The question is not why...

But for $3, who wouldn't? It's a sweater, by the way. And Photobooth does not show that this is a distinct pea-soup green. Also not pictured--a sailor suit, toddler size 5. That was Jon's purchase.

I can't even try this on--the thought makes even my fingernails sweat in this 107?8? degree heat. The past few days I have sat in a completely dark apartment, listening to my so-so AC unit, and staring at my neighbor's central AC fan with pure, unadulterated jealousy.

Don't get me wrong. I love Portland very dearly. But, each season here has had a week of freakishly snowy, or freakishly hot, or freakishly dry weather that others swear "never happens." Other Portlanders seem to have a selective memory when it comes to weather--winters are always 40 degrees and rainy, spring is just plain rainy, and summers are always 80 degrees. Has this paragraph turned into a slight rant? Forgive me Portland! It's just my knee pit sweat talking.

Goodness Gracious, Gracious Goodness.

I happened to stumble upon the greatest of Martha shows today--it was completely devoted to my most secretly favorite of all foods, the hot dog. And this creation left me speechless. I am always talking up the wonders of hot dogs and macaroni and cheese (to Jon's disgust), but I had not thought about combining them on a bun! Man.... oh man.

At least I can laugh about it now. Not that anyone else ever had a problem with that.

I called my orthodontist in Boise last week, asking about getting new retainers sent to me because I am gnawing holes through them at night. The conversation went something like this:

Me: I'm calling to get some new retainers. My name is Malorie Hall, but I might be under...

Receptionist: Oh, we have you here under Malorie Naylor. Let me check with Dr. T. Are you going to be in town soon?

(Pause for the WORST hold music I think I have ever heard. A rendition of a classic orchestral piece by someone who was a huge fan of "Lampchop" and "This is the Song that Never Ends.")

Receptionist: Looks like we need to get a new impression. The front tooth of your model chipped.

Oh, the irony. Plus, can we note that she basically knew me by my first name? The first time I got braces I was called Marjorie for 3 years, so I guess you get braces on twice and you become a celebrity.

Or, everyone remembers you because you were 20 the second time around and you sobbed uncontrollably the whole time they were putting them on. Yeah, maybe that's it.

Before you all think I am consumed by vanity, (but let's not ignore that meeting my future in laws in silver braces was horrifying enough, and probably responsible for a certain family pushing someone to "date other people" that summer) braces were to me a time machine sending me back to 14 years old. And if you knew me at 14...well, you might just understand. I mean, do you want to be 14 again? That's what I thought.

And in the now humorous spirit of remembering that time four years ago, I would like to apologize publicly to my brother, who got home from work and was told by my mother--"Now, it was a surprise, but Malorie had to get braces put on today." I think she tried to give him a look like, "This is not the time to make a joke!" He then promptly made a joke, and I think I gave him a look that would have made the lighting bolt-shaped scar on his forehead burn with evil (if he were to possess such a thing, of course).

26!

Ol' squinty eyes... How come you're so awesome?

Happy 27 to Jon's twin-in-law Tyler too.

Behold.

This is what happens when you leave your hand drawn "self-portraits" around the house. Look how carefully his little axe hands are sketched.

Prius! Double Prius!

With berries like this, who needs grandbabies?

My parents came this weekend, and I wanted them (aka my dad) to get to know our home, as well as find out you don't have to be a registered Democrat to cross the Willamette and we don't bow to the West at noon in salute to Obama. Although they got a kick out of saying "Prius!" every time one drove by, which meant Mom got a little competitive. We crammed a lot of Portland-y stuff into the 4 days, like berry picking, visiting a farmer's market, riding bikes, nature walks, and homeless watching. We even went to the Charthouse, a fancy pants restaurant overlooking the city that we always went to as a family in Boise before it was tragically turned into a Joe's Crab Shack. The only bad thing was the heat wave that accompanied them (96 degrees Friday compared to 70 degrees today!) They pretended not to notice.

Dad picked the most raspberries (I think I was contractually obligated to say that in my blog).

The highlight for me was this moment--

Dad: Did you see that huge creature I pulled out of your shower drain?
Mom: But I thought I already cleaned their shower drain!

There are times when you never question a parent's love.

We made enough delicious jam to last me a year (I hope)

Bet you can't tell this wasn't spontaneous.

This picture has little significance except you can see my bike, and we have no idea why it distorted the way it did.

Still wish there were Creamies waiting at the end, but...

It's hard for me to believe that I have completed a marathon, although the entire lower half of my body did a good job of reminding me any time I even looked at a stair the past few days. Less than 2 years ago I was running/limping a 5k with my mother in law, Jon dragging me to the finish line as I cursed every awful step. The only thing that was the same this time was that Jon's mom still beat me. In all my training I never really hit the proverbial "wall" on a long run, but at around mile 24 we became intimately acquainted. I felt like I was going to throw up, collapse, and start crying as I warbled to Jon, "I know it's just 2 miles away but I just... just... need to walk." After that passed we were able to run to the end (4:39:50) feeling good. I'm pretty proud that we didn't stop to walk for over 23 miles. And grateful that Jon slowed down and ran the whole thing with me.

Running in Seattle was beautiful and there was even a bald eagle perched off the course, but the end left a little to be desired, refreshment and recovery wise. I guess I was spoiled in Ogden, but the hot concrete and dried up bagels were not what I was looking for, and it was ironic that after 5 hours of drinking sugary weird Cytomax the only other non water option was iced tea, which I don't drink. But, I'm nitpicking here.

If you're really interested you can go to the Seattle Rock 'n' Roll website and look up my name to watch a webcast of our finish. But if you don't, I'll sum it up for you. We're happy and holding hands, smiling... smiling... Finish! The smile is wiped off my face and I slowly slump away.