When You Can't(cun) Go On

And you're tired of walking, you might raise your arms and ask the lizard on your hotel ceiling to pick you up. You might say, "Pick me up, Lizard."
For just a moment, you might believe in the power of willing a lizard to take you to your room.

But First Listen To This

When I'm done telling you about the mouse in our office, I'll write all about Mexico and the fun we had. (So much fun.)
It is Mouse Incursion 2K6.
We came in this morning to find the little bugger hiding under a pair of work gloves. I screamed like it was April Fool's Day.
Now, I'm cool with mice as long as I don't have to worrry about them climbing my pant leg.
On second thought, I'm not that cool with mice.

Eating Battery Acid In Foreign Cities

Darling Readers, (Except you, Anonymous. We're still in a fight.),
I am off to see some more of the world.
With my birth certificate and driver's license.
After hours of searching and 1.5 freak-out episodes, I have discovered that my room is a swirling pit of clothing and ephemera...but no passports.
So you can be jealous of my trip TO RAINY CANCUN, if you want. But first, please check to see that my passport is not with you.

I suspect that we will have no internet access during the week, but here's a story about Muffin's last trip to Mexico:

I spilled diet coke everywhere and was cleaning it up and found a battery that was sticky. Without proper cleaning utensils, I did what any smart, well educated person would have done. I licked it like a Popsicle.
Then my tongue burned and I couldn't taste for awhile.
Turns out it wasn't Diet Coke sticky.

Hope work doesn't suck too much. [Shielding face from flying foodstuffs.]
Love,
Sri

Taking Leave

Sometimes I combine words on purpose. It's sort of an irritating habit, but I've only realized it recently. I'm trying to cut down.
Today, as an awkward conversation came to an awkward end, I said loudly, "See ya in a bile." It was not intentional. Please believe me.
In other news, I am improving my math skills:
["bit"] + ["while"] + [(moment of extreme speech anxiety x 8)] = "bile"

Armpits Part II: Mom Further Explains Herself

"I don't think yesterday's blog captured what I was saying. I scrrrrape. But it doesn't hurt. I don't know. Is that unusual?"
No. I guess not. What's unusual is that we talked about it and that I blogged it and then that it came up at dinner where we talked about it again.
And how, when I got home from work, you put on your headphones to listen to your iPod, cued up the song labeled, "That Song" by "Jack Splat" (which is really "If You're Not The One" by Daniel Bedingfield) and then karaoked for me*.
And that you're singing it to yourself again, sans iPod, right now.
Perfectly abnormal in every way.


*If ever I had a wish for in-house documentarians...

Mom. Seriously. Maaahhhhhhm!

She is the reason I carry little pieces of paper in my coat pockets and bother servers for writing utensils.
Tonight, in the car, debating the merits of armpit waxing versus shaving. But they're sensitive. Should you be careful with that skin?
"Mom?"
"I can scratch my armpits. And it feels good!"

Bulldog of Bergen, Pride of New Jersey...And Other Praise

Cinderella Man today.
What I learned:
1. James J. Braddock's story is just enough about his children to make me weepy.
2. I must not watch a biopic unless I already know the outcome. The stress is too much.
3. Boxing is only ok when the smaller, older guy nobody-expected-but-everyone-hoped-for wins. Otherwise, it's a deplorable sport used to line the pockets of men in swanky suits.
4. The Great Depression sucked ass. So bad.
5. Don't joke about the Great Depression at dinner with mom.

Take Two

Tonight I, for the second time, arrived at my destination without my left front hubcap. The damned thing.
The first time I did not document. I felt it was an isolated incident and nothing more of it. Except that I had to pull over with a car full of kids and say, "Please hold while I retrieve this totally non-essential piece of my car. You certainly are in good hands. And safe. So safe. I can't wait until we get to ______, all in one piece, in this fantastic vehicle. Rated Five Stars in Hubcap Loss Tests."
This time I was alone and kicking the icyslushmess off the tire crapshields* when I noticed. I retraced my steps looking carefully on both sides of the roads, ho-humming about what an inconvenience is a missing hubcap. I ended at a vacant parking lot and spun the car out in frustration. Suddenly, there she was-- covered in snow.
Whipping Shitties Saved My Car's Cosmetic Life.

*What are they even really called and why is that my favorite part of winter driving?

Let's Talk Universal Truths

Big cardboard boxes are fun even when you grow up.

Operation Stitch-Up

They freak out when I reach for the pen, but Ashley is speaking Golden Words of Blogginess. I must document. She is carrying Bear, her forearm-sized teddy bear, being sure to support the neck. "He needs surgery," she says. And her mom will do it. Again. Bear's life has been marred by many unfortunate complications of over-loving.
He is nearly two-dimensional; no longer qualifies as a stuffed animal. At age 24*, Ashley still sniffs the places fur used to be**. She wants to know the age when people are forced to give up their childhood companions. We recount lost blankies, toys.
Jill wrenches her legs to keep from peeing, laughing as Ashley holds her small friend up to her breast. She looks up, pleased with herself: "Have you ever seen me look as natural as this?" In the silence that follows before the uproar, we look at her and shake our heads. Um...Nope. You're totally going to make a great mom, Ash, as long as the baby is filled with batting***.

*Soon enough.
**Bear's Extreme Weight Loss Plan For Stuffed Animals: get all the fur sniffed off of you.
***And you wait for 5-10 years.

The Importance Of Being Earnest [While Enunciating]

The bar is not overly crowded. The music isn't that loud. We're just hanging out (like you do Downtown on a Wednesday night). A limosine passes and is obviously being tailed by another car.
"Do you think that's his ahhhj garage?"
"Huh?"
"His ahhhj garage? Like 50 Cent's G-unit...?"
"Huh, his Ahhhj Garage?"
"AHHHN TOO RAAAAJ"
"Oh. No."

"Whisper" Talks Softly to Encourage People to "Go Veg!"

Prescript: Last night, absent of posting something all day, I realized that I spend most of the day attempting to filter the weird things in my office and decide whether they are worth documenting. And I call that work.

My office-mate adopted* some turkeys.
The turkey is an ugly bird and these four are no exception. I know this because their pictures are hanging on the wall in frames. Included are Cabbage Patch style stats: favorite food, birthdate, and a message of thanks for saving [Turkey's name here].
Every once in a while, she glances up from her desk and smiles at their pictures. And I am torn. Because they are appetite-squelching photographs, but she genuinely admires them. And it makes my heart explode a little.

*Saved from death with money. She is in no way responsible for raising or nurturing the animals. Matt, please don't take offense. It's euphemistic.

Roofies From People You Trust

Now that Christmas is over we move on to another celebration requiring gifts. Thank you, Marshall Fields, for reminding us what comes next. Every year for Valentine's Day, my dad sets up a little shrine for the three of us. It's candy in nature, as opposed to religious. He's done it as long as I can remember. Forever.
Tonight, at dinner, he suggests changing up the routine with "rubies."
"Rubies, David?"
"Rupies."
"Rupies, David?"
"Currency."
Carly cannot speak, she is laughing too hard.
"What?!"
"I thought he meant the damn date rape drug."

For Darwin, and Dan

Aren't boobs funny?
Don't we treat them in strange ways?
We dress them up, dress them down, put them out for everyone to see...dance around at the Imperial Room in jeans and what appears to be Our Mother's Slip (With No Bra) even though we're not that drunk and the guys are not that cute and then realize how dumb we look and sheepishly bow our heads back into our drinks.
Why, why do we* do thiiiis?
For guys like Dan, who will tell you that it has something to do with Capital E Evolution.
Because his head turned. He looked at Boob Girl.
Tonight I told Dan I think that he likes any girl with hair. He was insulted. I will now ammend the statement: hair longer than his (must be chemically altered, preferably blonde), visible cleavage.

*And by 'we' I mean Women and by 'Women,' I mean That Girl Tonight Who Was Wearing Too Much Skin and Not Enough Other Clothing.

Ticket To Ride

It is Matt's birthday today. He is celebrating by chaperoning a church-ski trip to Colorado. Do not envy him. Rather, pray that he does not encounter some sort of attack by animal or person.
In looking through some old travel journals, I uncovered this treat of Matt-ly goodness from our trip this summer:
I wake up at 4:15 am to brush my teeth and wash my face. At 4:18 I shake Matt awake. "Matt! Someone stole it." From a dead sleep, he attempts to process why
1. I am awake at 4:18 and,
2. Why he is now awake.
As if someone broke into our room on the fourth floor of a hotel accessible only by stairs and took ONLY my face wash.
He dutifully rises and goes into the bathroom. Minutes later he returns with it and hands it to me. I nearly weep with relief. He smiles and goes back to bed.

Sing it with me now: Lalalalalalalaaa Je-susMatt and this is why we call him JesusMatt... Matt is kind and forgiving; endlessly patient and generous to a fault (damn you, generosity!). And plus, Rin came up with it. And she's funny.

Next Up: The Buoyancy of Fake Boobs

Elllllliot
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

We wait until Epiphany to take the tree down. It seems fair. All 12 days of Christmas are celebrated with the smell-less conifer. When Poppa first brought it home--or rather, when first I journeyed home from college to find this imposter, I was deeply wounded. How dare he?! What's next: a fake baby in a manger?!!
Christmas is not about being FAKEY. It's about real things. Like presents and love and showing someone how much you love them by how good your present is.
Except, I adore this tree. It's perfectly shaped and no one curses stabby needles or the possibility of our house going up in flames; no one drags it to the curb. It is as much a part of our family as the baby we steal to put in a little horse trough outside.

Editor's note: Here pictured are neither our tree nor our Infant Jesus replica. But they're cute, yes?

Writing Under The Influenza

Mom: "All day long I was thinking it was Wednesday."
Carly: "Oooh, and it was really Monday?"
Me: "It was Tuesday."
[What I meant] That's funny; all day long I was thinking "get me out of this house. I haven't thrown up in 20 hours. I need to feel the dreary gray air on my face, the spitting rain in my unwashed hair..."

No Champagne in '06.

Or ever. EVER. For the rest of ever. I don't care who gets married or what kind of achievements are being toasted. None.
I celebrate nothing!

Upside the Head with a Bottle of Bub

Happy New Year. I type this from my bed. Spending extra time with the delete key because I can't see the keyboard when I'm horizontal. I plan to church myself and then return to this position. Oh, yes. From the holiday of excess--correction: a holiday of excess (why limit ourselves to just one?), I bring you the definitive list of Booze Action Eve 2K5:
Flute One
Nothing. Ew. Bubbles.
Flute Two
Matt spills a first time. Asks for a towel. Blames the flute: "it's too small."
Ashley calls taxi company. Asks, "how long is the wait if you want a cab in an hour?"
Flute Three
I spill.
Matt spills a second time.
Flute Four
Every person spills.
I offer to take the Bar (Exam).
I have trouble focusing the camera and my eyes.
Flute Five
I exaggerate; vow to blog this.
Flute Six
Everyone spills again.
Promise to leave the house in 10 minutes.