only seek out things I specifically want to see, like polygamist drama, or post-apocalyptic sci fi, or bizarrely fucked up shows like Lost.

So how do you blog about your dating life when you know some of the people you are dating read your blog? I've been mulling this recently. That is the disadvantage of having a blog - it makes my life an open book.

I don't want to make this blog hidden, as its purpose is to be read by my friends and family (and some strangers). But I also don't want to give anyone any insights into what I think of them. Isn't the point of dating to discover all those things on your own? Sure, I Google stalk my dates to make sure they're not crazy, and I expect many of them to do the same to me. But I would run screaming if someone had me over for dinner and then served me Twinkie sushi for dessert because they saw it on my blog. Somehow I've got to figure out a balance.

In completely unrelated news, I've moved into new baking frontiers. We're talking rolled and cut cookies. I'm more of a drop cookie person (and I lovelovelove my new cookie dough scoop. Yes, you can live without one. But now that I have one, I don't want to.), but I've now rolled dough twice. It's a lot easier to do on a Silpat, though I still have to flour it to keep it from sticking. I may try my hand at some chappati later today.

My baking obsession will only increase because I gave my sister and brother-in-law a year of baked goods for Christmas. To make matter worse, I put a similar offer into a fundraising auction we had at work. Someone paid $180 for 11 months of baked goods. For those keeping track, that means I single-handedly brought in about 15% of the total for the auction. So now I have to bake at least once a month. I don't ever want to bake for a living, but I wish more people would just give me money and let me cook them random things.

On February 13 (several weeks early), Rachel introduced us to Clare Lohr Heilman. We shall continue to call her Jam.
The bow indicates that the baby is a girl. Because, frankly, you really can't tell at this point.

I now present you with baby pictures and video. Lots of it.



In my defense, I'm posting all this baby paraphernalia for the sake of Glenmore, who will meet his daughter in a few weeks. We wanted him to be able to see her ASAP! Good work with the genetics, G!



Had I known the baby was on her way out that morning, I might not have worn a cashmere sweater to work. Thank you, Jam, for not puking on it. Good baby!



Lest you think I have gone soft and changed my stance on babies (good for giving sugary treats, great for giving back to their parents), I offer photographic evidence that I am not afraid to back myself up on Joyce while holding another woman's baby.


And yes, I did get the hair clips from the baby section at Fred Meyer when I was supposed to be picking up little mittens for Jam.

Sickness. It's back. Soon I shall be proclaiming to the world that I am dying. For now, though, I'm just tired and have a Demi Moore voice.

Against my wishes, I will be skipping the gym today in favor of getting to work a bit early and therefore getting out of work a bit early. Last night I went to bed around 8 p.m., thinking that I would wake up extra early. I even ended a chat session to do this. Not so much. I slept until the alarm went off at 6:30. I still haven't mustered the energy to do more than put my contacts in, though. Maybe I'll make a nice, big breakfast and get the latest episode of Big Love downloading before I head off to work.

I'm sure this person didn't mean to describe their rental property as "specious."

I tried for a quiet weekend in. I only partially succeeded. On Friday I had dinner with a few friends, then one friend and I retired to my place to watch a movie and eat cupcakes. Saturday meant Sci Fi Saturday and BSG at Joyce's house. Afterward, I fell prey to the logic of going to the Marlin. In truth, I was hoping to run into a particular person who has a lovely vocabulary, but he was not there. But the band was rocking and I danced with many boys.

I threw a baby shower on Saturday. What? Just because I don't like babies doesn't mean I don't like a party. I attended a baby shower with Dara a few years ago, but it was one of those that was all baby-centric. We guzzled one bottle of champagne and went outside. That was where we found a mom cleaning up the mess from where her baby had shit on the porch. Seriously. On it. We took the other bottle of champagne and went back to the commune to drink alone.

But back to the shower....it was the very best kind of baby shower. It was baby-less (except for the one in Rachel's womb). Georgeanne of Cloud 9 Doula came out and gave us all fantastic henna tattoos.


My new art. I have been contemplating a new tattoo on this part of my body for a while now. I like to get henna as a placeholder to get used to the idea.


Joyce got a back piece done.


As did Jessica L.


Jennie has also been contemplating a tattoo. I think she wants hers on this part of her wrist. Maybe not so much curling down around her finger, though.


Rachel, the baby-momma, got an elaborate hand piece that conveniently kept her from helping with the food. I can't complain too much (too much more than I just did, that is) because she made me a batch of paneer the night before.


Last time we got henna, Georgeanne didn't want to do Liz's face. So after she left, I drank some more and then drew on her face with the extra henna. This time Georgeanne did it, and it looks much better.


As it turns out, we can all work together and make an Indian meal. This is a relief, as I loooove Indian food but don't like having to do all the cooking (and ingredient purchasing) by myself. Ellen has the gift of bread, and tackled the naan, which were fantastic. I made paneer curry, spinach chicken, ginger scallion raita and tamarind peanut chutney. Next time I really need to convince everyone of how easy it is to make the chutney and raita, and then I will only have to do entrees.


Liz chipped in with the dessert, and use my leftover rice to make kheer.

After dinner, we rounded out the baby shower with the presentation of a diaper cake and then all took turns coming up with names for the baby. Just kidding! We watch a Bollywood movie. As is so often the case, Joyce and I opened a bottle of rum at the start of the night and finished it by the end. Sorry, Glenmore! I hear you didn't like that rum anyway.