But He's Not

I'm not a Good Samaritan, but I did call 911 when I saw this dude beat on a woman yesterday. So I guess I'm going to heaven.

Mrs. Lorinda N, Mrs. Lorinda Anne C-N, Mrs. LCN/LACN/LAN with Flowers and Hearts

Rin and Eric got engaged. They are affianced. With a shiny diamonded band.
She wore it to bed last night.
I can totally relate because I have dreams all the time that I am about to eat a Snickers and then I lose it when I wake up. It's not even under the pillow.
Now that she's tackled the first nights' sleep, she's worried about the rest of the day: "I am gonna need a helmet because I'll be staring at it, walking into walls."
INCOMING: Shameless Boyfriend Promotion
It is also time to plan a wedding that doesn't suck. As an auspicious beginning, they hired Matt.

Jane Fonda Hasn't Even Seen The Motor In [The Back Of] My Honda

I get a little absent minded around lunchtime. Some brilliant mind put the fridge and the microwave in completely separate rooms.
The whole retrieval and assembly process takes about 6 minutes, but I manage to weave across the office no fewer than 4 times.
Today someone asked me if I scatter my food so that I will get some exercise.
Is she calling me fat?*
[Cue dream sequence: I enter in leotard and leggings circa 1981 and run laps around her desk, getting faster and faster until I leave a hole in the carpet.]
Tomorrow I will ask her if she keeps her food in one place to conserve energy.


*Just kidding, only my mom and my boyfriend do that.**
**Kidding again, my whole family does that.***
***Kidding. Enough.

Biggest Fan

When the car windows fog up, do you use cool or warm air? We tried both. At the same time...
Wait.
I can't finish anything. I'm enjoying Richards' new cd, and I remember why my mom never let us listen to Top 40 while we did our homework.
I thought I might just be sick with blogblock, but my doctor claimed not to know anything about it.
I'm going in for a second opinion.

Methinks, But Me Does Not Say

If you have to explain multiple times daily that you're "not trying to be difficult," thou dost protest too much.

You First

Notice: The If book of questions* can be deleterious to relationships.
Matt would like a Spanish-speaking escort.
If he survives to need one.
Brent prudently declines to answer. Maggie half-smiles.
Incidentally, the one emotion of which we'd elect to rid ourselves: jealousy. We all agree on this.
I experience it like a tourettic tic. I watch myself and think, "Why did you just say that?" [I say it again, worse]. Lather, rinse, repeat.


*to the third power, assuming that you're still dating after the first two editions

Apply Football to the Wound or, Truly Religious Experiences with HDTV

My father is unable to tune things out. He believes the world is out to irritate him.
And if they knew how completely they upset him, the world would be so into that.
Our Director of Liturgical Music (read: guy who has a PhD in organ music) chooses some variation on the same mind numbing "melody"every week. He holds out one insidious note beyond the human capacity to forgive. If it were a Disney film, we would shake our heads, laugh, indulge the children leaping around our feet: "Yes, Little Billy. He is playing the organ! You are a smart boy." My father wants to kill this man. He wants to shove a hymnal in this man's ear.
He is only calmed in front of an HD football game. His eyes bore into the screen. He forgets to blink. He loses his homicidal urges.
There is only 3rd and 10.
Until the commercials.

She Failed World Geography, And I Failed Because I Used Wikipedia To Prove A Point

I wish I could tell you that some sweet simple child and not a 40-year-old woman said this:
"Ben Gali-- not a person?"
"Uh. Not...actually."
I'll see if they can add it to the list.

They're Laughing in Hades

Did you hear the one about the girl who always dodged high school people in public places and then her own personal hell was realized when a former classmate camped out at her office until she returned from hiding in her colleague's room?
Yeah, it's not that funny.

City Silences: Sriracha Waxes Poetic

We flew home this morning on an American Airlines. From NYC. At 8:30 am.
I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared.
The air felt heavy in the taxi on our trip to the airport. Aside from armed guards, there was no serious security scrutiny. Our ascent was marked by my twitching looks at the skyline.
Just pensive quiet.

We flew home this morning by happy circumstance. We missed our plane last night (negligence) and spent our extra night with Chris who works as a webmaster/designer/geek extraordinaire of this place with beautiful expensive furniture. He guided us through the City's maze of deliciousness to and from food and drink, past tidbits of conversation like this:
"So, do you do origami?"
We stood on line for cupcakes from Magnolia. And ate them in the park, wearing smiles. Not speaking much or loudly.
And the breeze blew. And a tree grew in Brooklyn (though we were not there to see it).

Ponderance

Beyonce,
Welcome. Please have a seat. Not on the B'day
No. That's your album. Wait. As in the French fixture? It couldn't be.
Who is responsible for this faux pas? Which idiot manager let this woman call her new album after a piece of bathroom technology (a marvel, certainly, but not something to celebrate in song).

Turn Up Your Transistor Radio to Hear the Post-War End of Amnesia (And Other Album Titles. And Links! You Love Links!)

Muffin and I spent last night with M.Ward and his crowd of hipster fans at the very crowded and smoke-free Varsity Theater.
Once we arrived, we uncovered the leeeeetle hitch of age (apparently "as old as you feel" does not fly with people who card). I called Dan and Matt for some advice: how to smuggle a 17 year old into an 18+ concert.
Ideas we considered which were promptly shot down
1. she lost her ID and I'm her legal guardian?
2. that she doesn't have an ID because she's in the witness protection program please don't ask for any further details as I'm not at liberty to disclose that information?
3. we're on the list. She's the drummer's sister? (Clearly the most likely until you're asked for a name--either yours or hers.)
By the time we're at the front of the line, we're sweating like criminals. "What is this crap? Why are we afraid? The worst they can do is say no." And then some squad cars flew by.
The best they could do is look at Muffin's ID, see the Under 21 Label, and not do the Under 18 Math.
And they did.

Bringing Hangovers Back

Dollaz
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

If these glasses are any indication of the amount of fun I had last night...
Well. Let them be every indication.

Electronic Blood Pressure Monitor

Burt, the Custodian Who Calls Himself Grandpa, just visited me twice in the last 15 minutes.
He came to pick up garbage. Twice. I am not complaining. Better than missing the garbage twice when it needs to be removed. When he found that I had none the second time, he said, "I like you."
I smiled.

It brings up two things for me:
1. I'm afraid of memory loss. I already have enough trouble trying to distinguish my dream recollections from actual history. Post-it notes cover the entire surface of my desk (and desktop. Thanks, Post-It Notes Lite!). I make two item lists.
2. I hope public opinion of me doesn't center on my garbage production.