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.