"Lately", or, "Sorry I Forgot to Update This Thing for Almost Three Years."

So, a lot has changed since I updated this bad boy. Most notably: I came home from Spain, interned for another summer with NBC in New York, graduated college, worked at a brewery, gained another nephew AND a niece, fell in love with a Yankee, and got a "big girl" job in my hometown. And then we got a bulldog. That was easy enough, right? So with those two years out of the way, let's just dive right in...

This past weekend, Mike and I celebrated our one year anniversary in Atlanta. Because I'm in Columbus and he is finishing up law school at Georgia, we've mastered the "kind-of-long-but-not-ridiculously-long-distance" thing.

I took the day off on Friday, and we set out for Temple, Georgia, the capitol of the boondocks, to drop Winnie off at puppy reform school. Mike and I got Winnie about six weeks ago when my boss' sister found her in a ditch in Pine Mountain. Though Mike hasn't had so much as a pet goldfish in his life, I grew up in a zoo (read: young Liza had a habit of bringing home farm animals and exotic creatures). I knew we had to take her. Mike couldn't say no, either, because only a few months earlier he'd declared that the only kind of dog he'd ever get was a bulldog. He said this, of course, because he knew it'd never happen. Little did he know, an emaciated little diva would fall into our laps soon after.

Winnie, the Diva Dawg

Winnie (Queen Winifred the Butterbean, for long) is a great dog. She's potty trained, walks well on a leash, and is generally well-behaved. Except, of course, if you are another dog. In which case, keep your paws to your self, or she'll chomp 'em. That's why Cole had to get stitches... and the cone of shame. So now, Winnie is in a five week puppy boot camp program.

Cole and his cone of shame

After dropping Winnie off with strangers who will train her to be the perfect dog (we can only hope), Mike and I headed to Decatur to check into our bed and breakfast. I don't remember much about our initial visit, because at that time my stomach was eating itself. I had to get out of there. Also, the owner was crazy. Lady, I'm here to get away for the weekend. I don't wanna meet your cats.

We headed down the road to "Sun in My Belly", which tasted exactly as the name describes. Holy tunafish, y'all. Heaven.

Sun in My Belly. Even after a year of photos,
I'm still getting the cameraphone death stare.

After eating ourselves into food comas, we decided to go to downtown Decatur, do some light shopping, and eat some more. Because you know what? We're on vacation. And these pants are a little too big, anyway.

After a dinner of beer, pierogis (which, I was told, are nowhere near as good as Uncle Wayne's), and melted cheese that smelled an awful lot like Winnie, we headed back to our humble/temporary abode to sleep for a solid 12 hours.

The next morning, we set out for brunch (tofu reubens, anyone?) and headed to the Georgia Aquarium-- the biggest aquarium in the world-- for a day of fun. 

The thing about aquariums, though, is that I always forget how I actually feel about them until I'm in one again (I like to call this concept goldfish brain). That is, when I'm not in an aquarium, I love aquariums. They have fish! Colorful fish! And baby belugas, just like the Raffi song! And LOOK AT THOSE SEA OTTERS! Are those penguins? I love penguins. What is rent like to live here?

But then, when I actually get to an aquarium, I remember: this is not how I remembered it. Why are there so many people here? Why is that kid on a leash? What is the maximum human capacity in this place? I think we've reached it. And then, as I finally push my way through the throngs of sweaty, camera-laden strangers and children who don't cover when they sneeze, I see the sea otters. For about 20 seconds, I am thrilled. But then, I'm devastated. I don't want to be on the other side of these furry little swimmers, I want to be IN THE TANK with those furry little swimmers. And then, finally, I ask myself why I didn't choose the path in life that would have led me to train sea otters.

Spending time with our new favorite dolphin

After that initial devastation, we had a great time. We spent the rest of the afternoon perusing the aquarium, spending way too much time in H&M, and visiting some old family friends.

That night, we went to The Iberian Pig, a tapas restaurant in downtown Decatur. We'd heard rave reviews about the place before, but hadn't ever been. When we found out one of my friends from high school, Landon, was the chef, we decided to check it out. Excellent decision.

The atmosphere was perfect for a date night, and the menu and service were outstanding. We had manchego mac n' cheese, swordfish and polenta, a wild mushroom and goat cheese flatbread, and a surprise from Landon-- a fresh, local veggie plate made just for us. Paired with two great Spanish wines, I felt like I was back in Valencia again. After we were stuffed to the gills, we finished our wine and headed back to the bed and breakfast to eat dessert. As you might imagine, we probably gained 5 pounds each.

The next morning, our plans changed when my dad called to say that he had two tickets to an executive suite at the Falcons game-- aka the NFC Championship-- and that he wanted to take Mike with him. And at that moment, I knew that my "daddy's little girl" card had reached its expiration date.

For the next 6 hours, I received a steady slew of text and picture messages from my father. "Mike's making friends with the players' kids". "You should see this box". "Check out this piece of cake Mike just got". Salt in the wound, dad. Salt in the wound.

I wasn't kidding when I said that he sent me pictures of cake.

Several hours later, the Falcons did what every Georgia team has done this season-- suffered a heartbreaking loss at the last minute of the game. And with that, our wonderful weekend ended. But really, though. We had a blast.