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!