Setting: The New House. Three weeks ago. Babboo is running around the house while Isabel folds laundry and The King hangs the wet laundry on the rack.

Isabel: Babboo and I are going to Portland in a couple of weeks.

The King: Wait. What?

Isabel: I know I told you months ago that Carrisa from Tulsa was coming to Portland to visit Rhi. So I’m going down to Portland. And dude, I must take Babboo. They will want to meet Babboo. And we’re having lunch with THE TV GODDESS and I’m going to talk about nothing but TV AND BLOGGING. It will be the best lunch of my life.

The King: Was I invited?

Isabel: Not really. But, I guess, you can come. Only if you promise to do all the driving to and from Portland. Oh, and don’t forget to book us a hotel with a pool.

The King: (Skeptically) Sounds fun. I can’t wait.

And that is how we ended up spending the last weekend in Portland. We split our time between the following activities:

• hanging out with friends from the interweb.
• hanging out with The King’s friend from his FRESHMAN year of college.
• hanging out with one of The King’s missionary companions.
• hanging out at a Portland pumpkin patch.
• eating my weight in eggs benedict, ice cream, and kettle corn.
• eating my first (but hopefully not my last) caramel apple shake.

Kill me now.

(The “kill me now” is in reference to the eating part and not the friends part.)

Oh yeah, and we also had to deal with Rhi being locked out of her car. I don’t want to name names or place any blame on who was at fault with this whole situation.

Just know that if you ever have a house guest from Tulsa, don’t let him/her near your car locks.

Hey, I’m just saying.

The King’s suggestion for getting into the car was to “let the keyless fob rest for five minutes and then it will work.” Whatever. We did not have five minutes. So we headed out to lunch in my car (thus The King going against his promise to do all the driving). But get this, when we came back the fob worked like butter and Rhi and Carrisa were able to drive away in the shiny red car.

So it looks like it was a good thing The King came with Babboo and I to Portland.

(Guess who can’t find the memory card from her camera? Just guess. I hope I find it eventually so I can post pictures of said blogger lunch and pumpkin patch.)

**Sidenote to Carrisa: Remember how you made me promise to tell you exactly what The King said about you? Here you go (and I quote):

Isabel: What did you think about Carrisa?

The King: She’s shorter then I thought she would be.**

And there you have it; Carrisa is short. (Happy Birthday Beotch!)

Edited to add:

Rhi, DeAnn and me.  (Carrisa was taking the picture.)

Things Babboo and I did last night while The King was away for the evening (fulfilling some church responsibilities):

• Danced to the Mamma Mia! soundtrack
• Sang along to the Mamma Mia! soundtrack
• Baked cookies
• Watched “Gossip Girl” and “Project Runway”
• Hung up our new curtains
• Had a dinner party
• Painted my toenails

Things The King will have to do with Babboo tonight to make up for my time with him yesterday:

• Hammer something
• Break something
• Build something

That is, if The King can get his hands on Babboo before I do. Thing is, we still need to finish painting my fingernails.

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Head on over to NewToUs to read about my latest New Thing in which I save a few bucks while doing a new type of iron-on.  Oh yes, it’s all very exciting.

We had some friends in town the last few days, which means we spent the past two nights showing them the greatness that Seattle has to offer.

“Oh look at the Space Needle! Cool, isn’t it?”

“Seattle has a huge Old Navy. Yippee!”

“And a Gap!”

You know the usual touristy thing that people do while visiting Seattle. Seattle’s cool like that.

(I also said things to them like; “don’t use the bathroom at our new house. We don’t have doors on them.”)

Last night we decided to take them to one of our favorite places in Seattle. The thing that’s so great about this little local is the fact that is feels very non-Seattle.

Right, we took them to do a very un-Seattleish thing while visiting Seattle. We’re lame. The thing is, Alki Beach is awesome. It’s like a little piece of Venice, California right in the heart of Seattle. The 26 days of the year where there is sunshine in Seattle, Alki Beach is the perfect place to spend them at.

The evening started out great. First, I took Babboo to get his hair trimmed for today’s Picture Day at school. (My request to the stylist was merely “don’t make him look like a nerd!”)

Babboo was none too thrilled about the hair cut. Anytime I asked him to smile he simply said “cheese” and ignored my request to actually smile.

Thankfully the kid did not end up looking like a nerd. (Speaking of nerds, what exactly does a nerd look like?)

And then the night really took off. We packed up our gear and headed off to the beach!

The Beach!

I love the beach.

I love the sun.

I love our friends.

And I mostly love eating pizza, in the sun, at the beach with our friends.

That is until a big black billow of smoke is noticed in the background.

Nothing puts an end to a nice evening at the beach then watching someone’s house burn to the ground.

Thankfully, reports show, that nobody was injured. Our friend was up close and personal to the situation, even before the authorities arrived to put out the fire (we had parked next to where the house was burning and he wanted to get his car out of the way). He witnessed someone opening up the front door to the house and a cat escaping. That poor cat must have been scared out of his mind.

We stayed at our place in the sand and watched while every.single.person at the beach moved towards the fire! Didn’t their mom’s teach them to head away from danger? Apparently not.

Minutes later the fire trucks arrived. And then more and more followed. Babboo and our friend’s kids got excited about the commotion. They sat on the beach, facing the street, and waved at the passing firemen. (Thankfully the firemen[women] didn’t slow down to wave back.)

The house fire was quickly put out and we enjoyed the rest of our time together at the beach, ignoring our hacking and whizzing from all the smoke in the air.

Eventually Babboo managed to swallow every piece of sand on the entire beach and it was decided that we might as well call it a night.

From here on our, if anyone comes to visit us in Seattle I can assure you the following things will happen:

• My son will not look like a nerd.
• You will get a bladder infection from lack of restroom use.
• My child will throw exuberant amounts of sand on your child.
• He’ll probably throw some at you too.
• You will eat pizza.
• You might even eat tacos.
• I won’t pay attention to you like I should since I’ll be too busy taking self-portraits with the kid:

• We’ll show you a good time.
• That I can guarantee.

The great interweb pilgrimage to San Francisco begins today. And while I chose to not attend this year, I’m still feeling a little pang of regret for not booking a flight. Instead of wallowing in the sadness of missed friends and parties (and maybe celebrities?), let’s instead talk about The King’s National Nude Day (NND) proposal.

What is National Nude Day, you ask?

Well, you can probably deduce that it’s a day where people are nude.

You’re right, nudity is involved.

You can also probably deduce that it’s a National thing.

Okay, it’s really not. It’s more of a world wide holiday then just an American holiday. But National Nude Day sounds better then World Wide Nude Day. Plus, I’m not sure how it would translate into every single language. So we’re sticking with National in this instance.

So what are the specifics of this proposed National Nude Day?

Well, head over to AndSoSheBlogs to read my guest post which offers up more information about National Nude Day. And join the discussion as how you’d present yourself on this very special occasion.

For the record, I’d probably choose to wear the shoes I’m wearing today on the next National Nude Day:

And, of course, a little glitter.

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Don’t forget to check out today’s episode of “Fresh Air” on NPR.  Dude, Rhett Miller (aka: The Serial Ladykiller) is Terry Gross’ guest.  You know I’m going to be listening in.  (Apparently it will be online at 3:00 p.m. ET.)

After I graduated from college and long before I was married I had one specific girl friend that I hung out with all the time. Andi was a lot of fun and we both liked to be around each other. We spent a few years spending all of our spare time together. We both liked going to Salt Lake City to the clubs. We both loved to go to concerts. We both loved the sun and fun. And, of course, we both loved the boys.

I’m not sure how it happened but Andi and I always seemed to have boyfriends at the same time. Thus making us also single at the same time. This system worked out great for us as we never had the guilt from ditching your friend for your new boyfriend. At the start of one particular summer we were both dating new guys that the other had yet to meet. Andi had been talking up her new guy something fierce. Apparently this new guy was smart and hott and came from a good family and had a good job. Andi was smitten.

(My current boyfriend wasn’t smart or hott or from a good family. And he didn’t have a job. But that’s a story for another day.)

Andi was super anxious for me to meet her new boyfriend. So anxious that she brought him into my work so I could meet him on my lunch break.

Andi was right, Tony was hott. He had dark black hair and light eyes. He smiled and his perfectly formed teeth shimmered from their sheer brightness. Andi introduced me to Tony. We both said “hi” and then Tony started to say something. I have no idea what Tony said but I know it was lame. The minute, no, the second Tony opened his mouth he instantly became less hott.

This guy was a complete tool. He wasn’t smart. He wasn’t funny. He wasn’t anything except a compete and utter tool. I instantly forgot about his perfect hair and his perfect teeth. All I wanted to do was get as far away from Tony as I could.

I spent the rest of the summer trying to avoid double dates with Andi and Tony. Thankfully, eventually, she broke up with him.

Phew. I thought I was going to have to stop being Andi’s friend simply because she might marry this guy.

Tony, who was pretty on the outside, became ugly once I saw his insides.

Wesley was five years older then me, and yet somehow we became friends my senior year of high school. He was over a foot taller then me and double my width. Due to a childhood accident Wesley had damage to his vocal chords that caused his voice to be low and raspy. His quiet voice didn’t match his huge stature, which made him stick out even more in a crowd. Wesley didn’t look like Brad Pitt or Rhett Miller. But he had a heart of gold. When I was around him I instantly felt better about myself and my teenage-angst-filled life.

His insides were pretty so Wesley became pretty to me.

And this surprised me, although I’m not sure why. It’s just like my mom always told me and like all the lessons at church. What you are like on the inside really does affect how you look on the outside.

And I guess as I got older I really did realize this more. I found myself initially drawn to the hott boys, but soon realized that maybe they weren’t so hott once I got to know them a little better. I quickly learned it was super rare to find someone I liked on the outside and the inside. It made sense to me then, when I first laid eyes on The King, that I was floored that someone so freakin’ attractive on the outside could be so striking on the inside too. I guess it’s when you find the person that is just so compelling that have to stop everything and marry them. Right?

It’s what I did.

Here’s hoping I’ll still find him just as attractive on the inside after the next two days of being stuck in a car with him and Babboo.

And here’s hoping he’ll still find me attractive on the outside after his requested alone-adult-time in my parent’s barn this weekend.

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Want to hear my thoughts on yesterday’s police shooting in downtown Seattle?  Head over to SeattleMomBlogs to read all about it.

My first husband and I never spoke of pooping. Ever. Not only did we never discuss this topic, we never actually pooped while they other person was in a 10 mile radius. Give or take a few miles. This tended to make things uncomfortable.

Especially vacations spent in cramped hotel rooms over an extended amount of time.

I’m not really sure the reasoning behind our No Pooping edict. Was it his fault? My fault? All I know is that we weren’t comfortable with pooping around each other.

Long before I was married I worked with a woman named Debbie. She and her husband had been married for ten years and had four children together. And yet Debbie never hid the fact that her husband had never seen her naked. Ever. Not when their four children were conceived and not when those same children were birthed from her (assumingly) naked body.

Debbie just wasn’t comfortable with her husband seeing her naked.

My ex-sister-in-law went through some fertility issues during my marriage to her younger brother. During this time she had quite a few medical procedures done on her body. One of which caused her some alarm. She was so upset by something that was happening to her girly parts that she made her mom come over and check it out.

I was all, “why doesn’t her husband just take a look?” and everyone in the family was all “her husband!? Oh no, her mom needs to check it out?”

I guess she was just more comfortable with her mom (who is not a doctor) seeing her special place up close and personal then her own husband.

Last summer one of my close girl friends asked a group of us if we want to go with her to this “woman’s only” sauna outside of Seattle. Apparently, since it’s just women, you can go naked in any of the saunas. Everyone thought this sounded like something fun for us ladies to do. Everyone that is, except me. I was quite confident that I wasn’t comfortable with my girlfriends seeing me sans clothing.

I know this is odd since I’ve admitted that I’m comfortable going to a nude beach.

I think the difference, for me, is that nobody at the nude beach knew me. I didn’t have to sit next to them at church on Sunday. I didn’t have to look at them over the dinner table on a Sunday night. I didn’t know their kid’s or their husbands. They were strangers.

I guess I’m saying I’m comfortable with strangers seeing me naked?

That doesn’t make sense.

Oh well.

I know I’m really, really not comfortable with my mom seeing me naked.

One of my very best friends had her first baby last week. While talking to her on the phone last night she told me she finally had to tell her mom and dad to leave her house so she could nurse her newborn in private. She just isn’t comfortable with them there while she whips her boobs out and feeds her kid.

I totally understand. I nursed Babboo for fourteen months and I never got super comfortable with doing it in public. I understand that it’s natural and all of that. It wasn’t that I was ashamed of nursing my child. I was mostly just ashamed of my fat rolls and my pasty skin. I wasn’t comfortable sharing it with the world.

It’s been hot around these parts the last couple of days. I keep asking Babboo if he wants to take his shoes off and run around in his sandals. He refuses. I don’t think he likes his toes being exposed. He’s just more comfortable with socks on.

The King is comfortable with almost everything. You want to see the mole on his inner thigh? He’ll show you. You want to hear about the topless shows we saw in Vegas a few years back? He’ll tell you. The only thing he really isn’t comfortable with is talking about my miscarriages. Or having my parents stay at our house.

Everything else, he’s totally game.

So tell me, what are some things that make you uncomfortable? And what are you totally comfortable with that might surprise the rest of us?

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You know I’m totally 100% comfortable talking about Brazilian waxing with you all. So much so that it’s my latest New Thing.

Anyone watching The Two Coreys? I am. And I blogged about it over at WeHeartTV.