Since neither the boy or I have bought a single Christmas anything yet, we mapped out a plan to buy everything we could possibly need (gifts, food, alcohol, various sundries) through New Year's and headed to the to the mall. We debated going to dinner and then shopping vs shopping then dinner and determined that we'd shop first and eat at a place where we could have cocktails....because cocktails BEFORE shopping never really works out for me.
We bought one magical gift that we're sure the recipient will love in the first ten seconds we were at the mall, then wandered around for 45 more minutes looking at a bunch of cr@p we'd like to buy for ourselves if we hit the lotto. We got to Target and wound up in the Christmas aisle, looking at exterior illumination.
Me: You're not even putting up lights outside this year, are you?
D: No, because I don't want to have to take them all down.
Me: Then what are we doing here? We should be buying gifts!
D: I feel like we buy the same stuff every year.
Me: I'm just not feeling it either. I have no idea what to get anyone!
D: Me either. And I'm starving.
Me: Maybe we should go to BW3 and regroup.
So $34 and two huge drafts later, with full bellies and a slight buzz (and still no friggin idea what to get anybody for Christmas) we go food/booze shopping. We spent $75 at the liquor store, $40 on beer/wine and $70 on junk food; then came home and played Scrabble all evening.
Hope D's g/f LOVES her gift, cuz it looks like everyone else on our list will be getting snack food or booze.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Game Day Conversation
I drove my bro-in-law to C'bus yesterday so he could go to the OSU-Illinois game with my son. After scarfing down some Cane's chicken, next stop was a bar a block away from D's apartment, about 1PM:
B-I-L: Want to do a shot?
D: Man, I don't think I can. I was drinking rum all night last night.
B-I-L: One shot. We can't go into The Shoe without having at least one short one.
D: OK...I'll have a Jaeger Bomb.
Me: Is that a drink? Or is it a shot?
D: It's both. Remember that time when I was home and I made them? With Red Bull?
Me: You mean that time you got completely plastered and stumbled all around the house?
D: Yeah...while still managing to kick your @ss at Scrabble, if you recall.
It's 24 hours later and I still haven't got a comeback. Not that I've been working on it. Much.
B-I-L: Want to do a shot?
D: Man, I don't think I can. I was drinking rum all night last night.
B-I-L: One shot. We can't go into The Shoe without having at least one short one.
D: OK...I'll have a Jaeger Bomb.
Me: Is that a drink? Or is it a shot?
D: It's both. Remember that time when I was home and I made them? With Red Bull?
Me: You mean that time you got completely plastered and stumbled all around the house?
D: Yeah...while still managing to kick your @ss at Scrabble, if you recall.
It's 24 hours later and I still haven't got a comeback. Not that I've been working on it. Much.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Treats
Our little Hotterville has Trick or Treat on the Saturday afternoon before Halloween. That's how it's been since like 1970 or something, which would be the last year I actually participated as a....participant.
Every year I buy like 8-10 bags of candy and then the following Monday morning, after eating an entire bag myself over the course of Trick or Treat weekend, I take at least three bags to work, just to get it out of my house.
It was chilly and drizzly when I went to get my hair cut at 10am yesterday, and it was supposed to be chilly and drizzly all day, so in an effort not to enable an all day candy eating binge for myself, I brought six bags of candy to the check out at the grocery store....and in a bold (and it turns out ridiculous) move, I put two back and came home with four. Because I'm an @ss.
After the first HALF HOUR of Trick or Treat, I had 15 pieces of candy left. It started sprinkling and I thought, OK...no more handing out candy on the porch...I'll go inside and the first 15 kids to knock on the door get this.
The trouble is when one kid comes up on to the porch and knocks, thirty other kids in the neighbors yards see you giving out candy and then they swarm. Until you're standing on your front porch with an empty bowl, shouting, I'M SORRY BUT I'M OUT OF CANDY. And still the bumblebees and ladybugs come up your steps on their tiny and unsteady little legs. Even the big Frankensteins and Transformers come marching, stiff-legged and holding out their pillowcases.
I had to quit answering my door. I felt like I was trapped in Shaun Of The Dead, a truly humbling experience.
And next year? F*ck it. I'm buying a hundred bucks worth of candy and let the chips fall where they may.
My co-workers will love me.
Every year I buy like 8-10 bags of candy and then the following Monday morning, after eating an entire bag myself over the course of Trick or Treat weekend, I take at least three bags to work, just to get it out of my house.
It was chilly and drizzly when I went to get my hair cut at 10am yesterday, and it was supposed to be chilly and drizzly all day, so in an effort not to enable an all day candy eating binge for myself, I brought six bags of candy to the check out at the grocery store....and in a bold (and it turns out ridiculous) move, I put two back and came home with four. Because I'm an @ss.
After the first HALF HOUR of Trick or Treat, I had 15 pieces of candy left. It started sprinkling and I thought, OK...no more handing out candy on the porch...I'll go inside and the first 15 kids to knock on the door get this.
The trouble is when one kid comes up on to the porch and knocks, thirty other kids in the neighbors yards see you giving out candy and then they swarm. Until you're standing on your front porch with an empty bowl, shouting, I'M SORRY BUT I'M OUT OF CANDY. And still the bumblebees and ladybugs come up your steps on their tiny and unsteady little legs. Even the big Frankensteins and Transformers come marching, stiff-legged and holding out their pillowcases.
I had to quit answering my door. I felt like I was trapped in Shaun Of The Dead, a truly humbling experience.
And next year? F*ck it. I'm buying a hundred bucks worth of candy and let the chips fall where they may.
My co-workers will love me.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Gifts
It's been brought to my attention that maybe the dead animal gifts left on my doorstep are not specifically for me.
Maybe Mr. Big Fat Kitty Cat has a secret admirer. Maybe some nice neighborhood girl cat (or boy cat...there's nothing wrong with that) has a little crush on Mr. I Sleep In The Middle Of The Bed And I Don't Even Care Who Owns The Bed.
And I'm thinking Mr. I Can Eat As Many Sets Of POD Earphones As You Can Possibly Purchase better start learning to wield the Dead Animal Shovel (patent pending) and take control of the carcass situation...before he finds himself taking a little ride behind the garage on it, so to speak.
I'm just saying.
Maybe Mr. Big Fat Kitty Cat has a secret admirer. Maybe some nice neighborhood girl cat (or boy cat...there's nothing wrong with that) has a little crush on Mr. I Sleep In The Middle Of The Bed And I Don't Even Care Who Owns The Bed.
And I'm thinking Mr. I Can Eat As Many Sets Of POD Earphones As You Can Possibly Purchase better start learning to wield the Dead Animal Shovel (patent pending) and take control of the carcass situation...before he finds himself taking a little ride behind the garage on it, so to speak.
I'm just saying.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Dead
I watched baseball till midnight last night. Thank God we won and it's on to the division series or I'd be really ticked, instead of just tired, right now.
So tonight I come dragging home from work, half dead, the couch loudly calling me, to find a bird lying face down at my back door. And Jadn was in the house all day! There's no way he can take credit for this carcass.
I had to enter my domicile by the front door, for crying out loud. I wasn't taking any chances of the bird coming back to life and flying up my skirt, thank you very little.
So what does this dead bird mean? That some neighborhood cat is dropping dead gifts off for me? Or the poor dumb bird (I think they have brains as big as a grain of rice, don't they?) had a heart attack while he was flying toward my house and just dropped out of the sky? He was playing dive-bomber at my dinnette window and crashed?
Frankly, the whole thing is rather unsettling.
I kinda hate days that end with me getting the Dead Animal Shovel (patent pending) out of the garage and winging a carcass behind the garage.
Eewwww.
So tonight I come dragging home from work, half dead, the couch loudly calling me, to find a bird lying face down at my back door. And Jadn was in the house all day! There's no way he can take credit for this carcass.
I had to enter my domicile by the front door, for crying out loud. I wasn't taking any chances of the bird coming back to life and flying up my skirt, thank you very little.
So what does this dead bird mean? That some neighborhood cat is dropping dead gifts off for me? Or the poor dumb bird (I think they have brains as big as a grain of rice, don't they?) had a heart attack while he was flying toward my house and just dropped out of the sky? He was playing dive-bomber at my dinnette window and crashed?
Frankly, the whole thing is rather unsettling.
I kinda hate days that end with me getting the Dead Animal Shovel (patent pending) out of the garage and winging a carcass behind the garage.
Eewwww.
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Wild Indians
It's my Pop's birthday. He'd be 78 today.
I spent the evening watching the Tribe in the Division Series and thinking about how my dad loved the Indians with this whole heart until they disappointed him one too many times and he just had to give up on them. He didn't have a choice; he had nothing left to give them.
I was hoping so much that they'd win tonight; on his birthday.
But the bastards lost, and so now we play again tomorrow.
I wish you were here, Pop. I wish you and me and D could watch it together; Mama would make the snacks and we'd have the sports sections from the Plain Dealer and the Vindicator, and we'd talk about who was hot and who is overpaid and over-rated. You'd tell us stories about when you used to take a bus to Cleveland Stadium on sunny Sundays in the 50's to watch a double-header. And about the time that you scored tix from Caterpillar and sat right behind the dugout; you were so close you could have called balls and strikes. And how the Indians coming off the field and into the dugout were looking you right in the eye.
You made it real for us...we were right there in the stadium with you, Pop.
You gave me so much. You taught me so much; not just about ERA's and batting averages and strategy, but about how playing a game can teach you so much about life. And you also gave that to my son.
We miss you every day of our lives.
But I miss you most during the Series.
Happy Birthday, Pop.
Love,
Betta
I spent the evening watching the Tribe in the Division Series and thinking about how my dad loved the Indians with this whole heart until they disappointed him one too many times and he just had to give up on them. He didn't have a choice; he had nothing left to give them.
I was hoping so much that they'd win tonight; on his birthday.
But the bastards lost, and so now we play again tomorrow.
I wish you were here, Pop. I wish you and me and D could watch it together; Mama would make the snacks and we'd have the sports sections from the Plain Dealer and the Vindicator, and we'd talk about who was hot and who is overpaid and over-rated. You'd tell us stories about when you used to take a bus to Cleveland Stadium on sunny Sundays in the 50's to watch a double-header. And about the time that you scored tix from Caterpillar and sat right behind the dugout; you were so close you could have called balls and strikes. And how the Indians coming off the field and into the dugout were looking you right in the eye.
You made it real for us...we were right there in the stadium with you, Pop.
You gave me so much. You taught me so much; not just about ERA's and batting averages and strategy, but about how playing a game can teach you so much about life. And you also gave that to my son.
We miss you every day of our lives.
But I miss you most during the Series.
Happy Birthday, Pop.
Love,
Betta
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Whiskers
Email from me to D:
FYI - Apparently it's Kitty Whisker Shedding Season. Who knew? I found like 7 big old white whiskers today while I was sweeping (along with enuff fur to knit at least 2 whole cats). You know I'm really starting to wonder if you actually WERE plucking them directly out of his little face when you lived here :(
D's response:
You didn't hear? When I was home for 5 minutes on Monday I went on a whisker-ripping rampage and took about 9 out - have fun finding the other two!
Seriously? That kid just ain't right.
FYI - Apparently it's Kitty Whisker Shedding Season. Who knew? I found like 7 big old white whiskers today while I was sweeping (along with enuff fur to knit at least 2 whole cats). You know I'm really starting to wonder if you actually WERE plucking them directly out of his little face when you lived here :(
D's response:
You didn't hear? When I was home for 5 minutes on Monday I went on a whisker-ripping rampage and took about 9 out - have fun finding the other two!
Seriously? That kid just ain't right.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Race Camp
Items sure NOT to forget or LOSE on next annual family racing / camping weekend:
1) Hammer. As a matter of fact, I'm going to suggest legislation for it to be illegal for me and that kid of mine to leave the Hooterville city limits without a tool kit in the freakin car.
2) Bungie cords, rope, twine or some other m*f*ing fastening devices
3) Extra towels
4) A steamer trunk FULL of dry clothes
5) Crocs or Teva sandals or similar WATERPROOF footwear
6) A First Aid Kit. For God's sake!
7) My freaking TICKET for the freaking RACE.
Good times. Good times.
1) Hammer. As a matter of fact, I'm going to suggest legislation for it to be illegal for me and that kid of mine to leave the Hooterville city limits without a tool kit in the freakin car.
2) Bungie cords, rope, twine or some other m*f*ing fastening devices
3) Extra towels
4) A steamer trunk FULL of dry clothes
5) Crocs or Teva sandals or similar WATERPROOF footwear
6) A First Aid Kit. For God's sake!
7) My freaking TICKET for the freaking RACE.
Good times. Good times.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Pseudo-Pod
Less than 24 hours ago, I bought a fake I-Pod. And frankly? I have no idea how I've been functioning in civilized society without one all these years. Of course it's supposed to hold 1000 songs, and I choked it with 243 songs because of some "technical difficulties" in downloading. Because I was "left to my own devices" (pun intended) while attempting to download music from my seven year old computer to my pseudo-Pod (trademark pending) with no direction at all from the family tech guy. Hopefully that tech guy will do something about this situation after the YSU - OSU game today.
But here's the cool part I didn't understand: the isolation. You can just ignore the world, as well as any moran in your vicinity, while you're plugged in and going about your business. And while you're in your personal autonomous think tank? Songs that you love with your whole soul are being injected directly into your central nervous system. As loud as you want. While you live your life. While you fold laundry. While you tinkle. While you get dressed. While you stroll around in your life. While you tune out the rest of the planet.
How cool is that?
But here's the cool part I didn't understand: the isolation. You can just ignore the world, as well as any moran in your vicinity, while you're plugged in and going about your business. And while you're in your personal autonomous think tank? Songs that you love with your whole soul are being injected directly into your central nervous system. As loud as you want. While you live your life. While you fold laundry. While you tinkle. While you get dressed. While you stroll around in your life. While you tune out the rest of the planet.
How cool is that?
Monday, August 27, 2007
Projekt
Overheard Projekt Revolution Weekend 2007:
Recorded faithfully August 16-19:
Upon arriving in C'bus...
Me: Well, I'm here. Let's drink.
Roomate #1: How come my mom never says that to me?
D: I don't know, Mom...did you mother ever say that to you?
Me: No. But Pa did.
In the car driving to the Arena District...
Me: Did you know horses are herd animals?
D: Yeah. I knew that.
Me: Do you know what you are if you're not a herd animal?
D: Uhhh. No. What?
Me: A predator.
D: Well what about wolves and lions? They're both predators and herd animals.
Me: Well now you're just making sh*t up.
At Ted's American Grill...
Darling Young Waitress: Do you want more Coke?
D: Yeah, I'll have another one, thanks.
Me: Are you sure, baby? The movie starts in fifteen minutes.
D: Mom, I'm going to be 22. *rolls eyes*
DYW: What movie?
Me: Harry Potter.
DYW: Oh, you'll love it! I'll be right back with that Coke.
Me: You better bring me another beer.
D: Dear Lord...I'm almost 22, I'm on my way to see Harry Potter with my mother and she's calling me baby in public and limiting the amount of pop I'm allowed to have before the movie.
While getting ready to leave for the concert...
Me: Well we're off to do some head-banging.
Roomate #2: Watch out for the mosh pit.
Leaving the concert...
D: I just don't know how Linkin Park could have been any better.
Me: I do. If they started over right now and played the whole frickin thing again.
Driving back to Hooterville at 1AM, after a huge traffic snarl, with me still half baked and both of us exhausted...
D: This turnpike is so boring, it's like the same stretch of road over and over. It makes it tough to get any sleep while you're driving, ya know?
Me: I know baby.
At the first annual Put In Bay party at best freind's house, I realize I have a missed call. D has left the party to get a card game together in our garage...
Me: D?
D: Yeah.
Me: Did you call me?
D: Yeah. But never mind now. I went down to Dairy Mart and got beer.
Me: I'm confused. Why did you call me?
D: To tell you we didn't have any beer in the house.
Me: I might be half in the bag myself, but I'm failing to see how that could possibly be my problem.
D: Yeah. I realized that after I called. That's why I didn't leave a message.
Good times.
Recorded faithfully August 16-19:
Upon arriving in C'bus...
Me: Well, I'm here. Let's drink.
Roomate #1: How come my mom never says that to me?
D: I don't know, Mom...did you mother ever say that to you?
Me: No. But Pa did.
In the car driving to the Arena District...
Me: Did you know horses are herd animals?
D: Yeah. I knew that.
Me: Do you know what you are if you're not a herd animal?
D: Uhhh. No. What?
Me: A predator.
D: Well what about wolves and lions? They're both predators and herd animals.
Me: Well now you're just making sh*t up.
At Ted's American Grill...
Darling Young Waitress: Do you want more Coke?
D: Yeah, I'll have another one, thanks.
Me: Are you sure, baby? The movie starts in fifteen minutes.
D: Mom, I'm going to be 22. *rolls eyes*
DYW: What movie?
Me: Harry Potter.
DYW: Oh, you'll love it! I'll be right back with that Coke.
Me: You better bring me another beer.
D: Dear Lord...I'm almost 22, I'm on my way to see Harry Potter with my mother and she's calling me baby in public and limiting the amount of pop I'm allowed to have before the movie.
While getting ready to leave for the concert...
Me: Well we're off to do some head-banging.
Roomate #2: Watch out for the mosh pit.
Leaving the concert...
D: I just don't know how Linkin Park could have been any better.
Me: I do. If they started over right now and played the whole frickin thing again.
Driving back to Hooterville at 1AM, after a huge traffic snarl, with me still half baked and both of us exhausted...
D: This turnpike is so boring, it's like the same stretch of road over and over. It makes it tough to get any sleep while you're driving, ya know?
Me: I know baby.
At the first annual Put In Bay party at best freind's house, I realize I have a missed call. D has left the party to get a card game together in our garage...
Me: D?
D: Yeah.
Me: Did you call me?
D: Yeah. But never mind now. I went down to Dairy Mart and got beer.
Me: I'm confused. Why did you call me?
D: To tell you we didn't have any beer in the house.
Me: I might be half in the bag myself, but I'm failing to see how that could possibly be my problem.
D: Yeah. I realized that after I called. That's why I didn't leave a message.
Good times.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Upside Down
I went to work today with my shirt on INSIDE OUT.
Yeah. Top that.
It's a long sleeved t-shirt and it's tagless and the seams are all finished on the inside. I'm in the cafeteria getting coffee WHEN I MYSELF NOTICE IT'S ON INSIDE FRICKIN OUT.
I'd been at work for 45 minutes at that point. I'd been in contact with 45 coworkers by then. WTF??
So yeah. Is it any wonder I drink?
Yeah. Top that.
It's a long sleeved t-shirt and it's tagless and the seams are all finished on the inside. I'm in the cafeteria getting coffee WHEN I MYSELF NOTICE IT'S ON INSIDE FRICKIN OUT.
I'd been at work for 45 minutes at that point. I'd been in contact with 45 coworkers by then. WTF??
So yeah. Is it any wonder I drink?
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Bookmark
From the time my son was little until the horrible trauma of my parents both getting sick and then passing away in 2001, I read an average of two books a week, pretty much every week. I read detective stories, chick lit, best-sellers, some classics, a little bit of everything really, except fantasy. After my folks died, I wrote more than I read and I kind of lost my luster for reading what other people were writing, even though I was always reading something...I was averaging more like one book every month to two.
Then last fall my son was talking about this series that he's been reading for years called The Sword of Truth by Terry Goodkind, and I felt like maybe I needed to tackle this whole lack of reading issue from a completely different starting point. It's been a strange and interesting trip; this fantasy world of giant beasts and magic and wizards and warriors.
I'm on book four now; Temple of the Winds. True to form it's 500 pages of intrigue, blood and guts, plagues and monsters; and stuck in the middle? A receipt from a Speedway gas station in Youngstown dated 9/15/06, for two jumbo hot dogs and $26 bucks worth of gas, sold to guy named Glen by a girl named Angie. I've been using it as a bookmark.
And what do I know about Glen and Angie? Surprisingly, quite a bit.
Glen is apparently a regular Speedway customer with a rewards card, because there is a separate receipt detailing his balance of 15,973 points. He's probably earned his free dinner for two ($40.00 value) at Applebee's by now. I'm just saying.
And what do I know about Angie? Well I know she was obviously interested in Glen because she wrote her cell number down on the receipt. Which he apparently left in Temple of the Winds when he returned it to the Hooterville library.
I'm tempted to call Angie and find out what happened. Does she still work at Speedway? Did Glen ever call her? Does she even remember writing her number on his receipt? Are they in the process of living happily ever after together?
Every time I mark my place with that receipt I wonder if the fact that Glen left it in the book when he returned it means that he didn't care enough to even remember that he had her number. (Bastard!) Or had he already programmed it into his phone by then?
Now that's the stuff of fantasy.
Then last fall my son was talking about this series that he's been reading for years called The Sword of Truth by Terry Goodkind, and I felt like maybe I needed to tackle this whole lack of reading issue from a completely different starting point. It's been a strange and interesting trip; this fantasy world of giant beasts and magic and wizards and warriors.
I'm on book four now; Temple of the Winds. True to form it's 500 pages of intrigue, blood and guts, plagues and monsters; and stuck in the middle? A receipt from a Speedway gas station in Youngstown dated 9/15/06, for two jumbo hot dogs and $26 bucks worth of gas, sold to guy named Glen by a girl named Angie. I've been using it as a bookmark.
And what do I know about Glen and Angie? Surprisingly, quite a bit.
Glen is apparently a regular Speedway customer with a rewards card, because there is a separate receipt detailing his balance of 15,973 points. He's probably earned his free dinner for two ($40.00 value) at Applebee's by now. I'm just saying.
And what do I know about Angie? Well I know she was obviously interested in Glen because she wrote her cell number down on the receipt. Which he apparently left in Temple of the Winds when he returned it to the Hooterville library.
I'm tempted to call Angie and find out what happened. Does she still work at Speedway? Did Glen ever call her? Does she even remember writing her number on his receipt? Are they in the process of living happily ever after together?
Every time I mark my place with that receipt I wonder if the fact that Glen left it in the book when he returned it means that he didn't care enough to even remember that he had her number. (Bastard!) Or had he already programmed it into his phone by then?
Now that's the stuff of fantasy.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Vacation Conversation
Recorded faithfully: Boston MA, Monday June 25, 2007
In the cab on the way to dinner in Little Italy:
Liz: (answering phone) Hi Shirley! Yes....we're still alive and I'm pretty sure we have not been kidnapped. I'm going to keep this conversation going for a minute or two though so this cabbie with the huge scar on his neck knows that we are not without friends in this city!
Cin: (shouting) SO YOU WERE BORN IN AFRICA?!?
Cabbie: It's actually an island off the coast of Africa mumble mumble population mumble and then mumble mumble....
(At this point he turns and looks at me, smiling, clearly expecting something in the way of a response, while his giant neck scar twinkles in the glow of the streetlight. I shrug and smile in return.....WTF??)
Jack: No....the RESTAURANT is not called LITTLE ITALY.....the restaurant is LOCATED IN LITTLE ITALY.
Liz: (answering phone) Hi again Shirley! I'm pretty sure we're still alive and I'm pretty sure we haven't been kidnapped but I couldn't actually swear to it...
Cin: (shouting): SO HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN IN THE US?!?
Liz: (answering phone) Hi Michael!!! He says we're two minutes away. No....don't call 9-1-1 just yet....and don't tell Shirley but I really CANNOT say with absolute certainty that we absolutely HAVE NOT been kidnapped....
At dinner in Little Italy:
Shirley: What exactly IS a wild boar?
Mark: It's a pig that's severely p*ssed off.
Michael: Seriously, Mark. We all quit caring about that ten minutes ago.
Mark: Seriously, Liz. Did you just call our Shirley a wild whore?
Liz: Seriously, Mark. I’m calling you out. For real this time.
Walking past the fire station in Little Italy after dinner, chatting up the Firemen sitting out front in webbed lawn chairs:
Cin: Where would you guys recommend we go for a cocktail??
Jack: Hmmmm....off duty Firemen!!
Liz: If we can't get a ride on their fire engine, can we at least let Shirley slide down the fire pole?
At the Beer Garden (where they have only wine, beer and flavored liqueurs) in Little Italy AFTER walking past the fire station AFTER dinner:
Cin: Do you have raspberry Stoli?
Darling Waitress (who was very sweet and accommodating to a bunch of whack-jobs from out of state): No, we only have other stuff....not just what you people specifically want to drink at this moment.
Cin: Do you have any other kind of Stoli besides blueberry?
Waitress: We have blueberry!
Mark: I'll have the same thing only with soda.
Shirley: You don't have BV, do you?
Waitress: No. We only have some complicated Massechusetts (how in h#ll do you spell Massefrickingchewsetts anyway???) liquor liscence (apparently I can't spell that either!!) for beer, wine and some flavored liqueurs you mid-westerners would never drink. What we can sell is determined by sugar content, not by alcohol volume.
Shirley: Do you have any kind of whiskey?
Waitress: Uhhh. No.
Jack: So you don't have Jack Daniels?
Waitress: Uhhh. No.
Mark: Do you have scotch?
Waitress: Uhhh. No.
Mark: Do you have brandy?
Waitress: Yes!!
Group in Unison: Too bad none of us drink brandy.
Shirley: Do you have beer?
Waitress: Yes!!
Jack: I'll have a Bud Lite.
Shirley: I'll have the same, but Cindy will have to drink it for me.
Group in Unison: Excuse me, but can I change my order?
Michael: I have no idea who these people are or how I wound up with them.
Liz: That's okay; I don't mind drinking anything that contains alcohol. Honestly. I'm not kidding, lady!!! Bring back that Bud Lite!!!
On the way back to the hotel:
Pakistani Cabbie: Sorry for cutting you off, brother cabbie from another nation.
African American Cabbie: F*ck you! I will f*ck you up!
Cin: I insist you both play nice!
Pakistani Cabbie: Sh*t! This is not only a dead end; it's nowhere near where you people actually wanted me to take you!
Group in Unison: It's totally okay! We'll just get out here, thanks!
Michael: Let's hold hands and skip!!
Liz: I can't skip with you right now Michael.... I’m wearing flip-flops.
Cin: Don't look at me.... I’m wearing flip-flops too.
Mark: Is it me or is that cab following us down this dark and dead end street? Are we all going to die or is it my overactive imagination?
Michael: Just curious.... Does anyone else hear that dueling banjo music or is it just me?
Group in Unison: OMG!!! I hear Deliverance too!!
Later in the hotel bar:
Mark: I got this.
Liz: Oh.... I wasn't going to pay for this round. I was just looking for a Tums in my purse.
Michael: And I'm like, my dude is dead!
Liz: Both my brother and my son are going to kill me for telling this story.
Mark: You're the one that always wants to talk about balls, Liz.
Cin: Your family seems to have had an awful lot of groin surgery.
Liz: You mean kinda like an episiotomy?
Mark: Well generally, they're not exactly identical. One is usually bigger than the other, you know.
Liz: I'm not really sure which of you is the evil twin.
Cin: I think it changes from day to day.
Michael: Oh it's Mark.
Group in Unison, except for Liz: (Yawn) Time for bed. I'm so tired. Goodnight, everyone..... it’s been lovely, even though Liz insisted about talking about balls all frickin evening….
Liz: I refuse to leave this bar and go to bed unless you people give me the opportunity to talk about my C-Section twenty-one years ago! This is so not fair! I politely listened to your surgery stories! I want to drink some more!!!! Can't I at least ramble on about the cowboy for while!?!?!?
F*ckers.
In the cab on the way to dinner in Little Italy:
Liz: (answering phone) Hi Shirley! Yes....we're still alive and I'm pretty sure we have not been kidnapped. I'm going to keep this conversation going for a minute or two though so this cabbie with the huge scar on his neck knows that we are not without friends in this city!
Cin: (shouting) SO YOU WERE BORN IN AFRICA?!?
Cabbie: It's actually an island off the coast of Africa mumble mumble population mumble and then mumble mumble....
(At this point he turns and looks at me, smiling, clearly expecting something in the way of a response, while his giant neck scar twinkles in the glow of the streetlight. I shrug and smile in return.....WTF??)
Jack: No....the RESTAURANT is not called LITTLE ITALY.....the restaurant is LOCATED IN LITTLE ITALY.
Liz: (answering phone) Hi again Shirley! I'm pretty sure we're still alive and I'm pretty sure we haven't been kidnapped but I couldn't actually swear to it...
Cin: (shouting): SO HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN IN THE US?!?
Liz: (answering phone) Hi Michael!!! He says we're two minutes away. No....don't call 9-1-1 just yet....and don't tell Shirley but I really CANNOT say with absolute certainty that we absolutely HAVE NOT been kidnapped....
At dinner in Little Italy:
Shirley: What exactly IS a wild boar?
Mark: It's a pig that's severely p*ssed off.
Michael: Seriously, Mark. We all quit caring about that ten minutes ago.
Mark: Seriously, Liz. Did you just call our Shirley a wild whore?
Liz: Seriously, Mark. I’m calling you out. For real this time.
Walking past the fire station in Little Italy after dinner, chatting up the Firemen sitting out front in webbed lawn chairs:
Cin: Where would you guys recommend we go for a cocktail??
Jack: Hmmmm....off duty Firemen!!
Liz: If we can't get a ride on their fire engine, can we at least let Shirley slide down the fire pole?
At the Beer Garden (where they have only wine, beer and flavored liqueurs) in Little Italy AFTER walking past the fire station AFTER dinner:
Cin: Do you have raspberry Stoli?
Darling Waitress (who was very sweet and accommodating to a bunch of whack-jobs from out of state): No, we only have other stuff....not just what you people specifically want to drink at this moment.
Cin: Do you have any other kind of Stoli besides blueberry?
Waitress: We have blueberry!
Mark: I'll have the same thing only with soda.
Shirley: You don't have BV, do you?
Waitress: No. We only have some complicated Massechusetts (how in h#ll do you spell Massefrickingchewsetts anyway???) liquor liscence (apparently I can't spell that either!!) for beer, wine and some flavored liqueurs you mid-westerners would never drink. What we can sell is determined by sugar content, not by alcohol volume.
Shirley: Do you have any kind of whiskey?
Waitress: Uhhh. No.
Jack: So you don't have Jack Daniels?
Waitress: Uhhh. No.
Mark: Do you have scotch?
Waitress: Uhhh. No.
Mark: Do you have brandy?
Waitress: Yes!!
Group in Unison: Too bad none of us drink brandy.
Shirley: Do you have beer?
Waitress: Yes!!
Jack: I'll have a Bud Lite.
Shirley: I'll have the same, but Cindy will have to drink it for me.
Group in Unison: Excuse me, but can I change my order?
Michael: I have no idea who these people are or how I wound up with them.
Liz: That's okay; I don't mind drinking anything that contains alcohol. Honestly. I'm not kidding, lady!!! Bring back that Bud Lite!!!
On the way back to the hotel:
Pakistani Cabbie: Sorry for cutting you off, brother cabbie from another nation.
African American Cabbie: F*ck you! I will f*ck you up!
Cin: I insist you both play nice!
Pakistani Cabbie: Sh*t! This is not only a dead end; it's nowhere near where you people actually wanted me to take you!
Group in Unison: It's totally okay! We'll just get out here, thanks!
Michael: Let's hold hands and skip!!
Liz: I can't skip with you right now Michael.... I’m wearing flip-flops.
Cin: Don't look at me.... I’m wearing flip-flops too.
Mark: Is it me or is that cab following us down this dark and dead end street? Are we all going to die or is it my overactive imagination?
Michael: Just curious.... Does anyone else hear that dueling banjo music or is it just me?
Group in Unison: OMG!!! I hear Deliverance too!!
Later in the hotel bar:
Mark: I got this.
Liz: Oh.... I wasn't going to pay for this round. I was just looking for a Tums in my purse.
Michael: And I'm like, my dude is dead!
Liz: Both my brother and my son are going to kill me for telling this story.
Mark: You're the one that always wants to talk about balls, Liz.
Cin: Your family seems to have had an awful lot of groin surgery.
Liz: You mean kinda like an episiotomy?
Mark: Well generally, they're not exactly identical. One is usually bigger than the other, you know.
Liz: I'm not really sure which of you is the evil twin.
Cin: I think it changes from day to day.
Michael: Oh it's Mark.
Group in Unison, except for Liz: (Yawn) Time for bed. I'm so tired. Goodnight, everyone..... it’s been lovely, even though Liz insisted about talking about balls all frickin evening….
Liz: I refuse to leave this bar and go to bed unless you people give me the opportunity to talk about my C-Section twenty-one years ago! This is so not fair! I politely listened to your surgery stories! I want to drink some more!!!! Can't I at least ramble on about the cowboy for while!?!?!?
F*ckers.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Pop
What's the most important thing your father ever taught you?
Reading this thread on FARK this morning has got me thinking about men in general and fathers in particular, and what my father taught me about life:
*If you cheat you're not a winner.
*Your intentions are what really matters.
*It's important to always do the right thing.
*Any game with a time clock is inherently unfair.
*People who litter are idiots.
I wish my son had one iota of the respect for his father that I have for you.
We miss you every day, Pop.
Reading this thread on FARK this morning has got me thinking about men in general and fathers in particular, and what my father taught me about life:
*If you cheat you're not a winner.
*Your intentions are what really matters.
*It's important to always do the right thing.
*Any game with a time clock is inherently unfair.
*People who litter are idiots.
I wish my son had one iota of the respect for his father that I have for you.
We miss you every day, Pop.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Mailbag
I'm so witty that some days I just can't stand myself. Cut and pasted, fresh from my email this week, for your viewing pleasure...
Sometimes I talk about my cat (like every day, ad nasuem) Tubby:
"Sissy told me Tubby was in her house about five times Sunday. Little B@st@rd.....she found him under her bed! The nerve! He stands at her back door waiting for one of the kids to open the door so he can slink in. When he doesn't come when I whistle, I walk across the street and he's sitting on the wicker couch on their back porch, ALL BY HIMSELF. I take that back, he's not a B@st@rd....he's an @sshole."
Sometimes a two year old needs to tell me what to do:
"I babysat last night and the baby was so cute I couldn't stand it. He was kinda sniffling and snotty and I asked him if he thought he needed some medicine.....and then (of course) every other minute he'd look at me seriously and say, "I think I need some medicine." So I go out to the kitchen and I'm looking at the daytime cold stuff on the counter and I'm thinking "Will this keep him up all night?" and I'm like, "Is this your medicine, baby?" And he's like, "I have the blue kind." Well there was no effing BLUE kind of medicine. I didn't know if Sissy had already given him some or what so I said, "Maybe I should call your mommy before I give you any medicine," and the little snippet goes and gets the phone, hands it to me and says, "Call Mommy."
Apparently I'm very worried about the state of my hair...affectionately known as "The Haystack", because I've become a septogenarian in recent weeks:
"I did the hot oil gig on my hair....it feels much less straw-ish, thanks. I hope I don't have to do that every shampoo to keep it from looking like a haystack. In ten minutes I'm going to be one of those old ladies that gets their head washed (that's what Gramma used to say) once a week. What's next? A bi-annual perm and a weekly wash and set??"
The answer is of course, yes. I need a standing weekly appointment because I am officially a thousand years old.
But of course Tubby Cat dominates my life and my email this week; ungrateful B@st@rd Cat that he is:
"I saw the attached (picture above) in a FARK comment and thought your Ding-Dong kitty was posing for pix in the tree in our d@mn back yard while I was busy working my tail off to buy the ungrateful little beast his kibble.
Obfuscate This, Tubby Mofo.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
ET
I flip on the TV in the kitchen every night around seven; after working all day, after the supper gig, after walking, and my choices are (without even my LIMITED FRICKIN cable connection) Inside Edition, I Hate That Stupid Frickin Raymond and Entertainment Tonight. As the lesser of three evils, I usually have ET blaring in the background as I unload the dishwasher, fix the coffee pot for the next morning, make my lunch, throw in a load of clothes, as I wait for prime time to begin. Because I have no life.
Honestly. Isn't Anna Nicole dead? Because I swear I thought I heard that she died.
Apparently ET has no idea she's dead because they talk about her EVERY DAY. Ad nasuem. For months now. They show video of her family. They show lost videos of her "career". They show videos of her baby and the two Baby Daddy's. They talk about how pitiful and painful her life was. I think if they show me the picture of her kissing that Grampa/Husband one more time I will lose my mind.
Today they're reading lost pages of her diary; "her secret thoughts that she never wanted anyone to know." They're showing her "lost" high school photo, "with soft brown hair and bangs curled under". They're showing video of her talking about what a dim bulb she was in school and how everyone was mean to her.
Is America really that starved for celebrity news? Any publicity is good publicity?
No wonder the world hates us.
But I will say, in her skinny years, Anna looks an awful lot like Reese Witherspoon.
I'm just saying.
Honestly. Isn't Anna Nicole dead? Because I swear I thought I heard that she died.
Apparently ET has no idea she's dead because they talk about her EVERY DAY. Ad nasuem. For months now. They show video of her family. They show lost videos of her "career". They show videos of her baby and the two Baby Daddy's. They talk about how pitiful and painful her life was. I think if they show me the picture of her kissing that Grampa/Husband one more time I will lose my mind.
Today they're reading lost pages of her diary; "her secret thoughts that she never wanted anyone to know." They're showing her "lost" high school photo, "with soft brown hair and bangs curled under". They're showing video of her talking about what a dim bulb she was in school and how everyone was mean to her.
Is America really that starved for celebrity news? Any publicity is good publicity?
No wonder the world hates us.
But I will say, in her skinny years, Anna looks an awful lot like Reese Witherspoon.
I'm just saying.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Yahoo
I've tried to post a couple of times in the past few months and couldn't seem to put a cohesive paragraph together. Don Imus. The Virginia Tech shootings. George F Bush. How the IRS is persecuting me. The custody fight over Ana Nicole's baby.
The list of what's been on my mind is freaking endless, but it hasn't translated well outside of my own head.
So this morning I'm perusing Yahoo Personals instead of firing up the pressure washer and getting the patio ready for outdoor living, and some of these ads are like staring at a car wreck. You just can't look away: the misspellings, the improper use of pronouns, the Harley riders looking for @ss, gas or grass, the pictures of men without shirts. And I'm thinking about the fact that I've been divorced for 17 years. And when I'm really honest with myself, I have to at least respect the fact that these poor bastards are in the game. I haven't really been in the game since 1985...the year I married D's father.
I'm thinking a lot lately about what I want in a partner and a relationship and I've determined that knowing what you don't want is just as important as what you do want. With that in mind, cut and pasted directly from Yahoo Personals, are the men I do not want to date.
The Grammatically Impaired:
John “Your, it....”
Tom “Good Man that is Real. Are you?”
Paul “I.m looking for a nice women”
Michael “im here where are you.”
Chris “What do U 4 C?”
The Animals:
Thomas “Lone Wolf Looking for mate”
Brad “Like a cat, cuddly with sharp claws”
The Desperate:
James “looking for someone to fill the void”
Kenneth “Hoping second time around is better!”
Ted “True love, Fling, Whatever”
Ron “I Won't Fear Love”
The Teddy Bears:
Paul “Sweet little Teddy Bear”
BARRY “BIG TEDDY NEEDS A LADY TEDDY”
Greg “Teddy Bear Looking A Sweet Treat”
Michael “big teddy bear,needs cuddling!”
The Loons:
Brian “easy going guy looking for a sane woman”
Gary “i gotta a big one”
Danny “Fun w/grandpa”
Bob “hi i am barneys fifh brother”
Larry “Space creature seeks earthly woman”
And just like any room full of men, I find two or three interesting. And what these men have in common is that they are not the beautiful. Or the skiiers. Or the CEO's. Or the bikers.
They're the clever, smart, quiet, unassuming ones, wearing flannel or ball caps.
And it's Norm Abrahm all over again.
D@mmit.
The list of what's been on my mind is freaking endless, but it hasn't translated well outside of my own head.
So this morning I'm perusing Yahoo Personals instead of firing up the pressure washer and getting the patio ready for outdoor living, and some of these ads are like staring at a car wreck. You just can't look away: the misspellings, the improper use of pronouns, the Harley riders looking for @ss, gas or grass, the pictures of men without shirts. And I'm thinking about the fact that I've been divorced for 17 years. And when I'm really honest with myself, I have to at least respect the fact that these poor bastards are in the game. I haven't really been in the game since 1985...the year I married D's father.
I'm thinking a lot lately about what I want in a partner and a relationship and I've determined that knowing what you don't want is just as important as what you do want. With that in mind, cut and pasted directly from Yahoo Personals, are the men I do not want to date.
The Grammatically Impaired:
John “Your, it....”
Tom “Good Man that is Real. Are you?”
Paul “I.m looking for a nice women”
Michael “im here where are you.”
Chris “What do U 4 C?”
The Animals:
Thomas “Lone Wolf Looking for mate”
Brad “Like a cat, cuddly with sharp claws”
The Desperate:
James “looking for someone to fill the void”
Kenneth “Hoping second time around is better!”
Ted “True love, Fling, Whatever”
Ron “I Won't Fear Love”
The Teddy Bears:
Paul “Sweet little Teddy Bear”
BARRY “BIG TEDDY NEEDS A LADY TEDDY”
Greg “Teddy Bear Looking A Sweet Treat”
Michael “big teddy bear,needs cuddling!”
The Loons:
Brian “easy going guy looking for a sane woman”
Gary “i gotta a big one”
Danny “Fun w/grandpa”
Bob “hi i am barneys fifh brother”
Larry “Space creature seeks earthly woman”
And just like any room full of men, I find two or three interesting. And what these men have in common is that they are not the beautiful. Or the skiiers. Or the CEO's. Or the bikers.
They're the clever, smart, quiet, unassuming ones, wearing flannel or ball caps.
And it's Norm Abrahm all over again.
D@mmit.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Dreaming
I read somewhere a long time ago that you shouldn't talk about your dreams to anyone who didn't wake up with you. I think that's very telling. Because truly? Nobody cares about your dreams. The only person that should have to listen to that b/s is a person you've graced with your nakedness.
And since I woke up with just Kitty this morning and he clearly doesn't understand plain English...well I dreamed I was in Russia. In a hotel. A very large and presumably elegant hotel; which had busy, confusing wallpaper and cryptic Cyrillic signage. I was alone, wandering around kind of lost.
At first I was all, this is lovely! this is huge! I'm all amazed I'm in Russia! But the further I wandered, the less comfortable I felt. I became sure that someone was following me, my heart started beating faster, I turned and went through an archway and the hallway I found myself in was a dead end. I retraced my steps and found restrooms in the next hallway, but couldn't tell which of the two crazy words I had to choose from read "ladies".
A strange and crippled man with withered legs and aluminum crutches finally helped me, even though the crippled man completely skeeved me out. The bathroom was tiny and cramped, but recently remodeled. I found teeny, tiny eyeglass screws on the toilet seat. Clearly a clue, but of what? The toilet bowl was filled with sea shells, small, sunken bathtub toys and smooth, pretty stones. Another clue. I suddenly found a cat litter scooper in my hand and began to quickly clear out the bowl before someone came in to check on me.
And that's pretty much all I remember.
WTF?? While I would love to go to Russia someday, there are many other places in the world I'd go first. And if I am going to dream of being scared in Russia, wouldn't Lubyanka be a better choice, or...what's the frozen tundra they send you to when you're an enemy of the state? Siberia!?
Even my dreams have become pedestrian.
*sigh*
And since I woke up with just Kitty this morning and he clearly doesn't understand plain English...well I dreamed I was in Russia. In a hotel. A very large and presumably elegant hotel; which had busy, confusing wallpaper and cryptic Cyrillic signage. I was alone, wandering around kind of lost.
At first I was all, this is lovely! this is huge! I'm all amazed I'm in Russia! But the further I wandered, the less comfortable I felt. I became sure that someone was following me, my heart started beating faster, I turned and went through an archway and the hallway I found myself in was a dead end. I retraced my steps and found restrooms in the next hallway, but couldn't tell which of the two crazy words I had to choose from read "ladies".
A strange and crippled man with withered legs and aluminum crutches finally helped me, even though the crippled man completely skeeved me out. The bathroom was tiny and cramped, but recently remodeled. I found teeny, tiny eyeglass screws on the toilet seat. Clearly a clue, but of what? The toilet bowl was filled with sea shells, small, sunken bathtub toys and smooth, pretty stones. Another clue. I suddenly found a cat litter scooper in my hand and began to quickly clear out the bowl before someone came in to check on me.
And that's pretty much all I remember.
WTF?? While I would love to go to Russia someday, there are many other places in the world I'd go first. And if I am going to dream of being scared in Russia, wouldn't Lubyanka be a better choice, or...what's the frozen tundra they send you to when you're an enemy of the state? Siberia!?
Even my dreams have become pedestrian.
*sigh*
Friday, February 16, 2007
Dear Lord
It's been a month since I posted?? WTF??
There has been knitting and drinking and movies and drinking and music and drinking and psychics and drinking.
And did I mention I've been drinking?
So little time...so little alcohol.
I'm just saying.
There has been knitting and drinking and movies and drinking and music and drinking and psychics and drinking.
And did I mention I've been drinking?
So little time...so little alcohol.
I'm just saying.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Echo
Dear Lord. It's been months of craziness. First Thanksgiving. Then Christmas shopping, wrapping, baking and decorating. Then vacation. Then home at midnight on the night before Christmas Eve. Then jet lag. Then holidays out the @ss. With cocktails. And smoking. And basically what amounted to ingesting bag after bag of refined sugar. Then heart burn and hangovers. Then the annual Family Christmas Dysfunction at my house. Then a sinus infection over New Year's weekend. Then when I was finally over all of that, well then came the flu. The Nasty Flu. So, so nasty.
Last week was my first full week back at work since mid-December. I was shaky and dehydrated, but determined to get my old life back. It wasn't much of a life, but dammit it's mine and it's familiar.
I had my annual physical on Tuesday. Turns out I've developed a heart murmur, of all things. Doc is sure it's nothing to worry about, yadda yadda, but I should have an echo cardiogram to be on the safe side. And of course, it's time for another mammogram. And blood work. Jesus Christ. Why don't I just check into the freaking hospital?
The echo cardiogram was Wednesday at 10:45 AM. I told Sissy it was a lot like a third date, only with another girl: I was flat on my back, my top was off and that tech chick was all over me. She was quick too. I was back at work before lunch.
And just how pitiful is your personal life when getting felt up in the middle of a workday by another woman is the most action you got over the holidays??
Last week was my first full week back at work since mid-December. I was shaky and dehydrated, but determined to get my old life back. It wasn't much of a life, but dammit it's mine and it's familiar.
I had my annual physical on Tuesday. Turns out I've developed a heart murmur, of all things. Doc is sure it's nothing to worry about, yadda yadda, but I should have an echo cardiogram to be on the safe side. And of course, it's time for another mammogram. And blood work. Jesus Christ. Why don't I just check into the freaking hospital?
The echo cardiogram was Wednesday at 10:45 AM. I told Sissy it was a lot like a third date, only with another girl: I was flat on my back, my top was off and that tech chick was all over me. She was quick too. I was back at work before lunch.
And just how pitiful is your personal life when getting felt up in the middle of a workday by another woman is the most action you got over the holidays??
Monday, January 08, 2007
Sunday, January 07, 2007
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