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.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Thursday, October 25, 2007
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...)
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...)
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
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".
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".
Friday, October 19, 2007
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?
Thursday, October 18, 2007
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?
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?
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, October 15, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
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!
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!
Thursday, October 4, 2007
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.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
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."
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."
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