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.