I know, I know. I’m slacking on the posts here lately. In my defense, umm, I don’t really have one. No, wait, I do. I’ve spent the last twenty days in the tropical gardens of Missouri. There we go. I’ve been back home for about twelve hours now and I’ve finally regained feeling in my limbs.

It was, umm… an interesting Holiday season. Here are some random things I’ve learned and/or experienced over the past three weeks:

• By my last day in Kansas City, I could simply look at the fireplace and flames would erupt. I’ve come a long way since I wrote about my initial fire experience. It’s amazing how quickly you can learn when your faced with impending doom.

• One of Rachel’s best friends (Fey) is from Bangladesh. Based on what I’d heard, Fey’s mom graduated from the culinary arts institute of heaven. On new years eve, I ventured to her house for dinner. Before I arrived, it was explained to me that serving guest(s) a prepared meal was a way of honoring someone in their culture. I mentally prepared myself for a barrage of food that could easily feed a small island Nation. I didn’t, however, prepare myself for the main course: Goat. I was seated at the head of the table when my sister leaned over to me and said, “They eat with their hands, but don’t feel like you have to.” I felt so unbelievably white and American. I mean, our cultural traditions are, well… exactly. We don’t really have any unless you count alcoholism and divorce. Ten minutes later, I’d eaten about 2/3rds of a goat and the rest of it was caked on my hands. As badly as I wanted to take a nap, I couldn’t stop eating. It was amazing. Let’s just say it was a new years eve I’ll never forget.

• I’m reading three books right now, “The DNA of Relationships” by Gary Smalley, “Lovesick: Love As a Mental Illness” by Frank Tallis and “Reaching Out” by Henri Nouwen. This is great. Word of advice: Don’t sit in a crowded airport terminal reading, “Lovesick: Love As a Mental Illness.” Every woman that walks by will look at you as though you are a child predator. More on all of those books when I’m done reading them.

• On the flight home I was seated next to a rather large (minus the rather part) black woman. She looked at me as though she wanted to say, “Can you do me a favor and jump the hell out of the plane? I don’t like you.” Every five minutes or so, she’d reposition herself in the seat and elbow me. Instead of saying excuse me, she’d just glare at me as though I was solely responsible for each and every cake she had consumed that morning. I tried to stay out of the way, but her personal space was the entire left side of the plane. I thought, “How could I possibly break the ice with this woman?” Then it came to me. I asked the stewardess for an extra pack of cookies. I left them on my tray table unopened for about fifteen minutes. I then turned to her and said, “Would you like my cookies? I haven’t opened them and I’m not going to eat them.”

… The rest, my friends, is history.

Happy ’09!