It's Just A Matter Of Time

I'm this close to talking my boss into paying me to go home and bake. THIS CLOSE PEOPLE! She complained when I didn't bring anything in this mornings and I casually mentioned that was because after working 11 hours yesterday I was too exhausted to do anything and crawled into bed at 7, with my arms wrapped tightly around a wine bottle and my little sister softly singing Beyonce in my ear. (Ok, I crawled into bed but then I got back out to have dinner with friends but still! 11 hours is too long!) Anyway, she said she'd think about it, then handed me a mountain of files and shut the door on me. You don't know her, but I do. And that's as positive as it gets.

Meanwhile, I got all settled in working hard at my desk (looking up recipes online), organizing, and just generally being important (eating my mom's cereal), when my boss calls me and tells me she wants to discuss the project I'm working on (Crap, what was I supposed to be working on?) and that I should follow her so we could walk and talk. I was thrilled because it's totally glorious outside, it's warm and sunny, and colorful, and I was pretty sure I could turn our walk-and-talk into a quick jaunt along the beach and some lunch on the Pier, the waves crashing nearby, the sun increasing my chances of getting melanoma again, maybe some volleyball players would ask me to join because I look the part, and once I get going they'll realize what a fatal mistake they've made but it'll be too late because I'll already be in the rotation, stripped of my pants and just wearing a tank top and Bubby's underwear (Bub, I borrowed your underwear!), wildly waving my arms toward the ball and hoping it'll hit in a direction, any direction, and my boss will be on the sidelines cheering me on, and soon the team will decide they didn't make a fatal mistake because at least I give it some effort and this makes them happy with me, plus they love that my boss is my grandma and that she's blind and is cheering in the wrong direction, but at least she's giving it some effort too, and then we'll say goodbye to the volleyballers, we've got some serious accounting to do, and we'll grab some ice cream cones, and let them melt as we eat and talk, and finally after a few hours, get back to the office and she'll give everyone the day off to enjoy what we just enjoyed and I'll make my way back to the beach, this time in a proper bathing suit, and will take a long nap in the sand.

Unfortunately, that's not what she had in mind. No, instead of walking outside like I had presumed, she meant walk her to the bathroom. On all kinds of levels - not the same thing. So, we walked to the bathroom and talked about the project I was supposed to be doing, because that's my job. To talk about work through a stall door. On our walk back to the office I mentioned it was beautiful outside, and that the tupperware I bring stuff in is still empty but she didn't exactly bite. She just put on a bigger coat and told me to go buy some ding dongs.

I think I'm wearing her down.

What Christmas Is Like At My House

Although Christmas is not my favorite holiday, it's a ton of fun to watch my brother get all excited and happy. He even just hears talk of presents and his smile turns into a double smile because he gets these extra creases in his face when he's really excited about something. And he doesn't know how to fake it, so when he's smiling it's for real. On the other hand, when he's chasing Bub around the house trying to bite her, he's not faking that either.

Anyway, it was just a typical Christmas. Michael woke up and the second he was given the ok proceeded to rip through his presents, then rip through everyone else's in a matter of seconds so that we were left to struggle through the wreckage and try to sort out what was what.

Amy-"I think I found one for you, oh wait, that's just a box of tissues."
Mom-"This is yours I think."
Bub-"Who got toothbrushes?"
Amy-"We both did."
Bub-"What? Who would give us toothbrushes."
Mom-"Me."
Bub-"Oh . . . thanks?"
Mom-"You're welcome. Oh did you girls get me this bottle of wine? Thank you! I love this wine!"
Bub-"No, I think that was Eduardo's."
Amy-"No, we got Eduardo this one."
Mom-"Well then whose wine is this?"
Amy-"You just pulled that off the wine rack Mom."
Mom-"Oh ha ha ha, you're right. This was already mine. Well maybe we should have some?"
Bub-"It's 9am. Hey, I think Michael is trying to put on my new pink sweater."
Ed-"Who cares if it's 9am, lets take Tequila shots, I just got this Tequila from Panama I want you guys to try."
Mom-"I'm just going to have a glass of this."
Ed-"I'll get some shot glasses."
Bub-"Does anyone care that it's 9am?"
Amy-"I can't get my Reese's peanut butter cup open!"
Mom-"I think this camera is for you sweetie."
Amy-"It's been stepped on."
Mom-"Well don't look at me, I think it was your sister."
Ed-"Here you go, shot for you, and shot for you."
Amy-"Bub!"
Bub-"I did not step on it. And Mom, you said you were getting me a camera."
Mom-"Oh that's right. Amy give that back to your sister."
Amy-"So I get toothbrushes?"
Mom-"And reese's."
Ed-"Who wants to make the toast?"
Bub-"This is gonna be a long day."
Ed-"That's not a good toast."
Amy-"Mom, you just dribbled wine all over Michael's new sweater."
Bub-"That's my new sweater!"
Mom-"Oh it'll wash out."
Amy-"Toast!"
Bub-"Merry Christmas then?"
Mom-"Merry Christmas family! Oops, I'm all out of wine."
Ed-"I'll get you some more baby."
Amy-"Merry Christmas!"
Bub-"Merry gah-blah@#$! That is some strong tequila!"
Ed-"I know that's right!"
Mom-"Merry Christmas!"
Everyone-"Merry Christmas!"
(moment of quiet while we look around at the mess we're standing in.)
Amy-"Hey, where's Michael?"
Mom-"Oh he's right. . . "
Bub-"Uh oh."
Mom-"Shoot, he's so sneaky."
Bub-"Oh no, she's giggling already."
Ed-"I'll check the neighbors."
Amy-"The neighbors?"
Ed-"He likes to go up there and lay on their couch with his pants off."
Amy-"Of course he does."
Bub-"Merry Christmas to them!"


And that was all before breakfast. As it turned out the tequila shot was not that bad of an idea. The bloody mary's and beer that followed, that we may need to rethink for next year.

I Never Really Liked Being Able To Feel My Toes Anyway

So I woke up this morning and couldn't see out my windows. This is not that odd, since it's so cold out it usually fogs up the windows when the heat comes on. So I start the coffee, put some pants on, and go to wipe the window so I can see what sort of day God brought the good people of Chicago when suddenly we've got a problem. I can't wipe down my windows. I can't wipe down my windows because it's not fog, the suckers are iced over ON THE INSIDE.

Well that's weird, I think and go to check the temperature on what has now become my home page, weather.com. Ok, apparently the coffee hasn't kicked in yet because that just looked like it said -5, feels like -30. That can't be right. What the hell is -30? That's like baby killing weather.

But it was. I waited until it warmed up to -3 feels like -29 before going to the grocery store because I needed toilet paper (and alcohol. for warmth), but for a second I thought, "I can do without wine and I do have coffee filters I could use as..." but then I suited up and went out. Because, coffee filters . . . really? This isn't college.

Why I Love My Grad Program #75

Because my novel workshop professor sent me this, due to a discussion we had in class that got a little off topic. (And she wonders why I haven't finished yet.)

Birthday Season

My mom called the other day to remind me that my brother's birthday was coming up. My brother who happens to be a twin with my sister, which usually denotes a shared birthday.

"Oh good," I said. "Are we giving up on Becky? Finally. I always wanted to be the only girl."
"Well, that would be a disappointment," she said.
Hmmmm.
"Because I like having lots of girls," she continued, obviously trying to cover.
"You only have two."
"That's lots when it's you two, trust me."

I left it at that and moved on to ask why she was only talking about Michael's birthday and not Becky's to which she replied, "Oh it's just too long to say both their names." And then she hung up on me without saying goodbye because that would be sucking up her talking space as well.


Speaking of birthdays, it's CJP's birthday today and she's the best neighbor ever! And now that I have new neighbors who play Kanye West NON STOP, I have an even deeper appreciation for someone who will come let me into my own house at 2am because I can't find my own keys even though they're in my pocket. Happy Birthday lady!

16 Degrees, Feels Like 3

The whole reason I run the minute I wake up is because I won't do it if I'm thinking about it. If I waited til the afternoon I would just talk myself out of it because clearly, CLEARLY, that UK Office Christmas special isn't going to watch itself. For the sixth time.

So I get up and go, waking up about halfway through when I reach the Vietnamese part of town and I kind of look around going, "What in the . . . where the hell am I? Why am I dressed like this?" But then I finish and don't feel as guilty eating Cold Stone for the fourth night in a row.

But now that the weather has gotten winter-y, running while sleeping, is a little more dangerous than usual. I had the sense to check the weather before I went out this morning because I couldn't see out my windows due to sheets of ice that had formed on them. 16 feels like 3? Sure, lets do this! So, I left and ran, and it really wasn't too bad except for the part where there's black ice everywhere and every other block I went slipping from side to side, varying between looking like I was trying to straddle the sidewalk, or work on my splits. It was kind of like doing yoga and running at the same time. Two workouts in one!

As much fun as that was I think I'm going to have to start doing my Jazzercise videos in the comfort of my living room soon. Either that, or turn on some Eurotrip and try to figure out which blanket is the warmest.

You Like What You See Mr. Salinger? How 'Bout You Ann Patchett, You Wanna Get With This?

Last night I caught James exposing himself to my bookshelf. Personally, I like to expose myself to the refrigerator, or my neighbors, but whatever, we all have our things.

Pretty Much. . .

...Thanksgiving is awesome. All day eating and sitting and telling everyone how much you love them. It just turns into a really love-y time whether you mean it to or not. It's like being happily drunk where you just run around the bar telling strangers you're so glad you met them because they're really beautiful people (you can tell because you can see their souls through their eyes). It's like that. Sort of. Just without the drunken making out and 3am burrito run.

I spent all day on the couch by the fire, reading with my cousins, and chatting a bit about their schooling until I put a ban on that kind of talk when I was reminded once again even the 12 year old is way smarter than me. (Fluent in French? Well that's just great. At 12 I was fluent in Full House, so that's kinda the same.)

When it came time to eat dinner my Aunt and I sat together at one end of the table and pretty much shoveled the food in with both hands, pausing only when our plates were clean. When we looked up from out empty plates the entire rest of the table was staring at us in shock, their mouths wide open, my eldest cousin shaking her head at us. My Uncle cleared his throat, "Mind if we say grace so the rest of us can start eating?" Mind? Heck no, we didn't mind. That would give us time to let the food settle before we went in for seconds.



I hope everyone else had a really great Thanksgiving! And I'm still sort of in the holiday afterglow so if you want me to shower you with compliments and love just give me a call, I'll be doling it out til the leftover turkey runs out. Well, that or until I realize I've had The Starter Wife marathon on half the day - that cannot be good for me.

Down To One

I kept putting it off and putting it off and then today, while I was reading Twilight in the twilight (stop judging me), all the light went out and I was in the dark. I had some warning, a few seconds anyway, to know it was coming. A gentle pop and fizz, like an old fashioned picture being taken with gun powder, and then black. I got down on my hands and knees and crawled to the bathroom where I knew the light bulb was still in working order. I felt around for awhile until I found the light fixture and took the working light bulb with me to the living room. So, now I’m walking around from room to room unscrewing, and screwing a single light bulb so I can have light wherever I go. It’s not so bad except when you’re sitting in the living room and decide you need some crackers so you unscrew, screw, go to the kitchen, then get settled back onto the couch, unscrew, screw, when you realize the crackers you got were the stale ones you never threw out just left next to the box of new ones even though you said, If I leave these here I’m gonna forget which ones are new and which ones are stale, and then promptly closed the cupboard on them, so you get back up, unscrew, screw, get the new crackers, unscrew, screw, decide you really want some cheese with them, unscrew, screw, decide you have to go to the bathroom, unscrew, screw, go back to the living room, unscrew, screw, realize you left the crackers in the kitchen, unscrew, screw, nope you left them in the bathroom, gross, unscrew, screw, living room, unscrew, screw, realize you got these crackers from the stale box again instead of the new box, unscrew, screw, think about how your mom would breast feed one out of the two twins repeatedly on accident because she was so tired she couldn’t remember which baby she’d already fed, unscrew, screw, did you forget something, oh the crackers, unscrew, screw, and you wonder how in the world she could have mixed up her babies, or forgotten which one she’d fed for Christ’s sake, unscrew, screw, dang it, the crackers, unscrew, screw, they’re babies, and they weren’t even identical babies, unscrew, screw, now you’re thirsty, wine goes with cheese and crackers, unscrew, screw, pour yourself some wine and think about how when you first started drinking wine it was with your mom and it was from a box and that was nice, unscrew, screw, get comfy back on the couch and decide to forgive your mom for only feeding one of her children, most likely Bubby, that’s why she turned out so chubby as a child, and decide to call her to tell her you love her then realize your phone is in the bedroom, unscrew, screw, after several minutes of increasingly frantic searching find your phone tucked away into a pillowcase on the bed, along with a stapler, a Reese’s peanut butter cup, and seven hair ties all carefully hidden from your cat at various bed times throughout the week, unscrew, screw, eat the Reese’s peanut butter cup, forget why you’re holding your phone, wash down the chocolate with all of your wine, decide you need more, unscrew, screw, all out of wine, but have some Jim Beam and that will certainly do, unscrew, screw, remember you were going to call your mom but now you might be a little tipsy and last time you drunk dialed her you ended up singing and she recorded it, unscrew, screw, not really sure why you took the light bulb out this time, screw, get really tired of all the unscrewing and screwing and decide that there is nothing, nothing else you will ever need from any of the other parts of the house until morning and you will no longer be leaving the couch now that you have Mr. Beam and Mr. James to keep you company, so you pull the blanket up over you, turn on some old Lost episodes in anticipation of January, and decide that tomorrow – tomorrow you are definitely going to start keeping a grocery list.

At Least She Was Smaller Than Me

Walking to school there's always a lot of people around because it's downtown, so I'm used to passing workmen asking me if I play basketball, art-y kids asking me for a cigarette, or homeless people asking me for change. Yes professionally, No I wish, and Yes as long as I have enough leftover for a Snickers ice cream bar. But yesterday I'm walking past the Corner Bakery trying to will a brownie to come floating out the door at me, when this older homeless woman charged right at me, like some sort of sidewalk linebacker protecting her path and the path of those around her, and elbowed me as hard as she could in the side, while screaming at the top of her lungs, "YOU BITCH!" and then calmly carried on down the street. I stood stunned for second, my mouth wide open in shock, with two other women who had been crossing the street at the same time as me. The three of us stared at each other, then down the block at the woman who hit me, then back at each other. One of the women said, "I think you just got molested", and that was it. I lost my shit. The three of us burst into uncontrollable laughter and couldn't stop, even when the cop pulled over and told us if we didn't get out of the way of traffic he was going to have to move us himself. "I'd like that officer," the other woman said, but we moved out of the road and then in a rare moment of touchy-feely-ness the three of us did this weird group hug and then left each other, continuing on down the street in three different directions. If I had had some sort of magical traveling pants I would have given it to them just then. And then made Alfre Woodard play me in the movie version.

I'm still not sure what is was that made me the bitch to hit, but if I ever see her again I'm gonna find out. I'll be wearing some sort of protective gear though, just in case.

Putting My Head In My Oven, And Not Because I Wanna Die, But Because It's Warm Up In There

So, I don't know what kind of system my heater is on, but it's obviously the rebellious teenager of heater systems. It yells at it's mom, skips class, steals it's aunt's cigarettes only to find out they're Kools, wears all black, and has sex with her Spanish teacher.

It doesn't come on is what I'm saying. Until it does come on and then it's on full blast for two straight days, so that I have to walk around in shorts and a bikini, because there's no way I'm opening the windows. I know that soon, horribly soon, the heat will stop, go on a strike with pickets and signs, for weeks, and I'm gonna keep what little heat there was trapped as long as I possibly can.

Anyway, I'm in one of those no heat phases right now, and this is what I have to wear to stay warm, two sweatshirts, gloves and all:




Even James is curled under a blanket:



Hellllllo lover.


At about 6 today I had had enough so I went to the grocery store to warm up. I didn't even need to buy anything, I just wanted to go somewhere with people and heat, so I just walked around picking things up, looking at the ounces in them thoughtfully, putting them back and then moving on to examine all the different kinds of lightbulbs.

Oh who am I kidding, I do that even when it's not cold. I love being around food.

Sometimes I Don't Even Want To Take My Coat Off To Shower

I just checked the temperature and it pretty much said:

Weather:
Really Cold
Feels:
Even Colder

Luckily I have a very strange body heat thing when I run, so even though it was 30 degrees this morning (feels like 19) when I decided to brave it and get out there, I started sweating and getting so hot I wished I'd worn shorts. Could be because I was wearing three layers of pants, but whatever.

Then, I just went to make myself some eggs and bacon and when I went to crack the egg it wouldn't crack open, like there was something solid inside. I stood there for a second thinking, "Oh my god, did I hard boil these eggs and forget about it?" No, no I did not. Apparently my refrigerator is so cold it froze my eggs. It was the weirdest thing I've ever seen in my life. Like, some chicken mama had come over and decided she wasn't ready for chicks so she had her eggs frozen for use at a later time, you know, when she's settled into a career and whatnot.

It looked like a bouncy ball that just happened to look like an egg, and I was half tempted to throw it to James to see if he wanted to play with it. I called my mom and she said she thinks it'll be ok, and that she's heard of people freezing eggs, and that no I'm not going to get any sort of poisoning. So, I'm letting them un-gel for a while, and then I'm gonna see if they still work. For some reason defrosting chicken - not that weird. Defrosting eggs - nuh uh. It's like telling me you're going to have to bake me some licorice.

Anyway, I'm gonna go turn down my refrigerator because I just discovered my milk is also solid. That I'm just throwing away.

Spacca Napoli

Last weekend my friend Gabi came out to Chicago to visit me, and for the entire month prior to her arrival I got at least three texts a day discussing where she wanted to eat. By the time she got here the list was so long we figured we were going to have to eat 17 full meals a day for three days, with bakery breaks in between. Instead, we ended up going to the same pizza restaurant three nights in a row. There's this place that makes these thin Italian style pizzas that are so good it's like they have all your hopes and dreams baked into them. Apparently the owner only uses Italian wood burning ovens, and Italian flour he has shipped out from his grandma's farm in Italy where she culls the wheat herself, and then knits a quilt to wrap around each package of flour so it'll stay warm for the flight. Or something like that.

So, Gabi gets off the plane and she's hungry so we hop in a cab and go straight to the restaurant complete with luggage, and enormously oversized pillow she refuses to travel without. (except! for the time we visited Bub in Italy and Gabi decided to leave her pillow there so that she could fit Special K with strawberries cereal boxes into her suitcase, because she was convinced they wouldn't have them in the U.S. "But I can just buy a new pillow!" she screamed. This may be a whole other story for a different blog.) We get there and they ask us if we're moving in. Kind of, we say. It's not until the end of the weekend, when we're walking in and high-fiving the bus boys, that they realize we weren't kidding.

Anyway, we were so excited that first night to be eating pizza together that we got two bottles of wine. That's one bottle a piece too many it turns out. Stuffed and hammered, we decided to get a cab home but for some reason couldn't find one, so we just started walking and wheeling Gabi's suitcase down a major street, in the rain. For some reason we decide the clicking of the wheels on her bag down the sidewalk is making an amazing beat so I start doing a little butt-shaking dance, which then led to Gabi dropping her bag and running to the flag pole in front of the hospital we'd been walking past to do an impromptu pole dance, which was really just her swinging around once and then falling to the ground while I screamed, "You stopped my beat!"

Luckily, a cab pulled over at this point. We jumped in and I pointed dead ahead, proclaiming, "To Home!", Gabi high-fived me and we buckled up while the driver continued to stare at us as we giggled and high-fived for a good 2 minutes before he said, "Where do you live?" Slightly embarrassed, I gave him my address and two blocks later we were there.

Once at home Gabi and I immediately changed into our pjs, and then I stood in my kitchen drinking water while watching her stumble back and forth between the couch and the chair like a cat, until she found a comfy spot and fell asleep.

The next night we chose to just have a glass of wine each, no bottles, definitely not two bottles, and the pizza was just as amazing as it was the night before. And while the rest of her trip involved no more pole dancing, and no more cab rides, it did involve lots of napping and movie watching, and that was just as fun.

R Is For Reading

So I spent a good part of yesterday calling up my family members and screaming, "I NEED TO READ TO YOU FOR TEN MINUTES!" Most of them asked me what the hell I was talking about but my mom was just really pleased I was so passionate about literacy.
"I knew reading those Sue Grafton novels to you every night wasn't a waste!" she said, and then I pictured her propping her elbows up on the table and resting her chin in her hands, ready for whatever I was gonna give her. (Sue Grafton novels as childhood bedtime reading by the way - this could explain a lot.) I was doing a reading with a bunch of other super talented ladies last night, and the only constraint was that it had to be five minutes or less, so I was reading two separate pieces aloud and timing myself. They whistle you off if you go over and I was already so nervous I thought I was going to pee my pants, I didn't need a sharp, loud sound to scare it out of me.
My mom actually picked the story I ended up reading as her favorite, because she said it sounded like it really happened. When I reminded her they both really did happen (the story I read was about someone peeing on my front door, and the story I didn't read was about my first boyfriend in 6th grade) she said, "Oh honey, he was your boyfriend? Didn't you just do his math homework for him?" Yes I did, but that wasn't the point. The point was he really was my boyfriend, for two whole weeks of awkward avoiding each other in the hallways until we broke up via his dad's answering machine, and she should respect that. Today, when I called her to thank her for her help, and let her know how the whole thing went she said it was no problem, she loved me, and she knew that one day . . . one day, after all my hard work, I might be as good as Sue Grafton.

Here's hoping.

I Love When Beer And Politics Come Together, It's Like Getting To Have Christmas And Chanukah!

So tomorrow's a pretty important day, and I just found this little side by side video thing for ya'll to watch when no one is looking at work.

The first one is from 8 years ago (or two elections ago, I think I'm gonna start talking about time in terms of elections. How old are you? Why I'm 7 elections thank you very much). The second video is the exact same actors, just in the present. I love that they were all available to do that again. Now if only someone could talk the My So-Called Life People into it, I'd be set.

At Least I Didn't Think It Was My Dad

This morning I went to take a picture of the postcard-sized bruise on my thigh so I could send it to Bub and TB, but decided against it because my legs have abandoned summerhood and have now taken on their winter form.

So, I'm getting ready to shut my phone (because that's my fancy camera) and I see this picture of a woman on the screen and I was like "I didn't know I had pictures of my mom on here!" That's because I don't. "Oh wait a minute. . ." Yeah that's right. "I just got this phone, how could I have pictures of...?" Get there. "No." Oh yes. "that's because I don't." Yeah, that's right - I don't.

It wasn't my mom, it was me. The camera was still on and I was looking at myself NOT my mom. "Take that back!" I shouted at the phone, as if it could undo it, because surely I don't look so much like her I can't even recognize myself. "You take that back this instant!"

The phone did no such thing, and now consequentially, it is floating, face down in my coffee.

I hope it suffered.

Are You Two Boyfriend-Girlfriend? Steady Dates? Lovers?

So, I have a new love for a one Miss Molly Ringwald. I've never disliked her, in fact I'm a huge fan of everything she's ever done, including The Pick-up Artist and the fairly awful 1996 show Townies. But she was never my favorite brat-packer by any means. (note: some guy sitting behind me just said, "yeah but was she your favorite fudge-packer?" aaaah coffee shops near Loyola filled with 18 year old boys.) My favorite was Andrew McCarthy. No, Judd Nelson. No, Rob Lowe. No, Anthony Michael Hall!

Anyway, she was still better than that scratchy-voiced Demi Moore locking herself in an oddly windy room waiting for some attention, although this does not mean she was the smartest. She turned down the Julia Roberts role in Pretty Woman, and the Demi Moore role in Ghost (a part named for her for Christ's sake!), but did take the role of Miss Banks in Teaching Mrs. Tingle, so there's that.

But the point is not to judge her career choices, the point is, I came across this little video yesterday and was a little proud of Molly. It's not an amazing commercial by any means, and I do not like to discuss politics, religion, or abortion - unless I'm drinking - but come on California. Come. On. If this passes I won't be able to give a speech at my sister's wedding and I already figured out how I'm going to work Justin Timberlake lyrics into it!!!

Cooking Sternly

I was told I wasn't allowed to tell anyone about this story, so in order to honor that yet still get this little tid-bit out there I'm going to be very discreet and just say that one of my sisters called and had this conversation with me. I'm not gonna say which one, and I'm not even gonna use a fake name ok, so don't ask.

So, I got this phone call from a sister asking me if I knew anything about spaghetti.
"The food or the straps?"
"The food."
"What don't I know?"
"I don't know, that's why I'm calling."
"What's there to know? It's pasta. It tastes good with sauce. All kinds of sauce. Except soy sauce, cause then it's not spaghetti, then it's chow mein."
"What? I don't like Chinese food you know that."
"Yes you do. You like orange chicken."
"That's from Panda Express."
"I'm pretty sure Panda Express qualifies itself as Chinese food."
"Anything you can only find in a food court isn't real Chinese food."
"I'm pretty sure it's the only food in a food court."
"Amy!"
"What?"
"Where are you?"
"Coffee shop. I'm trying to work, what do you need?"
"Is there anyone there you're going to repeat to what I'm about to say?"
"No. Well, there's a priest here. Like an acutal priest, with the little white collar thing and all, but he looks Jewish."
"Ok, you can tell him but no one else."
"Deal." (Opens internet and starts blogging as she's speaking)
"So this spaghetti thing. . ."
"Yeah?"
"How do you . . . I mean, when you're cooking it. . . do you put the noodles in before the water or after the water? And if it's after the water do you wait for it to boil first or just plop it in cold?"
". . ."
"Aim?"
"Dude. . ."
"Stop! I hear you about to make fun of me."
"We ate spaghetti almost three times a week when we were growing up, and then we ate it three times a week when we were in college and living in the same house."
"Yeah but you or mom always made it."
"I'm pretty sure Michael could make it at this point."
"C'mon!"
"Fine. I'm sorry. Just boil some water and throw the pasta in for 8-10 minutes."
"Oh. . .ok. That's what I thought."
"If you throw a piece against the wall and it sticks it's done."
"Oh, if I throw it on Beth and it sticks does that also mean it's done?"
"Absolutely."

Later I mentioned that she made macaroni and cheese all the time and didn't it ever occur to her that it was pretty much the same thing. "No," she said. "Macaroni and cheese has neon stuff that gets mixed into it and spaghetti is just plain old red. I didn't know what to do without the powder pack."


And that's why I love her.

AOL Wouldn't (Even Know How To) Do That

Does gmail scan your email and then put up ads they think you would like based on what you've just written? Because I feel like every time I look over there it's something I've just talked about scrolling around like it ain't no thing. There's only so many times an ad for anal porn can come up before a girl starts to get curious.

I'm probably just being really paranoid right? Keep in mind I often freak out that when I'm on my cell phone, bitching about work, the co-worker I'm talking about has magically been dialed on some sort of telepathic conference call and can hear everything I'm saying about them, so I make Gige or Gabi hang up with me and call me right back so that I'm sure the other person isn't on the line. They put up with a whole lotta crazy, those two.

I'm gonna go email this to myself and see if an ad for anal telepathy comes up. That should solve it.

Top Ten Things I Want To Stop Finding and Removing From My Body:

1. Stitches. That's three now people. Three sutures I've taken out myself. What in the what?!?


Ok, I guess that's it for the top ten, but just know that if I find anything else, I'm removing that too. More stitches, small woodland creatures, a baby, you name it.


Also, thank you Bub for bringing this into my morning! If it came down to a choice of who we could have in our lives forever, each other or Tina Fey, I'm pretty sure Bub and I would give each other up in a heartbeat.

Who Doesn't Have A Thing For Boys Who Say Aboot

I don't wanna get political here, I'd much rather discuss abortion, but this is purely informational. I just want ya'll to know if Palin gets elected you can reach me at:

Amy Bing
2345 Maple Leaf Rd.
Vancouver, BC
Canada V6Z 2K6


In other news, my stitches got taken out on Wednesday and I only have to wear a bandage for another week after that! Whoo! EXCEPT that today I was wondering why the ends of my scar were still swollen and hurting and I did some very bend-y checking, and I come to find that, no big deal, ain't no thing, it's totally fine, but THERE'S TWO STITCHES STILL M F-ING IN THERE!!! After an appropriate amount of frowning, I got out my suture removal kit (I'm better than a boyscout) and took those suckers out. Now nothing hurts.

Weirdest moment I've had with myself ever.

Fall TV And All Is Right With The World Again

September 1st hit and Chicago got the memo.

Up until then it's been nice and hot and summer-y all over the place, and then I go to one day of class and suddenly the leaves have changed, it's raining, and I shut my windows for the first time in three months. The upside is that I'm back in my sweats instead of sitting on my couch in a pair of boxers and a wife beater, drinking white wine from 7-11, sticking my feet under the cold water and then running to the fan to simulate some sort of air conditioning.

This weather makes me want to buy lots of school supplies and watch My So-Called Life on a loop. Fall seems to feel the same no matter where I've lived, but the whole 'having seasons' thing is turning out to be really nice. It's like a reward for enduring whatever life winter sucked out of you. Plus(!) to make the transition into cold that much more bearable the fall line-up is back and tv is about to get awesome again!
Thank god because I was getting much too much reading and work done now that I finished Lost and Veronica Mars.

At Least Here, There's Only Two Months A Year I Need Sunscreen

I'm about to have a new scar. I'm calling it the, "they took the baby from the wrong side scar" because it's about the size of a C-Section scar but on my back. Or maybe the, "they took my kidney and left me in a bathtub of ice, but at least they taped that phone to my hand scar", or my personal favorite, "scar? what scar? that's a stretch mark, oh so now I'm fat? scar".

It's actually from having my melanoma removed. Thanks Southern California!

Actually, I probably should have listened when Gige told me two years ago to have that thing checked out. You all should have that thing checked out. Even if it's not a thing yet, maybe it's just a weird little freckle you've had since you were 4, or even if you don't even have anything and you're just showing your doctor a perfectly spotless piece of skin and he's like, "Uh, there's nothing there." and you're like, "Dude, are you sure? What if it turns into something?" and he's like, "But it's just your belly button." and you're like, "Is it a cancer belly button!?!"

The plastic surgeon they brought in to do my top layer of stitches (oh yeah, two layers cause I like mah stitches like I like mah men, deep and made from animal intestines) told me I was too young to have melanoma. I told him I was 28 and asked how old he was. "How old do I look?" he said. "I don't know," I replied. "I'm face down on this table with half a pillow in my mouth, I can't see you." He laughed which was nice except for the part where I didn't necessarily need his hands shaking right at that moment. When he was done I heard him snap off his gloves and say, "It was a pleasure stitching you up." I removed some sanitary pillow covering from my mouth and said, "Yeah, I loved getting them. I was gonna spend the morning watching that sassy Veronica Mars, but this was fun too."

Anyway, now it's gone and everything is fine. And thanks everyone for pushing me to get it looked at. And thanks for the well-wishings, and biopsy presents (tb), demanding drunk phone calls at midnight that you're flying out immediately to be there for me (bub), apology phone calls the next morning for waking me up (bub), and all that stuff.

It's Like Buffy But With A Latino Biker Gang Instead of Vampires

Note to self: Take off glasses before you try to wash your face.

Oh, also - stop watching Veronica Mars because you're so distracted by it you just put both contacts in the same eye and then couldn't figure out why you were having a hard time seeing.

Warning! This Post Contains Pictures of Gross Bloody Things.

As some of you may know I like to run, and coincidentally I'm sort of clumsy. Now, up until today I had managed to avoid falling or tripping (ok, so I trip a lot. but not dangerous tripping, just oops who put that curb there tripping) for the last several years. It could be because I'm not very fast, actually I'm frequently (read: always) passed up by all kinds of different runners, and occasionally a few swift walkers.

So, I managed to go the entire Chicago winter, running on black ice without eating it. I managed to train for a marathon where I would sometimes be running for four or five hours at a time, without falling to the pavement. I managed to run up the gd hills of the San Francisco Marathon without spilling over. (Yes, I fell on the Golden Gate Bridge just five miles into it, but I don't count that because that Venezuelan woman tripped me - ON PURPOSE - or maybe not on purpose but she wasn't sorry about it at all) But then today . . . TODAY I go for a slow, three mile run and two blocks into it I trip over a crack in the sidewalk and skid along the concrete for about a mile. I was only going like 4.5 miles an hour, and I'm pretty sure I managed to scream several cuss words out before I actually hit the ground but for some reason that seemed to be enough to do this:



This is going to look incredibly attractive in a tank top. If you need me, I'll be the girl wearing long sleeves in the 85 degree weather watching every little step she takes*, and possibly jogging with a walker for safety next time.



















*you will be there.

It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia...

...is replacing Lost for the time being. Until I run out of episodes and have to actually do things, like work, or read.

Chance are if you've been near me or on the phone with me in the last five days you've heard me sing Day Man. "Sing" is a little overconfident of me. It's probably much more like shouting/hysterically laughing.
Only two out of the 10,000 people I've mentioned it to knew what I was talking about (because they're awesome) so I am putting it here because I want you (Tiana and Carrie) to be able to watch it so you can say, "Oooooooh. That's the noise she was trying to make."
The last ten seconds are the best part. Becky has seen me do that dance every morning since I've been home.

Reasons I Need To Start Carrying A Smaller Purse or Maybe Just Stop Being A Weirdo

1. I was bummed out this morning when I realized I was all out of creamer for my coffee until I remembered I had a ziploc bag in my purse filled with non-dairy creamer I carried around the island with me. Score!

2. While searching for said ziploc bag I found a spoon I'd put in my purse after Gige was done eating some yogurt about two weeks ago.

3. There are four bottles of advil in there. Everytime I went to get some I couldn't find it so I end up buying a new one, but apparently I wasn't out of advil, it was just hiding under my sweat pants.

4. I'm pretty sure Jeremy Benthem is secretly hiding out in the lining until they all get their asses back to the island.

He Worked The Night Shift

James has been in my bed all day. I think he might be depressed. I went in around noon to see if maybe he forgot he was supposed to be following me from room to room and clawing at my bare legs, but when I lifted up the covers and started petting him he just yawned, purred and stared at me like, “Woman, I love you but let me sleep.” I know this is normal catlike behavior, sleeping all day, but I’m not used to him being normal. That would be like if my grandma suddenly started offering us cookies and telling us how much she loves us. Sure it sounds nice, but something is obviously not right.

But doesn’t he look so comfortable?

No, I Was Not Drunk

Yesterday I wore a knee length flowing skirt. It was flow-y and lovely, and it showed off my scabbed, bruised legs and ankles (I ran 17 miles in 3 hours! Fuck yeah! I may never walk again though). I rarely get to wear skirts since it just started to warm up in Chicago, and 20 degrees doesn't lend itself to being pretty very well. Anyway, I apparently forgot how to wear this type of clothing because I pretty much (unintentionally) flashed Beth every time she was around, and then. . . and then, while Sarah was visiting - I PEED ON MY SKIRT.

Yeah.

I immediately freaked out and totally forgot Becky's new roommate was right outside the door and yelled, "Oh my god I just peed on my skirt! How old am I???" ripped it off and came out in just my underwear. Welcome to the Stern house!

It got washed an dried and is now fine and pee free, so all is well and calm again. Amen.



Oh, P.S. Did I mention it was Becky's favorite skirt? She's so damn glad I'm back.

As If There's Any Other Way To Eat It

I've been back in California for less than 24 hours and already I'm sitting at work wearing a sweater with built in shoulder pads, and have just read a note in a client's file that said "hot egg salad!". That's it. That's all it said.

*sigh*

It's good to be back.

I Put His Toy Mouse In My Mouth, It Wasn't The Same And It Tasted Like Carpet

I woke up this morning to see James walking around with my bra in his mouth. He was just marching it around the room, like he was so proud of it. I've never seen him so happy.

I wish I had that much confidence in my bras.

I went to buy some new under things the other day and (as always) had a slightly uncomfortable confrontation with the sales lady. I'm shocked more people don't swat and run at the sales people since they COME AT YOU WITH A TAPE MEASURE!

Her: Hi.
Me: Hi. (shit)
Her: Can I-
Me: No.
Her: I was just going to-
Me: No, thanks.
Her: Today we have a-
Me: Please don't get near me with that.
Her: I just wanted to see what size you were.
Me: I'm fine.
Her: What size are you looking for?
Me: I don't know.
Her: You don't know? Well then let me just help-
Me: Medium! I'm a medium!
Her: . . . (looking me up and down)
Me: . . . (uncomfortably shifting)
Her: Ok. "Medium".
Me: Uh, what?
Her: (walking away) Sure, you're a medium. I'm gonna go help someone else.
Me: Good.
Her: Fine.
(long silence)
Me: I am a medium!

Reason #374 Why We Need To Stop Texting Each Other

Alex just told me (via text) that she thought it was a little weird that my va-jayge smelled like sunshine.

"Not if you like happiness and joy it's not."

The Spears Solution

I'm not going to talk about the fact that my heater is still coming on even though IT'S DAYS AWAY FROM JUNE! Chicago has decided to skip summer this year and set some sort of ridiculous record to see how many grown people it can make cry in a year by having the winter that wouldn't die.

To distract myself I've been talking to my sister a lot and all of a sudden she's got a really odd take on how to handle things. To be fair, she's usually drunk when I talk to her (yay maternal genes!) but every time I've discussed some issue with her she has one specific remedy:

Example 1
A: James likes to knead my back at 4am 'til I wake up and play with him.
B: You know what you should do? Shave his head.
A: Uh...
B: That'll teach him because he'll be all, 'Hey I shouldn't wake Amy up because now my head is shaved.'
A: I don't think he'll really think th-
B: Do it. You'll thank me.

Example 2 (10 minutes later)
A: So, then Mom said she thought it was 'groovy'. Groovy? Are you kidding me? Where's my mother?
B: What?! You know what you should do? Shave part of her head when she's not looking. That'll teach her to say 'groovy'.
A: What?


This actually went on for quite some time and for no apparent reason. She wasn't even giggling about it which was the weird part. Thank god she doesn't own clippers.

Yeah, They're Called Doctors.

This little pretty princess just graduated!!!!



AND I COULD NOT BE MORE PROUD!

Despite the 187 degree heat (yes, that was the actual temperature taken at the time), I still had enough water on my person to start bawling when Bubby walked in the tent in her cap and gown. Three hours later however, I was deliriously mocking every speaker, and taking turns being held back by, and then holding back Alex, as we both were pretty sure we had to kill this blond girl sitting in front of us. When we talked about it later we decided the only reason we could really come up with for our angst against her was that "she looked like a bitch". That would not have held up in court, so I'm really glad we were too hot to peel ourselves off our chairs and into little miss blond girl's face.

After the sweltering ceremony we spent a fun three hours with my grandma and mom driving them three blocks to their parking garage, only to have it end with us dropping them off in the middle of traffic and having my mother scream to her mother, "Get out of the car! Go! Go!" as Alex slowly continued to drive down the 110.

A big night of partying was planned. Big. Huge. But then we napped til 7pm and woke up when one of us started snoring (Alex). After we rally-ed majorly (put pants on) and made our way to a fancy dinner (Marmalade Cafe), we realized, leaving the house is overrated. Beds are at home! And tivo! And a phone to order food to be brought to your door! But it was Bub's graduation so we thought going out was the right thing to do.

There was no one at the restaurant, but for some reason our busboy acted as though we just stabbed his mom and then asked him to do our laundry. After about 30 minutes and no snapping of fingers (thanks for toning it down A!) the lad with the bread and butter marched over to us, threw our bread basket, and then slammed our butter down so hard it broke the ceramic, as he yelled, "WHAT?" and walked away.

It may be my favorite restaurant moment ever.

Needless to say it was not the big bang blowout night I'd wanted to celebrate the 8 years of hard work my baby sister has put into this, but the next day was amazing (and like four more posts in itself)! Plus I have all summer to celebrate with her. She's gonna wish she started prepping her liver earlier.

Congrats Rebecca Leigh! I'm so proud of you!!!

Our Relationship Has Reached A Whole New Level

I'm sorry, this is not gonna turn into an all-cat blog, I promise. This is the last one, it's just that THE DUDE GETS IN THE SHOWER WITH ME.

He doesn't even care that he's a cat and he hates water, he climbs in silently while I'm soaping up my face or something and then waits for me to scream uncontrollably/almost have a heart attack, because, dude, THERE'S A CAT IN THE SHOWER WITH ME!

Unfortunately my screams and efforts to cover myself up (lest I taint him?), did not dissuade him. He simply sat there being lightly sprayed by the shower, staring up at me with a look that says, "I do not like this water touching me whatsoever. But I'm afraid when I can't see you, you'll never be able to pet me again and I needs me some love, so hurry this 'washing' stuff up. Oh and you missed a spot."

My Cat Killed My Homework

This is how I found James just now:



He was so intent/freaked out about the printer that he sat there for a good twenty minutes like that, most likely thinking, "This sonofabitch has got to start up again, and when it does I'll be ready. Do you hear that? I'll. Be. Ready."

When I did print something he attacked it as if it were trying to rape him. If it hadn't been so goddamn cute and funny I would have been really pissed that he just clawed the short story (and the only printer paper I have left) I'm supposed to turn in today, to shreds.

Also, I've now officially watched Euro Trip about fifty times in five days, and it's still funny. *sigh* I need to get out more.

Obviously You Should Never Take A Mixed CD I Make For You

I typically mock, laugh at, and otherwise older-sister my mouth off at Bubby for her choice in music. When I inherited her laptop, complete with a full iTunes, I had to sift through about a million Avril Lavigne and Fall Out Boy songs to find anything decent to listen to (decent ended up being Chris Brown - my standards are getting weird).

Fighting about what music is going to be on has been an ongoing battle since birth. She pretty much came out screaming, "I want to listen to Rick Dees!" and then I threw up for about four years. It got to be such a problem that my Mom had to institute an every-other-song rule when we were in the car, so right after I had us listen to Cherish for the hundredth time, Bub would put on Hanson.

Now that we're adults we don't have that rule. We just don't ride together.

This being said, occasionally my emo-boy-band-lovin sister hits gold and shares it with me. And I'm quick to admit whenever she's right. So, now I am ridiculously OB-SESSED with these two videos. Not so much the songs, but the videos makes me happy in ways I can't really describe. Especially the first one.

Enjoy!

Only 93 Days Til Catalina

We're having a snow storm. AGAIN. If you need me I'll be the girl cutting myself in the corner.

Also, this whole 'protest to winter thing' where I don't wear a coat or boots out of spite (stupidity), is really not all that bad (I'm freezing to death). After a while 30 degrees feels not so bad (except where it sucks), and I'm starting to really think spring is right around the corner (it's never coming. never.)

Now Clean From The Waist Down!

Today, after hours of cursing and about $75 worth of Drano, I finally took a shower where I wasn't knee deep in ice cold water. I had grown so accustomed to standing in a pool of water when I shower that it took me a good five minutes to figure out why my feet felt weird. Oh! It's because they're not being immersed in your dirty shower water from yesterday! Happy Birthday!

I'm pretty sure my apartment is managed by some sort of Eastern European mafia so if it takes them a week and a half to get to my shower issue I don't really complain because I like my ears right where they are. Remember that homeless man who likes to camp out on my doorstep? I talked to my landlady about it and she said:
"I know. He make me so mad."
Then she leaned in conspiratorially, taking an unnecessarily strong grip on my shoulder:
"Don't worry. I handle. I take care of. You know what I mean?"
"I kind of hope not."
"Good. Between us."

Something tells me that's not the first time she's said that.

Jameson

So, on my birthday I went to kitty town (I'm not kidding that's what it's called) and thought I'd just look around, but then this handsome devil followed me around wherever I went and kept saying, "Take me home! I won't climb on your furniture, I just want you to sing to me and feed me grapes!"





So far he's pretty awesome, and he tries to eat my chocolate covered oreos which pretty much proves we were made for each other.

In other news I'm almost thirty now. And I just got a cat. Oh god.

Palmer for President in 2012!

That girl in the picture with me. . . yeah, that one on the right, she. is. here.



She got her just after 11pm and arrived to find me making her a quesadilla and pouring her a glass of wine in an attempt to lull her to sleep with a full belly so that I would not be brain dead waking up for class this morning. It worked, she went straight to bed without putting her dishes in any place that would be appropriate (note to Bub: window ledge is not appropriate dish place), but I was up from about 2am to 5am anyway. I heard a coughing noise which woke me up and I was immediately convinced there was someone outside my door, and that this person - upon hearing any slight movement from inside my apartment - would break down the door and try to stab and/or otherwise murder me and my baby sister. I was so freaked out I didn't move (or breathe) for a solid hour. Then I got up and, I kid you not, took ten minutes walking the five steps to my front door where I held my breath and cautiously peeked out my peep hole. (ha peep. hole.) After three hours of this I realized 'overactive imagination' doesn't even cover it, and that at some point I was gonna have to stop watching 24 right before going to bed. Either that or I'm gonna need more martial arts training.

Under Protest

I'm pretty logical most times. (Stop laughing) I mean, yes I kinda (read: absolutely) believe that when I knock on wood with all of my knuckles I'm maybe preventing something bad from happening. But that's not illogical, that's slight ocd. I mean I'm logical in that I turn my homework in on time so that I'll get a good grade, I go to the dentist twice a year, and I don't get in the middle of two people screaming at Tito's Tacos about how they're going to the car to get 'their backup'.

But . . . buuuuuuuuut, something about FIVE STRAIGHT MONTHS of snow and having to wear fifteen pieces of clothing at once has really started to fuck with me. Last week I decided that if I dressed for different weather, maybe different weather would appear. So I've stopped wearing boots and a coat as some sort of insane protest to Mr. Weather. So far it's not working, but I refuse to give in. It's mid-March for the love of God! I should be walking around in some dress that's way too short for me!

I told Bubby that if she brought me 80 degree weather when she comes out this weekend I would pay her a hundred bucks . . . and I mean it. And you know what's crazy? Part of me actually believes she can. Because she's just that awesome.

Something I Should Be Keeping To Myself, And Yes, I Am Mildly Embarrassed

Dear One Tree Hill,

Where have you been all my life? I'm sorry I just now found you but believe me, I will be making up for lost time with the sweetest loving you've ever had.

(That means oral. Lots of it.)

Love,

Me

At Least I Didn't Have To Pay For Gas

So, on Friday I drove Gige from Fresno to LA.

How can I do that whilst still in Chicago you ask? Do I have a robot replica or the ability to time travel?

I wish.

Nope, what happened was: she called, we started shooting the shit and all of a sudden it was three hours later. When she said, "Oh man, I knew I'd hit traffic at the Getty", I seriously considered the fact that the hour we spent totally silent while I cleaned my apartment and she, I don't really know what she was doing (singing along to Maroon 5 mainly), was probably not necessary.

But at least now when someone asks me what I did over the weekend I can say, "Took a road trip" instead of the usual, "Put on some flannel pjs and settled in with my new best friend (my space heater), and some dinner (half a box of chocolate covered oreos)."

Why I Always Have A Ding Dong In My Purse

Anyone who knows me knows that I eat pretty consistently throughout the day. Roughly every two hours. According to my mother I was like this as a baby, and while she cursed and prayed that I get over it soon so that she can get a full night’s sleep, I never did. I no longer wake her up to breast feed me at three am, but the sentiment is still the same.

When I don’t eat my blood sugar drops and my personality vanishes and is replaced by something that can only be described as ‘from the underworld’. Crying and or screaming usually ensues as a form of notifying myself, and the world, that I HAVE NOT HAD ANYTHING TO EAT SINCE BREAKFAST. A frequent response to my crying at a boyfriend for making the bed the wrong way, or screaming at my mother for putting my laundry in the dryer, or hysterically ranting to a friend that the nail lady made this one crooked, this one is crooked! is typically: When was the last time you ate?

And oh, how in those moments I hate that question. I loathe it. I want to send daggers flying across the room at anyone who deigns to even think that I might need food to calm me down, when can’t they just see, can’t they see that it’s the fact they bought corn tortiallas! Corn! Instead of flour! The horror! The humanity of this awfulness has absolutely nothing to do with my FOOD INTAKE FOR FUCK’S SAKE! Then after storming away and letting the full psychotic-ness sink in, I will eat a banana or some crackers with cheese and suddenly . . . suddenly the little girl from the Exorcist leaves my body and I’m my nice (somewhat) likable self again. I smile sheepishly at my friend, bat my eyes at the boyfriend, hang my head in front of my mother, and slowly daisies dance out of my mouth singing, “Gosh, I’m so sorry. I guess my blood sugar was a little low. I’m incredibly sorry I yelled at you, I’m such a jerk. Can I wash and detail your car for you?” Or better yet, if I’m still in the process of regulating from demon to a human again, almost there, I might say, “Oh wow. I’m sorry about that. Why didn’t you tell me to eat something?”

Luckily for me I am surrounded by people who also suffer from hypoglycemia, so when I have a meltdown they don’t stare at me in shock while rapidly dialing the police, because I’ve seen them in similar positions. We’re not all the same, that’s for sure, generally there’s a shorter temper than usual when we haven’t eaten in a while, but it doesn’t always go down like that. Well, my mother . . . my mother is just like me (not in reverse of course). But my sister, she snaps meanly and then gets quiet. Disturbingly, alarmingly quiet that is scarier than actual yelling. Gige usually just starts crying immediately, about anything, and I find it much more easy to handle than the yellers because I can just calmly steer her away from the restaurant that’s taking too long, towards a bench and hand feed her french fries. Gabi handles the question of “Have you eaten?” much better than me and while I’m sure she’s wishing she has a shotgun to blow a hole in my face for asking such a stupid fucking question, she wishes this quietly, says “No” and then drives us to the nearest Del Taco, and I’ve known her long enough to know, we do not speak until halfway through our burritos.
And once we feel better, we all hug and laugh and love each other again because we know what it’s like.

So thanks to all the boyfriends who have put up with us, and all the mothers who set down a plate of fruit in front of us despite the threat it could possibly be thrown at their heads. Thanks to the friends who call just to share how they almost started sobbing in the line at Trader Joe’s because it was moving too slow, and thanks to the friends who still love us when we’re making those calls.

It’s nice to know we’re not that hormonal. . . we just need some pizza.

Nachos Are A Balanced Meal To Me

Because I live alone I don't cook as much as I would if I lived with someone or if I was near someone who wanted me to be cooking for them. My dinner usually ranges from nachos to toast then back to nachos. Because I'm creative.

But I was feeling rut-y so I decided to cook-cook. Turkey and artichoke stuffed pasta shells with arriabata sauce. Oh yeah, I don't fuck around.

$37 dollars later (Bottle of celebratory wine included - as opposed to regular night wine. This one is different because I'm cooking before I drink it.) I set off to cook. After burning myself on the oil in the skillet and setting off my smoke alarm, all while maintaining a conversation with Gige, I got things handled.

I, for some reason, also used every single fork and spoon I own whilst making this dish. I have no idea what I was doing with them, or how the were applicable in this dish. It was like sleep walking but with using utensils and without sleeping. Or walking.

You can't tell from the picture below, but it turned out pretty good. It was way too much work for just me so I'll probably never do that again (unless you come visit and then I'll cook and burn myself for you to no end!), but now I can say I've done that.

Fracture Spoiler!

It's snowing as if it's trying to impress me right now.

I am not amused. You know what would impressive? Sunlight. Sunlight would be impressive, you know, so I don't become jaundiced.

My advisor just canceled our meeting. He left a message for me that simply said, "Hey Amy . . . I'm gonna pussy out on you. It is just nasty out and I don't feel like leaving my house. You should stay home too."

I love when people in charge of me use 'pussy' as an adjective.

Ooh! Also, Becky and I decided that if I can't make it home for the voting in November she's gonna take my driver's license and vote for me. I trust her judgment. But then I realized if she gets caught that's some serious fraud. I'm not really sure what kind of fraud, criminal? Federal offense? I know nothing about the legal system except that double jeopardy means you can't be tried for the same thing buuuuuut if it's attempted murder and then you get off (Sir Anthony Hopkins) and then pull the plug Ryan Gosling is gonna get you for ACTUAL murder! I love crime dramas. It's a good thing I didn't go into law or I'd be standing up forcefully yelling:

"Objection!"
"On what grounds this time Ms. Stern?"
"They tried to pull this buuuuullshit on an episode of Medium once, but it didn't fly because it was her twin sister! She was still dead."
"Overruled. Is that all?"
"I think I've made my point."

But the more I think about it the more I'm willing to risk her imprisonment and eventual prosecution for my right to vote. After all, it would be so fun to watch.

This Is Probably One Of Those Things I'm Supposed To Keep To Myself

You know that whole thing when you're leaving a voice mail that says - To send your message with normal delivery press blah blah blah? (Except it doesn't actually say, 'blah blah blah' it says 'one' or 'pound' or something, but if it did say 'blah blah blah' I think more people would be pushing things and more excited about leaving voice mails. "Why'd you pick up? I wanted to hear your sassy answering machine." "You called, so I picked up." "Stop being attentive!") They only have normal or urgent delivery sending, but no in between. I don't know about you all but (despite my blood sugar related mood swings) I don't usually crazily vary between normal or URGENT! (Usually.) Why can't they have a middle ground, or something less extreme like: I'd like to send my message with Super Delivery! And then when my - Oh you have a new voicemail - thing comes through on your phone it plays the theme to Superman, or Jem.

Or like, I'd like to send my voicemail with Hate Delivery. If you're mad at someone it'll just have Danny Glover saying, "Fuck you!" Ding! You have a new voicemail! DG-"Fuck you! I'm too old for this shit."

Or Scary Delivery and it'll just play the Ghostbusters theme song. Which isn't so much scary as it is rad but whatever, you get what I'm trying to say.

The possibilities are endless people. ENDLESS!

Ah grad school . . . thanks for driving me so insane that this is what I'm thinking about before breakfast. My mom is probably really proud.

I Haven't Seen The Light Of Day in a Week, But. . .

82 pages? Done.

Two acts? Done.

Finished my play? Fuck yeah!


I'm gonna go sleep for a week.

You Know How I Know I'm Feeling Better?

Because last night I had a half a glass of wine!

My wine glass is the size of a very large soup bowl, so your definition of 'half' and my definition of 'half' might be a little different. But that's ok. Don't judge me . . . lest ye be judged!

I don't know what that really means, 'lest ye be...' Like, don't throw glass stones or don't live in glass houses if you're gonna throw . . . I don't know, something like that.

It's sort of pirate-y, and I'm a fan of the sea robbers. This morning I yelled, "Arg me matey!" at my couch. "You be a sight for sore eye*!" And then, "Parlay wench!" at my landlady when she asked me for rent. She is severely not amused with me.

I probably should cut down to a quarter of a glass until my tolerance gets built back up.

*Sore eye, singular, because I'm obviously wearing a patch.

Gangrene or Amputation?

So, I had to go meet my professor this morning across town, which normally isn't a problem because I like to get out of my apartment once a week or so, and this gives me a good outing and excuse.
"What? You want me to come to the pub tonight? I can't. I went out on Friday."
"Wasn't that at 9am?"
"Yes."
"To meet and talk about your work?"
"Yes."
"That's not going out."
"That depends. That all depends."

But today. Oh, holy hell, today made me wish I went to the pub all day, every day.

It was snowing pretty hard when I left this morning, so much so that it took me and another dude about five minutes to open the door to the outside since it was snowed shut. Sign #1.

Since it was still snowing pretty hard they hadn't plowed our streets or sidewalks yet. Sign #2. But I kept going, because I thought, "Hey! Now I can say I walked a mile in the snow to get to school. Hey girl! Yeah you on the corner! I'm walking in the snow." She didn't care. And also, I've decided that you all need to go apologize to your grandparents for rolling your eyes, or scoffing, or throwing small little oranges when they told you about walking uphill in the snow both ways. It sucks.

Then it took my bus FORTY MINUTES TO PICK ME UP. Sign #3. And here's a fun little fact - when they don't plow, you can't really tell if you're stepping into something solid or not, so I stepped in about a billion ice puddles, thus rendering my feet numb and horrified at me for a total of about two and a half hours. I actually thought about taking off my shoes and socks, once I was safely on the el so that I could warm them up with my hands and try to bend over far enough to breathe on them, but I didn't want to be "that girl", so I just prayed the limit on frost bite was three hours of not being able to move your toes, not two.

As if that wasn't all awesome enough, I started laughing hysterically when the bus driver closed the doors ON MY LEG and then casually began to DRIVE AWAY. Sign #4 (I have no idea what the sign's are for anymore, but I'm gonna keep labeling things willy nilly. Attention span be damned!) Luckily I was so cold I didn't even realize what was happening for about half a block before I looked down and started crescendo-ing into, "Hey . . . hey, that's my leg. Uhm, excuse me? My, uh . . My leg? MY LEG! MY LEG IS STUCK IN THE FUCKING DOOR!!! For the love of god stop the bus! STOP THE BUS AND FREE MY LEG!!!" Then I started laughing and crying from laughing and the bus driver skipped all the rest of the stops to drop me off at mine.

Good man, sir. Good man.

Once home I inspected everything and my leg is fine, and my toes are all working. Now. So, I'm pretty happy about that. And I will seriously be rethinking this whole "meeting my professor to work on my thesis" thing. It's turning out to be pretty dangerous.

Baby Fever?

I have a new favorite conversation to have with Becky. It usually varies a little bit but the premise is pretty much the same:

B: I feel like I have to pee every five minutes.
A: Are you pregnant?!
B: NO.
A: Are you sure? Cause Mom had that dream about you getting pregnant.
B: That was a while ago.
A: Well they don't call them prophecies because they've already happened. . . think about it.
B: Ok.
A: HAVE A BABY SO I CAN PLAY WITH IT!
B: No way! You have one! It's cheaper and easier for you to get preggers.
A: Sorry, I'm not relationshiping or sexing for that matter.
(Long pause where Becky tries to study and I stare at her)
A: GET YOURSELF PREGNANT!
B: No!
A: Lame.

I also have not had a drink in five days, and I have had a fever of 101 for four days so that's making everything a little more hilarious and a little more tragic than it should be. Just a little though.

*I just realized that saying I have not had a drink in five days makes me sound like an alcoholic. I'm not an alcoholic, I am just used to have a glass of wine at night. To wash down my sleeping pills. Before I start in on the tequila.

Reporting At It's Finest

I just found a note I scribbled on a scrap piece of paper that says-

Prognosis:

Humped . . . to death.

Something tells me this probably has to do with a conversation Becky, Alex and I were having about Becky's rabbit, but I sorta wish it had more to do with how we thought my death would be explained at a sexy 107 years old.

Or at least someone we know's death.

LA Ink

I think you will all be pleased to hear that there will be no more posts about the icy, unholy weather because I am not leaving my apartment until March. So, there's that.

In other news my baby sister (sister christian oh the time has come!) and L.K. just got neck tattoos. It's not as white trash as it sounds, because they're really cute, but when I tell people, "I spent four hours driving around LA so my little sister could get a neck tattoo" (motoring! what's your price for flight!) I feel like I should be following it up with, "And then we went to the drug store to buy one of them home paternity tests because Kate needs answers, and those rain gutters on her new double wide aren't gonna clean themselves."

Here's a photo of Becky's finished project:




It's not crooked. Her spine is out of whack. Scoliosis is awesome!

She wasn't going to tell our mom but the crooked spine thing freaked her out so she decided to go ahead with it. When she blurted out the news in the middle of dinner (way to play it cool Beck) my Mom dropped her fork and turned to stare sadly at her youngest daughter (most likely thinking, 'Why didn't you turn out more like Amy?' I mean, what else).

I, being the ever-protective older sister, and peace-at-all-times wanter, began ranting about how it wasn't that bad and it was really actually great because it means she loves her family and family the most important thing, isn't that what she always taught us, right after don't slouch or you'll end up all hunch backed, and always wipe front to back? And why didn't 'Don't get into credit card debt' make it on that list because that should have been the number one lesson, or at least made it into the top five, we really could have figured out - don't squeeze bees - on our own, not that I'm blaming my mistakes on you because I'm an adult and have been trying to get you to treat me like one for ages instead of leaving me chore lists when I'm home for Christmas, so I know I am responsible for my own problems but a little guidance would have been nice! **silence** Let's talk about Becky again.

After Becky tried her hand at explaining how her new tattoo was a good thing, and did she think Becky was going to need a steel rod in her back - my Mom shook her head sadly, before turning to me and saying, "Well, there you go. Now you're the favorite again."

"That's right I am!" I said beaming.

I never win that!

Now if I can just get her knocked up and imprisoned I'll be a shoe-in for MONTHS!

I Don't Have Dew On My Windows Anymore, It's Just A Sheet Of Icicles, And Yes, You Can Cut Yourself On Water. If You're Me.

I checked the weather this morning because I really wanted to run (ok, I didn't want to, but I ate two bags of M&M's, a package of Starburst, some nachos and about a billion chocolate covered oreos for dinner last night so I needed to, lest I die from diabetes before I make it to lunch today. I'm pretty sure, scientifically, a slow jog doesn't cure diabetes, but in my mind all sorts of things can happen. I also believe you can show your lip your prescription of Valtrex and SCARE THE COLD SORE AWAY, so you know, there you go.)

Anyway, I checked the weather and it said: -4. In case you didn't catch that, it's NEGATIVE four!!! Needless to say I put my running shoes away and my slippers back on.

I'm also supposed to start class today but I refuse to go out until it gets back into the positive numbers! POSITIVE NUMBERS!

*sigh*

I'm gonna go straddle my radiator.

Sorry About The Lack of Posts...

But I'm pretty sure either my right ovary or my appendix has launched a full scale war inside of my body. It's favorite thing to do, aside from having it's hair blow in the wind as it screams, "She make take our lives, but she'll never take! Our! Freedom!", is sear me with a glowing branding iron that reads, "Fuck Comfort, You're Mah Bitch", every few minutes.

I know that the ovary and the appendix are not in the same spot, but it's close, and I don't know my body well enough to judge.
I like to respect it's privacy.

Thank God!

Me: Hi?

Chicago friend: How’s your play?

Me: (Why would you ask me such a terrible question!?) I only have like four scenes done.

CF: FOUR?!?

Me: (Oh shit, I knew it was bad. I’m gonna get fired.)

CF:I haven’t started!

Me: (I don’t know if you can get fired from grad school. Kicked out? Maybe I’ll be fired and kicked out it’ll be a new thing I star- Wait! He hasn’t started?!?) You haven’t started?

CF: AAAAAHHHHHHHHHladjkjf0awoeihalsnhfjkasdhff

Me: Dude… settle down. (You are so screwed)

CF: You settle down!

Me: I am settled (now). I’ve started at least (I was crying before you called).

CF: I think I might need to refill my Ritalin.

Me: You shouldn’t do drugs (bwahahaha I win!)

CF: I NEED TO CONCENTRATE!

Me: You’ll be fine (yes!yes!yes!), just sit down and do it (as if I have any idea what I’m talking about. I’m just glad someone’s worse off than me.)

CF: You’re so put together. I don’t know how you do it.

Me: Oh gosh, I’m not really. (I drink. A lot.)

CF: *quiet sobbing*

Me: Let it out dude. Let it all out. (Sucker)

Call From France Circa September 2007

B: Your mom instant messaged me today.

A: What?! She didn't even tell me she had a screen name!

B: Well, I think the answer to that is that I'm more important.

A: I didn't ask a question, I was yelling.

B: Whatever.

A: How long has she had this alleged screen name?

B: I have no idea. Can I get on with my story?

A: If you say longer than a few weeks she's gonna get it.

B: I don't know how long she's had it. Just call and ask her.

A: Oh right! No way! Apparently we're not close enough for technological communication. I'll have to wait 'til she rides her horse over here.

B: You're not even making any . . . her horse?

A: She's a son of a bitch.

B: Anyway. . .

A: Anyway, go on with your story.

B: So, I ask her if she wants to video chat -

A: She has video chat?!

B: Amy!

A: I'm kidding. Continue.

B: So, I ask and she says no because she hasn't brushed her hair yet.

A: Hahaha-WHAT?!

B: Her hair! Isn't! Brushed!

A: Because her baby daughter - the one who lived with her for 20 years has never seen her without her hair brushed? I've had her walk in and start brushing her teeth while I'm peeing, I think we can all deal with her unkempt hair.

B: I know! Will you please call her. I can't deal with it anymore.

A: Sure . . . but I'm gonna have to put on some lipstick first.

I Wanna Borrow An Allen Wrench!

As a precursor to Vegas, we decided to attend a friend’s wedding. A little prep for our blood alcohol levels and stamina because we knew there’d be an open bar, not to mention a near empty dance floor for us to practice our mooooooooooooves.

That and we also went because I absolutely love this woman:



Look at her. Not only is she gorgeous, and smart, but she’s f-ing hilarious. We met working at Starbucks (a job we both knew we’d be quitting a few months later, and so we ran amok of that store. Amok I tell you! We underage drank with the managers, refused to take out the trash on some sort of principle she came up with like “But we’re girls!”, didn’t do the dishes but instead left signs saying, “Bless this mess!”, and frequently called and requested to close early due to low customer visits, which was never true.) and the first thing I remember her saying to me was “MACE IN YO FACE!” to which I replied “Oh my god I love you!” and she said, “You’re my new BFF!” and the rest is friendship motherfucking history.

Although we go months at a time without seeing each other the second I get on the phone with her it’s like we’re sneaking cigarettes at her aunt’s house all over again, and I start giggling before anything has been said. It pretty much goes:

Me: Hello?
Jess: Hiiiiiiii Amy!
Me: *gasp* Jess??
Jess: **laughing**
Me: **laughing**
Jess: **laughing**
Me: **laughing**
Jess: **laughing-and-trying-to-say-something-in-a-pitch-so-high-no-one-really-knows-what-she’s-saying**
Me: **laughing-harder** What???

Then my sister starts yelling in the background, “You’re not breathing. Are you talking to Jess?”

We had a really great time, danced a whole lot with the fathers of the bride and groom, ate too much, drank a little (Becky drank a lot thanks to Jim’s urging, “You should make that a double”) and were in bed before 10:30. Naturally. Who stays up past 10:30?

I wish them all the best and happiness and all of that!!!


Oh, and their present is in the mail. I swear.

Uuuuunnnnggggghhh

Need sleep for like a week.

We got back from our annual Vegas trip last night, where we didn't sleep for three days, spents thousands of dollars on god knows what, got arrested for being TOO DRUNK, held up traffic on The Strip because we got the great idea that we should take The Strip as an order not a street name, and killed some guy.

Or that's what would have happened if we were not so damn old. Gabi and I spent most of the time in bed, reading, (in between our naps of course) and the rest of the girls planted themselves at the dealertainer blackjack tables at the Imperial Palace.

Dealertainers are amazing. They're impersonators. . . who deal.

They also stop dealing periodically to get up on a three foot stage to sing a few songs. I saw up Mariah Carey's skirt, watched Stevie Wonder pretend to be blind and feel his way down the stairs and then actually trip and fall flat on his face, and for some reason heard Aretha Franklin sing Alicia Keyes songs all night. My favorite though, was Michael Jackson, and despite the fact that he couldn't go four minutes without grabbing his crotch and pointing at Katie, which caused her to shudder repeatedly, I wanted to take him home with me and make him dance while I fold laundry.

Later (when I'm not completely sleep deprived and get full permission from Bub) I will be posting a series of, er, posts tentatively titled: Why My Sister Was Not Allowed To Talk During The Entire Weekend Because Everything That Came Out Of Her Mouth Was Something A Sister Should Never Have To Hear. Ever. / Her New Nickname Is **edited** The Original.

The One Where I Try To Wish Her A Happy Birthday

Living 2000 miles away from your family has it’s ups and downs. I miss my Mom and sister and friends like I would miss my left arm if it got chopped off in some freak logging accident. (Because I do a lot of woodsmanship. In my free time.)

There are really great things about living alone, like not having to share a bathroom with four other people, going crazy and putting my towels on the left side of the shelf even though I usually put them on the right, not having a huge note to remind me which side of the shelf the towels go on, not having any note anywhere reminding me where anything goes because in Amy’s house fruit can go on the top shelf of the refrigerator if it wants to! and the remote controls, oh!, the remote controls have free reign of the apartment, they can end up in the bathtub with a stack of magazines if the mood strikes me.

But the really not so great things are like if it’s 2am and I can’t sleep so I want to wake up my little sister and ask if she wants to get Denny’s with me, and when she says no I tell her, it’s ok Bub, we can just watch repeats of Absolutely Fabulous instead, now scoot over I need some blanket – I can’t. I don’t get barged in on by my (unfortunately) extremely morning person Mom, half-dressed and singing me a good morning song she’s been singing for twenty seven years while I glare and glare and glare. And while it sounds like the latter should be in the ‘good things about living alone’ list, I really miss my oddly cheerful Mom and her lack of clothing when she’s home. Luckily, my Aunt M (mom’s little sister) lives in Chicago and when I go to stay with her once a week, I can usually count on running into her in the kitchen without a shirt on. Or reading a book at the table without pants. And I love that about my family. That they (we) start to get dressed and then get totally distracted, or hungry, and can’t really think about putting on a top until our oatmeal is ready. And it’s just so comforting that Aunt M does it too, because it reminds me of my wonderful, topless, singing mom. Now, if only she would start labeling the cereals in order of most to least liked it would be just like home!


Happy Birthday Mama! Or, She-Who-Gets-Prettier-Every-Year!



I love you this much!

New Year's Day: A Recap

7:30am drive from San Diego to L.A. (after two hours of sleep) so that L.K.'s cat won't be lonely anymore? No Problem!

Carl's Jr. breakfast? Check.

Leaving important electronic devices including a camera and a cell phone in San Diego? Check.

Losing medication and having to wake up the entire house to search for it, realize it's still in your pocket, throw under a bed quickly so girl next to you will "find" it but she doesn't so you spend ten more minutes "looking" for it asking if she's sure she checked under the bed, she finds it, the whole house rejoices, and you've saved the day? Check.

Back track fifteen miles on the 405 because now you want Jack In The Box breakfast? Check.

Getting pulled over for doing ninety and not being able to cry your way out of it because it's a female cop? Checkity, check, check, check!