I Will Regale You with Quotes from Children

And then the whole family found out about my blog.
And it was weird.

And then my cousins did cute, strange things that people excuse only in children. Here are my top 5:
1. Jared, age 7, walked outside while Gramma watched from the door. "Oh, he's looking at the crib."* Seconds later, an enormous slushball hit the glass door.
2. Hope, age 6.5, arms inside her shirt, ran around the house saying irritatedly, "You don't even know if I have arms!"
3. Henry, age 5,** watched "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" (aka, Johnny Depp in "Why Is My Skin So Very Pale: Never Become A Recluse") for thirty seconds before the questions started. "What's gonna happen?...How come the house is cracked?... Does he want to have dirty teeth?"
4. Same Henry, age 5, saw his very first afro: "That guy's hair is so big! And circle-y!"
5. Same Jared, age 7, got a magic set from Santa. He hasn't mastered the tricks yet, but he's got the lingo down...
Jared: This is my dad's wallet. I lost mine. For my first trick, I made my wallet disappear.
[magic show, wherein there is much leaving the room and abracadabra-ing]
Me: When will you learn the rest of the tricks?
Jared: I had a booklet. For my second trick, I made that disappear.

*Full-on Nativity scene outside the house complete with a lit plastic angel Gabriel. All spectators of the scene (wise men, lambs, etc.) have been bound together in case of wind.
**Kids are very protective of their ages. I realize it's very non-parent of me to say that I can't tell the difference. I was told that a giraffe's heart is about 26 pounds. I compared this to an infant. And then a four year old. Because I can't reaaaally picture what that might look like.

Joseph Conrad's Heart of Ohio, now with more heads on stakes!

I don't want to alarm you, but I might be without internet access for the next couple of days. I'm going to a very far away place called Ohio. Having spent some time in this place before I can tell you that the natives are hospitable and the conditions are far from harsh. The language barrier continues to be a bane; I have been training with the Speak Ohioan Tape Series and believe I am nearly prepared to make the journey.
I will take no weapons, unless they be words and then, with these, friends, I shall illuminate for you the darkest depths of winter in the sub-urban foreign land.
(Commas! My gift to myself!)
Have a Merry Christmas.
Schmaltzy music and moral victories to you all. And Baby Jesus, too. Baby Jesus for everybody!

You Made Me Love You

Amanda Peet,
I shake my head because I don't know why.
Lord knows you never appealed to me before, and that I'd never watch it again, but you were mightily charming in "A Lot Like Love" or "Something Like Love" or "Something Like A Lot of Love" or whatever.
This may be the eggnog talking, but I like you.
[Slurring]
And as for you, Ash. Ton.
You aren't fooling me. I know you don't speak sign language. You were totally concentrating too hard.
And another thing, [threatening with my beverage] damn that script for the fact that it wasn't your wedding. How stupid do you think we are?! I'm not stupidehhhh. I have seen "Sixteen Candles." I'VE SEEN IT. And you're all, "Wait, it was my sister's wedding! CRAZY. And we can be in love FOREVER." You're no Molly Ringwald.
[Spin around in victory]
Amanda? Wait, Amanda where are you going? Come back.

Mount(ing) Ennui

I have reached my zenith of winter boredom.
I spent the morning in a rotation of the following
1. turning the space heater on and off
2. putting on and removing my fleece
3. applying and ridding myself of wool socks
Poring over Craigslist at work, I laugh inside my head, and want to engage my co-workers in dialogue about the ridiculous kid who will pay someone $150 to write his poly-sci term paper or the girl who wants a dog for FREE because she's promised it as a Christmas gift.
And then I realize that they are doing actual work.
And I am composing blog entries in my head.

Mother, May I? Because I Already Did. And You Have To Love Me Anyway.

Earflaps
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

"No, you can't take that picture. You're going to blog it!"
"Mom, it's just for practice. Let me practice."

Quinine: Results of Yet Another Fruitful Google Search

"Did you know that quinine used to be used to treat malaria?"
"Absolutely."
"Did you know that gin and tonic was used to prevent attacks of malaria?"
"No, but it sounds like an excellent use of an alcoholic beverage."
"I know! From now on that will be my excuse for drinking gin and tonics."
"You drink gin and tonic?"
"Only to prevent attacks of malaria."

If Christopher Walken Were an Elf...

This is a portrait of some little pointed-cap imps (whose faces haunted my dreams as a child). Taken with my Christmas present [cue singing angels].

Relatedly, I visited this nerd who told me that my elf name is Merenwen Calmcacil. That's right. There's an elf version of Sriracha Hotsauce. This guy is freaking amazing.

How To Feel Like a Local Celebrity by Rin

A Posting from Our Friend Rin about pretentious dining in the Metro. If you have any questions, please direct them to the comments section. I'll make sure she gets them. So will Bob:

Show Up Late, Wearing Jeans and Only One Shiny Accessory to Any of the Following:
Bar Lurcat (try the French fries and a red wine)
20.21 (lettuce cups and lychee martini)
Caterpillar Lounge (cranberry wontons and citrus infusions)
Palomino (bruschetta and classic mojito)

Show Up Early, Wearing Vintage Anything:
Bryant Lake Bowl (nachos and a foreign beer)
Joe’s Garage (cream cheese eggrolls and anything involving gin)

Show Up Early, Wearing Black:
Café Barbette (champagne and mussels)

Dear Dan (or why I call it deletedeletedelete),

I'm so glad you asked.
Because I said so.
And also, as Anonymous asserted, (a a a a a a a).... because in college I joined an improv troupe full of funny people including a gent named Bràd (he liked it with the special a) who used a voice for particularly nerdy characters, all of whom liked to self-edit by saying "DAHLETE DAHLETE DAHLETE."* Loud and irritating, but mostly it made me laugh until I peed a little.
And since I'm sort of stealing Bràd's joke, it also makes me wonder why I don't call it enoughaboutyou.blogspot.com. But if I did that, you might not know where to find me.
And then you'd be snotting all over cyberspace, sobbing into your sleeves.

*run-on sentence!**
**fragment!

Advanced Printing Techniques (now with stage directions!)

Her: Poop. It ate the paper. Offline? What does that mean, offline? Paper jam?!
Me: Why does it say paper jam when there IS no paper jam? [giggle]
Her: Eerrhhhghhhhhaaaaahhhhhhgg. I didn't ask for this! I DID...N'T...ASK. FOR. THIS. [shakes her entire body at the machine]
Me: ...
A Different Her: [it prints the wrong pages] Whatever. Whatever. I'll cancel the job. No, Job. You're cancelled. CANCEL. [exits to the sound of her own hysteria]
[silence]
Her: Times New Roman is the ugliest font EVER! Why is it default?! Errrghhaaaarrrreeeehhhh.

"Really Modest but still stylish"

Thinking of changing your wardrobe? How about your website?
What is the goal of these very modest people? "Raising up modest ladies."
Are they Mennonite? "No, we are not Mennonite nor raised Mennonite. However our second married daughter and her husband attend the Mennonite church he was raised in."

They Have Classes For That, Right?

This might be a sign of too much aggression.
When my office mate says, "Eff Why Eye..." I want to bludgeon him with a telephone receiver.
It could be seasonal.
I blame the elves.

The Liberal Women's College Experience

[Hang up phone. Laugh.]
"You guys! Get this: my sister just finished her final in Biology of Women. She got a lollipop in the shape of a vagina."
[Silence.]

Jesus is the Reason for the Season(ed Cider).

Draft 1 of my Christmas card to the Pasternaks:

Dear Manfred and Krista,
I hope this season finds you and the rabbits in good German health. Betty and I still smile when we think of our stay with you this summer. I especially loved the stalled conversations and the awkward smiles across the table when we said something you didn't understand...we'd all look into our tea and choke down some more pimento loaf and birdseed bread. My favorite, though, was the yogurt. Seriously, Wolfratshausen has GREAT yogurt. And the best sleep of my life. I slept like the dead. Like your bunnies. Get it?
Anyway, I've been keeping busy with a blog and working and watching my sister BeDazzle her cell phone. The life of a young American adult who lives at home! Enviable! My goals for the new year include more work and more blogging and maybe even BeDazzling my own phone. Who can say where the wind will take me? Perhaps I will even stop by to visit you again someday. Save some stinky cheese for me!
Love and hugs,
Sri

Slow Down, December

Don't go rushing off. Take your coat off. Put up your feet. Shoes off, please. I don't want the year to end.

1. I just discovered how much I really like writing the number 5.
2. I'm going to really start liking to write the number 6 and then that year is going to end, too.
3. Everyone makes resolutions. Now I will have to invent one to tell people.
4. New Year's Eve is the most colossally disappointing holiday EVER and it happens every year.
5. Fresca might make another earth-shattering change to their packaging and I don't think I can take it.

[Voicemail]

I hear a beep. I panic.

Hi, Susan. This is [my name, and very professional job title]. I was just wondering if I could bring a group of students from [unnamed local area high school] for a service learning opportunity. I know that your organization works with [a targeted underprivileged population] and I'd love to set something up before our school is out for the [unspecified holidays]. If you could please give me a call, my phone number is [(---) --- ----] Thanks, Beth.

I hang up. And then I wonder, "Beth? Beth? Who's Beth?"

That Is What I Meant

Me: "Oh, this is one of those giant movies."
Matt: "Epics."

Mama West

Mom: "I ain't sayin she's a golddigger...uh" (manipulating collapsible giraffe to the beat)
Dad: "..."
Mom: "I did it better the first time."
Dad: "Well, at least you practiced."
Mom: "My thumb hurts."

Come A Little Bit Closer

Walleye Vision
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

Woowooo! Hottie on the loose. With old lady '80s glasses. I will learn how to use Photoshop... I will learn how to use Photoshop... I will learn how to use Photoshop...
I will post pictures of my glasses on strangers.
Any volunteers?

Hoo Kneads Literacy

Awesome Crap Giveaway* left me with four books on tape:
1. The Masque of the Red Death (Poe)
2. The Cask of Amontillado (Poe)
3. 1984 (Orwell)
4. Cyrano de Bergerac (That French Guy), last borrowed by Lisa B. on 5/21/84
And one pair of red-rimmed plastic glasses a la Sally Jessy Raphael. Watch out, world. I'm about to start doling out fashion advice--no, wait, that's my evil face lift twin, Joan Rivers.

*The librarians wheeled in three smelly old boxes. Among the treasures: pimply white vases, old water bottles, dust bunnies.

Jews: Please Stop Confusing My Coworker. He is a Simple Man.

"You know when people spell Hanukkah with a Ch? Chah? Chanukkah? Why do they do that?"

Slippin' On Sand and Salt Or, Laid Back (with my ass on the ground and the ground on my ass)

Today was the second time I've been frozen out of my car this winter. Piss.
Actually, yes. Piss is warm and would be helpful.

Is it ok to put boiling hot liquid in the crevases of your car? If not, how about pee? I will pretend it has been stung by a jellyfish.

I live at home, so my mom drives me to work on days like these. She drops me off and then I slide down the stairs and have just enough coat and butt padding to break my fall.
True, I get a car.
True, I have a mom.
True, I have a fleshy bum and a down-filled coat.
But dammit anyway because now I am afraid to drive even when I get the car open because it is slippery as snot. Or ice.

This Post Sponsored By Dictionary Dot Com

"By inane you mean...not nane?"

Maritime Law Keeps Me From Saying More

Carly assumes that people go to their five-year reunion to see who got fat, and she didn't understand why I didn't want to go. Isn't she charming?
I had planned a relaxing evening of Sudoku puzzles (and by relaxing I mean mind-numbingly boring and frustrating until I would give in and find sleep) when Rick and Matt called, giving me fifteen minutes to showerandpicksomethingoutthatdoesn'tlooklikeI'mtryingtoohardandgetdressed. I had already RSVPed saying I was gainfully employed as an entertainer on an ocean liner. No one was expecting me.
Up until the moment we entered, I maintained that we could still leave. I wore something fairly non-descript in case of an emergency getaway...
But there was food.
And they had booze.
And they had fat people, which I must remember to tell Carly.
And it didn't suck, which I must remember to tell myself in five more years when I try to find a non-boat excuse.

I'm thankful that he's not that big a nerd.

Matt talked me into a late night run to Comp USA. I'm not into late night shopping. I'm a sleeper, but he gave me an ultimatum*. We arrived to our destination minutes before the Official 11:59 pm Opening and were shocked to find a line around the entire building for this Night Owl/Early Bird Sale. Somehow I knew this was not a crowd gathering for a Michaels' midnight craft bonanza. They were smiling. These were not the determined faces of Early Bird shoppers; these people reveled in their geeking. Amid the frolicking dweebs, I spotted a string of our former classmates, and did not hesitate to point them out to Matt who will agree that I have now fulfilled two obligations**.

*This or the reunion.
**This and the reunion.

Self-Defense

I got ready this morning in an empty house.
As I was blow-drying my hair, I considered that I always close the door. Even when I'm home alone. And then it occurred to me: especially when I'm home alone. I must use it as a barrier to protect myself from intruders should someone break in while I have a loud heatblowing machine near my ear.
I realize that I didn't lock the door. At this point I've worked myself into a frenzy and as I'm reaching for the knob, I hear a giant crash FROM THE SHOWER. I panic and step closer. In the meantime I yelp and grab a brush to bludgeon something to death.
I remove the curtain to find the source: our waterproof message board has become unhinged and suction-less and landed in the tub.
And then I beat the crap out of it.

Love Connection

A week ago, Carly had a date she described as 'magical'. Magical. She went to the orchestra and dinner with a boy. Imagine my surprise. She does not like the orchestra. She does not like classical music, but he was very charming and well behaved.
And then the boy was bad and mean and rude. And she did not describe this as magical. I believe she called him a ButtFace. (It's possible that I added that word to the story for embellishment. It's also possible that this guy--we'll call him Josh--was a buttface.) Josh didn't hunt ducks. He didn't remove the muffler from his truck so that the entire neighborhood might bask in his manliness. He didn't set poo on fire. But he wasn't good enough. They never are.
We* here at deletedeletedelete are now accepting applications for Boys Who Should Be Allowed to Date My Sister. Please include your name, age, location, interests, and feelings about germs. Send all necessary material to the comment box or enoughaboutyou@gmail.com

*The Committee will be made up of Mom, Poppa, Matt, Carly's roommates, Yours Truly, and what the hell, I'll accept applications for the Committee also.

Axe Body Stink

I sat at my desk today tapping my forehead when all of the sudden, my pen exploded.
No, that was a joke.
...My head exploded!
Joke again!
...The smell of Teenage Boy Cologne assaulted my nose. DING! That's what happened. Holy, holy stench. I hope the girls don't notice that I'm still sweating from gym class. I didn't have enough time to take a shower because I was too busy whipping the other dudes with my towel. That was awesome.

Petrol and I go Waaay Back

When we were little and had free time and microphones, Carly and I made tapes of pretend radio shows. In truth, we just re-made commericals in small voices. One of our favorites was, "BP. On the move."
The other was what used to be: "We're on your way/ The convenient stores of (beat) Speedway." It rhymes. The little tune fits with the correct number of syllables. No rushing. Sweet. Spunky.
"We're on your way/The convenient stores of Super America"
DOES
NOT
RHYME.
Does not fit the correct number of syllables. Rushes. Is not sweet. Is not spunky. Sucks.

Arguments Against Solar Power

Matt thinks my habit of comparing gas prices is bizarre. I document it here to see
1. who else does it? It can't be uncommon. It's so interesting.
2. whether anyone keeps track of their findings.
When I lived in St. Joe (sigh!), I'd watch the daily pricing battle of two neighborhood gas stations. I'd pass them on the way to class in the morning and returning home after noon I'd notice that the numbers had been traded (for bigger or smaller--I couldn't predict! It was exciting!!).
I was thisclose to starting a log. Seriously. I only got far enough to mentally document and recite later. Gas prices spell c-o-n-v-e-r-s-a-t-i-o-n. It gave my roommates more to mock. At least then they didn't notice my Easy Mac dishes piling up.

Math Teachers = Socially Awkward + Tactless

"What are you guys making today? I'm hungry."
"I don't teach Foods. I teach Child Psych."
"Oh. Well, why would you need children's psychology? What is there to understand? They say, 'I want that' and then cry if they don't get it."
"Well. I guess we spend too much time trying to figure them out. We should cook more."

Cord Structure

Dad: "Look at this cable. This is beautiful cable."
Mom: "I would leave you for cable like that."
Dad: "You are a human butt...Man, I hate hooking up VCRs. They are a pain in the ass. A pain in the ass. No two VCRs were created equal. In and out...dammit."
(minutes later)
Dad: "That's the...out. In."
(even later)
Dad: "All right. Which one is in and which one is out?! Dammit!"

Sociable Drinker

Bar musicians have amazing patience for unruly patrons, especially the lonely drunks. Last night down at Harvey's there was one such offender whose elated strains resounded on every song he (thought he) knew.
"This is a song I wrote called 'Loafers, No Socks'. It's a summer---"
"'Loafers, No Socks'?"
"Yep. That's what I call it."
"That's a good tune."
The man giggled and swirled his drink. Eventually Matt and Richards began pandering to the enthusiastic drunkard with some John Denver, James Taylor, and Neil Young. Wastey stumbled to the microphone:
"I've been to Hollywood, I've been to...I can't do it."
They started again, coaching him through it and he slurred,
"Let's try this."
After the fourth restart, the manager approached Drunky.
"Hang on a second! Nobody's leaving. There's twelve of us. Are you leaving?"
[Indistinct manager whispers]
"I've got to come over here."

Another One Bites The Cheap Girl In The Ass

It was a special occasion, so I bought a beautiful silk top because it was on sale and because I cannot resist deep olive green on sale. Unfortunately, I found the prettylittlecamisole in a pile of To Be Washed. The pile grows exponentially. It's hard to keep track. It could have been there for weeks, suffering.
I assumed that the Dry Clean Only tag was more of a garment care suggestion than a rule. I see that my reasoning is faulty. I don't know why I think my washing tactics will alter the outcome: Well, I use detergent and put it on a delicate cycle with cold water. Sure, I have jeans in there, but denim and silk go together like wampbabaloopmahbawopbangboom.
Except that they don't.
Like most of my Dry Clean Only items, it emerged from the washing machine a tortured version of its former self. Imagine a tissue from last winter, crumpled in your pocket. And then imagine that you threw the 2-ply to the ground and stomped on it. Wrinkled. Bruised. Lifeless.

Bambi's Mom Or, Read No Further If You Like Animals

I have to admit that I've never been hunting. I have no interest in shooting animals. Unless they're clay pigeons (rimshot).
Yesterday we were driving down 494 when Carly squealed. Out the passenger window was a truck full of tents and equipment. And strung to the back, flapping in the wind was A DEAD BUCK.
Deer? Buck? It had antlers.* It was dead.
Aside from obvious sanitary concerns, there was the discomfort of seeing it, watching its bound body flail. Is there really no law against toting home your kill in front of God and everyone?

*Best Monica Quote Of All Time: Antlers, antennae. What am I, a scientist?

Better Than Flowers in a Hospital Room

I don't usually talk about the serious shit. Sometimes I mock it. Sometimes Anonymous (not Matt Anonymous, but another Anonymous) thinks I avoid my feelings.
But it turns out that Anne's dad is sick. Like really sick. Acute Myeloid Leukemia sick.
And so today (and yesterday, as I was absent a post and, Maggie, I am sorry for letting you go a day without an update) I'm asking you, People of the Internet, to send up your prayers, your thoughts, your well-wishing, for Mr. Dad (that's what I call him. Anne just calls him Dad).

She Didn't Put It On The Fridge

Engaged..In A Kiss!
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

"I want to show you one of the pictures I took at the shoot."
"Did you do that on purpose?"
"Yes, Mom."
"So why are they behind bars?"
"Because I thought it was cool, Mom."
"Is this because you think marriage is like jail?"
"No, Mom."
"Oh. Hm. And they liked it?"
"Yes, Mom."
"Hmmm."

Easy Like A Chocolate Morning

Hey 9:50 AM, Are you too early for chocolate?
Nope. I'm just the right time. Especially if you can find a piece of Halloween-sized, peanutty chocolate.
You wouldn't even believe it if I told you: an OhHenry! just appeared as soon as you suggested it. I guess I should...
Yes. Yes, you should.

Seriously? Really?

Every once in a while I run into someone as stubborn as me*. JoAnna is a piece of work. And by 'piece of work' I mean "I hope I never see her again for as long as I live because her myopic, prejudicial, money-grubbing made me ill."
Here are some more conversational snippets from this weekend:

"I shouldn't have to help people. I'm helping myself. I've got enough to do."
"So we don't have any responsibility to other people; to provide for others who are less fortunate?"
"I'm not paying for some homeless women and children. I give a week at my house in Florida which is a $10,000 value for the cancer research fundraiser every year."
----------
"But I got screwed because of the lesbian judges."
"What does that mean?"
"What?"
"What do you mean by that?"
"Lesbian judges hate women to get things without earning them."
(Blink, blink, mouth gaping)
----------
"Oh, hey. Could you put your bag on the other couch? It's just that those are $9000 couches."
"Mhmm."
----------
"Oh, is that a reflector?"
"Yeah."
"Those are great. I have one of those... Actually, I have two."
----------
"Oprah spent $50000 on flowers for her 50th birthday party. Now that is excessive."
"Some people would argue that a $9000 couch is excessive."
"I didn't pay $9000 for that couch. It's worth $9000."
"Mhmm."

*Myself? I? Dammit, I don't even know what's right!

I Ate New York

1. We had dinner with Chris on Friday night. He is one of the Minnesota Escapees: a smallish group of people who evacuated our lovely land after college graduation. And we want him back.
Chris comes up with ideas like quantifiying fun (My six fun at dinner totally beats your three fun at the museum) and storing porn on iPods. We three went out for Thai food at Jing Fong, a place on Elizabeth and Houston (they pronounce it "how-ston" which is another of many ways to spot a tourist in this city) and then
2. To Tom and Jerry's--even the dive bars are packed with people and have twenty-foot television drop-downs.
3. We concluded our evening out at Loreley with some drinks on a frigid patio and Chris' stories of scream-vomiting and other oddities of city living.
4. Brunch in Chelsea yesterday. Vento. They played Nick Drake and Pavement and made the meanest Eggs Benedict I've ever ingested. And even when I ordered Decaf Earl Grey, she brought me English Breakfast because she just knew I wanted it more.
4. Last night we had dinner on a bed. It was 14 fun. The purple awning is their only indicator. Walking down the street 27th and 10th, you find only three labeled buildings (Home, Guest House, and Scores). We knew we were in the right area, but we called three times in a one-block radius. If you have to ask... We rode up in an elevator and on the other side, beautiful, costumed people awaited us. Superhumanly beautiful. Ehhh. Can't. Talk. Beautiful. So Matt and I waited at the bar with the most expensive mojito this side of the Mississippi. And eventually we were led to the bed where another couple was already seated, removed our shoes, put on the Bed Socks. [Occassionally when I'm eating really expensive food, I think (and this is also a function of my extreme cheapness), "I would rather just have some T-Bell." Not at Bed.]
5. We went and found Chris at a Halloween party. Best Costume went to Franzia. A girl went as boxed wine AND WINE CAME OUT OF HER COSTUME. That is inspired. Matt and I went as People Who Just Ate On A Bed And Were Really Enjoying The Decadence Of New York City. It wasn't a huge hit. But then we snuck Chris away for a pitcher of Stella Artois and said our untilwemeetagains.

New York Crazy

It smells like maple syrup in this room.
That's about the only nice thing I have to say.
(According to rules once dictated by my mother and other holy people, I should say nothing that is not nice). Mom and the holies, please don't read on.
So we're in New York (Surprise! It was all very spontaneous. We didn't confirm a place to stay until Thursday night. Surprise, again.). We're staying with this woman who rents out rooms in her $3 million apartment to buy the place from her ex-husband. She brings strangers in her room every night, but she's also sure that he is paying off the doormen to rat her out: "I know it was the black one. That one there."
It's all very dramatic. And racist.
She picked us up from the airport and then gave us her tour of NYC, all the while narrating her various skills and celebrity connections:
"I'd like to do stand-up. I'm very funny."
"I once got hit by a cyclist."
"I'm writing a book and a screenplay. The script is about a couple of dog walkers who fall in love in Central Park. I'm calling it 'Central Arf'."
"I'm a great driver, but I've been doing it since I was 16."

Matt is Not a Robot (and how I did not get beaten by a Robot...or Matt, a human)

[Disclaimer: There was no abuse. This is not a cry for help. This is a cry for carpeting at work. ]
I fell down the stairs yesterday.
Hard, cold stairs.
Face first.
I had time to grab the railing while my body wrapped over and my left leg mangled itself under the rest of me.
The woman walking down the hall behind me played it so cool, pretending not to see me until she got within a few feet. Why do we do that? Why do we ignore each other? Whyyyyy aren't we all Good Samaritans....whyyyyyy? I needed her help to get up.
And now I'm wearing pants that are too long. I started off with double-sided tape but now I have a rhinestone brooch (on the inside, of course!) pinning up one leg to make them short enough so I don't have to wear heels and risk another tumble. Not that one leg is longer, but that one leg was staying up with double-sided tape until I got to work.

A Diagram for the Visual Learner

This is from Elise, who is the foremost authority on matters of classification. International press conference pending...

Jack O'Confusion

Merh?
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

For Halloween.
And Bob.

Gifts of Paper Should Be Sent To:

I just realized that it's Our First Blogiversary! I want to take this chance to say publicly that I love you, deletedeletedelete.blogspot.com. It has been a beautiful year. It seems like just yesterday that I was merely stalking Dooce, pretending we were friends and that's why I knew her legal name and the various phases of Leta's development-- when I met Blogger and agonized over a name and a user name and a web address. Those were the days (the anxiety-filled, short-entry days, don't-tell-anyone-about-this-blog-but-secretly-please-do-because-I-secretly-love-blogging days).
So. Let's celebrate. A year. A twenty-third of my life during which time I wrote regularly. I feel something akin to pride. Yep. Yep, it's pride.

Keeping Vital Fluids To Myself

How it should have happened:
"But this is good blood! People want this blood!"
As they drag me away from the donation tables,
"You can't not want me!"
And then I re-open my finger prick wound with my teeth and spray my good blood over all their precious recovery foods.
And then I get arrested for being too giving.

How it happen-happened:
"I'm sorry. Your iron content is 37%. We need at least 38."
"Uh. But what if I take a multi-vitamin and come back after lunch?"
"It won't make enough of a difference."
"[mumbles]"
"Beg your pardon?"
"Oh...nothing...I was just...I'm a failure. [sigh.]"
"No. You're not. Just eat more green leafy vegetables and some red meat and come back in the spring."
"If I eat them today...?"
"No difference."
"Right."
"Right."

Stop Judging Me!

I packed a lunch today. I never do that. Not since studenthood or my brief-but-hideous stint working downtown for Corporate School America.
This morning I had a few extra minutes before I left the house and I thought that this would be a good day to try staying at work the whole time. But I need time away. It was like trying full day kindergarten.
Oh, it's so pathetic, but I must tell you everything, Internet. You are always pressuring me. My lunch:
1 pear
1 peanut butter sandwich on Johnnie bread
2 mini York Peppermint Patties (yum eeyum yarmmmahrrghh)
1 bottle of Sriracha
1 baggie of Tostitos lime tortilla chips
I gave the rest of hot sauce (certainly too much to throw away, but not enough to take home) to my co-worker who thought he'd try some on his chicken. I assured him that just a little would suffice for each bite. A minute later: "Woo. Wooo! How! This could slow down my chicken eating a little bit. I mean you could only eat so much at a time. Yeow. Wow."

Unfiltered

We suspect he thinks no one notices.
Our neighbor has been "quitting" for the last 5-10 years. Apparently he's very close now. He steps outside to smoke and hunches behind his SUV to smoke, or strolls a few feet down the block, as if his family doesn't see out their picture window. As if they've lost their collective sense of smell and can no longer recognize the nasty stink on him when he comes back inside.
He stood and marveled at the fresh air in Minnesota. While he smoked.
Aaahhhhhsome.

Just A Small Town Girl

More people getting married, more people drinking heavily and more people singing loudly to Don't Stop Believin'.
My mom wants to know about the resurgence in popularity of Journey. I say their popularity was never in question in my mind.
Matt and I did a duet (not to Journey. We're talking about something else now). A song I've been preparing mentally for about a month and vocally about a week. Let me tell you about waiting a month to get one chance at one song for your friends' wedding. You start to think it is the most important thing you will ever have to do. You start to sweat during unrelated conversations when it occurs to you that you'll be singing into a microphone for people to hear. They will all forget about it as soon as it's over. But you do not know that.
You can only think about the amount of alcohol/caffeine/spice you should be refusing in order to preserve your voice for this one moment. THIS FLEETING MOMENT.
Until you see the video cameras.
Oh, God.
They are going to videotape it. Somebody might see this again.
And then your heart stops beating for thirty seconds.
The next thing you know the song is over and you will stop shaking sometime in the next hour. Until you remember the video camera.
So you find your girls and you find the DJ and you play the air guitar.
Until you see the video camera again.
Now you've been caught singing and 'dancing'. So you change your name and skip town.
(Posted by Anonymous. Totally Not Posted By Sriracha.)

Oh, My, My, Oh, Hell, Yes

Stenographer's Transcript
Judge: You are charged with Gross Misuse of the Comma. How do you plead?
Me: I plead innocent. I missed that day way back in elementary school, Your Honor. Along with fractions. And multiple digit subtraction.
Judge: (pause) Hey, do you like Ashlee Simpson?
Me: ummmm...
Judge: I should warn you of the perils of perjury on the stand.
Me: ummm....
Judge: Just plead the Fifth, young lady.
Me: Yes.
Judge: Yes, you do like Ashlee Simpson?
Me: ummm....yes?
Judge: Cuff her.
Me: It was a trap!
Voiceover: Another Ashlee Simpson fan framed on trumped up charges of wrongful punctuation.


Beep!
"It's Dan. I was just seeing if you're watching the Ashlee Simpson special right now because it is a blogging gold mine."

Keep Old Noods, But Make New Shoes

Another reason to love them: the ancient noodles were not made from wheat like modern noodles, but from millet, a type of grain that, along with rice, formed the foundation of agriculture in ancient China.
And I am now accepting submissions of favorite words. Please explain your decision in no fewer than 3 reasons.
And I am also accepting submissions of cute shoe suggestions for fall footwear. I'm in a pedal quandry. A flipflopsarenolongerprudentasmytoeshavebeguntofreeze sort of dilemma. And I don't really do heels. So. Let's make it a contest of creativity for you, my five-to-ten regular readers. And if no one participates, the contest goes to me. Extra points and consideration will go to Sharpie drawings (which you can email to me*) unless they're better than mine, in which case I win also.
Open season on words and shoes starts now.


*enoughaboutyou@gmail.com

Reason and Riesens

I'd like to take some time out today to ask the big questions.

1. Non-alcoholic beer has a little bit of alcohol. Does caffeine-free Diet Coke actually contain traces of caffeine?

2. (This one goes out to Monica, who is hopelessly far away and my Monday nights are the worse for it.) Should I have a blog? (This is a silly question. I already have one. I like to ask myself though, just to be sure.)

3. A question submitted via email from Germany: Hey pizza is cool - do you has been in italy - there where the pizza comefrom ??

4. Where, where is that sound coming from? Is there a marble rolling around in my car? What if I get in an accident trying to avoid turning because of the sound it makes when the marble skips from one side of the floor to another?

5. Why do Riesens create so much extra saliva? The dark chocolate? The biting and jaw-cracking density?

Race Relations

Wait. I can't be a movie ruiner. If you haven't seen Crash, don't read this. It will spoil a piece. A small piece. Ok. If you want to....If you dare, read on.

I can say no. I say no all the time.
Like when my coworker dreams up another project and asks if I want to be involved: NO. Are you sure? YES. See? That was tricky. I said yes, but it was about my being sure about my no.
Let me give you some more responsibility that has nothing to do with your actual job. I think you'll like it.
Nope. Nope, I wouldn't. But thanks so much for thinking of me.
I feel akin to Don Cheadle's character in Crash. He's up for a promotion, but just because of his ethnicity. That is so me.*
You don't have enough to do, White Girl. I'll give you some more white work and then we'll get your sister cleared of her circus offenses.
Oh, no you don't. I know how this story ends. I saw the movie! She'd die AND take credit for the groceries I brought home to mom.

*Note: These projects would have nothing to do with my racial background. At all.

For His Girl, Friday

Mom thinks he calls her anything, everything else because he hates the name Sandy. (He doesn't.)
Herbicide, because she kills plants,
Doc, because she thinks she knows everything (PhD or MD depending on the circumstances),
Alice, because of the Honeymooners (a reference that totally escapes me).
Gert...Ace...Stein...assorted words they have made up in their years together.
Anything but Honey. They always erupt into hysterics if one accidentally 'honey's the other. They reserved it for me and Carly waaaaay back.
She calls him by his given name. Always. She calls the rest of us David, too. And it is always two distinct syllables. Day-vidd.
It's their anniversary today. Technically, right now. He brought home flowers tonight because she is taking tomorrow off and he wanted her to have them all day.
Flowers. All. Day.
Poof.

Sigh No More, Ladies!

I'm getting closer to a font. I can feel it.
No, it's ok! You! Stop crying! I've almost got it! Somebody cut the soundtrack.
I contacted Noodles & Co. today (per Muffin's suggestion) to see if they could help. I love noodles (and the company). I will tell you why.
1. Noodle is my favorite word because it can mean macaroni and fettucini AND brain.
2. I eat my feelings and they taste better as pesto-covered pasta
3. It is the second part of another amazing word: canoodle.
4. It's squabby 2 tha MAX (Elise, do you want to explain the triumvirate of squinn, squab, squo? I could use a guest writer for this one, if you're available.)
5. I can cook them myself.
6. I like to abbreviate it, "noods"
7. This correspondence from earlier today:

From: enoughaboutyou@gmail.com
Sent: Thursday, October 06, 2005 7:43 AM
To: pr@noodles.com
Subject: noodly fonts
Dear Noodles,
I love your font and I'm in the market for a permanent switch. Is it available to the general public?
Thanks,

From: kelly@noodles.com
Sent: Thursday, October 06, 2005 10:33 AM
To: enoughaboutyou@gmail.com
Subject: RE: noodly fonts
Hi,
Which font are you referring to? We use a number of different fonts -- for signage, the logo, menus, promotional/ad campaigns... If you can get more specific, I'll look into it for you. Some of our fonts are custom, but if they are publicly available, I'll be happy to let you know what your chosen one is called.
Sincerely,
Kelly
Noodles & Company
Director, Corporate Communications

From: enoughaboutyou@gmail.com
Sent: Thursday, October 06, 2005 9:48 AM
To: kelly@noodles.com
Subject: RE: noodly fonts
Kelly,
Thanks for such a quick response! You are only improving the Noodle image.
My preferred: the menu font.
Sincerely,

From: kelly@noodles.com
Sent: Thursday, October 06, 2005 10:33 AM
To: enoughaboutyou@gmail.com
Subject: RE: noodly fonts
Hi,
Neutra Text Demi is the font we use on our handheld menu. You can try www.fontbureau.com to purchase it if you like!
Take care,
Kelly

Identity Crisis

I realize it's time to abandon Comic Sans. I can't commit to a new font. I'm temporarily spending some time with Arial, but it feels wrong. And I tried Papyrus for a few minutes, but it's too pretty and pretentious for my work emails.
Sigh.
It's bigger than that, isn't it?
Oh, Lord. I'm having a Garden State crisis/coming of age and it's manifesting itself in font choice and shoulder strain.
And lashing out at co-workers' interns.
Please. Send help.
Care of the Circus.
I'm running away to find Carly.

Possession is Nine-Tenths of the Law

I like my space. It's mine. ME!
Truth:
It's awkward when you find somebody working at your desk. It's awkward when that somebody is an intern and you have all sorts of confidential shit laying around in your various shit piles and that person is sitting, working on your computer.
"Hey, do you need me to get up?" What do I say?
"Um, yeah."
"Ok."
"Ok."
And then I make a Chandler Bing Face of Disbelief when his back is toward me as he casually amasses his own shit and moves away from my desk.
So I tell our third office mate, trying to get a read: is it weird that I don't want an intern on my 'puter? I shouldn't get upset about that, right? Tell me I shouldn't.
She says, chill out, it's ok. It's normal for an intern to take available space.
The next day, I get an email from Third Office Mate who found Intern at her desk, on her 'puter, on her phone...
Hey, Everybody, it's time for a Meeting!

Homecoming 2K5

I should start off by letting Alida know that I know now that her name is not Adina. That was my bad. And as soon as I said it, I thought, "Shit. Why is she making that face at me? What did I say? That's not her name! What's her name?!" I forgot. And I was not drunk. I'm just an ass.
And that was just in my first hour.
Later, we toasted St. Joe, each other, and the guy who stole Mo's car. And the officer who found it the next state over: "You may want to bring an air freshener. It stinks. Have a nice night."
It was replete with drinks (oh, how we drank), dancing (oh, how we danced), and an unexplained injury (a nearly fatal splinter was removed thanks to Jay's impromtu car key surgery).
Thanks to all who made last night possible, including Mary's floor and Mary's roommates' blankets and Mary, herself, who was totally unsurprised when I asktold her that I was staying overnight.

All Points Bulletin

Carly de Soleil
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

Carly tried on this mask last night and ran off with the Cirque. The last time I saw, she was running into the Big Top with the tumbling men.
Please.
There's no reward, but if you find her, you can stay around while she tells the story of her capture.

Caffeine Low

I'm on a Just Say No Self-Inflicted Caffeine Probation, so I skipped my Diet Coke today. My head was throbbing and I wanted drugs. I started asking around. I mimed looking through purses and my eyebrows were knit together. I put one hand up to my forehead.

Me: Aspirin?
Her: No, thanks. I'm good.

(pause, then a discrete whisper)

Carly: Is she drunk?
Me: No, just stupid.
Carly: Huh?
Me: Stupid.
Carly: Oh. Wow.

Mad Cow Ramblings

We were at Cory's house tonight, enjoying the last touches of summer: babies, barbeque, and [b]eachother's company, when I announced that I was feeling queasy. He had undercooked the burgers and they were juicing. Siiiick. Suddenly, Rin was all, "You do that all the time," and I was all, "Nuh-uh. Wait. Yeah, I guess I do. But I feel sick a lot," and Cory was all, "It's probably dipepsioxycontinateulcer, and it's exacerbated by caffeine intake." Sure. Kill me with your uncooked meat, and then redeem yourself by saving my intestines from future dypepsiaxic disorder.
I retreated from my Diet Coke as he and Heidi and everyone there diagnosed me with hyperulcernucleicacid inflammation of the nauseous or something. So I said I'd go a few days without caffeine, just
1. because I can. I'm no bitch of caffeine's. Caffeine doesn't own me. And,
2. because I do feel sick to my stomach--even when it's not a Big Day.* And,
3. because I haven't ever actually vomited from it, but what if I did? What if I was the one caffeine chose to make an example of and then I died of dipepsidACiosityness?!!

*Editor's note: I've never done that before** This is my first self-referencing with link EVER.
**Editor's note: Not that I can remember, anyway

School Spirit: Decades Day

I carefully extrapolated the following exchange and have determined that half our students are learning something:

Tomorrow I'm dressing up as a puritan, I'm so pumped.
A what?
I'm so pumped!
A what?
A puritan. Pure-ih-tan?

Next lesson: Defining Words or, How About I Say It More Slowly?

Six Year Old Smile

Matt and Aquaducts
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

Matt is so...excited...Friday...
Poof.
Two other items:
1. Time travel, as I mentioned yesterday would be mentioned later: voila. I'm reading The Time Traveler's Wife for book club and I'm telling you I am too into this book. I thought I saw the character out for a run the other day. Help. Fictitious characters are coming to life for me.
2. I forgot two because I was thinking about the time traveling book.

Solstice Song

Yesterday was the last day of summer. To celebrate (I like to do all of my celebrating belatedly), I went to see my friend, John Richards. He makes great summer music.
[time warp*]
A few years ago, I was way into John Mayer: rocking out in my college dorm, stalking him at the Quest, etc, etc. He has this song, "Comfortable". So relatable. I mean, I wear gray sweatpants, no make-up, so per-fect...our love was...comf'terbehhhl and so brokehhhn innn.
Ahem.
So as I'm loving this song and making up stories about our future together, I discover that it's not about me. It's not about anyone. I am wounded and ANGRY. A love song for no one in particular? That is careless misuse of melty sweet lyrics.
[time warp again]
I didn't want to risk disappointment again. I told Richards I had to know if Checkout Girl was about a real girl. And it is. Swoon. A girl he liked from afar, and years later from up close. Listen.

*More about time traveling later

Lost in Translation (and more bad stuff happening to animals)

Stafford is in Japan this year, blogging the hmmms he sees. This post inspired me.
I had a glorious few examples from my recent jaunt to Europa.
1. A t-shirt with the words "I'm Rockstar!"
2. A survey (click on the picture below because there are such mistakes that you wouldn't believe me if I typed them out for you).

3. The conversation with the Pasternaks (our host family in Wolfratzhausen):
Manfred P: We have much to do with ourself because we have become retired. We keep the gardening, and the rabbits.
Betty: Oh! Are they pets?
Manfred P: (confused look)
Betty: Do you eat them?
Me: (laughing) Betty! God! No, they don't eat them.
Manfred P: (still confused)
Betty: Are they food?
Manfred P: Oh! Yes.
Me: (horrified)

On the Further Mistreatment of Animals

I poke
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

This picture is from our trip to Munich (pronounced: Moonch-Moonchies), Land of the Lion. It's in Bavaria and the crest blahblahblah...There are about 8000 lions in the city and they are all painted to reflect blahblahblah... This one was far too decorative and I felt it warranted a poke in the glassy eyeball.

In Defense of Territory

We spent the better part of the afternoon setting traps and watching for chipmunks. They make this incredibly irritating noise, this gutteral chirp, and it maddens my father. It's the reason that he bought the trap.
He came out and showed me how to set it with a little peanut butter between two tortilla chips so it doesn't get the trap all gunky.
An hour later, there he was. Chip Munk.
We took Chip down the street to the park and dropped him off behind the hockey rink. The idea was to trick Chip into running directly into the abundant woods before him.
He veered right.
Right back toward our house.
"Not that way! Dammit."
Poppa turns to me: "Issat gonna make it into the blog?"
I nod.

Wanted: Enterprising Young People with Babies to Invest

Lord, have mercy. I'mabouttolosemymind. I've got a mouse that does not function properly. The rolling ball gets stuck. Here, I thought the problem was solved with a new mousepad. IT WAS NOT SOLVED.

For a little perspective, I did not trade any children for pogs. None of my own children, anyway.
I don't have my own children. I could borrow yours, right Anne? I mean, if you're not using him. And I'll get him back for you when pogs go out of style.
Which is never!
Mra ra ra. (I'm trying out a new laugh)

And since this post is a smorgasbord of crap, I'll give you my favorite me-ESL student exchange from today:

Me: You have to finish this worksheet.
Him: (sigh of exasperation)
Me: He's going for meanest teacher of the year award again.
Him: He never gets it!

Dum Dum Da--What? No!

I don't usually address comments directly in the following posts for a few reasons
1. I don't get many comments
2. Matt writes most of them
3. They don't usually inspire such fear in me
I especially don't respond to comments in my new posts when I have such a story to tell*
I have enough rumors with the neighborhood moms.
I am not getting married.
I would tell you. Wouldn't I tell you? Yes, I would.

*Jill got brained by a softball and Team Fun won the game. They were down by 10 in the...maybe the fourth inning...came back to win by two in a nailbiting seventh inning.
I was taking some action shots (right place, right time, wrong camera) to use for my (ahem) blog, and (I know that is so geeky, but I want to find something new and different every day and I can't just post about the Euro Mullet again, even if it is a big hit.) as I was lining up a shot, I saw out of the wee viewfinder, Jillian took a ball to the back of the head as she was running to third. And then she went down.
I planned to use the photos as evidence, but they are so completely fuzzed that I cannot put them up here. Perhaps I could Sharpie something for you.

Luke + Lorelei = True Love

Do you ever get so excited that you think you might throw up? I know what you're thinking and it's not after I've eaten a lot of food and feel fat and need to purge. (See yesterday's picture.) I'm talking about good old fashioned happyvomit. Like when you
1. hear from a long lost friend or you
2. make a joke over email and you laugh outloud AND harder than anyone else or
3. when your mom asks the ladies with the strange accents if they're from Russia and they get totally offended and then she asks if they're from up the street? And then she tells you not to blog that! "I feel bad! I didn't mean to be offensive! Anything I say will and might be used against me in a court of blog." Or
4. when it's the SEASON PREMIERE OF GILMORE GIRLS!
Oh, damn. Like my chest is tight with giggles and my throat is full of happy bile.
My coworker calls it Big Day Syndrome. When he was a little kid, he used to throw up before his family went to the fair because it was a favorite place.

Fatty Came Home

I bought a Rolodex. To keep me busy if I can't find another wheel to spin.
And to keep my contacts.
I don't have any contacts.
I have two chins.
And a home.
And some sleep to make up for the seven hour time difference.

Double Chin Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

I Bit My Lisp

This is a story about a girl who went away and decided it's ok to come home now.
It's been a little over a month. More than 30 days, anyway.
I've figured some shit out:
1. I love bags with ziplocking action.
2. I am always worried (about everything). Especially that I might have to pee on busrides.
3. I love waking up to natural light, I love morning, and would rather get up early than go out late and have fun.
4. I hate fun.
5. Matt and I fight about numbers 3 and 4.
6. I'll just have a sip of someone else's.
7. I learn some things the hard way.
For this, there is a example of the time we were packing to come home earlier today when suddenly I realize I'm out of clean underoos. Good planning. So I pop into a shop with a nice display and pick out a very happily cotton pair with screenprinted bows. Who doesn't like bows?
And then I see the price tag. I see it in plenty of time to say, "Could you please place those directly back on the hanger with the matching camisole that costs more than my plane ticket home? Because, you see, I am a very frugal young lady who does not require such niceties. I'll just turn some inside out."
But, and here's the rub, I don't know Spanish. Not even enough to say "I've changed my mind." I could have run out, but I was forced into that embarassing silence of cheapasses who want to say no, but don't.
And now, I will send Matt to return said item, knowing Spanish as he does, and being ashamed to go myself.
8. Some lessons are worth $35.
9. That doesn't mean you have to keep $35 panties.
10. Chocolate solves everything. See 2, 4-10.

Natural Disaster OF HAIR

Have you ever...
been away from home for a really long time and then something bad happens, like, for example, a hurricane that wipes out an entiremajormanycities and you think to yourself, I should probably say something about it, but what to say, where to begin and so instead you post a picture of yourself and your new EuroMullet?

No? Really?
Well, the bang was too intense, people. It was long and I was disgruntled.
Lucia, the sweet Spanish speaking also cosmetology student, cut my hair in her grandma's kitchen.
This is the before:

Pre- EuroMullet
Originally uploaded by Sriracha

This is the after:

Rockin the EuroMullet
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

Meo! (I am peeing!)

Coming to you Live from Lucia's Gramma's house, Bilbao, Spain, The World
Lucia is a friend of Matt's from his study abroad days here in Espana. We're visiting and staying at her grandma's house because her grandma is on holiday for a month traveling to Cordoba. Like all Spanish grandmas. Mine would be a jet setter, too, if she weren't afraid to fly.
We dined with Lucia and her father and stepmother (Juan and Timi) this evening. Lucia speaks some English; Juan and Timi, none at all.
Mostly the conversational pattern follows
1. Spanish
2. Spanish-English translation from Matt to me
3. English-English for Lucia
Repeat.

A snipet from tonight:
Lucia: She is a mess in the dick.
Me: Huh?
(many seconds pass)
Matt: A pain in the ass?
Lucia: Yes. A pain in the East.
There was much laughter that followed, and I was always the loudest. You'd think I'd be more sensitive to English Language Learners.

Another snipet from tonight:
L: We have one Spanish expression about the heat.
She says the phrase.
We hear: It is like the sweaty balls of your grandmother.
She meant: It is like your grandma's boiled eggs.
I wrote it all down when I stopped laughing and Lucia picked up the paper reading,
"Like the sweety balls of your grandmother."

Grounded

Ack! There's no IhateEurope.com
-Matt

Dear London,
This is an open letter to you and to Ryan Air and to your silly little Stansted Airport.
YOU RUINED PART OF MY DAY.
There we were: on our way to Spain.
Until you came along, deceiving us with your 40 minute before departure closing of check ins and oh, how I loathe you.
The sweet ladies of EasyJet assured us that we would have enough time because EasyJet closes their infinitely superior check in 30 minutes before. THAT IS 10 MINUTES MORE TIME FOR US TO GET TO YOU.
Instead, you take our money and you sit there. Not even running away. Sit there with your fancy neck scarves shaking your heads. Growl. I growl at you.
Ass.
Please note that in the future, I will not come to you with my travel needs. Not to city, not to the carrier, and certainly not to your undersized airport with quick underground service to London because you're so far away from the city center. C-E-N-T-E-R.
I hate you and your reverse spelling.
Sincerely,
Me
P.S. I didn't really mean it. I'm mad. I don't know what I'm saying.
P.P.S. Sob.

Should I be from Prague?

The girls here are cute. I know this, because most everybody in the city is a tourist. The locals are easy to spot. I also know this because Matt and I do fashion dos and don'ts to pass the time and everyone from here is a do.

I wake up each morning and look at my hair. Yeah, it's a little bit rock star. The bang is too long. That's a problem, but I do a little sweeping and I've got the unplanned-erratic look of Euro Traveler. And it suits me.
Hours later I catch a glimpse of someone who looks a little like me, but nothinglikeIlookedthismorningIswearit. I never would have left the hotel.
Like someone you'd see in a train station and assume they rode through the night and could use a place to sleep. Oh, honey.
That's what you'd say to me.

So we're off to Spain tomorrow and none of you have called or texted. No, that's cool. I mean, it would be nice, but no pressure. I understand. You're busy. Probably looking up Prague girls on the internet.

Heaven is a Thai Foot Massage

The next time you're in the Czech Republic, visit my friend Noi.
She has small hands and lotion. And she will take your feet and make them numb for one hour and 600 crowns (about 24 dollars).
At some point during the very enjoyable time, I remember wondering what she was saying to her friend at the next foot rub station. At another point, I remember wondering why I cared.
Why?
Why, when your lower half may as well be an alien life form trying to make contact with your torso?
At yet another point, I remember thinking, I cannot wait to write about getting a Thai Foot Massage in not Thailand. This is so ridiculous! I love ridiculous things! WAIT! Focus on the enjoyment! Stop thinking about your blog!
And your cell phone*! Stop thinking about that, too!

*As a sidenote, if anyone wants to send a text message to me IN PRAGUE (this number is only good until Saturday) : 011 420 608 184 896

Missing: Nothing.

An observation from Matt:
Wouldn't it be cool if you never had to worry about shady people?*
Yes. Yes it certainly would. I would love to not be suspicious of the sweet ticket-taking granny at the Jewish Museum (not full of Jews waiting to be observed), but everybody who could escape with my stuff is a threat.
I almost swiped an Acer from some guy today who was typing at a cafe because I was pretty sure it was mine.
BUT MY ACER IS AT HOME.
On the table.
Hi, Acer.
Mommy loves you.
Prague is nice and warm and the Jewish Museum was nice and warm, too.

*Note: He also woke up this morning with an idea of how to successfully smuggle cocaine.

From Praha

DearMom
We're in Prague now(the spacebaris terribly stickyandrefuses to perform its solefunction. Forgive me.). We had to makea mad dash fortheborderafter Matt threatened tokill Parisand everyonein thesurrounding areas.
Parishate morphed intoEuropehate and thepressure wastoo muchfor WEsternEuropeto handle. This migration hascostus upwards of 130 USD a night for accomodations and less than 1 USD per beer. A fair trade byanystandards.
It's pretty and cute and there's a Hermes on the corner of Parisstoyaka or someshit.
I learned the phrases "Good morning, Allen Smith" and the very helpful, "It's Ivan's birthday."
International peace will comeofthis cultural exchange.
Miss you, miss home. Hate Paris. Justkidding, Paris.
Mostly.
love,
Me.
P.S. THERE WAS AN ASIATIC TRADER RESTAURANT WITH SRIRACHA SAUCE. I ATE IT. IT WAS GOOD.

Paris, Sans Les Petits

It's not like I'm in a bar in Paris getting sauced because I miss the kids.
Who, me?
But if I did. I mean, if I were sad, it would be ok.
As things go, I'm doing pretty well. I saw the Moulin Rouge windmill today. I mean, this girl is going places.
Actually, it was sort of an anti-climax. That's true, but also a joke because the streets are FILLED with sex shops and peep shows and nasty.
Ew.
So I miss walking around with 10 kids in tow. And I can't believe that I have no more excuse to go shopping, except that I want to.
"Um, Matty? Could we just? I mean, Lauren REEEEEALLY wants to see these shoes....Lauren's not here? Yeah. Right. Well, she asked me to look at them for her."

Weltjugentag and other unnecessarilz long words

Sometimes when zou saz a million zou donät mean one million. Zou use it as an exaggeration.
I, I am using it in total accuracz. Mostlz.
Thez estimated that a million people slept under the cloudz stars last night bz me. Iäm still in Germanz (exhibit: the kezboards) for the festival of poorlz orchestrated maps, uninformed volunteers, and train station shutdowns that is World Zouth Daz 2005. Well, piss. I am on a pilgrimage. This is me, being a pilgrim. With 999,999 other people. None of us slept last night at Marienfeld because it was cold as butt. And thank zou, PB XVI for shooing awaz the rain with zour God-direct line, but next time please request warmth as well.
The real storz is the SIX HOURS on FOOT it took us to get back to the comfort of a gzmnasium floor.
If I drew zou a diagram, it would look like a big freaking criss-crossed mess of disaster and miscommunication with the Polizei (actual spelling).
All for now. More from Paris, home of the twinkling lights and piss-smellz beggars.

Local Celebritz

So todaz I met mz favorite Christian tv personalitz. His name is Lino and he used to do a show on cable access channel 6.
I realiye that I might have been the entire viewing audience, but he made me laugh time and again.
I think this is the site of the former show. Mazbe coming out on dvd soon. With Laguna Beach. Could someone order that for me?
The best part is that Iäm at this festical of 800,000 people and I see Lino twice. The first time I saw his nose across the crowd. The second time, I couldnät pass up the chance to chat. I mean, what are the odds--clearlz, Divine Intevention.
So I run up to him screeching like an idiot (which is not so strange if zouäve seen me around people whose stage work I admire). Tried to be cool. Then I tried to be an ass. Then I was an ass.
Oh, ass.
Oh, me.
Oh, ass me in Germanz.

Fifty Years. You're Old.

A Lot of Hot Air
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

Mom and he shared an AARP moment over cake. They high-fived.
Yesssss.
And it's only five more years to the senior discount at Perkins.
Pencil me in.
Oh, and I'm in Rome.
Eating gelato and soaking up the ambiance.
And NOT TAKING MY PILLS.
I'm a woman on the edge.
Highlights:
1. Anemic watermelon on the plane
2. First travel poop
3. British tour guides using words like anti-clockwise
4. "We're fat Americans" -Betty
5. Other things that seem funny when you're with a group of eleven other people who are equally sleep-deprived.
Totos tuus,

Panicky packing moment No. 50

Preceeded by 49 similarly pathetic moments.

Am now watching Women's Entertainment Sin-gle In The Ci-ty.
Oh, the shame.
Boy: "If you had your wish right now, what would it be?"
Girl: "I would give all the little people... you know not little people, but people who don't have houses who walk alongside the road--"
Boy: "Homeless people"
Girl: "No, I don't want to say that. "
Boy: "..."
Girl: "Like on Thanksgiving and Christmas when you're on your way from Nana's house and you pass them on the road after your feast"
Boy: "..."

Oh.
Oh.
I am mentally numbed. Back to the packing.

I Got Soul, But I'm Not A....Oh. Wait. Soldier? Really?

There's just...
There's just such an obvious explanation for this.

What Classic Movie Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com
Thanks to After School Snack for the link.

Woman Not Hungry; Eating

I'm eating my feelings this morning in the form of
-surprisingly successful zucchini bread made from the very special farmer's market crop I purchased yesterday
-small candy bars (only filling in large quantities, as we have previously discussed)
-edges of plastic cups
-fingers
-pens

I have pre-travel anxiety. And I got it real bad. We leave on Tuesday. Did I not mention that? Oh, yeah. I'll be in Europe for a month.
But before that...
I took Carly and the Poppa to the airport this morning for a trip to OH (Happy Birthday Mary Lynn! I've got anxiety! And medication! Sorry I won't make it to your party!) and realized how much I hate taking people and being taken there.
Gulp.
I went to the Doctor last week to explain myself. The prescription is for many pills. Thirty, actually. She said if I use them all, she'll be "concerned." I think the key here is for me to NOT be concerned. So at this point, my plan is to take them all just so that somebody else is concerned and not me.

TLC, feat. My Mom

Haha. I've been saving this gem since last week because she thought that I forgot about it!

Mom, with hairspray in hand:
"Crazy [spritz]...
"Sexy [spritz]...
"Cool..." [spritz]
pause
"I have to write that."
"Nooooo! I knew you would! I did that on purpose for your blog!!!!"
"I know."
"So don't write it. Pleeeease. It was a joke."
"I know."

New Music Monday..er...crap....It's Tuesday.

This is my kind of love song...
Thanks to Ash for the tip.

And this is my kind of hate song... (grrrrrrowl...Starbucks!)
Thanks to Ali for the tip.

Mixed Greens: A Rendering

Mixed Greens: A Rendering
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

Today I lunched with Rin, during which time I had mixed greens in the form of a very disappointing salad. I pushed around the purple leaves. Suspiciously.
Taking a tip from the Amateur Gourmet's mom, I topped it off with some Equal.
Rin smiled into her Caesar and explained that she avoids them now: "I gotta be careful with the mixed greens because they all taste like dirt." And they do. Which is ok, if you like organic. But for me it is the equivalent of eating sand with my clam chowder. Nast.
Shame on me for taking no photos of the actual. Here, a representation.

Senior Moments By My Dad

"It's Mike. Mike...Melmon.. Melvin...Elvi...Melvis...? Hang on, I've got it written down."
Paper shuffling.
"Steve Schwartz."
---------------------------------------------------
"I've got to set up a meeting with Sue McIntrye."
"Yeah she wants to chat with you."
Pauses to write....
"What's Katherine's last name?"
Blink, blink.

Canterbury [Man] Down

I won three-eighty.
After I spent 15.
I had this instinct about a horse named Marco Salt.
It's what happens EVERY time we gamble. I spend the afternoon betting paltry amounts on the underdog or the neglected machine. I lose.
Matt bets huge on several hands of poker and ends up getting "screwed by [fill in the blank]...and why do we even come here? I don't have money to spend on this! I want another piece of camera equipment."
"No, Matt. No."
"But this just...aaaah! I HATE gambling!"

I've Got Observations About So Many Things, But Not About Cars

I'm driving down 70th when my car is schmacked by a piece of branch or someshit launched out of an industrial mower. Aside from the pee running down my leg, this isn't an emergency, so I can't pull over and stop traffic.
I reach my destination and bend down by the side of the car. Those bastards! I've probably got a gaping hole in my....lower bumperish-side-fender thing.
I see that there are many dents. So very many.
And honestly, I don't remember any of them.
Those bastards! That flying tree made at least 40 dents of varying sizes and severity!

Behind the Music: Ugly Homes

The split level home peaked in the 1950s and has continued to quietly prosper ever since.
Yes.
Yes, people. That is what I'm talking about.

As the Home Commission Board Members twirl tiny straws in their Manhattans, the scene unfolds:
"A toast!"
Echoed, "A toast!"
"To James 'Carpenter' Level and Johnny 'Banana' Split, inventors of the Split-Level--"
"It's 'Level-Split,' All Brick Housing."
"To Level Split!"
"No, it's 'Split-Level' Housing Industry Incorporated Limited, Home of Aluminum Siding'"
"Whelp, in either case!"
"Another round!"
"Anyway, let's hear it for these guys, eh? Way to go, boys."
"You sly son of a..."
-----Business Lunch Brawl Ensues---------
Many hours later as Level and Split survey the plans over Gin and Tonics:
"Heck, let's do it. Let's please all of the people all of the time. Half brick, half aluminum siding."
"That's damn classy."
"You're damn classy."
"You're just saying that."
"No, seriously."
-----Back at the Office Two Person Brawl Ensues-----
Ugly ass homes are built around the Continental US. Level and Split leave a legacy of hideous houses, but blow their entire fortune on coke and prostitutes.

Joyride!

Newly returned from Cub Foods where I rocked an abandoned electric cart in the parking lot. My accomplices noticed a key in the ignition and I went Evil Knievel around a pole.
Breaking news: I was just interrupted by my dad who is giggling at a Pampers commercial: "Potty training is the largest challenge. Second is sleeping all night. It's a balance between intimidation and utility."
Naturally, I did not ask for an explanation. I prefer to decode his messages in sleep. And when they apply.
Which is to say, in about 10 years.

Where's My Soapbox?

dog toy
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

Arggggh.
Listen up, children. You want to know why I leap out of reach of your pets? Why I gag at the sight of animal-human smooching? Here's the truth.
It's not that my dad hates animals because he's not good at sharing his space.
It's not about Lo, my beautiful fish whom Meg accidentally seared on the window sill when I left for Ireland. Although that was incredibly traumatic. All water under the bridge, Meg. You know I love you.
This is why I don't like animals: they eat things that are not food.
Nooooooo. Whyyyyyyy.
Not you, my precious Flip Flops.
Oh, Flip. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left you alone with those doggies.
Flop, forgive me. If I had known, I could have protected you.
I would have. Please, believe me.

Evening Showers; Humid with a Chance of Cute Hair

Keyboarding or AIR GUITAR?!?!
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

Shoot!
My best hair is happening after midnight.
Right now.
This is it.
This is my best hair.
It's summertime, which means that no matter when you shower, you will sweat again. I don't mind sweating. I mind showering. I have a one shower per diem limit.
The few benefits of the evening shower:
1. eliminates 60% of hairdrying overheat (approximately)
2. creates cute going-out hair in the event that I might leave the house
3. blog-inspiration
4. guaranteed ponytail the next day
When I am in sleep-prep mode, my hair looks freakin awesome. I mean, really. The bang behaves; the layers flip in whatever direction they choose; I look like a rock star.
I should take up the synthesizer.
Right now I am rocking out this keyboard as if it were a groovy synth. It is not.
Or it is and the music I make is this very post.
Yesssssssssssssss.

Midnight Snack Musing

Fun size candy bars are only fun if you have two or more.
And that is not the serving size.

Senior Discount(ed)

Remember that time we were walking around Calhoun and that old guy passed us...?
Walking?
And how he was a few yards ahead for at least a quarter of a mile while we marveled and tried in vain to pump our arms with enough force to overtake him?
Yeah.
And then we saw our chance and took the off-road path for a few seconds to pass him back (the shame morphed into vengeance so quickly).
Remember how we had to cheat to beat the old guy who walked faster than us?

No, me neither.

Catatonic Carly

"The best part of wakin' up...is stickin to the couch."
She's singing to the tune of Folgers.
Carly has just spent the last few morning hours sleeping off her exhaustion after...sleeping.
She complained briefly about the heat, though she is wearing sweatpants and is covered by a down blanket. She threatened to turn on the air which we can't because
1. It's not actually that hot. She's got that just-woken-up-sweaty-nap thing happening.
2. Mom and I hate the air conditioning. All of the windows are closed and what since I'm so hard at work, sometimes I don't get to go outside that often. I love the smell of summer. That's enough to make me defend number 3...
3. No authority. When you live with the Poppa, you don't touch the thermostat.
Now she's talking to the tv: "My day just keeps getting better!...The Laguna Beach Preview Special and they introduced me to all new people. Then, I twisted my back. And then I burped."
Somebody employ this woman.

Ode to the Bus

A poetic narrative in the freest free verse ever writ:

Metro Transit, what joy to me you bring.
I f'ing love riding Downtown.
Route 6, (minus the time that guy got stabbed) is where I long to linger.
In the window I pinch a finger.
(Crap. That hurt.)

I drift off into sleep when my head jerks back
Awake (Did I miss the stop? Where am I? Is that drool?)
I lean head-on-arm and slack-jawed again
Until Southdale.

And now, an interlude:

To the driver whose socks are long and smiles thin:
It'd be sweet if you were cheerful like the other guy. He always says, "Have a good one." Don't you want me to have a good one?
Oh. Well. Now I know.

To that lady wearing the stank ass perfume:
Don't do that anymore. No, I'm not kidding. You smell ridiculous. Can you smell that? It's you.

To the guy who checks out EVERY woman:
Oh, now. Please. Ew. Go sit with the stinky lady.

And now, a conclusion:
Fin.

Fun with Nature

Fun with Nature
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

Yesterday, Mom and I walked to the ice cream store in the sweltering heat. You know how hot it was. (So hot).
I thought I was hallucinating when, along the way, we passed a bunch of reeds and for the first time in my life (!) I saw cattails.
Well, excuse me for saying, but they look much more like corndogs. I've attached a Sharpie rendition for your perusal.
I propose a renaming committee take this issue on immediately. Will anyone sign my petition?

The Misanthrope

We drive home in silence waiting for Dad to combust. "Unbelievable. Just unbelievable."
This week, the targets are many: "There were so many people in that church who should have been punished today."
1. Music makers
2. Families with small children who feel the need to integrate their young and refuse the Crying Room
3. Music makers
4. Anyone wearing printed t-shirts (e.g. Proud Supporters of Chicks with Sticks)
These outbursts are expected. He does this every week. "I need to find a new religion." Unfortunately, most religions encourage communal worship, and it's the people he can't stand.
Usually we end up laughing at the ridiculousness, but today he says, "all I can do is cry." I promise not to tell the internet when he says, "I just wanted to take a bat and go up and down the aisles." Then, we have lunch.

Move Over, Harry Potter

Handful of Wonder
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

There's a new Wizard in town and his name is Mr. Sharpie Marker and you can find him and 15 of his closest friends at Sam's Club.
Is there anything so magical?

We're in a Fight

Starbucks, you selfish bastard.
You lure me in with your boast of being a hot-spot and your delicious blended coffee. It’s bad enough to be a Siren, but YOU LIED. You didn’t tell me that I’d have to pay for wi-fi. I’ll take a vanillablendedcremewithwhippedcreamandfreewirelessinternetaccess, please. But you don’t serve those. And now here I am with my pretty little Acer, but I’ll have to take my 'puter home before I can even post this rant against you!
And another thing, when I say I want whipped cream, what I mean is, “No. I don’t. It gives me a tummy ache. Please. Don’t give the girl whipped cream.” I realize that’s a little confusing. Just pretend it’s opposite day.
I wish I couldn’t get access to the internet here.
This is so convenient.
It doesn’t get any more convenient than this.

What? Are you too good for reverse psychology?! I HATE YOU, STARSUCKS! Take that and DON'T REVERSE IT!

Reasons No. 5432 and 5433 I love high school brains:

"How do you spell maroon?"
"M-A-R-O-O..."
"Oh, like Maroon 5."
"Yes."
------------------------------------------------
"I swear there's some animal that's orange."
"The scarfaced tiger?"
"No. Wait. That's an orange."
"Huh?"
"Like the fruit."
"Yes, the fruit is orange."
"That's what I was trying to remember."

Up, up on The Range

I was in Buhl.
I didn't want you to be alarmed, so I didn't tell you I'd be leaving. I'm sorry.

I'm back now.
And how.

I shot a pellet gun. About 15 minutes later (after I signed on with the County Sherriff's as a sharp shooter), I held and fired a .22 caliber pistol. I won't do that anymore. It was very loud.
Plus, I'm better with a pellet gun. You should see the Nabisco canister riddled with dents.

I sat by a man who was unable to control the decibel of his voice. He tried to make casual conversation: "THIS IS A GREAT YEAR FOR RASPBERRIES!"

I drank the finest water in America. (Good.)

I visited the largest iron-ore pit in the world. (Big.)

I spent five hours at a casino. (Boo.)

I heard a 59 year old marriage speak:
"Are you speeding?"
"You're seein cock-eyed. You need new glasses."
"This is true."

And:
"No, I...I can't remember that fellow's name."
"You're old."

And:
"I was one sick cookie."
"You're old."

And:
"You're old."
"You're old."

A Photographic Essay

Photo Attack (no. 1)
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

I'll let the pictures tell a story. (Mom, you click on the picture to the right and it will take you to the rest of the photos at Flickr. Just go with it.)
Ideally, these pictures will tell the story of a girl who had big fun with her friends, drank a little too much, and then was really snotty by the end of the night and told her boyfriend that she hated him. She didn't mean it.
I also hope they'll tell the story of some random guy who walked in to Brent's house "looking for a party". Um, hello...who are you? He left before I got a photo, but that picture you can create in your mind.
And my favorite part: when we decided on Herkimer, which was just the right amount of busy and we got a spot right in front at a meter that we didn't have to feed AND THEN the bouncer told me I have a beautiful smile. BEAT THAT! Nobody told Kristen that she had nice tits and she was sort of bummed about that. Understandably.
This post goes out to her. Your boobs are great, Kris.

8 Lives Left

It was funny. If you don't like cats. Straight out of a Tom Green movie (and please don't confuse my meaning: I do not think that Tom Green movies include good quality humor, but I'm sure that they include violence toward animals). So as we are terribly, horribly lost coming home last night, a cat sprints out across the road. We're already flustered about going in the wrong direction. Carly says, "I just killed a cat."
We all squeal and lift up our feet. I'm on the phone with Matt who hears the commotion and now I am screaming to make him hear what has happened. To let him know that we are not wrecked. A pause, and then, "Ooh. It's running back. I didn't kill it...I hit a cat! I'm going to be so nice to cats from now on."
"What? Because of this? You didn't do it on purpose."
"Well, I'm not gonna kick 'em anymore."

Sisters, sisters who are frieeeeeends. Are the luckiest people in the worrrrrrrrrrrrrld.

As we were getting ready to go out tonight, Carly says to me (in her Kip Dynamite voice):
"So I was thinking how we're pretty much BFFs.
And I pretty much love it."
We laughed because we pretty much are.
And it's pretty much the best thing ever.

Who Loves You?

Yes, ok. I am the cutest baby.
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

We have family in town for the fourth and thereafter.
I am holed up in my room to type absent the wobbly wanderer that is Elliot. Elliot has been walking since 8 months and will be celebrating his 1 year (first birthday, they call it) next week. He must be predominantly accelerated. And a future athlete.
Please, Elliot, become an athlete and get paid lots of money and support your cousin who has chosen poverty in career and love.
Please?
I'll give you some Cheerios and watch you eat them.
Or a bottle?
You like bottles, right? Isn't that what babies want?
Wait. You're pooping again.
Ok. A little privacy?
Just come see me when you're ready and you've signed a muti-million dollar contract.

Cub Foods and Votive Candles: a partnership in food, faith.

Virgen de Guadalupe
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

Ever since she entered our kitchen a few days ago, the Virgin of Guadalupe has brought nothing but good eats. Pictured is Mom's kick a** homemade Chex Mix. Not pictured are the cookies from our neighbor, Pam and the Angel Food Cake from our neighbor, Debbee.
This Virgin is here to stay.
I realize that the BVM is not a patron saint of cooking or even homes, but she's got pull and I think she's doing great work.

Bang on the Fourth of July

She Bangs
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

Here they are.
Can you see how irritated I am?
If I'm lucky, the fireworks tonight will send down some schrapnel and singe this fringe off once and for all.

All Aboard

Jean Claude Van Damme.
Four words.
One bragging right: Worst movie actor. EVER.
Last evening we viewed his "film" (I use the word loosely), Derailed.
Tagline: The deadliest disease ever discovered is about to be unleashed on the world.
What they meant to say: This movie is the deadliest disease ever. Don't come near it. Please. Run away and catch a plane to the farthest reaches of the earth to escape this ridiculously embarassing waste of film.
IMDB.com lists only one of the many goofs. The rest include such blunders as:
1. No coherent timeline. We are lead to believe that this movie is linear, but if the shots are chronological, how can a man who is shot atop a speeding train car in one scene enter the VERY NEXT SCENE, inside the train with no visible wounds?
2. Laughably bad dialogue. This is only a blunder if you're the writer. The shame. "My God!"
3. Cast. Jean Claude and his biological son Kristopher van Varenberg. I can see why he's not trading on his daddy's name. A little nepotism goes a long way in ruining careers, dear.
4. Inexplicably shameful graphics, technology, and use of stock helicopter footage. That includes the use of a green screen during all train-top fights.

Many thanks to Dan, Matt, D, and his roommates for ridiculing Derailed with great honesty. Their comments inspired this post.

Then Again, He Lives in France

David Sedaris once said that he volunteers with elderly citizens because he wants to see their homes. He turns them into characters, exploiting them much like I do with my ESL students.
Pause to marvel at our shameless "research."
This afternoon I walked into two senior houses that should be quarantined, boarded up, nailed shut, stomped on and away from.
One man had signs around his lawn, porch, and doors that read "Beware of Dog." He has no dog, yet his house smells as if he were harboring one or more, perhaps deceased. Odors that burn the cilia from nostrils.
Another woman invited us in to see pictures of her 58 foster children. We had to eat lunch outside because her home stank so strongly of old carpeting that the group gagged while she spoke.
We worked outdoors at both places.
But this David Sedaris lives in Paris. Do old people stink in Paris? Do they invite you in for food you could not possibly consume lest it get caught in your windpipe causing you to spend longer in the home of vile stench? Do they have dogs? How about dead dogs beneath floorboards? Eh? Eh?