Who says public photo sharing is creepy?

I got a message on my flickr account that is so odd I thought I would share it with you, internet.

The photo it is referring to is of my niece, crawling around, practicing her new trick - "kissing". I was sitting on the ground, and she had crawled past my foot, and kissed it. I took a photo of her laughing just afterwards. My foot is in the foreground. And it is not bare; in fact I am wearing an athletic sock, you can actually see the words "DRI-FIT" written across it. Not exactly an attractive look.

Here it is, a message sent to me from a stranger:

:: At your feet

Hello let me say you that you have the most beautiful feet
that i have see in my life. Thank you for your Photos.
You say in a Photo "my feet makes baby happy" , I say that
your feet could have to many people happy. The are very
beautiful feet.
it is dream fot me if any day I could be at you feet.
Slave Alex

It's about time somebody noticed.

I find my holiday cheer at K-mart

Right now I was supposed to be out finishing my last holiday errands, but instead I am sitting at home waiting for someone to please come give us the gift of hot water. Not that I am complaining - I am actually amazed that (hopefully) someone is coming today, and that a week from now I'm not emailing (we don't get a phone number) our landlord saying, "hey, um, remember how I said that we don't have any warm water? And you said that thanks for letting you know and that you'd call someone? um, well, is that going to happen? You know, anytime soon? If it's not too much trouble?"
Cause that's how it usually goes.

So, instead of using this time to wrap gifts, or clean my house, or think about one of the myriad ways I could make myself a better person this year, I'm going to share some photos with you! Isn't that great news?

And here is why: A few weeks ago a good friend of mine opened an account on a popular networking site - we'll just call it facebook. And because she doesn't have a computer, or digital photos, I offered to put up a photo of her for her account. And she said sure, and so I did. About a week later, I get an email with this subject:
"TAKE THAT PICTURE OFF RIGHT NOW!!!!!!"
It had been followed with another email that said, "Never mind, I don't need you. I replaced it myself and changed my password so that you can't ruin my life anymore."

Now, this person has known me for a long, long time, and frankly, I was surprised that she didn't see this coming. Especially since I told her what I had in mind. Sure, she did mention something about a "normal picture" - but she should know me better than that. I think that it's unfortunate that she's denying the rest of the world this photo, and since I am cut off from her account, I'll just put it here instead. Everybody wins.

A little background story now:
Several years ago, this friend and I were roommates, and one Christmas we realized that for the first time, all of our cards contained photos! Of couples. Couples in cute poses. Sometimes hugging each other and their dogs at the same time. There were no babies yet at this time in our lives, but she did get one card with a copy of a sonogram photo.

When another friend of ours heard that we were going to be living together, she said something like, "You and Jennifer? You guys are going to move in together and never leave." This was my friend's worst nightmare, but we decided to play on our Laverne & Shirley reputation and go to K-mart for a Christmas photo together! We tried to wear matching shirts (red and dark purple-red seems to be the best we could do, for some reason), and we tied matching bows around our head, and off we went.

Now, this seemed like a funny idea until we walked into K-mart and had to face the people that take their jobs very seriously, as well as the people who were waiting to get their child's photo taken (they all stared at us - all of them), and realized we couldn't say anything like, "We know we look stupid, that's the point! Your fake photo studio is ridiculous and so are we!" So we tried to be as respectful as we could, and sucked in the embarrassment.

Our turn in line came and we requested the backdrop of the living room with the Christmas tree and roaring fireplace, and Santa looking through the snowy window with his finger pressed to his lips, giving the viewer a wink, and a "shh! don't tell!" sign. But it seems that was meant for one small child, and not two large adults. They only had one Christmas background that was "family sized", so we had to go with that. Although we still seem to take up the whole thing. And they had props! We were delighted! Although they looked even more confused when we requested them. Here is the final product:



Does the fact that my head is twice as big as hers jump out at you like it does at me every time I see this? She says that she just has a small head, but I'm not so sure.

We were happy with our photo, and ready to pay up and leave, when suddenly they turned the game around on us.
"We have to do 6 more poses," they told us. No, no you don't - we only want the Christmas ones. "We have to do 6 more. It's part of the package."
It went back and forth like this for some time - basically, the point was that we got this good price on our cards if we let them show us all the other non-Christmasy photos they could take for us. They told us that we would get two of each of them with their package! They didn't seem to get that this did not matter to us.
As the discussion went on, my friend got more and more anxious. This was not part of the plan. This was not fun and funny. To her, this was just humiliating. She does not get angry easily, but that day my friends, the day she was told she would have to pose like all the toddlers there, well, let's just say she was fired up. She got angrier and angrier as she kept insisting, "But we're not going to buy any of them!" and no one cared. She ended up striking a deal with the poor people of K-mart - they would give us two 8*10's instead of 1, and she gave this a triumphant, "We get 2? Ok!" Before marching off. Moments later she realized what I had been wondering the whole time, "What are we going to do with 2 8*10's? We don't want any 8*10's!"

But we went through with it, and guess what? I have the results for you! They are very fair over there - we did 2 together, and 2 each by ourselves.
First, the brought out the carpeted block - the thing I associate with children's pictures from the '70's. I am laughing in my pic, but my friend has a steely smile. See, if you look closely enough, you can tell that she is really angry.



This is what I put in her account profile! Do you see how she could not like it? Me neither.

For our second backgrounds, they chose a "starry night" theme for us. What I find interesting looking back at these now is that we no longer have on our ribbons. Did we take them off thinking, "Hey, maybe this will be a good photo! One I want to frame and hang somewhere." I don't know.





Poor thing is still fighting it.

Then came our photos together:

Sexy, no?

And for the last photo, something strange happened - my friend turned around and really got into it! First she requested the white background with the bright paint splattered all over it - remember that look? My sister had some jeans like that in 1984. I don't know remember why, but we didn't get it. And then do you know what she did? When we got there a small girl was being photographed looking into a mirror. The photo was done so that you could see part of her face, and her entire reflection. My friend requested the mirror shot. The thing was, the mirror was not large enough to incorporate our big heads (our my big head, plus her small head), so they searched the store looking for a larger mirror. The line of waiting parents and children was held up because they wanted to make us happy with a mirror shot (way to go, K-mart employees!). In the end they couldn't find one, and we tried ours anyway.



And that is the story of my couples Christmas card. We found out that the people who we thought may not get it really did, and the people who we thought for sure would know it was a joke would leave us messages saying, "um, that was a cute card you sent out..." Ah, well.

You may - or may not have - noticed that I only put in one by myself. I'm not doing it on purpose - I really am laughing in it - I just don't have it scanned in like the rest. I will tell you that it came in handy though. Say, one day, you ask someone what they would like for a gift, and they suggest a photo of yourself. Naturally you think, "What I am going to do? Go pose and then wrap up a large image of my head in a frame? I don't think so." And then you remember that you already have a professional photo! And you have a bow on your head and everything! And then you make a frame yourself to pretty it up and add a personal touch. And you get something like this:



Now, who wouldn't be proud to own that? I know.

Hot water man is now 50 minutes past latest expected arrival time. I sure hope he's not going to make me do something productive.

Merry Christmas, all.

Oh, naive friend, allow me to enlighten you; Or, Where I gripe about work, part 537

#537) My friend Katherine emailed me last week and asked when our office Christmas party was, and what it was like. She said she liked to imagine how it might be different than the average office party. I chuckled out loud, and then told her I would answer her question here. Based on previous job experience, I think most people probably associate the work holiday party with cocktail attire, a night out somewhere glamorous- or at least nice, live entertainment, drinks, and yummy food. Her estimate of how ours would be different had something to do with people fighting over chicken wings. While it was a valiant effort, she was actually far from the truth. Because, here at lab land, there is no holiday party. Unless you count - and I guess you could - it is a holiday celebration of sorts... are you ready?; It's pretty exciting! The great news was first told to me with big smiles! We all go out to lunch together at a near-by cafeteria! yaaay!!! So, Kat, instead of visualizing the fighting over the wings, imagine about a dozen people dressed in their Christmas sweaters, giddily gobbling up an all you can eat buffet during a work day. Cheap Man may or may not have taken an enema the night before - either way, he can be heard saying,"less talking, more eating", because he must eat as fast as possible to get the most for the money. Most everyone will think this is a great treat. My friend Robin will be disgusted, and not eat anything, and pretend that she is not hungry. I'll nibble at a couple of things, take a look at all that gravy, and start to feel a little disgusted. I will then make up for my lack of real food by eating three desserts. Because we are government funded, any sort of perk like a party would be seen as a misuse of taxpayers money. So we get absolutely none of them - nothing monetary at least. Holidays we can do. The upside here is that you don't have to worry about what to wear and there's no strangely intense pressure to bring a date. yay?

**** speak of the devil - this posting was just interrupted by Vienna Sausage Lady. She rushed in in a state of alarm, because a spread sheet I had created had been given to her by her boss as an example - the formatting that is. But she had looked at all my results, and came rushing in to question them. I just had to remind her that we do completely different things and she shouldn't compare them (she does this a lot). And then she asked us if we'd be wearing holiday sweaters tomorrow (see! I told you!) because this year's glorious lunch happens to be taking place tomorrow. And she said she'd really like to swing by the mall and get our photo taken with Santa. And then she lingered longer to talk about cramps and menopause. Just go ahead and shoot me now, people.

#538) Ridiculous emails - they just keep getting worse.
This deserves its own post, judging by the indignation it brought out in me, but I'll just throw it in here while I am on the subject of whining about work. There is a whole email problem around here that I won't even get into right now because I don't have the time - it mostly has to do with people in places I have never heard of sending emails to people - like me - who don't need to know that an earring was found in their bathroom because we aren't even in the same city - but I digress... This email did apply to me. It makes so little sense, that in a way, it epitomizes the ironic way that time is wasted, all in the name of maximizing work time. I plan on framing it and hanging it up here. Here is how it's written (if you may work with me, please pretend you never saw this):

On Monday January 7 (Power Company) will have to turn the power to the building off. We will need to turn everything off that morning by 8:30. (Power Company) should be finished with the transformer repair by 12:30.

The phones and email will not be working during this four hour time frame.

The staff is expected to report to work as usual.

hmmm... where to begin here. I mentioned it to my boss's boss this way: "So... that email from (Everybody's boss) said that the power will be off on the 7th? And that email will not be working? (he nods.) Um, won't everything not be working?Like the computers that enable the email? And our instruments? (which we need to do any work) And lights and heat?" He leaned back in his chair and said, "Yup. The power will be off." He said that in the olden days, were something like this to happen, we just wouldn't come in till 12:30, but that Head Honcho would not hear of that.

I tried turning off the lights in hear the other morning. It is really dark, people. And you know something about January? It's cold then. And on a Monday morning? I am not going to be very happy. At all. I will be sitting here in the dark, cold, and bored to death. And I will surely be thinking of my warm bed at home. I asked him if I could bring board games and he didn't respond.

There is a tv station near us, and there seems to be a paranoia around here that if we were to say, all come in late one day, it would be all over the news that night, with the headline, "Government employees waste time!!" As my friend Liza said, "I'll tell you what's a waste of time, government employees sitting around for 4 hours in the dark. Amen sister.
Actually, I get into work at 7:30, so make that 5 hours. This is bullocks.

and gripe #539)"Uniforms?!"
There is a big communication problem around here. I won't get into the details of that, either. But here is the latest little surprise - something that was handed to me on Monday. It was a piece of paper that read, "Please pick your TWO favorite colors for the uniform we are working on developing." What?! Uniform? Are we not humiliated enough?
On the 2nd page there were little bars of color printed out from a color printer - a very bad color printer from the looks of it. I took this over to Vienna Sausage Lady to see what she knew about it, since she likes to be up in everybody's business, and boy did I get her worked up. I felt bad after I asked. Because we are supposedly currently broke, and may not have an office pretty soon, and maybe not even jobs, and because there are all sorts of problems that need to be addressed, she felt that this was a grave misuse of time and money. All valid points, however, even if this were not the case, and even if I knew I wouldn't have to pay for them out of my own pocket (VSL speculates on this), I'd still be vehemently opposed. See, I think I've seen a little preview of this "uniform". A few years back we were given shirts as a "thank-you gift". A new coworker who I will call, Poor New Girl, said that as long as they were cute that would be ok. Oh, Poor New Girl, you have a lot to learn. Robin called them "big burlap sacks with giant collars." Does that sound cute, miss young and stylish? Also, they were all - every one of them - men's sizes! And that made me angry - on principal.PYG asked if she could get an extra small - but you know what I mean, right? About men's sizes? An extra small is still going to be big in the waste, and probably not fit in the chest, and then it will still be long. But it will be long and narrow, for a snug around the hips fit that one desires in a polo shirt. And the sleeves will still come down just below your elbow. So where we were supposed to write in "black, navy, stone, yellow, or green", I wrote in "Freedom" by my name. Will this annoy Head Honcho? I'm not really too concerned. I think I may be getting slightly more cantankerous with age.

I welcome some dialogue about the uniforms. It may be the only way I get any information.

Ok, I think that may be enough griping for one day. If you have read this far, I will be very surprised.

raise your hand if you showed your boss a penis today

I tend to embarrass myself quite frequently. I mean, a day without a little humiliation is hardly complete. It's quite boring, really. And today, I embarrassed myself by accidentally making my boss look at a picture of a penis.

Let me go back here for a moment to my recent trip to Spain. Our second night there we took a history and tapas tour in Madrid, where an old, drunk Englishman walked us around, spun us some murderous tall tales, and took us into some of his favorite tapas bars while he shot back glasses of wine. Oh, and he insisted that we call him "The Chairman" - I think he enjoys his work.

Our last stop was a little place called La Torre del Oro. The back wall of this place was covered in framed photos of bull fights. Specifically, people being injured in bull fights. Sometimes the surgery after bull fights. The wall grossed me out.

Now, I've been putting my photos up on flickr, where they are easily accessible at work, but even still, I haven't been showing them around. But today someone asked, and so I pulled up my flickr site, and because she is that kind of person that can take it, I showed her this particular photo. It's a photo of a photo at La Torre del Oro. And I took the photo of the photo because I found it simply amazing that this moment was captured on film. There were many bull fighting photos, but this one jumped out at me because I was told by the old drunk Englishman not to look at it. He asked me and the two other women to turn around and not to listen while he explained it to the one man in our group. So naturally, I listened very carefully. And this is what he said (in his English accent, words slightly slurred): "See that one? See the tear in his pants? Now see that thing in the air over his head? That's his pecker."




And so then I took a photo of the photo. And then I showed it to my coworker. And then, our boss walked in. And he was going to walk by, not even taking a second glance at us (even though he has strictly forbidden use of the internet at work, because it will bring down the whole company with a virus - yeah, that's right), so just as he's walking by, she has to yell, "Oh, gross!" even though she doesn't know what she's looking at - she just says it's gross because a person seems to have been hit by a bull! So he stops, comes back, stands over my shoulder, and leans in to carefully study the photo. And this is where I become very embarrassed. Because it is quiet, and I have obviously pulled up a photo to show-off, and he is about to slowly come to the conclusion that he is looking at a flying penis.

It was especially hard not to switch the screen view (my hand was on the mouse buttons, and my fingers were itching) when he slowly pronounced what I had titled this photo: "dis-mem-bered..." and then you could tell he was thinking it all over.

So, did anyone else use the forbidden internet to show x-rated material to their bosses today? Extra credit if later on they caught you playing scrabulous on your computer. Seriously, that man has the quietest footsteps around. It's like he floats. He's a big, bearded, scowling, no-nonsense, floating man. And sometimes we like to look at pseudo-porn together.
I like to keep it all professional like that.

because laughing at someone else is better than being annoyed by someone else

This morning at work we had a great big pot-luck breakfast.  What could possibly go wrong?  That's what you think, right?  That's what we all thought, too, but we were mistaken... you see, CheapMan was 5 minutes late!!!

Where could he have gone?  Why was he walking out the door when the breakfast was about to start in a few minutes?  And he left his keys!  He never leaves his keys!  I'm really worried!

 

These are ridiculous and annoying questions/statements, yes?  I think so, too.  But they were quite dire to Vienna Sausage Lady. 

 

However, the problem of him not staying in clear sight did not compare to when he came back (all in one piece) with not milk, as he said he would be bringing, but a PLATE!  OF CHEESE!  And GRAPES!

Now, if you've ever wondered how much time a person can spend talking out loud about why a person would have brought cheese when they said they were going to bring milk, let me tell you - It's a lot longer than you might think.  I mean, a person is capable of going on and on about this.  Not just for a few minutes, but for a few dozen.  So, while you are sitting there at your desk hearing the words "cheese", "milk", and "5 minutes" over and over again, you can either get annoyed, or you can pretend to listen and let your mind wander.

 

I took the latter route, and let me mind wander to a little anecdote my friend Mona told me while we were in Spain.  It took place a long time ago, when we were in middle school, and this is just one of the great things about having friends you've known for a long time.  Something funny can happen to them, and you get much enjoyment out of it, and then years go by, and you forget all about it, and then you hear the story again and it's like hearing it for the first time!  You get to laugh at them with the same genuine mirth you did all those years ago.  It's wonderful.

 

You must remember that she was 13 or 14 at the time, which multiplies the magnitude of embarrassment of any situation.  One day at school, young Mona went to lunch, dressed up and looking good in a cute top, skirt, and pantyhose.  Now, in the cafeteria, you walk through one set of doors, and then you must walk by and through all the tables, which are seating the entire middle school - 6th, 7th, and 8th graders.  At the very top, you get to the teachers tables.  And then just past the teachers tables, there is the salad bar.  Mona was at the salad bar, helping herself, when a high school teacher she didn't know came up to her. 

"You're a little hiked up there," unknown teacher woman said.

Mona replied intelligently (and really, what would anyone think that meant?):  "What?"

"You're a little hiked up there."

"What?"

"You're a little hiked up there."

"What?"

"Your skirt is tucked into your pantyhose."

 

And that afternoon in class, her then big boy crush made this oh so mature and well scripted point to her in front of all their peers:  "At least I didn't show my butt to the whole school!"

 

Ah yes, at least I didn't show my butt to the whole school.  Those words still haunt her today.

 

She says this is her most embarrassing moment... so I hope she doesn't mind me writing it down here... hmmm... but it's not like it's shameful and pitiful like my most embarrassing moment.  I don't have the courage to write mine down yet, maybe one day, when my brother stops reading this site for example.  But I was thinking, perhaps we could get a theme going here.  I'll tell Mona's, and then you guys could tell yours, and if you do, I'll tell you mine.  So that means you Blay and Lob.  Kevin and Splann.  Brock.  There aren't many more of you out there.  Leigh, you said you would guest write, right?   Come on, it can't be as bad as mine.

short and sweet

Just moments ago I visited the restroom here at work, and, surprise surprise, who should I meet there but the Mistress of the Bathroom (she was just hanging out, by the way).

We had a polite little exchange that went like this:

BL: Hi. (looking me over, as always)

me: Hi, how are you?

BL: All right.

me: (making my way to stall) Are you ready for Christmas?

BL: You dating? hmm? A little bit?

You see how she so subtly and skillfully took the subject of Christmas, and so very craftily turned it to my dating life? She's like an artist of juxtaposition.


In other ho-hum news, Lob and I lunched next to T-Boz today. Her and some other people that looked familiar in a celebrity kind of way. But I didn't know who any of the rest were, and I wouldn't have recognized T-Boz, either, if Lob hadn't of pointed her out. Just like I never would have noticed the hot gardener walking right by me at that time if Lob had not been with me to start drooling over him. And then I wouldn't have known that he was dining just tables away, and then I wouldn't have been able to embarrass Lob by making a lap around the restaurant for a better look. Kind of like how I embarrassed her today, by saying, "Who is it? Who??" While she repeatedly whispered the name, hoping that no one would hear her, or see her with this really uncool person who doesn't know better than to blurt out, "WHAT? WHAT IS THEIR NAME? I CAN'T HEAR YOU."

I was going to say that my total inability to call out celebrity sightings when they are staring me in the face has less to do with how un-hip and unknowing I am, and more to do with the fact that I don't notice anything that goes on around me, but after writing what I just did, I have to admit that both are true. While in Spain, Mona would point out people that had just passed us, while I had not noticed that anyone had walked by at all. And in both high school and college, friends would sometimes tell me that they had walked by me on the way to class, said hi, and I had not responded. Maybe I am disabled? Maybe I can retire from work and get a disability check just like the creepy man upstairs who hurt his wrist? And we can both spend all our time looking out of our windows and watching our neighbors...? hmm... Maybe I can be disabled and win the lottery, and move out of my duplex.

Well, if we've learned nothing else, then at least we've learned that I enjoy embarrassing Lob. And I will continue to use my disabilities to do so. I try to make the best of things like that.

Spanish vacation, broad review

So, I didn't update too much during my trip, but there was so much to do and see that the internet just didn't make it high on the priority list. And now that some time has passed, it's all blurring together and no particular stories are jumping to mind to tell. I will say, however, that I had a fabulous time, and neither Mona nor I were ready to come back. If we hadn't been returning for a holiday, it would have been very hard, indeed. I am expecting to go through some serious vacation withdrawal this week while at work. Doesn't 5 days in a row seem way too long to be at work? I think so, too. Fortunately, I remembered last night as I was going to sleep that Friday should have been a day off for me, and it was also a work holiday, which meant that they would prefer for me to take today off instead. At first I protested, I should be able to take the day whenever I want to! Why would I want to take one more day when I just had 2 weeks off?! Then my alarm went off this morning and I changed my mind. I will probably be regretting this come Friday, or come Christmas shopping time, but apparently I'm all about immediate gratification.

But I digress... where was I? Ah yes, Mona was an incredible traveling companion. She flew into town the night before we left, and within hours we had visited an old favorite eating establishment, re-stalked her old high school stalking victim (and I'm talking address found, people!), and resurrected many jokes themed from jr high school. Childish? Maybe. But also oh so fun. Mona cracks me up.

And I say this even though when she asked what I was bringing for night-time wear, and I told her, she responded with, "The women in Spain are feminine, Jennifer." A good friend is honest with you, right? This resulted in me adding many more things to my backpack, under Mona's guidance, and when it was all said and done, and when I first tried to lift the pack - which was not until we were on our way out the door for the airport - I discovered that I could barely get it off the ground. But a little good can be found in anything - in this case, it was that many Spaniards gained amusement from me and my humongous, heavy baggage. Of course, only about half of my additions were actually worn. And whenever I did don one, Mona would accuse me of trying to "out hot" her during her birthday week, which therefore made me a terrible friend. But I would just remind her that the women in Spain were feminine.

We had hoped to visit 4 to 5 places, but ended up cutting it back to 3, because, as I said, there was so much to do and see, the less time spent traveling meant more time for exploring.

We explored Madrid,



Toledo,



and Barcelona



And even took in a bit of Spanish countryside



Ok, any Spanish countryside was really only seen from a train window. But still.

I'm sure I learned a lot of things along the way, but here are just a few that come to mind:

1. People really do seek out others like themselves. Though we were in Spain, and though Mona was on the lookout for her future hot Spanish husband, it was a lot easier to find other native English speakers. Usually English men. Older Englishmen. Who often where either really obnoxious - the kind that you know are always driving the women away from their nicer friends, therefore making you feel really sorry for this friend - or obnoxious in the messed-up, condescending kind of way. These were really fun for me to watch with Mona - because she's one of the smartest people I've ever known, and has a knack for turning things around on people who think they can take advantage of the little blonde American. Those of you who know her, you know what I'm talking about. (I'm sure you have numerous memories of her making fun of people to their faces, without them ever actually realizing what was going on.) Oh, and we are like these people in that we are English - speakers - not the older obnoxious part. We are young and fabulous.

2. I had a long held fear confirmed that yes, when I try to speak Spanish to a native speaker, 7 times out of 10, they will have no idea what I'm saying.

3. I take an alarmingly large number of pictures of food. Sure, there is great architecture. There's art, there's really interesting people, but what do I gravitate towards? The food. At least that's what it seems from looking back at my photos. As the trip went on, I got less snap-happy, but the pictures of food just kept coming. "Oh, sandwich!" "oooh! pastries!" "This was my favorite meal - let's photograph it!" "this wine was particularly good - and pretty! I need a photo!" I have a strong feeling that this is not normal.

Ah yes, so much learned, so much to take with me through the rest of my food-loving life.

I could tell you that I also learned that I am lazy and fearful, because when Spanish was needed, I usually made Mona do the work for me. Or that I learned that I absolutely adore a hot shower. But these would be lies, because I already knew these things about myself.

I think that's enough summary now. I have my 17th day off in a row to get back to.
Ugh, tomorrow morning at work is not going to be pretty.

doing my part for America

We´re playing a game. It´s called, ¨Let´s keep track of how many times we do embarrassing things in front of the public that make us look like dumb Americans.¨

The score is 6-0. I am winning.

And how many times has Mona called attention to the dumb embarrassing things, sometimes hours later, reminding witnesses in case they forgot? Once, so far. She was just getting warmed up last night.

Barcelona hace frio! Not really that cold - the English here tell me it´s great to be here and enjoy the warm weather. Meanwhile, I am bundled up, acting like a spoiled southern girl. darn you, atlanta. you and your sweltering heat.

Time to go back to being a tourist - just thought you might want to know that I am doing a good job of sticking out - not in a good way.

Adios, amigos. Or as they say in Catalan... I have no idea how they say it in Catalan, I am ignorant, remember?

I'm leaving on a jet plane

If you are reading this right now, then you are one among very a very few - and those few are friends, who are probably just reading to make sure I'm not talking about them. Anyway, the point is, you probably already know that I'll be in Spain for the next ten days.

I know that I'll be in Madrid Sunday and Monday, Toledo on Tuesday, and Barcelona for probably Wednesday through Friday. Friday will also be Mona's (and Brock's! hi, little brother! I didn't forget you!) birthday, so some celebrating will be necessary. For the remaining days, I have no idea where I'll be. We haven't gotten that far yet.

But I'm sure I'll check in on the old interweb, and any updates I'll post here, instead of trying to send multiple emails. I anticipate that Mona will run off with some mysterious older Spaniard, and I'll write about how I'm navigating the country alone, wondering if I'll ever see her again. She's already asked me if we are going to speak to each other in Spanish the whole time we're there, or if I'm going to speak English. And she said it in this, "Please don't look like a dumb American" tone. As if I have a choice.

So, you may stay tuned if you so wish, and in the meantime, have a great week. And if anyone out there has any suggestions for my Spanish tourism adventure, please feel free to send them my way.

Hasta luego, guapos!

This is what you get when I have a beer for dinner

Bits of conversations I've had this week:

1. Walking down the hall at work, with my boss, on the way to check on some live wires in a room that flooded from the ceiling over the weekend:

me: "Well, this may be the last time I'm ever seen alive. Since I'm about to be electrocuted."

her (not serious): "Oh. I will do it!"

me (jumping on it): "Ok!"

her: laughs. Then gets quiet. Then nervous. "But.... I have my daughter... I better not. Because what about my daughter?"

What could I say? She had a point. So I stepped in with my less-worthy life and took the chance - because my job is totally worth electrocution. I'm still alive.


2. With my family, discussing some memory with my sister. I don't remember what it was, but I'm sure I was right. But my mom jumped to my sister's side with this comment (should be said with raised eyebrows and southern accent): "Jennifer tends to exaggerate." Now, this is highly ironic, because my mom exaggerates to the degree that the statements are only loosely based on truth at best. I actually try to make it a point to say what I mean. And to back this up, I'd like to point to the fact that my dad was laughing hysterically when she said this (but silently and behind her back, so that he wouldn't have to face the wrath).

Anyway, you know what her example was? Do you know what she was thinking of that made her take my sister's side and dismiss whatever (correct and superior) point I was trying to make? She brought up an incident that took place over a year ago, where I, for some reason I cannot fathom, let her come dress shopping with me. This was probably the first time I had done this since I had gained the ability to drive myself to the mall, at last putting to an end the humiliating dress room looks. They went like this: I open the door, my mom's eyebrows go up, the corners of her mouth turns down just a little bit, and she makes this high pitched "humh" noise. And then she tells me to turn around, and she humhs again, even higher, to express that even greater visual offensiveness comes from the behind view. Then, if I am really lucky, she extends one finger and pokes me wherever I am sticking out the most. Those were good times.

So, she brings up this time over a year ago, when, after I have gone back behind the closed door, one of the other women in the room says, "Oh! Are you looking for a prom dress?" And my mom answers with, "Oh no, she's WAY past that! chuckle, chuckle, chuckle."

Now, granted, I am way past that. But still. Did she have to put the extra emphasis on the way? Apparently so. And I commented on it (over a year ago), and she says she did not say it like that (yes she did), and therefore nothing I say can be trusted. When I told her that actually, I think she exaggerates more than I do, she said, "No, sometimes I just say things jokingly, and ya'll just don't get it." um, no, that's not it at all.
But I didn't argue, because in addition to the exaggerating, she will never admit to being wrong. Other than that, she's pretty great.

3. things the make-up counter girl said:

"It's because you didn't put on any powder this morning. You did? hmm... are you doing anything tonight? Well, I better do your whole face then. See how much better this is?"

"See, you have long lashes! But it doesn't show because you won't wear the mascara."

"You have little eyes."

"Do you use eye cream? Because... you know... that area around the eyes is more sensitive... and...um... that's where we first start showing our age... in wrinkles."

These actually aren't bad at all... I think there was something worse, but I've forgotten it... still not nearly as hard to hear as the freckle lady. Which, this girl, from the exact same counter, also agreed was wrong! Oh, and you know what else she told me? The product that was recommended for my freckles is for covering scars! She said that my freckles were not scars. Thank you.
And then I spent a lot of money on things that I did not know I needed.
Do you guys out there have any idea how expensive make-up is? Be glad you don't have the world pressuring you to buy it, and use great artistic talent to make yourself look like a different person.

Time to wash my face and take myself to bed. I look like a clown. Good investment, though.

My dad is Clark, illustrated

At the request of Brock, here are a couple of photos of what I mentioned in the last post - my dad's Halloween house decorations.





I forgot to mention another of this year's additions - a fog machine. If you look behind the middle headstone, you can see it. He was disappointed it didn't show up better in photos. There are more close-ups on flickr.

Don't be jealous.

My dad is to Halloween what Clark Griswold is to Christmas

My dad loves Halloween.

While I was growing up, there were two traditions that he followed for every Halloween.  One was treating himself to a new costume from his favorite shop (where they knew him by name).  The other was turning our front lawn into a graveyard. 

 

The graveyard took some work.  He brought in bags of dirt and sculpted them into people-length mounds.  There were headstones.  A cardboard coffin which I think had some sort of body inside.  A moving hand coming out of the dirt here, a leg there.  And of course the cobwebs and scary music coming from the bushes.  His costumes varied, but one that stands out in my mind was the Headless Horseman.  The mask that went over his head looked like a bloody, uncleanly cut neck, and a long black cape tied around it.  A little touch that he himself came up with was carrying around another of his masks - an old bearded man - under one arm.  I remember a group of children cautiously coming up the driveway, huddling together, and he somehow timed it so that he stepped in front of a window in this costume just as they were finally approaching the door.  They screamed and ran away.   And I was disappointed that I didn't get to hand out candy.

 

These days he doesn't dress up any more.  It was kind of sad at first, to realize that he had lost the zeal for it.  But the graveyard is still going strong.  And he keeps adding on to it.  He buys life-sized figures to stand out there, and when he first brings one home he'll just stand one in a room in the house somewhere,  and let my mom "discover" it.  Just for fun.  There was a particularly creepy addition this year - a girl that looked a little too real - she swayed and her eyes lit up when she detected motion.  Just take my word for it, she's eerie looking.

 

Well, on Halloween night this week he called me, and this is what I heard when I answered,

"I just thought you might want to know that a little girl just left here crying.  AHAHAHAHAHAHA!  HAHAHAHAHA!  HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH!" 

 

It's a wonder I turned out to be so normal.

checking it twice

In less than two weeks I’m embarking on an adventure with my wonderful friend, Mona. I’ve known Mona since we were 11, and I even lived with her during those first two transition years out of college, where we both moved to a big bright new city and learned what life after school was like together. These days, she lives far far away, so I don’t ever see her, and even talking to her on the phone can be difficult. So that should make our trip together that much sweeter… that, and the fact that I’m vacationing in Spain! Ha ha, Lab! No sitting around here for me! For a while at least.

Anyway, we were emailing back and forth about what we want to do/see/experience, and I would like to share Mona’s list with you.

Mona’s to do:

Englishman!
Spaniard!
Hang out
Drink wine
Drink beer, when I am thirsty, in bar with old men
Cafe con leche
Stay up late
Sleep in interesting places
Eat
Eat in the morning -- bread and olive oil, donuts
Eat at lunchtime -- empanada, bocadillo
Eat a big meal
Eat tapas
Eat tourist food, eat when really hungry
Walk up hills
Walk down hills
People watch
Take pictures
Shop casually and visit Zara and Mango (though there's no way my hips will fit)
Things of beauty -- man-made and natural
Las Ramblas – Barcelona
Flamenco
Toledo (I really like art so I wouldn't mind El Greco, Miro, Dali, plus filmmakers.... I decided I don't need to go to Bilbao.)

Now, did you notice that 6 items in a row began with the word “eat”? Did I not tell you that my friends from jr high / high school were connected by our common love of food? (That and our brains and good looks.)
Doesn’t this make you wish you were coming with us? Yeah, it sounds great to me, too.

my evening in excruciating detail

Last night I went to a fancy soiree where I got dressed up and drank Scotch and ate chocolates. yum. And I learned all about Scotch from a man in a kilt. I learned what makes a Scotch a Scotch, and I sampled various Scotches that made up a blend, and then the blend itself, and learned that some are nuttier, some are sweeter, some more mellow - and some are even feminine, while others are masculine. And for each one of these details, we had an appropriate - and delicious - chocolate to eat with it. mmm, that chocolate was good.
And you know, I had all this information, and all these elements I was supposed to taste, but each time I raised a glass to my lips all I thought was, "hmm, smells like college." The finer points of Scotch sipping were wasted on me, however, did I mention how much I enjoyed those chocolates?

After the lessons it just got better - cause know what they unveiled? A chocolate fountain! So I explored that, and I met some very nice people, and then I went back to the chocolate fountain, and all was right with the world. (It helped that it was all free, because that makes me happy.)

As I was leaving, I went to say good-bye to some of the folks I had met, and was introduced to one more fellow, who, it turns out, was my 1st grade classmate! My family moved after my only year at the school, putting me in a different district, so most of my classmates there are a blur in my memory. But once we realized we had the same first grade teacher, in the same year, I asked him to repeat his name again. And then I knew. He was the kid that puked in the trashcan that time! I'm sure there were a lot of great things about this kid, but all I could remember about him was that his mother came to pick him up early one day, and just as they were walking out the door, he turned and vomited into the small waste basket by the door. And we talked about it for the rest of the year. Little kids just don't forget stuff like that very easily.
So next I debated whether or not it would be inappropriate to bring this incident up once again - and then I did. He said that he kind of remembered that, but he wasn't sure it was him. Oh, let me tell you, it was.

The school where I spent the rest of my elementary years fed into the same high school he went to, so I asked about some of those childhood friends who I hadn't seen since I finished the 5th grade. I found out that my 4th grade boyfriend (and by "boyfriend", I mean we "went together" and rarely spoke in person) is one of his best friends to this day! I told him to send a hello, and he said that he had just gotten married, and asked if I was trying to break up the marriage. So instead of telling him I said hello, I told him to tell him that I still think about him every day, and wonder when he's going to come back for me. And to please pass him a note, folded neatly into a triangle, asking if he will go with me, and to check the appropriate box. He can find me outside his house in the bushes, looking through his windows and/or going through the trash.

My classmate said he knew exactly where our old class photo was, and that he was going to look at it as soon as he got home. (Can you believe he didn't remember me? I know.) I don't know if he did or not, but I did, and because you are so lucky, I am including it for you here.



That's me front row center. Yellow was my favorite color. Our little puker is back row, 3rd from the left. The kid behind me in the striped shirt? He used to chase me every day on the playground, and he drooled constantly. He never caught me - you would have run fast, too, if you had heard the crazed laughter and seen all that drool coming at you. The towhead in the front, far left - he was the kid all the girls had a crush on. Except me... my first grade crush was middle row, 3rd from left. He was nicer and smarter and a better soccer player than the other kid. See how I already had superior judgement? But alas, we moved that summer, and happily playing soccer ever after on the playground was not meant to be.

Well, I know you're glad to take that trip down my memory lane. Now, in more nauseating news...

The creepy man that lives upstairs from me has a new ladyfriend. Maybe this is a good thing - maybe he'll have something else to think about other than how often our cars leave the house, and what days we are working and what days we are not. That way, my roommate won't be faced with conversations that go like this: "I noticed you worked such and such days last month, but THIS month you worked THESE days. You were out of town less on the weekends. I see you when you wash your car. Those fumes you get from being at the airport are much worse for you than the cigarette smoke I cause to fill your home." and so on.

However, you know when this is a bad thing? When I am at home, minding my own business, and I suddenly I say, "what was that noise?" and then I look up at the ceiling, and I hear lots more, and then I want to stab myself in both ears.

So last night I was discussing this with the roomie, and I told her that it must be the same lady, because the same car was parked out front on the same night last week. And I hadn't noticed if it was still there in the morning... and last week is was pretty late when I was so disturbed, and last night I was earlier, but then, maybe it was later, too, because I was still hoping the sounds of traffic would drown them out while I was trying to go to sleep... and then, oh no!!! I sound just like him!! Am I becoming the new reclusive creepy neighbor? The one who notices which cars are where? Thankfully, although I did remember the days, I did NOT notice cars this morning. I am not him yet. But... if I am on my way... why not just embrace it? I could start typing him letters that say,
"I noticd you have a lady friend. She likes to come at Wednesdays. She has a black car. Where did you go when you were gone last Sunday? Did you go see her? Is she your gurlfriend? I sorted your mail for you becase you ware not here. I try too be helpfil like that. Sometimes you and your gurlfriend sound like you are rite above my sofa, and then I go in my room, but sometimes I can here you in there, to. Do you want a cat tree? I got it in the divorce, even though she took the cat. My ex is a bitch and I hate her. Want to go out?"

and then I will slip it all misspelled under his door. hmm... would he catch on that I am mimicking him? I'm not sure...

But I won't. Because he leaves me alone more now, and I don't want to do anything to encourage a change in that. If any of you are having a similar problem, what you need is 1) One roommate who is confrontational, and not afraid to yell "ASSHOLE!" in the direction of your ceiling, and 2) another roommate who is younger and prettier than you, to take away any remaining attention.

(Scott - if you read this - I'm just kidding! I would NEVER use your sister like that! Never ever. I would throw myself in his path rather than let her deal with him alone... yeah...right...)

It must be in the genes - further evidence

I'm not sure if I mentioned before that my dear friend Lob has two adorable children. Since I am her favorite friend, she let me name them, and they are Oliver (2 ½) and Oscar (1/2).

This past weekend Lob had the privilege (lost a bet with her husband) to accompany Oliver to a pirates and princesses themed birthday party! (So, the idea was that when the kids arrived, they were given pirate props if they were a boy, and dressed like a princess if they were a girl. Lob told me that one girl didn't want to be a princess, she wanted to be a pirate… and they wouldn't let her! Can you believe that?! What if no one had pinned a red dish towel to the shoulders of young Jennifer's Superman pajamas, so that she could fly around the house stopping crime just because she was a girl? Without that encouragement and support, I might not have become the raging success I am today.)

Anyway… where was I… Yes, Lob took Oliver, and Oliver didn't want any part of the party. Any part but one… can you guess what that was? He didn't want to be a pirate. He didn't want to talk or play. He didn't want to sing "Happy Birthday" – in fact, he didn't want anyone to sing Happy Birthday. What he wanted was food. Especially food that consisted of cake.

So while everyone else was doing little people birthday party things, he was eyeing the finger food that had been laid out for the adults, and yelling, "FOOD! HUNGRY!WANT FOOD! EAT!"
When the cake was announced, he sprinted away from Lob, and got a front row seat. And when his time for cake came, he was asked, "Would you like a piece of cake, or a cupcake?", and brilliant little Oliver answered, "Cake. And cupcake."
She said, "No sweetie, pick one. Would you like cake? Or would you like a cupcake?"
Oliver: "Cake. And cupcake."
And I believe there was another round of this before Lob stepped in and took the cupcake, which he then attempted to insert into his mouth all at once.

Now, given that his mother is a woman who will look for any excuse to buy herself a grocery store sheet cake (which perhaps is encouraged by myself – they are delicious!), that her biggest dream for her own wedding (other than acting out the final scene of "Dirty Dancing", starting with "Nobody puts Baby in the corner") was having her very own grocery store birthday cake in a back room that no one but she would be allowed to eat? Given what I know of her, I think that he is indeed his mother's son.

Oh – Lob? It might not be a good idea to let Mr. Lob read this. Mr. Lob, if you are already reading this, it's totally not her fault – I don't know where he gets it from. Also, we should find a name for you other than "Mr. Lob".

paranoia?

Driving to work this morning, I was behind a pick-up truck with the license plate "MOO JKR".  And, my initials being JKR and all, I couldn't help but wonder if this truck was calling me a cow right to my face.  And then I felt anger towards the truck.

Is this normal, or am I slipping over into crazy?

 

 

Noooo, my ears!!!!!!!!

NO, Creepy Man, NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! I do not like those loud noises that are coming from upstairs! I do not like them at all!!!
Stop it. Please. Just stop. It is late. It is Wednesday. I have to sleep.

Good grief, where was the insulation when they built these old houses?

my apartment, man repellent

Before I start rambling about my apartment, I'd like to mention that I just experienced The Wedding Singer, the musical. The opening scene featured numerous people in 80's dress clothes, with 80's hair, doing synchronized 80's dance moves, and when the reject table got up and threw in some of the Thriller dance, I knew I was in for a good show.
I looked for a photo to give you a visual aid, but the best I could come up with is this montage here. It really doesn't do it justice though... it makes it look pretty hokey, and that's what you expect right? But actually, brilliantly awesome is a more fitting term. I mean, does it get much better than what I have described? I thought not.
Oh, and Dolly, when a whole group of 'em did the jelly roll in unison, I thought of you and wished you could be there. (Because of that time you did the jelly roll at Hole in the Wall, and the whole place was empty, because it was early, and you were drunk off of that glass and a half of wine? And I only knew it was "the jelly roll" because you were singing about the jelly roll as you were doing it. It was great.)
Anyway, thanks, Leigh, for the tickets. They were much enjoyed.

Back to other meaningless things...

I was taking a look around my apartment the other day, I couldn't help but wonder... am I trying to be scary?

There were two main reasons for this thought. The first is this: I have Strawberry Shortcakes. And when I say I have Strawberry Shortcakes, I mean I have 20 of them. And in case you do not just happen to know this, 20 is the entire collection of standard dolls. I collected them when I was much younger, but several years ago, my then new roommate, Dolly, decided that our new bachelorette pad needed "a collection" of some sort. She was on a mission to find this collection - a mission that ended with her looking under my bed of my old house, and finding the container of dolls. (I couldn't throw them away!) I told her no, they will not be displayed, but she already had a bag about half full, and even though she nearly choked on the dust she got from holding one's head right under her nose and taking a serious sniff, she was overjoyed. So we agreed that the Strawberry Shortcakes could stay on one condition - if asked, she had to claim them as her own. Which turned out to be a jolly good time for me - because she wasn't quite so proud of those dolls in the presence of certain callers.

So, my point is, they looked scary. Well, maybe we liked them, but it seemed that all male people thought they were very scary. I know because more than one gentleman told me so himself. And even my own dear brother suggested that they be put somewhere else - like in a closet. And really, can you blame him? We had them in the middle of our den, under the tv, just like so:

Classy, eh?
In time I became proud of them, though. They were like a test. The way we saw it, if a guy came to pick us up and was scared off by our smiling dolls, that some claimed were "staring at" them, then go ahead and go now. Because if a few (20) Strawberry Shortcake dolls are all it takes to scare you off, you wouldn't have lasted long around here anyway.
Also, if it wasn't for the "they're staring at me" guy, we never would have found out that if you lift up a hat, and then sniff, they still have their berry delicious smells! (I think I should add that he seemed kind of excited to make this discovery, so maybe he shouldn't have been so quick to judge them. Also, I would never tell secrets about old boyfriends, but he knew all the words to all the songs in The Little Mermaid.)

Well, I live in a different apartment now, and to my surprise, my new roommate was quite keen on keeping the Shortcakes around. They're a little less conspicuous now, as they line the ceiling of our kitchen, but they are still there, all the same.


I came home one day and found her on the counters putting them up. I am pretty laid back about most things, but I really had to try hard to let go of the fact that she was placing the pets haphazardly around the Shortcakes. I finally gave in and stated that "these pets aren't with the right people!" and she took a look at my face, and hurried to rearrange them. Yep, I run a clean ship around here...

Now, the second thing that made me reconsider my apartment is my refrigerator. See, several years ago, one of my older cousins had a baby, and I thought, "Every fridge needs a baby picture! Mine will have one of my new cousin!"
Well, about two years later another - still older - cousin had a baby, and I added his photo as well. I mean, I can't just have one cousin's baby's photo displayed and not have them all, right?
Can you see where this is going? There are now 9 baby cousins, and 1 niece. In addition to this, about half my friends decided to simultaneously reproduce about two years ago. All this adds up to this fact: my fridge is wall-papered in baby photos.

It looks like this:


and the side view...


So, what I'm wondering is, which is more scary and man-repelling? The fridge or the dolls? What do you think?

Oh, and let's take a closer look at that bottom right corner of the fridge now...hmmm...

That's my newest roommate.
She's single, boys. Step in line.

old people say the darndest things

Have you noticed that old people can get away with saying anything they want? I mean, I'm not going to argue with them - they're old. And they know it and take advantage of it. That's what I would do, at least.

I was innocently minding my own business and playing hookie today so I could enjoy a picnic with my visiting friends Hanny and Zachary, when an old man interrupted my cookie time. We were at a deli/bakery that had free cookie samples out - and we're not talking sample crumbs, we're talking one half of a giant cookie - so, naturally, I am going to eat one, and just as I'm happily plucking the cookie out and old man gives me a look and says, "That's fattening, you know."
Well, it wouldn't be worth eating if it wasn't fattening now would it?

I smiled at him (one old man isn't going to come between me and my free cookie) and he said, "Ok, but if you eat that one you're going to want another one."
And then we both went on our merry ways. I wonder how many other people he warned about getting fat today? What makes it a good day? 10? Two dozen? Being old would have it's perks that way...

And just so you know, I was planning on sharing that cookie with Zach. But as it turns out, he is allergic to nuts, so I had to eat it all. And I have no idea what it was, but it was delicious.

Why you don't want to leave me in charge of your son:

yes, that kind of swinging

Time to explain how I came to possess the knowledge that I mentioned over here.

It happened several years ago, when I was still young and innocent, and my eyeballs had yet to be scorched with the images of a swingers party. I moved back to my home town that year, and although it was the place I had grown up in, most of my old friends were off in other places. So, when that wonderful (not so much) holiday called New Year’s rolled around, I didn’t have a whole lot of big exciting plans to choose from. In fact, I was planning on ignoring it all together and staying home.

There was one friend of a friend, Asha*, who had invited me to a party. She said it was her coworker’s party, a guy, and that I was welcome to come, but that “it might be kind of wild.” I was thinking, “kind of wild”? Please, I went to college, I know all about tequila shots. (See what I mean? Young and innocent.) So I wasn’t afraid of the wild, but our mutual friend had moved back to her homeland of Canada to drink her Mooseheads while not suffering from intolerable heat and humidity, and I didn’t really know Asha that well, and staying home still sounded good to me.

*the names of the not-so-innocent have been changed

Then enters Mona*, and throws a wrench into my “I’m just going to be lame” plans. Mona is a very good and old friend, and she was in town visiting family for the holidays. We discussed New Year’s, and I told her about my plans to ignore it, but she would have none of that. Mona wanted to go out. Mona wanted to have fun. And Mona’s enthusiasm was catching. So I told her about Asha’s party, and she said, with much spirit, “Let’s go!” I told her that I didn’t really know anything about it, who the host was, other than it was expected to be “wild”. Wild? All the better according to Mona. It was agreed – we would go with Asha.

* I had trouble deciding whether to call her “Georgie”, since she named herself George H. Cory III right here on this blog, after a man that worked at a local pizza establishment that she stalked when we were in high school (by the way, in a letter she wrote to him, she made the “H” stand for “Hot Burning Love”), or “Mona”, the fake name she gave herself when she worked for a crisis hotline, because she thought it was sexy. I love my friends.

So New Year’s rolls around, and I am actually excited. Asha’s bringing a friend, Mona’s going to come over and we’ll all meet at my place, go out to eat (mmm), and then to the party. I try to call Mona – her mom answers and says she is out with her brother, and will be back soon. No problem, I get myself prettied up (as much as possible), and call Mona again. No answer. I leave a message, she doesn’t call me back. It’s almost time for dinner, and still no Mona. Asha shows up – alone. Apparently, her friend dropped out. We go to dinner, I’m still calling Mona. Finally, FINALLY, I get through to her. She had bad day, and is not coming. She doesn’t sound very happy. And that’s all the explanation I get. So there I am with Asha, a girl who I’ve never hung out with on my own before, and suddenly we are spending New Year’s together. And really, didn’t I choose staying at home over this situation in the first place? But it’s too late, she’s already there, and I’m all dressed up, so I might as well go and have a good time.

Asha drives me to a dark, deserted area near downtown, and parks at a worn-down hotel. hmm… interesting. We walk in, she asks the guy at the desk were the AUS party is, and he points the way, and I notice an appraising look he gives both of us. As we walk away towards the ballroom, I ask what AUS stands for, and she answers “Atlanta Union of Swingers.” Wha???

I was really too stunned to react, but I was definitely thinking, “Isn’t this something worth mentioning beforehand??”

And that is how I came to accidentally go to a swingers party. It really was an accident! I promise. And, although the people on the radio claimed to be “young and hot”, umm, not so much - on either of those adjectives. With the exception of maybe one girl, who was also kind of spooky. Also, I have never seen such a large collection of 80’s hair in one place before or sense... maybe in the prom scene of Pretty in Pink - no where else.

Asha explained to me that she wasn’t involved in this club herself, but that her coworker and his wife were, and she had been to several of their parties, and had gotten to know some of the people. She said it was great people-watching. And I guess that part was true… I remember seeing this one severely uncoordinated older man, who was dancing by himself while standing by his wife’s chair. It was kind of a swinger-man version of the Elaine dance. Trying to prep myself for what the night could bring, I asked Asha for advice on what to say if this man was to ask for a dance. She watched him for a few moments, and then said she would say that her foot hurts.

She must have lost her nerve when put on the spot, because that same man walked over and asked her to dance just a few minutes later. The evil part of me really really enjoyed watching her be spun awkwardly all over the dance floor. Meanwhile, she had asked me to hold her phone, so I pretended to be talking on it the entire time I was left alone.

Other good people watching included the photographer, a small man with white hair that stood straight up all over his head, and who wore a constant insane looking grin on his face. He wanted a picture of us, but no, no we couldn’t do it right here where we were standing. We had to go stand under the prom arch. And then even that wasn’t good enough. He wanted us to “make like a tiger” – AND lean over while doing so. I can only guess this part was for glimpses down our tops. (Albums were set out for viewing form other parties - partial to complete nudity in photos was not uncommon). Which didn’t really work for me anyway, since I was wearing a winter coat. He tried to get me to take it off, and when I wouldn’t, came over and tried to pull it off of me – but like I said, he was small, and I was determined.

I accepted the whole thing for an interesting experience, and laughed about it. Still, I didn’t like it when a felt a hand run down my back, and turned around to see an older woman saying “ooh! A young one!” Or when there was a big tall man with a handle bar mustache and leather pants sitting next to me – he looked kind of like this, but with darker hair.
He was talking to me, and Asha’s coworker whispered something to her, and they both kind of laugh, and I asked what’s going on, and she says, “He says the man next to you is hung like a horse.” No, no I really didn’t need to know that at all.

We stayed for the countdown, and left pretty quickly afterwards. The site of many older women breaking out the topless sequined ball-gowns was our cue to be on our way. I will say that her coworker, when the New Year’s countdown was near, shepherded us on to a small stage area, and then protected us from the streams of people that were walking by, looking for some kisses. For that, I will be forever grateful.

I got home that night and called my friend in D.C. – the city from whence I had recently relocated. They were all gathered together for a house party, and I knew they would appreciate the story. I think they did – and I got to laugh about it with them, while being a little jealous that they were all together, and missing them a lot. Then I got off the phone, and took a hot shower, and scrubbed and scrubbed myself, just because I felt tainted. You know how they do that in bad tv movies?? It’s true! You really do feel dirty!

And somewhere out there, there’s a photo of me in a swinger’s album. I’m with another girl, making like tigers, beneath the lights of a prom arch.

I think New Year’s is cursed for me – I’ve had several bad ones, but that was the biggest mistake of them all.

Well, at least I wasn’t one of the girls left alone in the middle of the night in a strange city without anywhere to go because of you, Splann. Actually, that was a relatively good one in my book! I had friends and a place to stay, at least. Sorry Mel – it was Splann’s fault!

Overheard at lunch today:

from one collegey guy to another:

 

"I don't have time to drink and eat at the same time."

 

What??!!!  Are these the future leaders of this country?  If there's one case of multi-tasking that should be both simple and a pleasure, it is this.  Where are the priorities?  And what is college teaching kids these days?

 

I also heard the words "frozen margarita" several times.  (I was trying to read, but they were loud.  Really loud.)  They had a lot of respect for the frozen margarita.  My friend Skate beat it into me a long time ago that ordering any kind of fruity margarita was a shameful, shameful thing.  Frozen was ousted next.  Skate, I blame you for the fact that I looked down on them a little for preferring the frozen.

 

And on my way out, I heard this:

"Was she pregnant?"

"Wouldn't surprise me."

 

Nice.  And then it went on to some girl from high school, and how much worse her body had gotten since high school.  One explained that she had "wankles - from the waist down, it's like one big leg."

This guy didn't exactly look like he was spending a lot of time at the gym, himself.  Think Stay Puft Marshmallow Man with bad facial hair.

 

Can't eat and drink...  clearly, not thinking men.   Wankles is better off without them.

now i'll talk about food - and eating - and more food

I mentioned that the "L" in Lob stands for lazy, but I certainly didn't make her sound very lazy. I don't think of her as lazy at all, but I think she thinks she has gotten more lazy in recent years.(She still does a lot more than I do.) I also mentioned that she was an enthusiastic eater. Most of my friends in high school were… I think it was something that bonded us together, and set us apart from the rest of the girls who ate a few pieces of lettuce and some carrot shavings for lunch. Blay used to order the "dessert for 2" on dates, and then eat the whole thing herself, because, hey, it was free! And eating the dessert was much more important than how she looked to her date. So, yes, most of my friends had healthy appetites, but Lob was in a league of her own.

Here's an example incorporating a little bit of laziness with her love of food: In both school and club soccer, she declared that she played better if she did not warm up. So she sat on the bench while everyone else warmed up – she sat on the bench and ate hotdogs. Apparently, she would walk past the baseball games on her way to the soccer field, see that there were free hotdogs, and take 2 of them. Then, in 90+ degree weather, and knowing perfectly well that she was about to run for 90 minutes straight, she would eat those dogs. I can remember watching her and feeling nauseated. And for the record, I do not for a second believe she really thought it was better not to warm up. I know that when we were younger and new to the team she warmed up very conscientiously. I think that once she was comfortable, she opted for lazy time instead.

And in one particularly heroic night, she and I split a pizza – the same size pizza that 4 of our teammates were sharing together – I think it was a large – AND she ate a cheeseburger. She looked that waitress in the eye, and she ordered half a pizza, and a cheeseburger people. And she finished it all, too. She started to look a little pained about halfway through the cheeseburger, but she didn't let that get in her way. It was good training for when she would win the Whopper eating contest in college a year later.

This is why I really love that when her mom walked in her house to baby-sit this morning, she was greeted by Lob's 2-year-old saying, "I'm hungry. Mommy stole my pancakes."

Lob's response? "Mmmmm… pancakes."

Introducing... Lob?

I mentioned over here that I have a friend who asked for an introduction. I have procrastinated on this in part because she said she wanted a fabulous fake name, but she didn't approve of any of my suggestions. She finally came up with Lob - or maybe Blay came up with it, I don't remember. Either way, she approved of it and it stands for "lazy over-achieving bitch". She thought this was an accurate description, but I haven't been satisfied with it. I wanted to use her "if I ever become a stripper, this will be my stage name" name, Afreaka, but she wouldn't let me. But I've come up with nothing better, so "Lob" it will have to be - she asked for it.

Lob and I become schoolmates in the 6th grade, and she was soon my best friend. We were very similar in many ways - like sense of humor, a fondness for eating (most of our classmates didn't eat much) and immaturity (immature in the way that when Snott was giving Dolly flirting lessons in the 8th grade, we were playing 4-square with the 6th graders.) But very different in that she was perfect in every way and I was average in most every way (some ways I am below average - if you ever ask me to sing, don't say you haven't been warned. Lob can't sing, either though - just ask her about being in "Chorus 2"). Lob wasn't lazy in those days - I definitely beat her in that. She worked hard, and she excelled at everything she tried. She was a top student - when a couple of students from each state were chosen to go meet the President our senior year, she was one of them. And she was a great athlete - she was the ESPN female scholar athlete of the year. She was also a peer leader, on the honor counsel, class officer, blah, blah, blah. She sounds quite horrible, doesn't she? Do you remember that section on college applications that asks you to list your awards and achievements? And it left a lot of space for your little type-written answers? I would rack my brain trying to think of more things to fill up some of that space. Lob complained to me about having to attach a second sheet to list all of her awards and accomplishments. Do you hate her yet? Her legend lived on at school after our time - we'd hear from younger siblings that her name was still spoken in the halls.

Well, maybe she would have been a little unbearable if it weren't for 2 things: 1) I really really enjoyed rubbing it in whenever she did have a shortcoming (maybe twice), and 2) she was actually quite evil.

An example in #1... we once got the same grade on a math test, and she later admitted to me that it was "the most depressing day of her life." Or was that when I got a better grade on her on a math quiz? One of those times... the fact alone that we were put in the same math class was perplexing enough to her, but this was just too much. Oh, and remember the presidential fitness test? Lob was tortured by the fact she couldn't get it due to one task - the "sit and reach." Lob is not so flexible. So she practiced at home - she sat and reached, and she had her father push on her back to try to force the reach. She burst a blood vessel in her eye this way. She came to school with a red eye because she had been practicing the sit and reach. For me, the sit and reach was probably the easiest part of that test. Oh, how I liked to give her a big smile when I did it. (I never got the certificate either, because the one thing I couldn't do was the pull-ups. Difference was, it didn't bother me at all.)

And as for point #2... Everyone thought she was sweet and perfect, but I knew the truth. She had another life... a life of wickedness and debauchery. Ok, maybe that's a little extreme - but she did try to keep her true evil nature a secret. And it has occurred to me now, since she was so determined not to have her real name used, even though the 2 people who read this already know who she is, I could use this site to torture her by revealing all of her secrets! BAHAHAHAHA!
Ok, I wouldn't reveal all of her secrets, because then she might not tell them to me anymore. I'll just share one little anecdote, that is not even a secret, but when her brother who was still in high school heard it, and threatened to spread it around, she was very scared. Scared that her lingering reputation at our old high school would be ruined.

This is it:
Once upon a time Good Morning America came to Lob's college town, and all the students showed up to watch the taping. And who does the show pluck from the audience to appear with them? Lob, of course! Who else? And there she was all pretty and perfect and well-spoken and smiling for the camera. What her friends and family at home didn't know was that among the students there were some from a local school for the mentally challenged. And when the cameras came on, and the crowd suddenly realized that they were standing in the wrong place, there was a mad dash for the spotlight. Lob got jostled by a mentally challenged kid, and she elbowed him in the head (basically, trying to inflict head trauma, as if that's what he needed), knocking him down. She would like for me to add at this point that she only "helped" knock him down, as his balance wasn't so good in the first place. And that it was only in the head because he was short (in other words, a child.) And, that she hesitated for just a second - long enough to look back at him - wondering if she should go back and help him up. She did not. She left him lying there, and she got her place on t.v. If it wasn't apparent from what I said already, Lob is very competitive.

And here's how she defends herself on this story:

if you tell the story about the mentally challenged child, remember to say
that (1) i didn't know when i elbowed him that he was mentally challenged, (2) he elbowed me first, and (3) i'd do it again since i got on Good Morning America. maybe leave out #3.

post script:
I just called Lob to give her a chance to read this and make any recommendations, and she seemed to be quite upset by the way I painted her. She said that reading this was like opening "a window to her soul" and that she now saw her own true evil nature. She said I didn't put in any of her good qualities - like that she has a good-looking husband.
Maybe I did forget that you may not know her and therefore don't automatically know all her good qualities. In addition to her over-achieving tendencies and slight evilness, she is also funny, sharp, and always so much fun to be around. I have laughed with her until I hurt so so many times, and I can't imagine these last -mm... let's not count how many years since we were 11, ok? without her. She's the bestest. She's someone I know I can confess anything to, and she won't think less of me (who is she to judge anyway, right?) Oh, and even though she didn't enjoy my so very slight and fleeting math achievements, she's protective of me, too. It's good to know that you have a friend who will tear up on your behalf when you've been slighted (even if she was enduring some pregnancy hormones at the time), or that will get fired up enough to kick the butt of someone who has messed with you. Actually, she would probably try to enlist her husband to do that for her, while she stood somewhere more safe - I did say she was smart, after all.

to remind myself to get to this later...

I was listening to a morning radio program this week that was interviewing swingers. One of the things the radio people said was that they were surprised at how attractive the swingers were. One of the swingers said, "Yeah, people think we're freaky old people, but we're not."
Now, I don't know about you and your experience with accidentally going to swingers' parties, but I think "freaky old people" is not so bad a description.

But that's a story for another time. When there's not good Thursday night t.v. to catch up on.

a woman of many mens

I just ran into Bathroom Lady, but this time not in the bathroom.  In front of the vending machine.  (mm... breakfast crackers.)  She seemed to be just hanging out.

 

She asked me her usual list of questions.  And she started, as always, by looking me up and down, and this time didn't comment that I was losing weight - this means that I am gaining weight.  You don't need a scale with Bathroom Lady around.  Anyway, since she was asking me all sorts of personal questions, I asked about her.  "And what about you?  Have you seen the guy you were telling me about?"

BL:  "Who?  My boyfriend?"

me:  "Uh, no, an old one... and you have mutual friends, and you still both get together with them regularly, so you have to see him?"

BL:  (waving her hand)  "Uh, no. I don't even know which one you're talking about."

 

I was already embarrassed that I had to explain at all, I was definitely too embarrassed to say, "You know, the one that you slept with and then he didn't like you anymore?  So you slept with a man from the grocery store so you could dump all your stuff out - you know, the whole message from God?"

It seems my divine message was quickly forgotten.  I won't let it take away from the moment when the holy wisdom was bestowed, though.

let's see how much complaining I can do today

My work place may be poisoning me.
That's why they send us for a physical every year to the doctor of their choice.  Well, it's supposed to be every year.  I had my second one today, and my first was after I had been here for 3 years - and not before I started, but they called it the "baseline" anyway, but I digress.  The man is cheap, and therefore I have had 2 physicals.

Working in a lab means that you may come into contact with harmful substances, so they check us out every once in a while, you know, so if we ever file a lawsuit, they have paperwork saying we were ok.  But the thing is, I work with gases.  Carcinogenic gases.  So if one day I end up with cancer, was testing my hearing, heart, and reflexes really relevant to my hazardous work environment?
At the end of the appointment, the doctor came in and asked if I had any concerns, and I told him no.  Because last time when I expressed my concerns - about how instead of being in a controlled area like it was supposed to, they moved part of my work area down to an old closet - the part where all these gases are set loose - and when I pointed out that I would really not rather be breathing them, they cracked a single ceiling panel as a solution?  Because anything else would cost money and/or effort.  Anyway, last time I said I was concerned about this, and the doctor said I should ask for a gas mask.  (I was not given a gas mask).  So I didn't see any point in bringing this up again.
The obvious answer to this would be to change jobs, but instead of talking about how stupid I am, let's talk about things I don't like about doctor's offices.

1.  Those big, clanky scales that are out in the middle of the hall where everybody can see them.  Do I always get weighed just after a child?  Why do they have to keep the thing on 80 pounds, so that it clunks way over as soon as I step on?  You know that sound that says, "whoa - we're going to need some major adjusting here".  Couldn't they just as easily keep it on 100 and assume that most people aren't going to weigh under that?  Or am I the only one this happens to?  Am I the heaviest person in the world?

2.  When you tell me to put on the robe so that it opens from the back, I'm going to put it on so that it opens from the back.  If you know you are about to have to stick 50 different things to my chest for a heart ekg, and the whole thing is going to have to be yanked off anyway, why not just have it open from the front in the first place?  At least there is an illusion that some part of it is still there.

3.  Needles.  You would think after getting shots twice a week as a kid that they wouldn't bother me, and when they actually take the blood, I'm fine.  But when they bring out the needle - I shiver.  And I cringe even more having to hear other people talk about shots.  (I just got some stories from a coworker.)  But just once I'd like to have someone give me a shot without the accompanying comment, "You have big veins!"   I don't know why this bothers me.  Maybe it's because the first person that ever said it was someone I didn't like it very much, and maybe my brain automatically registers negatively when hearing any part of my body described as "big" by a stranger.

4.  This one was my fault... no reading material the only time I needed it.  The only time I had to wait for a long time was the final doctor's stop in.  The other times I was interrupted before I could finish reading the delightful articles on pumpkin carving and barn restoring.  Just when I think I'm done, and I'm hanging out in the gown that opens in the back, the technician says, "now just finish undressing and the doctor will be in in a moment."  huh?  Undress more?  And then I was sitting there for the next 30 minutes, wondering what my workplace would need to know that necessitated more undressing.  And I didn't have any reading material to distract me, because the magazines were across the room, and I was petrified that if I made a run for it, the door would open at that instant.

5. Has anyone else ever gone to the doctor thinking they were fine, and left with a vague paranoia that they are somewhat diseased?  All of my heart/breathing/x-rays/hearing/vision were fine, but since that final doctor's visit I started wondering if something is wrong with me.  All he did was listen to my heart (some more) and then mash around my abdomen some.  And you know what?  That hurt.  Like, pretty bad.  Not on one side, just on the other.  And it has been hurting ever since (mm, about 4 hours now).  I told my mom this, and she said, "well did you tell him that it hurt?"  no.  "Jennifer, you are supposed to tell him if it hurts."  But he didn't ask if it hurt!  That was my response.  Besides, I didn't know it was going to keep hurting.  Is this normal people?  It doesn't help that this is the exact spot that they've taken some more looks at twice before, never with any conclusive answers.

An upside to my visit (to slightly counterbalance all my whining): The technician that walked me through the whole thing was a klutz.  From ramming the ekg machine into the doorway, causing pieces to break off and bounce around the floor, to dropping my x-rays all over the place, she was interesting.

Another highlight of my last 24 hours:  I played with my toddler niece yesterday, and for the first time, she preferred me to everyone else around.  She turned on her parents, and my mother (the grandmother that she knows spoils her rotten), and only wanted me.  (I believe this has something to do with the fact that I also have the mind & disposition of a child.  Your mother says you can't play with that?  I say you can!  Sneak around on the ground, jumping out from behind chairs and doorways over and over and over again?  Sounds great!)  At the end of the visit she was tired, wouldn't eat, and wanted me to hold her.  When I went into the bathroom cried the banged on the door the whole time.  My sister wanted me to leave so that she would eat, but it didn't work - she hung on to my neck when I told her bye, and started crying when I left and apparently kept it up for a long time afterwards.  So I have that going for me - I am highly desirable and in demand in the world of 1-year-olds.  I just hope I don't die of slightly sensitive abdomen disease... who would show her how to open all of mommy's make-up?