Not Ever

I'm getting over a cold right now, and that mixing with the new spring time is making my sinuses hurt like a sonofabitch. This was my Mom's medical advice:


M: Get yourself a neti pot.
A: What?
M: A neti pot.
A: You get yourself a neti pot.
M: It works, you'll thank me.
A: What is it?
M: It a thing. . . it sort of looks like Aladdin's lantern
A: Keep talking.
M: Or sometimes it looks like a tea pot.
A: Ok, not as good but go on
M: And you put water in it with this little packet of salt. Or maybe its minerals. I'm not sure. It's a white packet of stuff with water. Mix it up, then you tilt your head to the side and pour it in one nostril-
A: What? No.
M: Then it comes out the other-
A: No, no, no.
M: Nostril. It clears everything-
A: No way.
M: Out and makes you feel-
A: No no no no no no no.
M: So much better.
A: . . .
M: . . .
A: I don't think so.
M: Trust me.
A: No, there's no way. . . I don't like it.
M: But don't forget to put the packet in other wise it hurts. It's a world of hurt. I was screaming so loud Eduardo thought I fell in the shower.
A: You have to do it in the shower?
M: It was like a sharp burning-
A: What is the packet again?
M: White stuff. Salt maybe? Like I said, I don't know.
A: Cocaine?
M: No honey.
A: Do you think that's why you didn't hurt? Because you're too high to notice?
M: No way, I saw someone doing it on TV.
A: If you saw someone jump off on a building on TV would you do that too?
M: You're ridiculous.
A: You're pouring stuff in and out of your nostrils!
M: BECAUSE IT HELPS!
A: . . .
M: Sometimes I do it even when I'm not having sinus trouble.
A: Ok. . .
M: I do.
A: I don't doubt it.



I just looked it up. And now I especially don't like it!

http://www.himalayaninstitute.org/NetiPot/NetiPotInstructions.aspx


(the woman in the video looks like a robot. or a hostage. whatever it is, she does not make the whole process seem fun that's for sure.)

Almost Mastered

I just turned in my thesis.

There was no explosion of banners swaying, or confetti falling, or brass band blowout like I had expected (in my head the band is the band from the 1962 movie The Music Man, and everyone is sort of sherbet orange-looking the way technicolor makes people in movies look like oompa loompas). The girl we're supposed to hand them in to wasn't there so I just dropped it in her box and then looked around smiling, hoping I could at least high five someone, but no one was around, and I kinda felt like when teachers used to post grades outside of their doors and you would go with your friend to check and you stand there surrounded by people running your finger down til you find your name, and then scan over to see it's not just a B, it's a B+, and you thought for sure you were going to get a D, and you turn around already mid-scream, "Chels, I got a B mother fucking plus!" and realize your friend is gone and you're screaming your grade right into the face of your professor who is waiting for you to move so he can unlock his room and get in there for office hours; and then you get all mad at your friend and say something irrational like, "Don't walk away from me when my back is turned to you", or something and she's all, "Uh, I told you I was gonna go stand by the vending machine", and then you're all, "Whatever," because you were embarrassed but you don't really want to ruin the good feelings you just had about passing so you ignore the fact she just made you look like a fool, and decide not telling her she has a leaf and part of a spider web in her hair will make things even, and you say, "I got a B+! Whoo!" and she high fives you and you're happy again.

Anyway, that's how I was feeling standing there with my thesis all turned in and no one around me. I turned back and stared at it for a moment, almost as if I was waiting for it to burst into flames. Or start to glitter. Something, anything, and then I would say, "Ah, this is it. This is what I've been waiting for. Two years of hard work, and sixty thousand dollars of debt, this thing better glow in the dark too."

After a while I realized nothing was really going to happen, so I gave my thesis a little love tap and walked down the hall. On the way out I passed by a man who was carrying a bucket of something and said, "I just turned in my thesis." Nothing. "For my master's."

Without stopping he said, "Oh well, I got a bucket of cream cheese I'm taking to the second floor."

"Well, congratulations!"

He did not like me.

At least he has a job. I just have lots of debt. Well, lots of debt and a thesis. And pretty soon I'm going to have a burger and a few pitchers of beer and that, THAT, is going to make it seem totally worth it.

He'd Be So Cute In Scrubs Too!

So I went to bed feeling a little under the weather and woke up with a sore throat and an achy feeling. I didn't think much of it until I remembered I just saw a friend of mine who saw a friend of his who has relatives who know where Mexico is and suddenly my throat started to swell up and I was sneezing all over the place. I'm not one to freak out about worldwide sickness panic, but then I also realized I had just eaten some bacon recently and I'm not an expert on how things travel, like if there's a blood brain barrier it has to cross over or something, but I didn't want to risk it. I called my mom to double check and just reassure me everything was going to be ok (which looking back on it was kinda stupid on my part considering this is a woman who would scream, "Do NOT get blood on my carpet!" at her children.)

"Hi honey."
"Hi Mom."
"Why do you sound like you've been drinking?"
"I think I have the swine flu."
"You do not have the swine flu."
"How do you know?"
"You don't even sound sick."
"You just said I sounding as if I'd been drinking."
"That's fun honey. Not sick. But you shouldn't be drinking so early."
"I'm not drinking I haven't even had breakfast. . . Do you think I should get a medical mask for James?"
"Oh no. If he's got it he's already a goner."
"Mom!"
"Is there something you wanted to talk about, I'm late for my nail appointment."
"Nope. Just my impending doom."
"Ok, bye."


After that I did what I always do when I'm unsatisfied with her motherliness and called my sister.

"Yo."
"Hey Bub. I woke up sick. I think I have the swine flu."
"I'm sick too."
"Well, don't call mom for sympathy. She's getting her nails done."
"Why would you call mom for sympathy?!"
"I know."
"And she's not getting her nails done. I'm on the other line with her."
"What?!"
"I'm on the other-"
"Oh I heard you."
"Mom for sympathy **probably shaking her head at me**, that's rich."
"Sonofabitch, she's not getting her nail done?"
"No."
"Do you think I should get a medical mask for James?"
"Come on . . . if he's got it he's already a goner."
"Did she tell you to say that!"
"No, but she did tell me to see if you sounded drunk."
"I'm not drinking. I'm sick!"
"You sound swollen."
"What? What does that even . . . who sounds swollen?"
"Uh oh. Mom got cut off and now she's calling me back. I gotta take this."
"Fine. Tell her she can just hang up with me. She doesn't need to lie."
"Ok."
"You're not going to tell her are you?"
"Not on your life."


I called a few more people and no one thinks I have the swine flu, though a few people were kind enough to suggest the Avian flu and/or SARS. (Thanks Dad and Grandma!) I think I should still get some sort of protective gear for James just in case. I mean, I know he falls into my toilet a few times a week, and he's currently pouncing around in the parts of my wall that have fallen off on the floor, but still - you can never be to careful.

Horrorscope

The other day my horoscope told me it was a good day to buy a computer.
Uh . . . what? I know horoscopes are not specific to me, that they encompass all of the Aries category (or just all of any category. Any category at all. Baseball gloves if they must.) but I usually like to pretend they only apply to me - as if some psychic is out there channeling what my day is going to be like and then sending me an email every day to let me know I should be grateful for someone close to me, or try to take things easy, or be brave with my new venture. (And I am. I'm always brave with my new ventures. The other day I got my burger cooked medium instead of medium-well and I was brave about it. It turned out awesome.) And I'm actually really happy with these vague descriptions because I can morph them into my life and a part of me starts thinking the thing is actually, totally talking to me. Directly.

But it has it's downside too because if I read my horoscope in the morning and it says something like, "Things won't go your way today", I get totally devastated. I'm not really sure I was going to leave the house at all, so how could things not go my way, but somehow I'm sure I'll be devastated nonetheless and it ruins my morning.

But. . . But! If the horoscope is gonna get all specific on me, and out of the blue say something like, "You should buy a computer today", then I Have No Idea What To Do With Myself! I can't trust that. That can't be morphed into anything resembling my life! Clearly I'm not going to go out and buy a computer, and I can't even pretend computer meant ice cream Snickers bar (though if it did it would have been dead on). So now my faith in those suckers are completely gone until they start getting vague again. So vague it could possibly even apply to my cat if I want it to.

In other news my walls are melting off due to an insane amount of water damage.

When I mentioned it to my manager she just sighed and said, "I know. I'm sorry," and walked away. As if her horoscope had said, Someone will tell you their apartment is falling apart today - there's nothing you can do about it so relax and take some time for yourself. A bubblebath maybe.

Mystery Bulb

This weekend I went to a party at my friend's house where we were all supposed to dress like we were in Jr. High. Since I couldn't find my head gear or suddenly contract a crippling case of acne and self-consciousness about being two feet taller than all my teachers, not to mention the boys (my jr high boyfriend once stood on a chair to dance with me at our spring fling - very hot), I ended up wearing a jean vest with capped sleeves and a DARE button. The weird part was when I was traveling to my friend's house, no one seemed to notice the vest. Like not even a second glance, and I was prepared to start defending myself all over the place, but it was as if the denim vest was perfectly normal outer wear. I think this means I can wear it again, like for real.

My other favorites were one of my friends had actual pumps - those shoes with the little basketball on them that you squeeze and it fills some sort of air chamber with power. She'd be in the kitchen mixing drinks and stop suddenly to say, "Wait. I need to pump up."
Then my two other friends who showed up as goth (I miss that look) and a dude with a tight necklace, and a visor. It was awesome, especially because I don't think guys can get away with necklaces anymore unless they're Italian. Or Gabi's boyfriend.

When I went to make my final drink of the evening I started pouring and all of a sudden a lightbulb popped up along with my ice cubes. The cup had never left my hand so it's not like someone could have dropped it in there as a joke, and I looked around shocked, as if it had fallen from the ceiling, or like maybe I had just won something. But it hadn't fallen, and I didn't seem to be getting any sort of prize so I did the next logical thing and checked the 2 liter Sprite bottle. There wasn't anything lightbulb-like in there, and I tried fitting the thing back into the bottle to see if it could have even squeezed out of there but it couldn't. I found goth and necklace guy on the balcony and after just a few moments of thinking about it, it was decided that the surprise lightbulb fell out of the ice dispenser on the refrigerator. Sure enough, that's what it was. Thank god for them, because I was certainly never going to figure that out. I would have gone through a whole weird leprechaun scenario before I got to something logical like it coming from the fridge.

And that's probably why I never made it on the debate team in Jr. High - because "Maybe it was magic?" just doesn't hold up when you're trying to win an argument, no matter how tall or awkward you are.

I'm Taking The Stairs From Now On

I got stuck in my elevator last night with a guy who was delivering food to someone in the building. At the first slight shifting of the little cabin we were in, I reassured the delivery guy this always happens and he shouldn't worry about it, we'll be fine. He nodded and occupied himself by reading the writing carved into the elevator door, whispering the words to himself as he scanned down, "Dear Coont?"

"Oh," I said correcting him. "It's cunt. Dear cunt face."

"Dear cunt face," he continued. "Fuck you." I nodded and shrugged like, What are you gonna do? Elevators, am I right! But before he could laugh along with me the elevator started shaking and knocking back and forth. We weren't just stuck, we were stuck and now the elevator felt like it was having a seizure. I reassured him again that this was totally normal, there's no need to panic, it does this all the time. But he was getting sweaty and I was getting nervous and the thing would not stop rattling it's ass off, and after about a solid minute the dude hunched into a little ball in the corner and covered his head with his hands.

"I don't know if that's really going to help anything," I said. He ignored me and just stayed hunched, and after a moment, so as not to feel rude, I crouched in the other corner next to him. The shaking stopped and after a few minutes he decided it was safe to take his arms down from around his head and look around - Yep, still in the elevator. He told me we could always eat the food he was supposed to be delivering if we were in here for too long and then before I could answer, he proceeded to rip open the plastic bag and devour an entire egg roll in a single bite.

"Yeah, I don't think we're gonna be in here that long. . ." I started, but he was digging into the fried rice with such wild abandon that suddenly I started to get nervous. What if we were trapped in here for a long time? This guy was eating all of our rations! How was I supposed to survive? "Slow down," I said. "Maybe you should save some." He stopped and looked down at the food.

"But it'll get cold."

The man had a point.

Plus, if I didn't start eating, he was going to eat it all and then later I'd be forced to eat him because I'd be more hungry than him, and he'll be all plump and full of won tons, and I'd be tearing into human flesh for my own survival and peeing in the corner and none of that sounded fun at all so I grabbed a container and started eating the chow mein with my fingers, and he nodded at me like, this is how we're gonna make it.

That's when the rattling started up again and he began wildly shoveling rice into his mouth as if it would pad the blow when we hit eight floors of cement below us. But we weren't plummeting. The rattling this time was just the doors being pried open by my landlord and her husband who stood there staring at the two of us, hunched together in a corner, our mouths full of Chinese food, and our fingers covered in soy sauce.

"We were trapped in here for a while and got hungry," I tried to explain.

"You were in there for five minutes."

"Well, he freaked me out," I said standing up and made my way out of the elevator. "It felt longer."

The delivery guy got up and stepped out of the elevator. We both stood there awkwardly as if we should hug goodbye or something. Instead he just handed me the menu and walked away. I almost yelled out, "I'll always remember you!" but I didn't because my landlord was still standing there (judging me). And because I'm pretty sure I'll get stuck again, and if I'm lucky maybe the next guy will have pizza.

You Know How I Know I've Been Watching Too Much Alias?

Not because I've seen the first three seasons in the past week (that thesis is coming along swimmingly, thanks), but because I've been waking up every night at 4am and momentarily questioning James's identity. I freak out and gasp when I see him sitting on top of me, convinced he's a spy in a very good disguise, until I wake up a little and realize he really is a cat, a cat with claws in my stomach, and then I spend a moment whispering my thoughts to him about how I can probably make it to the bathroom without being in the cross hairs of some sniper rifles if I just duck and roll through the hallway past the open windows. I'm usually too sleepy to roll, so I just shuffle really fast and hope they're thrown off by the state of my hair to actually fire on time.
"I've got a shot, I'll take it on thre-what the crap is on her head?"

I know Lent is over this weekend, but I didn't give anything up, so I'm extending it this year and giving up Alias for a month, quick before I start demanding an eye scan on my friends to prove they are who they say they are. I thought about asking them personal details like, "What did we do on Monday?" Ate and drank. "Oh yeah. Well, what did we do on Friday?" Ate and drank. "You're good. You're real good." - but clearly that won't work, so no Alias it is. No more for a month.

After I finish just this one more episode.

Cookie Time (*sung to the tune of the song 'cookie time' from the 1989 hit Troop Beverly Hills)

I had a birthday recently - a birthday in which both my parents asked me how old I was going to be.
Uh. . . you birthed me. You made me (thanks again for getting that vasectomy reversed Dad!) and then I was born 7 months later, you of all people should remember how old I am! Then they both went into some weird laughing thing and my mom said:
"Oh honey, you expect me to remember something from thirty years ago? I can't even remember what I had for breakfast."
"Twenty-nine! You can't remember something from twenty-nine years ago you mean."
"I'll love you no matter how old you are."

Like that makes it better. She's always giving me love. How about some money? Or some Girl Scout cookies? I told Bub that all I wanted for my birthday was some Girl Scout cookies shipped out to me because for some reason I cannot find a Girl Scout here to save my life. I've even internetted where they would be selling them, but then snow storms hit and apparently it's not "safe" to set up a booth in such "dangerous" weather. Can't they get a badge for selling in the elements?

Anyway, Bub's response to my birthday request was, "Why don't you get your own?"

Oh. Well, happy birthday to you too.

"Didn't you just ask what I wanted?"
"I'm not getting you that. Go to the store and find some little girls in green."
"DON'T YOU THINK I'VE TRIED THAT?"
"Whatever. Mom and I are going to the movies, think about what you want and call me later."
"Fine, have fun. I'll talk to you la-"
"I love you."
"Aw, I love you t-"
*click*
"-oo."

She hardly ever says I love you first. Not because she doesn't, but because I'm much more of the gooey sister. Sometimes I'll say it if I know she's at work because she'll always say it back, but doesn't like to have anyone hear her so she'll just sort of mumble it really fast then remind me later not to make her display affection when other people are around.

So, I didn't get any Girl Scout cookies, and I still haven't caught up with those elusive little suckers, but when I do I'm gonna buy every box they have, I'm gonna tell them they deserve extra patches for being so wonderful, and then I'm going to ship a box to my mom and my sister, but not until I've taken the biggest, fattest sharpie I can find and written, in really big letters all over the box, I LOVE YOU TOO.

A Lady Cop Friend Told Me If I Blogged Again She'd Have Anyone I Wanted Arrested. The List Is Shorter Than I Thought.

James has decided my chair is now his chair, and my food is now his food. He has been sitting in my favorite chair the past few days. A chair I had been trying to teach him the wonders of for the previous eight months, but he would have none of it! Not when there's a cupboard under the sink to be sleeping in! But now . . . now, that it's cold (Again. Cold again. We'd been having a really nice warm spell [the high 40s people!] and then Sunday I woke up and the land was covered with snow. Before I was could register what I was looking at my brain was like, "Oh shit. Someone moved the island, we're back in time to Christmas." But then I looked around and realized that lump under my covers wasn't Richard Alpert, it was my printer and some buckets of pencils I'd stashed there in the middle of the night because James wouldn't stop playing with them and the only way to make him think they've disappeared is to cover them with a blanket.)

Anyway, it's cold out and he discovered the chair is poised perfectly close to the heater so he won't let me sit in it. Screw the cupboard, he's got cushions instead of plastic bags to lay on now.

And it doesn't stop at the chair. My food is now his. He stole the chicken breast I made for dinner the other night, stole it right from under my nose! He practically shouted, "Look over there!" picked it up in his mouth and trotted off with it so he could eat it in his cozy new chair! He's cute, and I burned the chicken so it's ok. For now.

In other news, 7-11 has gotten mighty used to me showing up at all hours of the night demanding to know where the coffee filters are, and if they have and drano (for the morning) in a very flattering combo of over sized men's flannel pj bottoms (Thanks to Gige having a if-we-go-to-Target-we-buy-half-the-store rule. Best rule ever. Aside from if-I-give-you-a-look-don't-ask-me-what-I'm-trying-to-say-to-you-
with-my-eyes-just-assume-I'm-talking-about-whomever-we're-sitting-with-and-I'll-
tell-you-later-about-how-I'm-pretty-sure-I-just-saw-her-nipple rule), a t-shirt I stole from my brother that has Luc Robatille on it, a paint-splattered hoodie from 1998, and Uggs. I know they're getting used to it because when I showed up this morning to buy a bottle of wine I expected a "It's 9am, why are you buying wine?" but instead I got:
"Oh my gosh, Emily?"
"Yes?" they all think my name is Emily no matter how many times they check my id or I say, You know, it's actually Amy.
"Emily, you look so . . . nice? Wow. Look at your hair, see Roger, I told you she's not balding."
"All I did was take a shower and put on some mascara guys."
"Well let me tell you something Emily, you do that more ok? You do that, I'll see if my son will go out with you."

That's nice. His sixteen year old son.

I slunk home slightly depressed. Not because the 7-11 guys think I can only get a sixteen year old, but because when I was laughing about it in my head thinking about how I would tell them I can't date him I'm like fiv. . . no ten . . . no . . . oh god. I'm old enough to be his mother. His very young, High School dropout, we like to hang out at the same bars mom - but still. Old enough to be his mom.

From now on, I'm shopping at CVS in the middle of the night. They never offer me dates there.

Walking Home Past The Rehab Center...

I am frequently talked to, or more appropriately talked at. I sometimes talk back, but they don't really listen or care, and actually get a little freaked out when I say, "I'm just fine, how are you?" There's some stuttering and looking at me questioningly like - listen lady, our job is to shout out the crazy, yours is just to give me a dollar and keep walking.

Last night after coming home from some $2 burgers (with bw and tb and popcorn while you wait! yeah that's right. . . popcorn! while you wait!) I was walking past my favorite rehab center when these two people started a conversation that I'm used to, until it took an unexpected turn I'm definitely not used to.

"Do you see that girl?"
"Yeah, she's..."
"She's tall!"
"Yeah, she's..."
"She's basketball player tall!"
"Yeah!"
"You don't usually see girls that tall."
"No, well not like her. She's..."
"She's really tall for a white girl."
"I didn't know they made white girls like that."
"Hmmm...tall white girls. That's something."
"Maybe she's not white."
"Huh?"
"Maybe she's not really white."
"But we were just looking at her. I think she's white."
"You sure?"
"Well, now I don't know. Maybe she's not white."
"Maybe she's black."
"A tall black girl...that makes more sense."
"She's probably black."
"Now that you mention it..."
"Right?"
"That wasn't a tall white girl, I think that was a tall black girl."
"What girl?"


So, there's that. All this time I could be a tall black girl.

I love where I live.

Inaugurating

It's really softly sunny out, like a nice warm glow of orange . . . and for fun it's also snowing. But really pretty snowing, like big flakes, taking their time, checking things out, looking in my window before they land. (Yes, snowflakes, I have clothes on , move along.) Anyway, this weather combo is making me feel a little sentimental and gooey inside, well that and the fact that today is new president day! I actually had a dream last night that my sister called me up this morning and said, "I'm gonna inaugurate. I'm gonna inaugurate my ass off!" Not sure what she meant, but we were both excited about it, and then she turned into a turtle and waddled away.

So, I'm feeling all happy, watching the snow and sun mixture, kinda wishing my sister was a cute little turtle (not you Bub), when I go to take a shower and discover that not only is there no hot water, but there's actually no water. No water at all. Which is fine because I don't like washing my hands after I go to the bathroom anyway.

When I called my landlady to tell her about it she just sighed and said, "Did you turn it on?"
Uh, what now? Yes I turned it on that's how I knew I didn't have any.
"Oh yeah," she sighed again. "We don't have any water either. My husband will fix it."
You don't have any water either but you just asked me if I had actually turned it on?
"Ok, we'll fix it. Make sure you pull the knob out all the way to turn it on."
Does she think I usually just walk in there and look at my shower head, eyeing it into turning on? Is that how hers works, because if so, I might want that.

Get To My Crib And Do That Night Thang

I can't remember exactly what we were talking about, it was probably about what we should do for dinner, but while we were visiting Gige in Fresno, Bub, Gabi and I started a conversation that I (unintentionally) ended abruptly when I said:

"Well, that's ok because I'm in love with a stripper." **insert record scratching noise and both girls stopping to stare me down here**
"What the hell are you talking about?" Gabi said flipping the page of the magazine she was reading without looking at the page. (this is for a different blog, but I love, LOVE, that sometimes when Gabi says she's got to 'catch up on her reading' she means US Weekly and InTouch with Jennifer Aniston on the cover)
"I'm in love with a stripper," I repeated a little more sing song-y.
"No, no," she interrupted. "We heard you. What the hell are you talking about?"
"Oh lord," Bub groaned. "Do you have some secret stripper lover we don't know about? Is it that guy from Gige's bachelorette party?"
"I wish."
"Gige's bachelorette party was like six years ago," Gabi said dismissing Bub's question. "If she was still sleeping with that guy we would know."
"Still?!"
"I never slept with that stripper!"
"Which stripper did you sleep with?!" Bub yelled.
"None of them! I've never slept with a stripper," I said yelled back.
"You're just in love with one?" Gabi asked. "Wait is this a joke? By stripper did you mean me, because you found those pictures on your own, I never meant for you to see them!"
"First . . . ew," I said pointing. "And no, I didn't mean you."
"I would like to see those," Bub said. "So I can follow along with the conversation!"
"I'm in love with a stripper," I sang again. "It's a song."
Blank stares.
"It's a hip hop song," I prompted.
More stares.
"How in the world can I know this song and you guys don't?"
"What because I like strippers?" Gabi asked.
"No, because all you listen to is hip hop!"
"That's not true!" she protested.
"Yeah," Bub said coming to her defense. "She also listens to bad country music."
"Yeah. . . hey!"
"It's a song, and I can't believe I know it and we just spent like ten minutes of weird on it."
"I can't believe I spent ten minutes of weird on you."
"What?"
"Yeah you heard me!"
And then it was decided we all needed to get some dinner because clearly clarity had left the room.

And it is a song:

Oh 1984, How I Miss You!

So, it’s currently -7 and the expected high of today is -1. Yeah you didn’t read that wrong, that’s not the ‘low of negative one if you piss god off’, no no no. . . that’s a high of -1. If you’re lucky it’ll be negative one. Otherwise you’re looking at temps so low your snot will freeze, and you can forget about hard nipples cause those suckers are freezing up for a second and then just falling right off when your shirt brushes up against them. Weather so cold it turns you into Barbie.

Anyway, I was telling various members of my family (yes Gige, you’re included in that) about the slight dip in weather and all of them. . . all of them. . . responded with, “Oh well it’s like 80 degrees here! It’s so gorgeous, I might get a head start on my base tan.” Not a single one of them thought, “Hey, maybe rubbing in Amy’s face that it’s tropically warm would be wrong right now. I mean, after she gets home from walking to the store it takes a good ten minutes before she can feel her legs again, that can’t be good. I’m gonna hold off on mentioning that I’m running barefoot through a warm summer meadow, the cool grass under my toes, bright sun rays warming my barely clothed body while Jake Gyllenhall runs along side me confessing he loves me, not Reese, but me, and that Tina Fey called and she wants to be my best friend.”

But that’s ok. I’m not upset they keep reminding me it’s beach weather where they are, because I would probably do the same thing. I mean, when that call from Antarctica comes in today I will definitely be dropping into the conversation that we’re having a high of -1, and then will sit back and wait for the groan of jealousy to wash over them.

Plus I have this little piece of magic to keep me happy. This picture brings me so much joy it’s ridiculous. Everyone in my family will probably disown me for posting it, but I’m willing take that chance. It’s the worst family photo we’ve ever taken and it is the only record we have that my mom dyed her hair brown that one year, or that my dad had hair at all. (Normally she’s blond and he’s bald. Becky, on the other hand. . . she still gets frowny like that.) Anyway, enjoy!

He's Just Putting Up A Front, He Loves That Show Just As Much As I Do

So, I arrived back in Chicago on Monday to dry streets, and weather warmer than Fresno. (By the way, the new thing in Fresno is to make your friends watch movies where old men are touching 13 year old girls. Yes, I said movies. Plural. We're gonna be talking about that by the way Gige.) There was not a drop of snow anywhere and apparently the weather had been fairly nice since I left. But as a little welcome back present Chicago snowed it's ass off that first night I was home and has not stopped. Thanks winter!
So, now I'm back to my old routine - wearing lots of layers of men's pajamas, and talking out loud to no one about how wonderful Jack Bauer is. Ok, so he tortures people, but he's saving lives dang it! Children's lives! James just rolled his eyes at me and trotted off to call his friends in the next room to talk about me.

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.