As Requested

Remember that one time when we got married? Oh yeah. I remember that. Here's proof:





Our photographer, Tara Butler, did a grand job.  She posted a few tidbits on her blog, too.

We had a perfect day full of sunshine and love. Ahh.

I have, of late . . .

I suppose we should talk about more of our married life than just the long string of altercations I get to have on a near daily basis with UPS/Target/Any Institution That Knew My Former Last Name. So, what have we been up to since we returned from our tropical vacation? A few highlights:

• Increasing our testimonies of IKEA.
• Piecing together the apartment. 
• Slowly introducing David to Doctor Who. This is a delicate process, demanding lots of popcorn and ice cream.
• Cooking. Oh my COOKING! I finally have space, fun tools, someone to cook for, and time! Bliss. I have much to learn, but so far I haven't given us food poisoning. I consider that a wild success.
• Exploring the new neighborhood. Chinese take out place = good. Dive Italian place = not so good.
• Adventuring with the VA Wittwers at the National Cathedral Flower Mart. My particular favorite moment was when the two nephews insisted on riding the carousel with Uncle David. D did a great job of balancing the needs of the two whippersnappers. Ben was prancing with joy at the prospect of riding his horse, and Liam was enthused as well. But by the time they boarded the ride, Liam was a little less than enthusiastic. I haven't laughed so hard in a long time.
• Getting acquainted with our new ward.
• Reuniting with some MHS folk. 
• Celebrating Mothers' Day with Scott and Kari.
• Getting blown away by Alfie Boe. Also, figuring out what a Jonas Brother is. 
• Laughing really hard at Preston's adventures. Home slice is the biggest Harry Potter nerd I've ever known--and I have a master's degree in what is essentially All Things Nerd, so that's saying something. The photos of him visiting the coffee shop where good ol' J.K. wrote the first book were basically priceless.
• Trying--largely in vain--to keep up my correspondence and phone calls. Turns out that marriage makes me worse at this than ever . . . and I was pretty bad before.
• Wondering why there aren't more hours in the day.

Lessons from Establishing a Home, Part 176

If you hear any of the following statements from a customer service representative, chances are that you are not in a very delightful situation:

• "Yeah, those packages were sent to Laurel. You don't live there?"
• "I can't replace just that part, but I will sell you a whole new muffler."
• "Your rates are affected by where you live, and unfortunately, rates are higher in that neighborhood."
• "You got married? Congratulations. I'll need four forms of proof to change anything on your account. Yes, fax is the only way. You don't have a fax machine?"
• "We have a tiny problem. Ok, not a problem. A hiccup."
• "Who did you talk to earlier--the girl with dreadlocks or the guy with dreadlocks?"
• "Your wallet isn't here."
• "The water in front of your washing machine couldn't have come from the machine. Your husband probably spilled something and was too embarrassed to tell you." [False.]
• "Take a number. The wait time is at least 2 hours."
• "You don't have a middle name? Why not?"
• "Yeah, I hate it when our drivers do that, too."
• "If you're insured through someone else, your personal belongings are in serious jeopardy."
• "I see that you contacted us several months ago, but your situation still hasn't been adjudicated."
• "We have no way of tracking that."
• "Did you ask your neighbors if they took it? That's probably what happened."
• "You didn't need to wait in line for an hour. The central office didn't actually do what they told you they did."
• "Your front door is at least 1-2 inches too short."

Joy.

Validation

Aaand we're back.

So. A few things have happened in the time between when I was an active blogstress in the old space and when this new, shiny site became active. David and I flew to Utah, got married, honeymooned in Hawaii, moved David into our abode, started attending a new ward, etc. You know, life as usual. No big deal.

In the process, I'm conducting what is likely to be the most significant sociological investigation in this century.

I've often wondered how much of my Utah roots are plainly evident to outsiders. I became hyper aware of my speaking patterns when I took a linguistics course as a freshman. My professor could peg a student's place of origin with a withering accuracy, and suddenly all my provincial glottal stops became a marker for my desert upbringing. The horror!

Though I was never ashamed of my birth place, I did wonder whether my verbal tics would ever keep me from being a spy. Or a national news anchor. Or a BBC radio jockey. 

My roots became much more of a novelty after I moved out of my home state. Coworkers and classmates struggled to know that Utah is a real place. Bizarrely, fellow ward members of the time who were well aware of Utah's idiosyncrasies could rarely identify my origins. I was a blank slate. A cultural nonentity. A lone reed. One thing gave me away, however: my abiding loyalty to Cafe Rio.

Reader, have you ever wondered whether one of your favorite things is objectively good? I have. When the new Cafe Rio location was announced in Olney, I wondered: how would the Rio stack up to the rest of the casual pseudo-Mexican joints around the DC metropolis area? Was nostalgia blinding my taste buds? So, I blithely mentioned the new restaurant to a few impartial--and picky--coworkers.

Good news, denizens of the West. The deliciousness of Cafe Rio has a confirmed 100% success rate in my place of work so far.

And just like that, my identity is validated.

Pardon our dust.

Once upon a time, David and I decided to start a new blog. After we redesigned the thing to move it away from blahsville wedding central, blogger decided to crash and wipe out all of our work. Thanks, universe.

A better blog facade will be posted soon. Patience is a virtue.

Speak the speech, I pray you.

I can tell you right now, reader: the title of this new blog is deceptive.

When I was a wee undergrad, I studied literature--Victorian literature, chiefly. There aren't exactly a shortage of words in the typical Victorian novel. Since my brain was steeped in that gorgeous, excessive language, it naturally follows that I don't know how to be brief. Why use one word when I can use five words to say the exact same thing?

David, husband and fellow blogster of this realm, is typically not short on words either. We may be double liars here.

But, I can promise to be abstract. I can also promise to provide a ridiculous number of allusions to Shakespeare (see: blog title), the Scarlet Pimpernel, or whatever video tape haunted our family's VCR in the 90s. (I'm sure we'll slip in the occasional report on the life and times of the D+WK fam along the way.)

Let the games begin.