October 29, 2004
Remember When Halloween Was Cool?
I'm gonna go totally Grandma on all yer asses today and indulge in some blatant, unapologetic reminiscing. Because I'm old enough (I'll be 35 tomorrow) to remember the days before The Tylenol Scare, when we could take candy from complete strangers -- and sometimes homemade goodies even -- without having to have it all x-rayed.
And because my birthday falls on Devil's Night, I always had costume birthday parties and got to wear my costume twice, and I just have the best memories of Halloween. I always had the best costumes, too. Dad is a mechanical engineer, with hobbies like metalsmithing and carpentry and do-it-yourself firearms, so Halloween was an event.
There was the huge paper maché clown head, which, looking back on, was pretty scary, but that was years before I was stalked by a Ringling Brothers graduate, so I liked it. And it came in handy when my bag alone could not contain all my candy. Oh, glorious candy-filled clown head!
There was the table lamp costume, with actual working lightbulb, swear to God. Table around my waist via suspenders, lampshade on my head, and the man wired his child for electricity. Thank God it didn't rain that year.
But the piece de resistance was Joan of Arc. (Did you hear the choir singing when I said that? Cuz I did.) I didn't even really know anything about her, but I was a girl and I was wearing armor, for Pete's sake! How punk rock was I! There was a black cardboard horse that went around my waist, via suspenders under my aluminum armor. And this was no fem, merry-go-round horse, man. This stallion was fierce! With angry eyes and flairing nostrils! And it had a black curtain around the bottom so you couldn't see my real legs underneath, and there were fake, armored legs attached to the side so it looked like I was sitting astride my noble steed! It was so fucking kewl!
And the jack o' lanterns he made! They were so angry! They terrified me! I was in grade school and literally just scared to death of Dad's pumpkins. (And no, that's not a euphemism for anything, you sick bastards.)
But it was the trick-or-treating I came here to talk about.
Remember the good old days, when if Halloween was on a weekend, there was no facist "official start time", so you could just trick-or-treat ALL DAY LONG? And there was never any official end time, so you could just go until exposure set in, or people ran outta candy. Or the cops yelled at you to "Go the hell home already!"
I grew up in a fairly affluent neighborhood, which sucked when I got ostracized for wearing Lee jeans instead of Jordache (I'll never forgive you, Mother!), but it was disco when it came to trick-or-treating. If we were willing to put forth a little effort and hike to the country club neighborhood, the people there gave away whole candy bars! Not those little "fun-sized" ones (what's fun about less chocolate, I'd like to know). No -- I'm talkin' the normal-sized candy bars.
The rich people also gave out quarters, which was cool because back then (and I'm really dating myself here), it didn't cost much more than that for us to buy a normal-sized candy bar.
Pillowcases were definitely the sack of choice (heh-heh, she said "sack) for the serious trick-or-treater, as they were huge and not prone to rippage. I remember one particularly bountiful year where I actually had to stop home to empty said huge sack. (I'm giggling like a grade schooler now. God, how pathetic.) Good times, man. Good times.
I remember one year, we rang a doorbell, and this nice lady had just pulled a tray of cookies out of the oven. So we actually went into her house to wait for them to cool, and for her to wrap them up for us. And she didn't butcher, poison or molest us! Imagine that!
Nowadays, kids often go to parties instead of -- not in addition to -- trick-or-treating. Or they're accompanied by their parents and go only to the houses of people they know. Being new in our neighborhood (and obviously scary, evil people), we have yet to hear our doorbell ring more than a handful of times on Halloween night, and never after sundown. It's just so lame! My heart breaks for the kids who have never known the thrill of braving the strange house with the scary music playing, or getting egg in their hair, or walking home 2 miles in the rain.
I feel so, so lucky to have grown up during the glory days of trick-or-treating.
So what's the coolest costume you ever wore?
October 28, 2004
I Am Becoming THAT PERSON
That Person, the one who raves about the HI-larious antics of her niece and nephew, a.k.a The Boy Child and The Girl Child.
Recap: The Girl Child will be 4 next week and is a complete ham. The Boy Child is 21 months and most likely bi-polar. They live an hour away, and I'm there at least twice a month for my fix of snuggly cheeks and to-die-for eyelashes and unconditional adoration.
So I get to Sister's house and immediately change into comfy chillin' clothes. Even the bra and watch come off. The watch goes on the counter with my purse and ever-at-hand camera, for when they do something adorable. Which is always.
Now, Girl Child is a non-stop stream of random narration, which we generally tune out. Much like my blog.
So when she said, "I know where your watch is," I was all, "That's nice," and just kept snapping photos of The Boy Child eating a hotdog. Because, you know, no child in the history of the world has eaten a hotdog as adorably as him, so I must have thorough photographic documentation. Apparently.
"I can show you where your watch is!"
"I know, sweet pea, it's on the counter. Finish your chickie nuggets."
"No, not that watch!" she giggles.
Took a minute for the lightbulb to go on over this very blonde head, but then I start cracking up, and Sister is all, "Girl Child!"
"So, Sister, I guess I know what I'm getting for my birthday, eh?"
"Note to self: Don't tell Girl Child any more secrets."
Well, DUH! It's a beautiful watch, black and silver beads, she made it. She's very crafty, in addition to being smart, beautiful and funny. I hate her. But she gives me shoes, so I deal.
After their baths (I took, like, 30 photos of nakie butts, seriously, I was no help whatsoever), we tag-teamed the kids to get them dressed. I got The Girl Child. Sister said there was a brush on her sink, so I got it and did my best, but it didn't seem to be very effective.
"Sister, you may have to do her hair cuz I'm just not getting it."
"Um... that's a nail brush."
Reason #147 Why It's a Good Thing I'm Not Reproducing. (The other 146 reasons have lots to do with dressing them like the Amish, and home schooling, and survival training and such.)
Anyhoo, random topic change (nod to Girl Child) -- Older Sister gave me the soundtrack to "Mary Poppins" for my birthday, which I'm listening to right now. Balk if you wish -- I defy you to listen to "Mary Poppins" and be in a bad mood! It's just not possible! Except for "Feed the Birds." Damn, that one always gets me.
I had such a crush on Dick VanDyke growing up.
I also have more recent happy associations with "Mary Poppins." Like when I was babysitting the kids, and we were all watching it, and both of them curled up in my lap. Now to get one of them to sit still is a rare occurrence. But both of them -- SIMULTANEOUSLY?! The planets were in perfect alignment that day, my friends.
And I just sat there and cried with the happiness like a big, big baby, that I could sit and watch "Mary Poppins" and snuggle Girl Child and Boy Child both at once. Thank God it wasn't the part with "Feed the Birds," or I probably would have been sobbing hysterically.
[Please forgive my random change of verb tenses throughout today's post. I also got a big bag of Riesen chews for my birthday, and I'm in blissful delirium.]
October 27, 2004
A Story About What an Asshole I Am
Okay, enough of harshing everyone's buzz.
When I first started working here, Little Sister worked in the I.T. department along with Brother-In-Law (not her husband, but Older Sister's Husband), so I always ate lunch with the I.T. department. They are, by far, the coolest department in the whole company (which is not to say that my department isn't damn cool, but the overwhelming Southerners-to-Yankees ratio can often leave one... confused).
Let me put it this way. You know why I have AOL IM and games and complete internet access with no blocked sites on my work computer? Because the people downloading porn and trolling for hotties at work are all in I.T. They are overworked, underpaid, perverted, abused, bitter and vengeful, and I love them all dearly.
Soon after I started, the I.T. dept. got a new employee. His name is irrelevant because, the first time I saw him, I called him Doogie, and it stuck. He started eating lunch with us, natch.
When Doogie first joined us, he was a wiggly, eager, sweet little puppy, the youngest in the company. He would giggle a lot and admonish us for using our lunch hour to discuss the freaks that we work with. Then his girlfriend, too, came to work and eat with us. She soon became Mrs. Doogie, and she's even sweeter and more naïve than he.
Over the years, I'm proud to say, we have broken Doogie. He is no longer taken aback by my shameless flirting, but now grumbles impatiently when I try to make him blush. He has less hair and more butt. He can talk shit like a pro and hates every single person who has ever called the Help Desk. So basically, every single person.
Now let me tell you about Anne and Nicholle. We're the Pink Ladies on crack. Ever see "Kill Bill," where Lucy Liu's character is walking in slow motion down the hall, flanked by her bodyguard and personal assistant? Yeah, that's us, only Caucasian. And burlier. (I so want to live in a Quentin Tarantino film, but more on that another time.) We're your typical nightmare, and when co-workers see us walking together, the reaction is always, "Uh oh."
Every morning at 10:00, we do a lap around the building, which is half a mile. It's nice to get some fresh air and dish and bitch and regale each other with amusing anecdotes. (You hate us, don't you? Yeah, I kinda hate us, too.) Today, after I warned them that we'll be getting a memo from Gary about proper refrigerator usage because he caught me putting a yogurt in the executive refrigerator, Nicholle brought up an exciting topic.
N: "Have you guys seen The New Doogie?"
Me: "What? No!"
A: "Yeah, I didn't know we had someone younger than Doogie working here!"
N: "And they travel around together! It's hilarious! We have to go check him out."
Anne can't be bothered with such girlie silliness, since she's single and doesn't want to appear to be on the make, I guess. But Nicholle and I quite unabashedly tracked down New Doogie in Brother-In-Law's cube.
Me: [to B.I.L.] "Oh. I came by to gossip, but you're obviously busy."
ND: "Gossip is wrong."
Me: [half a chuckle] "You're so young."
ND: "I just shaved my goatee last night!"
At this point, I have to walk away because I'm about to bust out laughing, and Nicholle is already peeing in her pants. His goatee defense was killing me! It's like he sensed we were the Alpha Females and instinctively craved our acceptance. How adorable!
{sigh} We're going to have such a good time breaking his spirit.
October 26, 2004
A Break from the Norm
I'm gonna go serious on you for today, folks. Bear with me.
A friend of mine recently returned from active duty in Iraq. I gladly wrote him twice a week for a year and a half. It was the least I could do. Although he has been quite elusive since his return, he did send a letter to all his friends, family and church congregation. It was an open letter, so I'm sure he wouldn't mind me sharing it here. In fact, I'm doing it because I think he'd want me to.
I don't know quite what to make of it all -- it is a lot to digest, especially in the context of the person I've known for a decade or so, and in the context of what I believe -- so I will refrain from comment. However, I would love to hear what you think.
I do not do this with political intent, although it may seem that way, just days before the election. Really I don't. I'm assuming that, like me, 99% of the population already know who they are voting for and can't be swayed. I'm not trying to sway. And those who know me know that I abhor arguing politics.
Just because I am opinionated to the Nth degree doesn't mean that I don't respect the opinions of others. I guess I'm just trying to deal, and putting it out there for different takes on it is part of that.
___________________
I just wanted to write you a letter to thank you for all your thoughts and prayers. I was truly blessed to be able to come home on July 30th. I'm not sure why I was as blessed as I was, but I believe some of it had to do with your thoughts and prayers.
Every letter and package was a light in an otherwise bleak and dismal setting. So I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude for my blessings, and strength. Thank you.
I'm sure that you have lots of questions for me. Yet I feel I'm not ready, or very good at answering peoples' random questions about my experiences. I would, however, still like to share some thoughts with you in the hope you could understand me a little better.
I see the world in a new light after serving in Operation Iraqi Freedom for a year and a half. I've changed, and grown as a person. I'm also not quite as naïve or innocent as I was. It is a powerful experience to see such pain and suffering up close, such negligence for the value of life, and such strong desperation for the needs so many of us take for granted (food, water, shelter, love and peace)!
It was saddening to me to see how little human life is valued by combatants on both sides of the barbed wire. To see dehumanization, through ignorance and the failure to understand the humanity of the so-called enemy. These experiences made me realize how naïve my thoughts and ideals about my social upbringing, society, nation and my nation's interest were. What interests? Whose interests? What ideals? Whose ideas was I fighting fore, and whose ideals are kids dying for?
I saw that all the answers to my questions varied from differing social settings. This left me questioning the origins of the truths presented by my society, religion and social upbringing. Has all the world that does not think, believe, live, fight and dream like I do been misled? Have I been misled? It all became a matter of perspective varying on where you were born, when you were born, how you were educated, and you social upbringing. And who was I to judge whose views are right or wrong? With no right answers, I was left feeling truth was unattainable, and cynical. I was left with no food to feed the kids, no orders to help these people, and no orders to understand these people with different thoughts. No! Instead I was left with only greed and ignorant opinions as the truths portrayed by my society.
I was not satisfied with this cynical view of the world. I had to find something more... something that was deeper, more profound, something throughout the world that every culture, society or human could have at their core. I needed some reason to believe in more than greed, and not just give up the world to walls of ignorant oppression and hate. I needed a reason to believe... believe in the future, in humanity, in God, and in me and my life.
Not all of me, not my entire soul could have been misled into pride, dehumanization, and into hate of another human being that has loved, hated, sinned and suffered just as I have.
So I prayed, contemplated, meditated and searched for something... something profound. And finally, I found it in the smile and the eyes of the poor laborer speaking of Christ, in the soft voices and small faces of he begging children, in the words of Steinbeck's literature, and in the touch of the greeting Iraqi men at the port. I found that there is something more profound. There is a choice! There is the universal freedom to be able to choose faith in humanity, in love, and in the future.
This freed me from my cynicism and gave me the realization that there is always a choice. I can choose selfish greed, ignorance and hate, or I can choose understanding, selflessness and love for all mankind.
I can choose to throw away all of the walls society has created to separate, categorize, and oppress people; walls that create the idea that I am different or better than another human.
I can choose to break down social barriers and seek to understand why people have fallen into hate.
I can choose to try my best not to contribute to the causes that divide people against each other, and instead try to love my sinful brother as I love my sinful self.
These are the choices I've made through my experiences.
I know I am a sinner and a hypocrite. Yet I must strive for the values in which I believe, Gandhi believed in, and Christ believed in. The values of a human spirit that chooses others before thyself.
I have chosen to try my best to dedicate my life to use my blessings and talents to breaking these social barriers that separate humanity from itself. I was blessed artistically, and I'm going to try my best to use the meditation of my brush stroke to help people understand the importance of a love that unifies rather than divides humanity.
Thanks for letting me throw some of my thoughts at you.
I apologize for not writing you sooner or more often while I was gone. Writing was a struggle for me. It is hard to find the right words to express such an experience. It is even harder to avoid it and discuss mundane topics.
I truly appreciate your thoughtfulness for me, as well as the packages, letters and prayers. All were of great value to me.
I know that all our lives seem taxing, but we are all truly blessed in this country, and there are others that are not so fortunate and need our help.
______________________
The rest is informal, drop-me-a-line stuff. Thoughts? Questions? Gut reactions?
October 22, 2004
I am a Marketing Whore
Went to the huge mall across the street for lunch today, and when I walked by the Victoria's Secret store, they had a million little stuffed pink doggies in the display window! And I salivated, "They must be mine!"
See, when Step Daughter The Oldest goes away to college in nine and a half months (not that I'm counting or anything), her bedroom is becoming my office/Barbie gallery. The walls are currently grey, and I'm too lazy to paint, so I thought I'd just accent with pink, which, coincidentally, goes perfect with Barbies! (Not that I'm looking forward to it or anything.)
So you understand why this little, pink doggie had to be mine. No, you don't, but just smile and nod. I appreciate it.
But how to get said little blushing canine? Are they display only? Can I bribe a bimbette, er, saleswoman? Should I distract her with something shiny, grab a puppy and dash?
Still drooling, I pass the doorway, and Bambi squeals, "Buy anything from the "Pink" collection and get a stuffed dog free!
And that, my friends, is why there is a big ol' bag o' panties sitting on my desk right now. They even have a cute little doggie print! For when I do it doggie style!
Hmmm, I think there's a Victoria's Secret by J. Jill. And Husband practically begged me to get a new bathrobe and stop using his...
October 21, 2004
Birthday Gifties, Part I
Cousin Egrau and I both have birthdays in October, so our usual group of six, which we call League of Extraordinary Porn Stars (LXPS)*, went to Buca's for dinner -- me, Husband, Egrau, J, R and PJ.
* (The LXPS thing started with R calling me "Hootie McBoob" and escalated from there. And if you can tell me where he got "Hootie McBoob" from, then you're totally sacrilicious.)
Now I'll confess right here, I love birthdays. Especially mine. I love presents, I love having a fuss made over me, and I love that, in 34 years, there's only one birthday that didn't burst with fabulousness. (I was in the middle of a divorce, 'nuff said.)
Well, Egrau is a flight attendant for United, so basically, she's been fucked royally and had all her money taken away. Again, and again, and again. In consideration of this, I assumed that she wouldn't be throwing money away on a present for her lame-o cousin, and I got her a couple small gifties, so that she wouldn't feel bad.
The bitch got me $110 shoes! And then a shirt, to boot! I feel like the biggest cheap-ass EVER. Because I love buying presents for people and totally would have spent a butt-load on her if I knew she was going to spend a butt-load on me!!!
Fortunately, one of the gifties I got her was a book she'd already read. So. I can now get her something from her favorite store in the world, and tell her that I'm making up for the duplicate book, while really soothing my conscience and redeeming myself, if only in my own eyes.
I wonder if she reads this blog...
Anyhoo, the shirt has a picture of Barbie on it that says "My Barbie swallows." I almost pissed myself laughing. And now I'm trying to think of some place where it wouldn't be completely inappropriate to wear it. Cuz I am so wearing it in public!
You know, I could wear it over to Sister's house, considering The Children can't read yet. The Girl Child will just think I'm wearing a cool Barbie shirt! Oh, Sister would so kick my ass when she stopped laughing.
Gifties from PJ include: a really nice, brown Woolrich sweater. Which I picked out. Went like this.
"PJ, that sweater is so cute!"
"I know! I'm totally buying it!"
"Ooooh, they have it in brown."
"Get it!"
"No, I already made Husband buy me a sweater."
"So?"
"Well, I don't wanna be greedy."
"Oh, just do it. You know he'll buy it."
"Why don't you buy it for me for my birthday?"
"Okay! Don't look!"
And some Godiva chocolates, and a pumpkin-spice-scented candle. Cuz I love that shit.
(Disclaimer: I realize that, altho' Egrau & J, and R & PJ are couples, I didn't mention the men in the gift-buying. Their names were on the cards, but c'mon, we all know that men don't shop for birthday gifts if they have a woman to do it for them.)
I'm wearing my new shoes today. I'm wearing my new sweater tomorrow. And I'm going to J. Jill on Saturday.
So what would your porn name be?
October 20, 2004
Bonding with Dad on Vacation
My Godfather, an affectionate, passionate, emotional man, is an anomily among the males of my family. He is a lilac bush in a forest of oaks. Which is not to say that he's effeminate, but he does smell nice.
That has nothing to do with anything much. I just think it's hilariously awkward when Godfather hugs Dad.
Anyhoo, the unlikely couple had plans for breakfast while we were on the Island (Godfather has a cabin there, too, albeit a much nicer, warmer one). Meet at K.K. Fiske's at 9am. I got outta bed reluctantly to take Daisy outside, and there was Dad, filling the birdfeeder.
"Dad, what time is it?"
"'Bout quarter to nine."
"Oh, you'd better leave soon then."
But I must've been talking at his deaf ear. No, seriously, he's almost deaf in one ear, has been for as long as I've known him. Too many homemade firearms, not enough ear protection. Which, unfortunately, lends credibility to the claim I didn't hear you when he goes (selectively?) deaf on Mom. Ah, marital bliss.
A little later, I was eating my cereal, and Dad walks in with jelly and a knife.
"Dad, why are you eating? You're supposed to meet Godfather for breakfast!"
"Oh, shit, that's right! It's 9:20!" And then angrily, "Why didn't you remind me sooner?!"
Can you feel the love, ladies and gentleman? Can you? Because I can. I can feel the love and respect he has for me oozing from every pore in his body.
No, wait. That's the Canadian whiskey.
October 18, 2004
Smug Satisfaction
Flash back to ten years ago. I'm young, I'm single, and I'm with Dad, his friends, and some elderly relatives. It's interesting for about a nano-second, and then I'm checking my watch so often that my aunt asks if I have a tic.
The only other person in the room under retirement age is KJ, whom I haven't seen in, say, 15 years, when he was carrying me on his shoulders. He's not that much older than I; he's just really damn big. Football big.
In fact, he played college football for a Big Ten school, before he became Manager of several hoity-toity restaurants in Chicago. Not only is he enormous, but he's fairly handsome, and a wearer of jewelry -- gold chain, Rolex, college ring. SOOOOO far from my type, he may as well not even be human.
But, in the spirit of Old Times, and, more accurately, in the spirit of He's Not Going To Tell Me About His Latest Surgery, I approach and begin with the "haven't-seen-ya-in-a-while" chit-chat.
So you know that thing people do when they want to make it perfectly clear that they're not interested in your blatant desire for them, and they mention their significant other fourteen times in one sentence? Yeah. He started in on that.
"Oh, my fiancé and I were just going shopping for my fiancé in my fiancé's car, which I just bought for my fiancé, when my fiancé said the funniest thing..."
Oh for fuck's sake, I get it already! You're taken! You're off the market! Whatever, just shut the fuck up! Sheesh, I didn't realize that, while asking you where you're working now, I had unbuttoned my blouse and crawled into your lap! I'm so sorry!
Able to take a hint when applied with an anvil to the noggin, I backed slowly away from the crazy man.
Flash forward to last weekend. It was just Dad, KJ Sr., KJ and myself for dinner one evening. But -- surprise, surprise -- Mr. Gold Chain is in the midst of divorcing the fiancé I'd had the pleasure of hearing so much about. Aw, shucks. And me all happily married to a non-jewelry-wearing, handsome entrepreneur. Dang. Of all the luck.
So you know that thing people do when they want to make it perfectly clear that they're totally interested in showing their blatant desire for you, and they say your name fourteen times in one sentence? And they agree fervently with everything you say and laugh uproariously at all your jokes? Yeah. He started in on that.
Not even on my most desperately single day, KJ.
I'm Home!
And in reading the comments posted to my last entry while I was away, I have to ask myself, does anyone really read these labors of love that I write for the world to enjoy? Or is this just a forum for men to fight over me?
And more importantly, do I care?
Blogging on the way, my beloveds. After I slog thru my e-mails and catch up on my reading. I missed "Lost," "America's Next Top Model" and two "Desperate Housewives!" Oh, the humanity!
And please, don't recommend Tivo. I know it's a wonderful thing, I know I would love it, but I hardly ever see Husband as it is. Another woman I could compete with. But Tivo -- sigh -- that little harlot is just too enthralling.
October 08, 2004
Bat, Bee, Caterpillar, Fish
So I arrive at work this morning. The sun is almost up. The caffeine is starting to take affect. And in a rare moment of complete awareness, I look down to notice that I have what appears to be guacamole on my khaki pants.
(I'm assuming it's guacamole because I don't want to think about what else might be that color.)
Trouble is, I can't remember when was the last time I had guacamole. So the real question isn't -- when did I get guacamole on my pants? No, no. The real question is -- how many times have I worn these pants since getting guacamole on them?
But at least I sound much sexier singing "Baby, One More Time" than Britney does.
And on that note, I'm off to the northwoods. I'm sure I'll have many experiences to relate when I get back, and by then, maybe I'll finally be ready to laugh about them. Last time, R got bat pee in his eye, PJ had a bee fly up her shorts, Egrau had a caterpillar fall into her bra, and I had a fish nibble my butt. And as God is my witness, it's all true, and it all happened in four days.
Until the 18th, my darlings!
October 07, 2004
And On That Note...
As a thank-you for helping my dept. organize the 2004 National Brokerage Managers' Conference, I received from one of the attendees a rather fine gift.
It's a nice, vinyl, folding, captain's chair, commonly seen enthroning Soccer Moms and front row parade-watchers. Only this particular model has a bonus: a little cooler built into the side.
And I think we all know what this means.
It means that, while I'm in the backyard next week, watching the sun set over the water, waiting for the bonfire to turn into hot coals for s'mores, I don't have to get up and go inside to get another Mike's Hard Lemonade.
And that, my friends, is Paradise.
October 06, 2004
We Eat Like Hobbits
Okay, next week, I'll be on vacation with my cousins and my Dad. Well, not simultaneously. Dad likes quiet. In fact, Dad and I can go an entire long weekend without speaking. We're Norwegian.
But when the four cousins come up with their four dogs to join Husband, our dog, and me, it's chaos. They're Danish, Polish and Irish, for God's sake!
Anyhoo, it has occurred to me that my entire family, regardless of heritage, has weird priorities. For instance, here's a conversation between Dad and I:
"Dad, instead of going home on Tuesday, stay an extra couple days and hang out with us!"
"With all those people and dogs?!"
"Well, yea, but it'll be fun! All we do is eat, drink and play cards. You'll love it."
"Does R still have his machine gun?"
"Um, I'll check..."
"If he brings it, I'll stay."
Then R's wife PJ calls. Well, okay, they're not technically married, but they've been together for long than most marriages last, so let's not split hairs. She buys his underwear; they're married. Here's my phone call with PJ:
"PJ!"
"Hi! Just calling to see what you're bringing to the cabin!"
"Um, lots of sweaters, a space heater, Barbies, Dad's banjo…"
"No, no, no. What food? I'm gonna bake."
"Ohhhhh! I'm bringing beer bread, some raspberry chipotle marinade for steaks, strawberry-cheeseball makings."
"I'm gonna pick up one of those huge slabs of bacon from Sam's Club. I'm also gonna bring my griddle to make pancakes for breakfast. Oh, and we have to go have biscuits and gravy at that one place. And we have to get some coffee cake from the bakery. And I think I'm gonna make muffins. Is your Dad gonna make Swedish pancakes?"
"PJ, you and R are only gonna be there for two breakfasts."
"Well, what about elevensies?"
"Good point."
And it dawned on me - while most people plan what to do on their vacations, we plan what to eat. Like I know we'll be going to the Marina for surf 'n' turf. And we have to have fried cheese curds at least once a day (it's a Wisconsin state law). And then there's the turtle sundaes at the Albatross. And we'll be having s'mores every two hours. And we can't play gin rummy without a veritable cornicopia of chips 'n' dip.
And before the breakfast dishes are even dry, we're going, "What should we do for lunch? Wanna get brats at the middle bar, or should we grill?"
Seriously, we're pathological.
"Oh, my god. I can't believe I ate that whole steak. I'm in pain, and that's with the button on my jeans undone. Hey, where's the waitress? Are we ordering dessert?"
If we could dine reclining on couches like Romans, I don't think we'd ever move.
"Oh, the dogs can just pee on the porch. You gonna finish those onion rings?"
I'm bringing lots of pants with elastic waistbands.
October 05, 2004
Lucy in the Sky with Elephants
I met the most amazing person ever!
Quick backstory: My 18-year-old nephew has severe mental disabilities and recently lost his mother, so he requires a caretaker after school and on the weekends that his father travels. Because of the traveling, said caretaker also needs to be part housekeeper and cook.
In addition to all that, any caretaker also has to win the affection of a very challenged 18-year-old young man, who, tho' normally very sweet, can also be extremely stubborn and headstrong. Needless to say, they've been through several candidates in the past six months.
I hope the current one stays forever. I am in awe of her. Lucy. She left Czechoslovakia with $5 and a map of Chicago. No, wait, sorry -- she went to China, Taiwan and Egypt first because she wasn't sure where she wanted to end up. Then she got the map of Chicago.
She's 22, and she's been here going to school for a year and a half. So, doing the math in my head (no small task), she was 20 when she left her home with no friggin' money and went out to see the world and seek her fortune. TWENTY!
When I was 20, I was living back at my parents' house because my psycho-jealous boyfriend had kicked me out of our apartment. I quit college and worked more-than-full-time to get back on my feet and out of their house.
So basically, at 20: Me = Loser with no edumacation living in parents' house; Lucy = fearless world-traveler riding elephants through impenetrable forests.
I worship her. And to top it off, she's totally gorgeous, has a killer smile, a mind like a sponge, and a disposition like the perfect summer day.
Uh oh. I think I'm in love with her.