Damning the Saint

Brother called Friday morning to say he and The Gov and Fuzzy G and maybe Magnet† were meeting for happy hour at the Coral Room.

I thought, "Why not?"‡

I debated over whether I would have a drink or try to stay true to my own idea of Lent.

Guess how long that debate lasted.§

I believe Ben was two tables away when I shouted, "Tempranillo! Please!"

[SUMMARY: Sainthood hasn't changed me a bit.]

Actually, I had given myself an out for emergency situations: if I'd hurt someone's feelings by not having a bite of birthday cake, if someone got engaged and anything but a champagne toast would be inappropriate, if someone got pregnant and a jug of Wild Turkey seemed wholly appropriate...

For someone who gave herself that many loopholes, I think I did remarkably well.

[SUMMARY: Auto-aspiratic horn blowing.]

Anyway, wine.

Wine.

Wine.

After the old Corral, grabbed a bite at Chipotle,¶ peed twice# and headed for the Hai Bar.

Shot.

Vodka.

Vodka.

Talk turned to getting brother a little action, seeing as he's wounded and divorced and needs to get back on some horse, maybe any horse. We were right in the middle of extolling the virtues of rebound sex when what to our wondering eyes should appear but a young woman who, in the dim light of the bar, could best be described as the love child of Robert Smith and Amy Winehouse.

Black chaos of hair, eyeliner as wide as a Wyoming sky. Lanky. Gawky.

So Bruce grabbed her and said, "Have you met my friend Bill?"

She told us her name was Erica†† and she was going to see Z-Trip and we should come. This excited the young folk to no end.

The old folk sucked her vodka ice cubes and tried not to feel her grey hairs glowing in the dark.

Brother and Bruce thought Z-Trip at Beta sounded like a *fantastic* idea.‡‡ Greg was interested in going home early, but allowed as how maybe he could be talked into it. And your dear ol' AntiM shrugged and said, "Sure. I can hang."

[SUMMARY: Enthusiasm is my middle name. Some of you may think it's Elizabeth, but that E is actually for Enthusiasm.]

So we cabbed to LoDo§§ and stood in line at the club.

Once inside, Crown and ginger ensued.¶¶

I tipped the bathroom attendent $20 because it was all the cash I had and nobody is going to work my soap pump for me and not be rewarded for it.##

We ran into Erica and she and I did a brief, happy girl dance together.†††

Later that evening, a very young, very drunk young man chose me for his own. I danced with him for a moment, then tried to get him to go on his way.

"You were really mean to him," said Brother later.

"I wasn't mean. I danced with him for a minute."

"Then you said, 'Make him go away.'"

"I believe what I said was, 'Step on him.'"

"Dude, you got hit on by a 22-year-old. You should be happy."

"Yeah, that was pretty cool."

[SUMMARY: That really was pretty cool.‡‡‡]

Z-Trip was interesting. He uses songs I know§§§ much of the time, which is an important component for my DJ well-being.

Y'know, the whole DJ-as-concert thing is a little weird. I can see a good DJ at a dance club being worth a following, but *watching* someone put other people's music together is like paying a premium price for a signed, numbered photograph of Starry Night.

Weird.

[SUMMARY: Old and feeble and you kids get off my lawn!]

Ish.

*************

Incense Rosé - Tauer Perfumes

Marin says: I totally fell in love with this. I think it is the hallmark of my undistinguished scent palate that I love big, spicy things.¶¶¶

With the spices, this is a tangy rose -- like a Tropicana -- rather than the prickly velvet of an American Beauty. The woods give it a darkish depth that makes me think of an opium den. There's something camphorous in the mid-hours of the perfume that speaks patchouli, but not too high and medicinal -- tempered by woods, for sure.

The incense isn't too churchy. In fact, I'm really impressed by the way the incense, wood and rose balance each other out. Nothing every shrieks or submits, they just fit together like a snake eating its own tail.###

The scent lasts for a long time and stays true to the core of itself through most of the journey. Oh, there are moments of higher camphor and moments of deeper woods and when it all boils off, it's more resiny that it was through the rest of the trip, but that tangy, spicy rose stays the course.

Andy Tauer says: Incense rosé is a mysterious fragrance built around smoking frankincense,$ with rose$ and citrus notes, and dark balsamic resins.

First, you might find a few rose petals, from a dark and spicy rose. The natural bergamot and Clementine essential oil, together with just a hint of cardamom play there with the natural rose absolute from Bulgaria.

The fragrance is lifted by orris notes, rendering it vibrant and clear. At the same time it is dark and rich, with castor and woody notes playing on the skin.

It is the Texan cedar wood, vetiver and the balsamic, dark and mysterious notes of myrrh and patchouli$ that are all dancing with the incense. This natural frankincense, CO2 extracted Boswellia serrata, is softened by balsamic labdanum and ambrein.

Brother says@: Woody.

[It's "Incense Rosé."]

Yes, it is.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): People actually call them by these names, though their parents probably still call them Adrian, Greg and Bruce.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): If the heathens are going to party in my house of worship, shall I not join them?

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Just about as long as it takes to say "Maundy Thursday."

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Except me. One side effect of drinking is it kills my appetite. Then I'm starving the next morning -- that's my version of a hangover.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Maybe that was just me.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Erica was actually lovely, just sporting unfortunate choices in hair and makeup.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Brother and Bruce may have had more to drink than I had by that point.

§§FOOTNOTE (just turn around and go home): LoDo on a Friday night is almost always a bad idea.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (that's me, sticking my tongue out): Not a fan, it turns out. Thought you should know.

##FOOTNOTE (pound that soap!): Heheheheheh...

†††FOOTNOTE (my cross to bear): You know.... squeal, air-kiss, boobboobboobboob and away.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (what are those things anyway?): Even if he was really drunk.

§§§FOOTNOTE (earworms): I haven't been able to get "Take On Me" out of my head since.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (that's me, bob-bob-bobbing my head): Heheheheheh...

###FOOTNOTE (tic tac toe in 3D): I've wanted to use that image for weeks. Thanks for giving me this opportunity.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): This was Friday night. I thought it an appropriate review for the occasion. The occasion being, of course, Friday night.

$FOOTNOTE (on the money!): I would never have gotten Boswellia serrata, but by golly, I managed incense and rose.

Art of Glass

I missed Wednesday.

When you're busy making the world safe for big oil, sometimes meetings and world domination† just eat into your day.

I feel I can make up for skipping Wednesday by giving this on Thursday:


{from Popular Mechanics}


Temperature sensitive glass. Obviously, it could be very cool on a shower door,‡ but I think the key application is barware.

Picture this: the singles bar of the future, where you can tell at a glance who's the ice man§ and who's hot blooded.¶ Where just the right amount of ice can get your G&T to match the blue of your eyes or a dash of cinnamon schnapps will give off smoke signals nobody can ignore.

Besides, it'd give bartenders another dimension to work. An idle bartender is the devil's playground.#


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): "What are we going to do tomorrow night, Brain?"

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And you could re-enact the car scene from "Titanic" with LSD-like special effects.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): He cometh!

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Did anyone else just go Foreigner?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): So they told us in Sunday school.

A Walk in the Woods

I went to a magical place on Saturday.

I'd be tempted to sing a Disney walk-in-the-woods song of some sort, but it was on beyond Disney, magic-wise.

A couple of months ago, I started catching glimpses of a wondrous new restaurant, Beatrice & Woodsley, in various local mags and rags. The compelling part of most of the reviews went something like this:

"Wow. You've never seen anything like it! You have to see this place! There's no other restaurant in the universe that even comes close! Words can't describe!"

And I shouted at the cold, unblinking Internet reviews, "TRY!"

So about a month ago, I was sitting at the Coral Room† with Bag Lady Katharyn and Her Friend Sue, and Her Friend Sue started talking about this wonderful place and something she said made me sit up and say, "Is this Beatrice & Woodsley?"

"Yes! Have you been?"

"No, but I've read all these reviews and I'm dying to see what it looks like!"

"We should go to brunch this weekend!"

"Yes! Yes we should!"

But Bag Lady Katharyn is oddly resistant to the potential charms of Beatrice & Woodsley, and since it isn't my friend Sue, but Her Friend Sue,‡ we didn't go.

A couple of weeks ago, Tani said we should get together before her baby comes, so I jumped at the chance.

"Have you been to Beatrice & Woodsley? Have you heard of Beatrice & Woodsley? Can we go to Beatrice & Woodsley? They have high tea at Beatrice & Woodsley... we should go to Beatrice & Woodsley for tea! Here, have a weblink!"

Tani loves me and is always happy to save me from myself, so we went.

And it's lovely. Unusual and lovely.

The windows are tinted yellow to give that warm, slanted autumn light to the restaurant.§ Aspen trunks grouped in twos and threes punctuate rustic elements of raw wood, kerosene lanterns and antique pot-bellied stoves in the front parlour¶ where we sat.






There's a long, cosy dining area that parallels the bar and features horseshoe booths separated by muslin panels.

The bar has chinked wood strips behind it, and chainsaws are embedded in logs to create supports for the shelves that hold the liquor bottles.

Despite all this Little House on the Prairie imagery, it doesn't feel rustic in the slightest. I don't know how they did it, but I want to buy their decorator a drink. It's chic and modern and warm and I just loved it.

The food was good too... amazing, even. We shared a Double Windsor and a mushroom pasty.# We both agree we want to go back and that it's a place to take someone who's seen it all.

"I'd bring Tina here," said Tani, which is the ultimate in destination compliments.

Tani's friend Tina has cut my six degrees to most of the celebrity world by several degrees. She was Avril Lavigne's personal assistant and has done the PA thing for other celebrities. She lives in Sidney, and trots the globe and goes to all the best places.

Tani would bring Tina to Beatrice & Woodsley because it would impress her.

When we were done, Tani had to go to the bathroom.

"I'm going with you. I don't even have to pee, but I have to see what the bathroom looks like."

View from the toilet



The cove where the bathroom doors are is completely panelled in pieced rough wood. The doors don't look like doors... there's just a giant doorknob,†† and when you pull it, a portion of the wall opens.

The bathroom is a largely unadorned room. Toilet paper hangs from the ceiling and the walls are tiled in a grey-white brick pattern. All the light is provided by the golden glow of several transluscent bricks in the wall. There's no sink, no mirror, just a toilet and a half-log up against the wall that serves as a stool.

The sinks are in the entryway to the bathrooms, two zinc tubs flanked by pulleys and overhung by bead chains. When you pull the left pulley, the sound of gurgling and flowing water rings above your head, and after a moment, the water runs down the chains.





Once you've washed your hands, a tug on the left pulley closes the tap. The whole time you wash your hands, you're looking through tree branches over glass into the restaurant.

We were *so* glad we went to the bathroom.
*************

OK, these fucking push ups *hurt*.‡‡

Right, right, in a good way.

And I may be kidding myself, but yesterday I could've sworn I saw some shoulders in the mirror.

*************

Midnight Tryst - Neil Morris (Vault - edp)

Marin says: Eeep! The first whiff was strong and wrong. Not bad-bad, just not anything I really like in a perfume. It reminds me of Tabu, which was the perfume of choice of a woman I babysat for and it always hit me hard when I walked into her house.§§

I can't pick out a lot of notes. It's very like the wild aldehyde days of the 40's and 50's and I personally don't care for the chemical vanillas and medicinal roses that manifest in Chanel No. 5, Joy, Tabu and, say, Midnight Tryst.

We gave it a few minutes and, basically, it smells the same, just mellower. Some vanilla came up from the depths and is keeping some of the sharper scents round.

Strangely, what I get from typing distance is cat pee. That's unpleasant.

Neil Morris says: An intoxicating and sexy scent with Top Notes of Cinnamon and Clove, Heart Notes: French Narcissus, Gardenia, Magnolia and Rose$ and Base Notes: Amber, Patchouli, Benzoin,¶¶ Dark Vanilla,$ Musk, Castoreum$ and Civet.$

Hans says: Old fashioned.

[upon letting it sit]

Yeah... it's mellowed, but it's still an aldehyde.##


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I bet you're shocked I was at the Coral Room.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I like Sue, and I'd bet Sue might even be game to go to Beatrice & Woodsley with me without Katharyn, but I don't know her phone number. Or her last name.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): My living room is painted Antique Gold (I was going to link you to the Sherwin Williams colour, but it doesn't appear to exist) for this very effect.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): That's what I'm calling it, anyway.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Which I pronounced "pay-stee" even though it's "past-ee" and it was spectacular by any name. Mushrooms and roasted onions on one end merging with figs and blue cheese on the other. The wonderful waiter suggested we eat from the savoury end to the sweet end for a complete flavour journey.

I just drooled a little.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Bigger than a softball. Maybe not quite as big as a bowling ball, but pushing it.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Not helped by a tricky elbow from knitting and mousing. whinewhinewhine

§§FOOTNOTE (strangling vortices of Tabu): I was horrified when she gave me a Christmas present the first year I worked for them and it turned out to be a Tabu gift set, complete with lotion and fragrant powder. Which, of course, I had to wear occasionally so she could smell my gratitude.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (two heads better than one): Maybe one of my perfumista buddies can help me out here: when I don't know what a note is, I Google it. I usually end up on Wikipedia. Wiki says benzoin has a light camphor odour, so I always think "benzoin" when I smell camphor in a perfume. But I've recently been hipped to Nathan Branch, and he constantly refers to benzoin as a sweet resin. Sweet or camphor? Resin or medicine? Anybody? Bueller? Bueller?

##FOOTNOTE (pounding the lingo right into Hans): Isn't it cute how far he's come?

$FOOTNOTE (on the money): Ha! Got one! Well, if you credit "cat pee" to one of the animal anal secretions, which I do.

What's All the Racquet?

I'm tired, I didn't do my push ups last night...†

But I do have a kind of funny story.‡

OK, I think it's funny.§

See, Dz is moving¶ to California.# We had a going-away gathering at the Coral Room last night.

Dz used to coach at a summer tennis camp for disadvantaged children.†† Head‡‡ sponsored it, and Dz has an assload of leftover Head racquets, many of which she brought to the party.

"Maybe I can give them out like party favours," she said.

Every time someone new joined the festivities, she'd grab the stack of racquets and say, "Care for a racquet?" in a totally deadpan way. Indeed, I don't think she was trying to be funny, which made it all the more charming.

It seemed like such a delightfully oddball thing to say it continued to tickle me right up until I kissed Dz goodbye and sent her on her way.

[SUMMARY: Giggling through tears is one of my favourite emotions.§§]

Tune in tomorrow 'cause you'll never guess what I'm doing this weekend.
*************

Tea for Two - L'Artisan Parfumeur

Marin says: I got nothing but smoke. Not good woodfire or incense, but stale ashtray.

It only lasted about an hour, which is bad for a perfume, but probably good for a perfume that makes you smell like a church basement after an AA meeting.

L'Artisan says: It begins with the curling, rising steam of Lapsung-Souchong [sic]¶¶ tea. All the notes are orchestrated around the smoke$ and wooded scents to create a more fiery and warmer sensation. The sweet, fresh, spicy facets reveal the delicious delights of honey.

Both voluptuous and spicy, it is a marvellous tea for your skin!


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Hey, I just have to do it three days a week. I'll do them tonight and Saturday and I can get back to the MWF schedule I'd figured on when we started this thing. You may feel free to shame me like the family pig if I come in tomorrow without having done push ups.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Tired, no push ups and funny story are all related.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): We all know how suspect my sense of humour is.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): This isn't the funny part.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): With her boyfriend who, I think, is an actor. I find that wildly adventurous in a Hollywood script kinda way.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Or something. I think she described it as "teaching tennis to kids who wouldn't have anything else to do if they weren't playing tennis."

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Heheheheh.

§§FOOTNOTE (twisting words): All apologies to Dolly Parton.

$FOOTNOTE (on the money!): Ha! Got one!

¶¶FOOTNOTE (poking my head up just enough...): I have it on good authority Lapsang is a very smoky tea. I also have it on good authority that the spelling is L-a-p-s-a-n-g.

Not My Tale to Tell

TTHFCIF

So Favourite Bartender had a birthday last Friday.† I took him a bottle of wine on Saturday and he told me this very funny story:

He and his girfriend and a bunch of friends were bar-hopping LoDo,‡ when someone said, "Hey, let's go to the titty bar!"%

Brooks's first blush was to worry what his girfriend would think, but she was all for it.

So they went to La Bohème. And someone bought Brooks a lap dance.

The lap dancer sat him down, turned her back to him, straddled him, bent over, then... walked away.

Everybody just sat for a moment, sure she was coming back.

Nope.

[SUMMARY: Customer service in this country is just going down the tubes.]

As the disgruntled lap dancee, Brooks went to the manager and turned on the charm and drama,§ "My friends paid their hard-earned money to buy me a lap dance... on my BIRTHDAY..."

The manager was largely unmoved by the tragic tale, saying, "Yeah, we'll check the film later. Here's a voucher for your lap dance."

And he gave Brooks a coupon.

Saturday night at the bar, he said, "So... what? I'm supposed go up to any stripper and say, 'I have a coupon...'"

I really wish I could've snapped a pic of the lap dance voucher for you.

I really, really wish I could've gotten some video of Brooks saying, "I have a coupon" in that mildly retarded, slack jawed voice he used.

But it's funny anyway.

[SUMMARY: Well, laugh.]

*************
Borneo 1834 - Serge Lutens (edp)

Marin says: I have a history with this perfume.

See, when I professed my love for patchouli, eBeth told me about this in the comments. Marin be Marin, I rushed over to The Perfumed Court to order some.

A few days later, eBeth and I were at Book Club and she produced hers from her pocket so I could try it. I put a dab on the back of my hand. I started out surreptitiously nuzzling the scented spot, but went to full-on, devil-may-care public snorking as the night wore on. I think I spent a good five minutes doing meditative breathing on it when I got in bed that night.

It was wet as wet could be, like the richest black earth and wet wood just after a rain. The patchouli wove in and out of it with great sensuality and depth. I was enamoured.

Mine arrived in the mail shortly thereafter and went into the heart-shaped perfume dish on my dresser.

It was raining this morning, so I thought it would be a perfect mood accessory. I sprayed some on my wrists and fantasised about a day of secret wrist love.

Disappointment.

It went on in a burst of cocoa.¶ Then it deflated. Now it's just kind of flat. And not that wet. Dusty, even. And the patchouli... I don't really get patchouli so much.

I have theories (those of you who already heard my theories can skip to Hans's review -- I know that's why most of you tune in anyway):

1. Mine sat for several hours in my mailbox. Maybe it got hot and degraded a little.
2. eBeth gets the little sample vials with the toothpick-like wand in them. I get little spray bottles. Maybe spraying it caused a lot of air to mix in or a finer, thinner coating of scent.
3. Actually, I thought maybe I was in a different place in my cycle last time, but last time was July 16, so it's right about the same time, hormone-wise. Huh.

Where did my lovely, lovely, intoxicating scent go?

I think I'm going to wait a couple of weeks and try it again.#

The Perfumed Court says: A woody chypre with notes of Indonesian patchouli, floral notes, galbanum, patchouli, cacao$ accord, mahogany, ebony, cardamom, and ciste†† labdanum. Borneo 1834 is an eau de parfum, edp. This is a European exclusive and is not available in the United States.‡‡

Hans says: It smells like cornbread. With honey.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Luck 8/8/08.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Lower Downtown -- the hip part of town.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I'm betting it was a guy.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): "We'd had a couple of drinks by then," he says. Which may explain why his girfriend was so enthusiastic about seeing naked women.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Not chocolate, mind you -- cocoa.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): 'Cause, you know, if you do the same thing two or three times, maybe you'll get the result you want eventually. Remind me to tell you a story about a goose.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I found nothing on ciste labdanum. Near as I can tell, "ciste" is Gaellic for "chest." And that doesn't make much sense, does it?

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I left that in there. That way you'll fully understand why I'm fighting so hard for this to work. Y'know... exclusivity, limited edition, not available anywhere... the stuff that makes Marin dork.

It's Like This, Cat:

Bag Lady Kathryn wanted to have dinner at the Coral Room last night,† but she bolted before I was finished with my wine,‡ so I said I was going to hang around for a few minutes.

Then George§ and Candice came in with Dena and they invited me to come sit with them and I did and we got to talking and drinking and drinking and then they wanted to go down to High Pac and listen to some band from Alabama and did I want to come and I did and then it was 1:30 in the morning, so...

...it's 7:30 and I'm going to go knit in front of the Olympics for a brief spell and go to bed early.

Welcome to another scorching hot Friday night at Chez Barfly.

*************
Miskatonic University - Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

Marin says: I am in love with myself again.

Well, mostly I'm in love with my wrists.

The coffee smell is heavenly and somehow buttery. I feel like a Werther's candy.

As it spreads and mellows, I'm getting more old paper and wood. I can actually smell that slightly sweet, musty-woody scent of books yellowed with age.

The buttery note is fading into leather or floorwax or some other slightly oily, tangy scent. Oh, wait... definitely leather. Leather and old books with a cup of coffee with cream -- just gone cold¶ -- sitting nearby.

Oh! Wait! I got it! My dad has smoked a pipe for years. He has pipe tobacco that smells like this -- kinda woody and sweet. Gosh, I'm happy right now.

BPAL says: The scent of Irish coffee, dusty tomes# and polished oakwood halls.$

Hans says: "I can smell it from here.†† It smells like caramel."

[international Hans sign for "bring me your wrist."]

"Oh, yeah. Caramel to the max."‡‡


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I fully intend to blame this whole thing on Kathryn.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): She had to pack for an early morning flight -- it's not like she abandoned me, though in the spirit of "blaming this on Kathryn," I think it's downright saintly for me to admit this.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): George and I are going to open a brothel in Rifle, Colorado. We're going to make a billion dollars of the oil roughnecks, then I'm going to get indicted and write a sexy, scathing, tell-all book about my experience and retire to the House of Fuzzy Crack.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Cold coffee smells different from hot coffee.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): OK, I'd read this and remember the coffee and books part, so it's not like I was a genius about picking out notes.

$FOOTNOTE (right on the money): Ha! Got one! I didn't remember the part about the polished floors, but I did say "floorwax."

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): The doorway.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): On beyond "soap."

Yes or No

I got this from my darling cousin Jacquelyn's blog, under the blogtitle "Simplemente Sí, o No."

I want to footnote the beejebus out of it.

I want to tell you stories.† I want to explain. I want to qualify.

In some cases, I want to defend myself.

But I feel the spirit of the thing is to leave some mystery. Yes or No. No stories.

[SUMMARY: I'm showing a lot of restraint and I intend to get credit for it.]

Taken a picture naked? Yes
Made money illegally? No
Had a one night stand? No
Been in a fist fight? Yes
Slept with your best friend? Yes
Had sex in a public place? No
Ditched work to have sex? No
Slept with a member of the same sex? Yes
Seen someone die? Yes
Ran from the police? No
Woke up somewhere and not remember how you got there? No
Worn your partner's unmentionables? No
Fallen asleep at work? Yes
Used toys in the bedroom? Yes
Ran a red light? Yes
Been fired? Yes
Been in a car accident? Yes
Pole danced or done a striptease? Yes
Loved someone you shouldn't? Yes
Sang karaoke? Yes
Done something you told yourself you wouldn't? Yes
Laughed so hard you peed your pants? No
Caught someone having sex? No
Kissed a perfect stranger? Yes
Shaved your partner? No
Given your private parts a nickname? Yes
Ever gone in public without underwear? Yes
Had sex on a roof top? No
Played chicken? No
Mooned/flashed someone? Yes
Do you sleep naked? Yes
Blacked out from drinking? No
Felt like killing someone? No
Had sex more than 5 times in one day? Yes
Been with someone because they were in a band? No
Taken 10 shots of liquor in a day? Yes
Shot a gun? No
Gone outside naked? Yes

*************
Parfum Sacre (edp) - Caron

Marin says: Honestly? The first impression was "Robitussin." Very heavy alcohol and deep, black almost cherry scent. After a few seconds, it smells mostly like amber and vanilla, but with a backdrop of black licorice or cocoa.‡

And Aqua Net.

It's highly evocative of Aqua Net, not just for the kinda sweet, kinda alcohol smell of it, but because I can almost taste it, just like when there's hairspray in the air.

Oh, It's definitely too sweet for my taste. In fact, I think it just went sugar cookie about two minutes ago (that's about 45 minutes into the roll-out, for those of you scoring at home.)

Epilogue: I tried like hell to wash this stuff off. Several times. If you liked this scent, it would be an excellent investment, since even soap and water can't erase it.

The Perfumed Court says: The notes are vanilla,$ myrrh, civet, cedarwood, lemon, pepper, mace,$ cardamom, orange blossom, rose, jasmine, and rosewood. This is a comfort scent. While not as rich as the extrait, it is a lovely woody, warm perfume.

Hans says: Smells like Bed, Bath & Beyond. Or the Body Shop. It's seriously soapy.§


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Of course, I've already told so many of these stories, I feel I pre-cheated the rules. I can't lie, it's a good feeling.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Before you laugh, light black licorice isn't too far off light strains of cocoa to my nose. Sure, if they were strong enough to be easily identifiable, I might not think they smelled so much alike. There's something astringent and sweet (but not sugary) about them both.

$FOOTNOTE (on the money): Ha! Got one! And may I say, "Holy shit!" When I was reading about mace on Wikipedia, thinking it may be that alcohol/astringent thing I'm getting, I scroll down to the "essential oils" section of the entry to find it's *used in cough syrup*. Damn, I'm good. Well, mostly kinda smart-ass, but if your ass is as smart as mine, it doesn't really matter if your head and your nose can get together on this stuff.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): There's that boys and soap thing again. Man, I got no soap at all with this one. Maybe the astringent thing reads "soap" to Hans...

Famine to Feast

Ain't that just the way it goes?

Nothing to say,† no wisdom to impart,‡ no pictures to share, no good news, no nothing... then *BAM! *

Something!

And on a short week! When I spent the first blogday§ in Wisconsin! Eating Swedish meatballs!¶ When I should have been catching up! It's not even news anymore, people!

[SUMMARY: I'm late, I'm late for a very important date...]

So I'm putting myself on a very strict schedule:

1. Tuesday: brief mention of Wisconsin, birthday recap


2. Wednesday: Nintendo party (with pictures!)


3. Thursday: knitting#

...then I won't be too far behind†† going into the holiday weekend and Lake Week. And then I won't have to sweat and panic and worry about protocol and how do I do this and can I combine and is this boring or important or funny or think of the children and...

[SUMMARY: This is what the inside of my head looks like every night when I try to go to sleep.]

Most birthdays are disappointing in some lingering way.

It seems there's always something I really wanted I didn't get or someone who cancelled on my party at the last minute or I don't even get a birthday cake or a bad day at work.‡‡

Etcetera.

Despite my lifelong commitment to "please don't fuss," I do like acknowledgment.

You know Dante's constant refrain in Clerks? Well, there have been a lot of birthdays where I really wanted to whine a birthday version of, "I'm not even supposed to be here today!"

For many of my childhood birthdays, none of my friends were in town, so a birthday party was impossible.

When I turned eight, I'd lost a bunch of school library books and Mom told me I could either find a way to pay for them myself or forego a birthday party that year and have her pay my piper.§§

When I turned fourteen,¶¶ Mom made me pick strawberries in the backyard for dinner.

For one, I absolutely hated picking strawberries: dirt, hot, spiders... hated.

For two, I never heard her stick her head through the back door to say, "Your brother and I are going to run some errands. We'll be back in a little while."

So when I got finished with my horrible drudge strawberry duties, I went inside to find I'd been abandoned.

Abandoned.

On. My. Birthday.

[SUMMARY: I'm not even supposed to be here today!]

I was grounded for my sixteenth birthday, in serious Mom-not-speaking-to-me trouble for my 21st, cancelled upon in a most last-minute of ways by my stupid boyfriend for my 24th, nursing broken ribs and a nasty black eye by the hand of my roommate for my 25th, too hot to bake a cake for my 40th... and after Mom died, nobody called at midnight anymore to sing me happy birthday.

[SUMMARY: see, "‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed)," below.]

This birthday was as close to perfect as we're likely to see in our collective lifetime.&

I got Secret Pal's package.

I got acknowledgment-without-fuss at work.

I got Kim's cranes.

I got the lovely comments right here from all y'all.

On the way home, I listened to Secret Pal's CD. Holy cow, can that girl sing. And she did... she sang me a Marin birthday song with my name and angels and everything. It ranks up there with the coolest birthday gifts EVER.%

*************
NOTE TO SECRET PAL: Yes, you pronounce my name correctly. I love the disc and as I got deeper into it, I thought, "I'll have to tell Secret Pal about The Duhks.## I bet she'd like The Duhks."

And then there were Duhks.
*************

When I got home, my dad had called mid-morning to sing Happy Birthday to me on my voice mail.^

I met Bag Lady Kathryn at the Coral Room for dinner and wine, which was lovely all by itself. She brought me flowers and a card.†††

And they'd had a wine tasting dinner on Tuesday that hadn't been as popular as they'd hoped, so they did a mini version Friday -- three courses, each with wine. That's what I had.

And I got a birthday card from the Coral Room signed by all the waiters and bartenders and dishwashers and all the people I know and love at my favourite bar.

And Brother showed up and had a couple of glasses of wine with us. I told him we'd be there and to drop by, but I figured being sans wife as he was, he probably had all sorts of bacheloresque activities with his single friends planned and I never, ever would have bet a single dollar he'd show up. But he did. And he was charming.

And Kelley came and we had some drinks. There were shots.

And my pheremonally-charged‡‡‡ vampire§§§ of an ex-boyfriend¶¶¶ took me home and I got laid on my birthday for the first time ever.###

[SUMMARY: Ringing in my own personal new year right.]

When I got home Saturday morning, an orchid I was sure I'd maimed for life and would eventually have to throw out had budded. I'm pretty sure overnight.

It's going to bloom again.

[SUMMARY: *WHAM!* Don't let the symbolism catch you upside the head.*]

When I got to the Coral Room for Saturday brunch, I had SuzyQ all to myself for awhile and there were special cocktails and free food and... it just wrapped everything up so nicely.

[SUMMARY: Birthdays need not be constrained to a single day. I like Birthday Season.]

I'm still all glowy and content -- like those Buddha statues@ people put in their Feng Shui decor. I feel just how they look.

If you can swing it,$ I highly recommend getting laid on your birthday.

Double points if he smells like burnt sugar and almonds and will rub your feet while you watch War Games.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Not that that stopped me from babbling on.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I'm not necessarily including the extensive Rush slurp in the "wisdom" thing, though I clearly think it counts.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): That would be Monday, for those of you who haven't caught on to how little commune I have with a computer on weekends.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Entire menu: Baked chicken (skin on) with festive parsley flakes, Swedish meatballs, mashed potatoes, corn, white rolls... a tiny bowl of pasta salad with bits of peppers and onions amid the pepperoni (a Wisconsin nod to 5 a Day)... dessert bars... a choice of coffee, water or whole milk (it *is* America's dairy land, after all). Thank goodness for my new Door-to-Door Organic delivery service. I need food that's not white.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because I am. And this still is.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): So much for




If you're obligated to yourself, is that OK?

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I know, I know, there are starving children in Third World countries who don't even have birthdays.

§§FOOTNOTE (so hard to make a decision!): At twenty-five cents a week allowance, me paying my own bills was a pipe dream... you'd think I'd have more sympathy for the working poor now. However, you can also see where the beginnings of my loathing of libraries began. This was apparently a weird bookmark in my psychological makeup.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (beat the drums slowly): I think. Coulda been fifteen. Coulda been twelve. Twelve might explain my devotion to Brainless Twelvehood. As shallow and whiny as this post is, it might be a great treatise on the psychology that is Marin. Apparently, my whole life has been dictated by birthdays.

&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Not that I'd discourage you to keep from trying to make next year's birthday even better. Just sayin'.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Like with the Great Ticket Birthday and the Dovetail skull mug.

##FOOTNOTE (pounded like the spankéd ass of an elderly birthday girl): For those of you not Secret Pal or myself... as in Daffy and Donald. Quack.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): I do love it when someone will sing to me. With all the musicians I've dated, you'd think it would have happened more often.

†††FOOTNOTE (are we heading into triple-doubles?): Which said I was the queen for the day, but she got to be Vice Queen. VQ for short. Which I think is very, very funny.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (the primrose path of dalliance): That boy always smells like burnt sugar and almonds and if I nuzzle the back of his neck I get just a little high. The Universe clearly wants us to reproduce, so why couldn't it give him the ability to keep a date?

§§§FOOTNOTE (oh, my curly head!): Throat, chest, belly, arms, neck... I am a marked woman. Sorry, Brother.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (golf clubs, seal clubs... that was an inside joke only two people in the world would get): The Boy, for those of you scoring at home.

###FOOTNOTE (man, did that spankéd ass take a pounding. Sorry, Brother): This is NOT little brother approved.

*FOOTNOTE (staid, conventional asterisk): I'm not talking about The Boy. I'm just talkin' about me. I figure some of you may be worried about that.

@FOOTNOTE (I just can't bring myself to go to four): And did I mention that's where the resemblance between me and those statues ends? I believe my post-surgery water blob has dispersed. I got into my normal-sized pants for my birthday. Can I get a w00t-w00t!?

$FOOTNOTE (money shot!): Pun!

Chronogirl! Keeper of Time!

Guess what?

I have a new superpower. Under certain random circumstances,† I can tell -- within minutes -- what time it is.

Without a watch. Or a visible clock.

It's uncanny.

Like Saturday. Saturday, Kelley and I went the the Highlands Street Fair. We went at 9:30, before they were technically open, to get full pick of the goodies and to avoid as much heat and crowd as possible.

Felice invited us for breakfast‡ so we wandered the Fair until then.

After breakfast,§ a bigger group of us left Felice's for a turn around the Fair. We hit 32nd Street and Kelley immediately said, "It's too hot."

"I say we go directly to the Coral Room."

"That's what I'm talkin' 'bout, sister."

So we parked at the bar, had a couple of drinks, sang some Talib Kweli¶ with the bartenders and Kelley said, "What time do you think it is?"

"It's probably 4:00. With any luck a little before four."

She pulled out her cell phone: 3:47.

"How did you do that?"

"Hidden talent."^

Last night, I turned out the lights at 10:30 and fell right to sleep. Then I woke up. I groaned and said,% "Jesus Christ, it feels like I've been asleep for days. It's probably only midnight."

12:01.

So I peed# and went back to sleep.

And woke up again.

And said, "2:00."

2:00.

And peed and went back to sleep.

And woke up.

"4:35"

4:37.

Of course, at six-ish it all broke down as I calculated how many minutes I was going to doze, blinked and woke up with a hearty, "How the HELL was that a half-hour?"

We're still working out the kinks.

Which is a long way around telling you how tired and unmotivated I am today, though I know exactly how many hours before I can go home.

Six hours, thirty-eight minutes and counting...

Happy Monday!


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Full details not yet determined

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Due to hangover conditions, Felice didn't start cooking until 11:00, so we didn't eat breakfast until noon. I'm not complaining. Breakfast at noon means you can have beer with your breakfast. Miss Manners says so.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And a couple of beers.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Oh, yes I do. I am never less white than when "Get By" comes on. Even if it's at The Gap.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Do you suppose this could count as a miracle toward my inevitable sainthood?

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Out loud. Cat for Scale left the room. I was apparently keeping him awake.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): As has been widely advertised, I have to pee every single time I wake up, no matter how dehydrated I may be, no matter how many times I've already peed, no matter when the last time was I peed. I guess it's another superpower.

Secret Pal 12 Question 1

My favourite summer drink? Honestly? As much of a lush as we are here at Chez Barfly, I love iced mango Ceylon tea above almost all other summer beverages.

But the Coral Room does this pomegranate grapefruit lemonade with Parma liqueur, grapefruit vodka, lemonade and a splash of soda that's definitely slurpable.

Sex in the City!

And I didn't even see the movie this weekend.

Kelley's birthday† was the 30th, so we inhabited the Coral Room Friday night. Guess who came?‡

The Boy, of course.

And that Hot Tamale Jason.

And The Waiter.

And one of the married men from Dave's birthday who brought me to the term "flirtopause."

So I had stuff to do.§

[SUMMARY: I need my stuff to spread out more. Stop laughing.]

Let's see... long story short¶:

I was travelling light, just my skully wristlet with my keys, cards and cash. Kelley got very worried about my stuff just being out there, so she put it in her purse for safekeeping.%

Jason, The Boy and Kelley met when they worked at KMart, like, 15 years ago. Friday night, The Boy called Joel, also a former co-worker# and Joel actually showed up.††

Now, Jason had just wandered outside to sit by himself and I was going to casually wander to him‡‡ when The Waiter caught me and wanted to talk about how we never see each other anymore. And then Mr. Flirtopause wanted to chat. Then Jason came in to get another beer and I latched onto him with a coy little, "Hey, I was just going to come out and see if you wanted company."

"You can come out and keep me company."

"You looked kinda solitary sitting out there."

"I can be pretty solitary."

[light bulb]

"If you want to just be solitary, I'll let you be solitary."

"Relax. Come sit."

I started to sit opposite him at the table and he said, "No, not so far. Come sit next to me."

We sat for all of two minutes when Joel bounced outside to visit the old days with Jason. After a few minutes, everybody else followed. Because all I could do was sit there and nod and pretend to be amused when someone tossed out the seventh version of, "Remember that time Big Brandon caught that chick in the garden department...?"§§

So I went in and talked to The Waiter. And Mr. Flirtopause. And looked up just in time to see Kelley roaring out of the parking lot with Ed¶¶ in her car.

"She's coming back, right? She just went to take Ed home?"

"I don't think so. She didn't say anything. She just left."

"SHE HAS MY KEYS!"

[SUMMARY: I missed the boat on "long story short" about 200 words ago.]

So The Boy's sister## offered to take me to Kelley's place††† to wait for my keys, after which she'd bring me back to my car. But we beat Kelley home. And she didn't show up and didn't show up and then Joel showed up with a couple of his friends and we took the party indoors for noise control only they went out for a smoke and Kelley's car was there and The Boy pounded on her front door and I pounded on her back door‡‡‡ but she didn't answer and meanwhile The Boy's sister was calling her and she didn't answer and Joel and his friends were getting stoned and drunker and I was getting tired and The Boy said, "You can just crash here and get your keys in the morning" and was that enough foreshadowing for you? and The Boy's sister whispered something to him and he said, "No, Marin's all about Jason," and then he looked at me and said, "You're all about Jason," and I couldn't disagree and I called the Coral Room to promise I would come in and pay my tab as soon as I had money again and at 2:30 I couldn't stay up any more so I crashed in The Boy's bed and told him I'd go to the couch when he came to bed only when he came to bed at 4:00 Joel was passed out on the couch so I couldn't go sleep on the couch.

[SUMMARY: How old are we?]

Now I'm going to slow down, 'cause this is the good part.

He climbed in bed an just laid§§§ down for awhile, then spooned up on me and put an arm around me.

"How come we don't do this more often?"

I flipped. Literally. All the way over and looked him straight in the eye and said, "WHAT?!?"

"How come we don't do this more often?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"No... seriously? After you broke up with me? OK, OK... the answer to your question: we don't do this more often because you don't want to."

And then there was a little fooling around. And then there was more spooning.

[SUMMARY: I'm only campaigning for saint... I'm not there yet.]

And then we picked the conversation up where we left off:

"But I like this. You next to me feels good. We should do this more often."

"We'll talk about it later. Get some sleep."

And Kelley brought my keys and stuff around 8:00 and took me to my car and I spent Saturday with my favourite cousin.

Then Sunday I broke up with the poor little date¶¶¶ and celebrated Brother's and Father's birthdays### The Boy is going to see Rush at Red Rocks with me Thursday and you can just call me Carrie Bradshaw.

[SUMMARY: Not the body or the cachet, but the Big and Aidan and Burger and all.]

With less fabulous shoes.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): 40th

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Not like that. Well, yes like that, but later. Guess who showed up at the Coral Room?

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I can hear you giggling out there...

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): -er. Shorter.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Ooooh... how clumsy is my foreshadowing?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And a guy with no filters, no tact and no social grace at all.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Much to everyone's surprise.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Smooth as cactus.

§§FOOTNOTE (circular logic): Followed by peals of laughter and objectless sentence fragments:

"With the..."

"And then she..."

"And the SEAHORSE!!!"

*wild laughter*

¶¶FOOTNOTE (double-fisting those long necks): Ed was h a m m e r e d.

##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a two-door apartment): I finally met the sister. I know that sounds weird when I'm talking about a guy I've technically been separated from (if you can call the passive termination of a two month thing "separated") for two years... but it seems to be a point of curiosity for a lot of people who know us that I never met his sister.

†††FOOTNOTE (my cross to bear... or have I already done that one?): Also The Boy's place and Ed's place. Wait... was that more bumbling foreshadowing?

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (sidetracked): Quit it. We stopped being dirty two paragraphs ago. Besides, now you're talking three-way and I'm just not sure I'm cut out for that.

§§§FOOTNOTE (too confusing for words. Let me do this interpretive dance...): What a great choice of words. But, really... lay is transitive, but what's the past tense of lie? The dictionary shows lay, lain, lying... grammar is not my friend this morning.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (like clubbing baby seals): 1) The hook-up and the break-up had nothing to do with each other; I was going to cut the poor little date free Sunday before I ever saw The Boy this weekend, and 2) this was the first time I've *ever* broken up with someone that didn't involve a fight. Oh, guys have broken up with me before, but I've never been the one to call that shot. It was weird and uncomfortable and I'd rather not do it again if I can help it.

###FOOTNOTE (oh, the pounding we're taking here in the footnotes today): Flip-flops with bottle openers in the bottom may be the coolest invention *ever*.

Denver Dumb Men's League

TTHFCIF

First and foremost, I promised updates on the keychain situation as circumstances warranted.

*warrantwarrantwarrant*†

First, Angel-eek found the entire push-button animal keychain line here,% where they have many, many cool things and I really want the duck mirror. I don't even look in mirrors‡ and I want the one with the duck feet.

Then Lyda, bemoaning the lack of zombie keychains, tracked these down. Despite her misgivings they may be too cute, I am madly in love with them. I used to have nightmares when I was six that looked a lot like those keychains.

Well, those and the hideous Frankentoys from "Toy Story."

For the record? Nothing to do with keychains, but Lyda also found this collection. I think a Zombie Knitter thong would be an excellent test for a man's dedication to the pursuit of a little trim.

Which brings us to our real topic of the day: men. And the dedication aforementioned.

[SUMMARY: Segueways are my speciality.§]

So let's talk about boys.

Oh, how I love boys. And men. And guys... 'specially guys.

I love their chronic simplicity. I love their straightforward communication style. I love taking their money at the poker table and how good natured they can be about it. I love watching football with them.

The more astute among you may recognise I'm talking about guy *friends*. If there's a hint of love or lust in the air, all that goes out the window.

Then they become the stereotype of a thousand predictable sitcoms. Every bad, mad comedienne shilling for two drink minimum shifts from shrew to incisive sociologist solely because she's so RIGHT. And even we reasonable and sane women¶ suffer from bouts of why-can't-he-call-when-he-says-he's-going-to-call misandry.

[SUMMARY: Poetic wax: apply liberally, buff to a purple shine.]

See, I met this nice guy last weekend.#

He beat me in a spelling bee, but graciously†† conceded that our spelling aptitude was at least comparable, amid mild bouts of giving me shit for misspelling "boudoir."

And he chatted me up.

And I gave him one of my MOO cards.

And he kissed me. Several times.

And when I told him I'd knitted Sue's rainbow scarf, he said, "Huh. That's kinda... hot."

Wait... let's go back to the kissing.

Top four kisses, all time (in order):

1. Mark, the coffin kiss, 1982: Our high school drama department was working the Denver Jaycees' haunted house. I was out of our cauldron and down the graveyard path at the BBYO cemetery, hanging out in a stand-up coffin, playing dead, getting a little rest from all the cackling and stirring. Mark walked up, pulled the split-lid‡‡ over us a little, leaned in and laid his lips on mine, absolutely parallel, and ran the very tip of his tongue across my top lip and then blew on it gently. I don't know if it was the coffin, the hot guy or my lack of experience, but I may have come just a little at that moment.


2. Different Mark, the stair kiss, 1986: I was hanging out with The Denny Lake Band§§ at the ABC Motel in Gunnison after their gig during Western State College homecoming festivities. The very cute, very smart guitarist¶¶ spent the night in the corner talking to me about important stuff while the other musicians drank, diddled their egos and tried to get into Stesha's pants. He asked for my phone number when Stesh and I were leaving. I was behind him going down the outside stairs from their door. Halfway down, he turned and I thought he was going to say something, but he laid a liplock on me that literally made my knees go weak. Good thing he had his arm locked around my waist or I would have collapsed. It was a quality kiss, but it was the spontaneity of it that put it over the top. And the aesthetic -- very Le Baiser de l'Hotel de Ville.


3. Currently a tie: The Boy, the bottom of my stairs, 8/15/06: I believe he was jealous of Marco during the Def Leppard concert at Red Rocks. Marco and I were having a good time, singing along, joking... and on the way home, Marco and The Boy made friends and agreed to take Mary, Marco's girlfriend, and me golfing the following weekend. Feathers soothed a little, The Boy laid a relieved, slightly possessive kiss on me before saying goodnight that made me go, "Oh!" TIED WITH: The Spelling Bee Champ, by the watering station at the Coral Room, the wee hours of 3/23/08: Just a spectacular kiss. Firm, warm, mobile (but not too), wet (but not too), sexy, judicious use of the tongue, good suction... just a really good kiss. And it didn't hurt that it was followed by a half-dozen more of the same. And a declaration of knitting as "hot."

So why hasn't he called?

I was speculating with Ange and Bag Lady Kathryn that he may have misunderstood something I said.

See, after a few of these lovely kisses, I told him he was very good at it. He paused for a moment and said, "Well, I guess there's always room for improvement."

At the time, I thought it was a little odd, but it sounded like the sort of thing I say when I'm caught wrong-footed,## so I shrugged, smiled and said, "Could be."

We had been in the midst of saying our good-byes, but I turned around to say something to Kelley and he just disappeared. Again, I didn't think a whole lot of it, but...

Now he hasn't called.

And now that I'm in the check-the-phone-for-a-dial-tone phase, I'm wondering if he thought I told him he *wasn't* very good at kissing. And he was crushed. And he's somewhere, nursing his wounds, dreaming of the young††† woman who so fascinated him and so defeated him.

Perhaps he cries in his pillow every night.

[SUMMARY: Leave me to my fantasies. Did you not hear he hasn't called?]

On the other hand, there's Soldier Boy, who calls every couple of weeks and either 1) says, "Hey, what are you doing tomorrow night? We should get a beer or something," then never calls, or 2) calls at 9:30 on Sunday night to say, "I'm in your neck of the woods, I was hanging out with a buddy and I thought maybe we could get a beer or something. Right now. Run."

OK, he doesn't really say, "run," but you get the idea.

I called him after I got home Wednesday night, a couple of glasses of wine making me brave, and said, "You do know I'm a girl, right? And you have to give me at least a few hours of lead time so I can shave my legs and put on the war paint."

"Honey, you know I'm not a planning kind of guy..."

"Oh, I know. But... legs. Shaving. Girly stuff. I'm not asking for much. Three or four hours warning."

"What are you doing August 8?"

"Smart ass."

At least we're both very aware of our needs and our shortcomings. I don't know The Spelling Bee Champ well enough to know what the hell he's thinking. If he's thinking at all.^

There I was crying in my beer, making Ange and Kathryn listen to my junior high rantings.‡‡‡ They were being very supportive, and Ange chimed in with, "They should have a Denver Dumb Men's League."§§§

Ange introduced me to the Denver Dumb Friends League KittenCam, which can be equal parts disappointing and addicting. We had been talking about that and DDML just popped right into place.

[SUMMARY: That, my elementary school-level readers, is a clear example of serendipity.]

Now, I got my cats at the DDFL ten years ago. My hedgehog had waddled off the mortal coil almost a year before and Brother offered to adopt me a cat for my birthday.

"But I don't like cats," I said.

"You only don't like cats because you've never had a cat," he replied.

So we went to a couple of different DDFL shelters a couple of times each. I watched the cats. I read their names and what history the DDFL had on them. I learned of their medical and emotional issues.

In the very room you see on KittenCam, I fell in love with my Quill and Lucy.¶¶¶ I watched them climb and hide and rub noses and I knew this was the pair I was seeking. The DDFL rep brought them into a room with me so I could get a little one-on-one and we all three were hooked.###

I had to fill out paperwork promising to take care of them and allowing that the DDFL could inspect my home for cat suitability and repossess the cats in the event any allegations of abuse or neglect were substantiated.

Then there is a two- or three-day cooling off period (you can't take them home the second you find them).

Because I was renting, they also had to get the OK from my landlord for me to have pets.

Then they micro-chipped them and sent them home with me.

My friends came over a couple of nights later to meet and greet and bring kitty treats.

[SUMMARY: A well-conceived process.]

How difficult a transition is it to make to a DDML?††††

Think about it:

-A place where you can watch the men in their habitat for a few days before seeing them in person.
-A place where you can visit them and get a feel for them before you actually mingle with them.
-A place where they have their medical history, emotional state and family history all typed up on a card.
-A place where there are always options for adoption.
-A place where they are electronically marked so you can find them if they stray.
-A place that makes sure you have thought it through and your home is open to the adoption.

Then a forum to meet friends and family all in one fell swoop?

It may be ideal. If only we could get the men into those little cages...

[SUMMARY: I think I'm funny. Don't send Glenn Sacks after me!]

How much would you love to be looking at the DDML SmittenCam right now?

And do you think I should ask Sue to ask Sarah to ask The Spelling Bee Champ to check whether he likes me, yes or no?‡‡‡‡


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): That's much funnier in person. Out loud. Really.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Ange also got a post-grad collegiate rating on her reading level, but it in no way makes me want to stick DPNs up her nose. I'm happy for her continued success and wish her all the best.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): As is evidenced by my classic Nick-Nolte-in-lockup hairdo.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): If you say this with a posh British pronunciation (spěsh'ē-āl'ĭ-tē), I'm pretty sure it will boost my reading level.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Shut up. If you want to stay on the "reasonable and sane" train with me, you have to stop laughing.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Oh, yeah. This may look a little like social commentary, but it's all about me.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And -- it seemed -- sincerely...

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): For easier viewing!

§§FOOTNOTE (dizzy, head-spinning smooches): No, you've never heard of them. Just detail for the sake of authenticity.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (like tuning pegs on a guitar): Not an oxymoron.

##FOOTNOTE (pounded like an object lesson into your brain): Like the time I was staring at The Boy, daydreaming, largely unaware he was even there, when he said, "What?" in that sorta sexy way that invites a love-nibble of a reply. "Did anyone ever tell you you have really nice teeth?" I said. Wrong-footed. Like that.

†††FOOTNOTE (Calgary? Cavalry? Calvary?): Damnit, stop laughing. Hey, one other point in his favour was that I thought he was about 30 and when he asked, "Do you mind if I ask how old you are?" and I confessed to 40 (thinking I might just be relegating myself to the role of mother figure), he was so visibly relieved because he thought I might be in my 20s and he's 38 and just doesn't have a lot of truck with youngsters. It could happen. I was wearing pigtails.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Perish the thought! He hasn't stopped thinking of me since that night. He's haunted by my wit, my beauty, my curly hair... his work suffers and he loses sleep. Or maybe I'm projecting.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (how many ways can I say "train tracks"?): "Maybe I should ask Sue to ask Sarah if he likes me. Or maybe I should tell Sue to tell Sarah to tell him I thought he was a really good kisser, just in case he thinks I said he was a bad kisser. I really like him. Where's Sue? Do you think I should talk to Sue?"

§§§FOOTNOTE (spinning right out of orbit): Ange regularly and frequently says the funniest, smartest things I hear in any given week. She claims, "...my contribution was the name. I'm just the idea person, I'm not so-much about action or follow-through." Bless you, Angel-eek for letting me steal your idea and provide my own wonky follow-through.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (clubby!): Quill and Lucy were littermates, actual brother and sister, given up by a guy who moved to a rental where he couldn't have both cats and his dog. He chose the dog. He also named the cats "Garth" and "Axl," so his whole mental state may be suspect, but they were well-loved and well-trained kitties, so I bless him a little every time Cat for Scale purrs at me.

###FOOTNOTE (we are taking such a pounding): I don't think Brother was immune, so let's say "all four of us." He started volunteering at the shelter not too long after that.

††††FOOTNOTE (have I ever been this crossed?): None. None difficult transition.

‡‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (we're nearing the Golden Spike): Wasn't this fun? Hasn't it been a long time since I've shared my stupid girl neuroses about boys with you? Don't you wish we could do this more often?


Wow. It's really unfortunate Blogger won't let me put "Dork" in the labels more than once.

I'm Number Two!

Just wait 'til you see all the knitting what took place this weekend! There's engineering! Peeps! Drama! Math! Ribs! 100% baby alpaca!

They should have made a reality TiVi series out of my weekend! And my weekend started really early because I had Good Friday off† and they closed the office at 3:00 on Thursday!‡

[SUMMARY: She exclaimed!]

Of course, the pictures are stuck in the camera for the moment,§ so you'll have to wait to share in most of the festivities. Damn it,¶ *I'll* have to wait. And I'm off-my-rocker excited to show you my knitting pictures from this weekend.#

But since there are no pictures in Olympus Limbo for the Saturday night spelling bee, I can recount that particular tale.

[SUMMARY: A spelling bee story? With no pictures? REALLY?!]

The Coral Room hosted a benefit Saturday night for Kristen, who is undergoing cancer treatment, much to the detriment of her modest cash flow.††

There was a big raffle, for which I knit a lovely alpaca scarf and bought my fair share of tickets.

There were drink specials, for which I strayed from my usual glass of Evolution in favour of a chardonnay.

There was the guy who wanted to buy Kelley and I drinks for letting he and his wife sit in our seats to eat, but we asked him to put the cash in the Kristen Kitty instead.

The Platte River Killers played an acoustic set.‡‡

And there was the spelling bee.

[SUMMARY: Cancer takes a lot of effort.]

My first word? Fellatio.§§

There were about 25 people signed up. Most made it through the first round. Most didn't make it through the second round.

I made it to the fourth and final round, and somehow decided the U in boudoir was one vowel too many and lost to he-who-shall-be-known-as-Spelling-Champ, who spelled "aborigine."

I can spell aborigine.

Apparently, my French is a little rusty.

And I could've spelled it right if I'd written in out.

And I'm pretty sure I spelled "idiosyncrasy" correctly in the round before, even though the MC said I was wrong.

And the sun was in my eyes.

*ahem*

I did get some nice parting gifts, including a dictionary, a crossword puzzle book, a $35 gift certificate to the Coral Room¶¶ and some very accomplished kisses from The Spelling Bee Champ, who also got my phone number.##

[SUMMARY: What ego was damaged in the spelling be was totally spackled over in the aftermath.]

So all in all, a good night, though not the win I anticipated.†††

As a funny aside, the final gift in the prize bag was a "green"% light bulb from Wal-Mart.^ When I got home, I flipped on the torchiere (I can spell "torchiere") lamp that I favour over the blasting overhead light and it promptly blew.

I reached into my little bag, pulled out my little light bulb, shed a little light on the subject and went on my merry little way.

[SUMMARY: I fear I used my Kharmic Green Stamps on light and The Spelling Bee Champ will lose my phone number.]

*************

I am studiously avoiding saying anything about my tournament brackets. Once again, I picked Duke to win it all. In fact, I filled out seven brackets for seven different pools and put all my basketball eggs in the Duke basket.

Unless the Kansas plane collides midair with the Memphis plane, with both falling to crush the UNC bus, the resulting firestorm taking out Tennessee, let us not speak of this again.

[SUMMARY: Krzyzewski is French for goddamnit.]

Shit. They should have given me Krzyzewski in the spelling bee. I can spell Krzyzewski.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Any Friday when I can knit for six hours and still start drinking by 3:30 is a good Friday in my book.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Note the clever (over)use of exclamation points to indicate I don't actually have the pictures to prove it yet, but I want you to be really excited.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Why? Because I was up until 1:30 this morning knitting, that's why.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): See: excited!

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Y'all have known me awhile now. I hope you are keeping this all in perspective (I can spell "perspective") and knowing deep in your hearts that this may be wayyyyy more exciting for me than for you.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): As in, "Despite having health insurance, this is costing her more than $1000 a month out-of-pocket."

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Kind of a departure. They're a metal band, complete with thrashy guitars and muppet voice.

§§FOOTNOTE (y'know... like when you swirl your tongue): To which I said, "If you can't spell it, you probably shouldn't do it." A lesbian (I can spell "lesbian") asked me to sign her autograph book with that quote.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (one Ps... no, wait! Two Ps! Could you use it in a sentence?): The winning prize package was exactly the same, only it was dinner for two at the Coral Room.

##FOOTNOTE (right in the kisser): Of course I did. I don't have so many knee-buckling kisses that I feel I can afford to snub the kisser. Or busser. 'Cause I can spell "busser."

†††FOOTNOTE (triple threat! Beauty, Brains and... uh... Boobs!): Ah, hubris (I can spell "hubris"). Hey, when my church gets off the ground, there will be a lot more saints and a lot less random smiting.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which I put in convenient quotes so you'll know I don't mean it was kelly green or moss green, but enviroweenily friendly.

^FOOTNOTE (careted -- see? I can spell "caret"): I know, I know, but they donated. And they donated green, so it could be worse.

A Little Madness in the Spring...

...is wholesome even for the King.
-Emily Dickinson

It is March, you know; madness abounds.†




First, let us speak of Daylight Savings Time.

I'm pretty sure I can't say anything in general that every comedian and pundit on the planet hasn't already said, but I can hip you to a little Marin weirdity that will allow you to laugh at me on this fine Monday.

I have trouble getting all my clocks in the same time zone after a Daylight clock change. I know this isn't unusual, but team it up with the fact that some of my clocks don't get reset for years‡ and also I have a tendency to set my clocks randomly fast,§ and the first week after any time change is fraught with hilarity and hijinks.

Like last night, home from a chill evening¶ at the Coral Room, trying to remember which clocks were set to last year's Daylight Savings Time and never reset and which were set to Standard Time, only haphazardly foreward, and going to bed much later than I intended.

Or this morning when I got in the car, automatically subtracted an hour and added six minutes,# then realised -- halfway to work -- that I wasn't getting in at 6:45, but 7:45, which isn't all that early.

My daily dose of self-righteous dwindled away.

[SUMMARY: Madness! Madness, I tell you!]

We ran into Rizzo and his girlfriend Emily at Vita last night (I know I said Coral Room up there, but all will be made clear when you read the footnotes).

Emily recounted a story in which her roommate spotted a guy in an alley a couple of blocks from their place. Emily described said guy as a, "Fully-nude, crouching masturbator."

"That sounds like birdwatching," I said. Then I started to giggle. "Isn't that the first sign of spring? First the Fully-Nude, Crouching Masturbator then the robin?"

[SUMMARY: I think I'm funny. Again.]

As an update to our continuing series, Out My Window, the odd arms on the top of the 1999 building are gone this morning. We never saw anybody doing anything with them or anything depending from them or anything. They just moved from the north side of the roof to the south side of the roof then disappeared.

[SUMMARY: Aliens!]

Also? They changed the billboard on Thursday to advertise apartments on or near the Auraria Campus. Hans and I spent some quality time critiquing and dissecting the new billboard, with Hans coming to the conclusion they'd posted it in the wrong place, as our little corner of Denver is not necessarily a high-traffic area for Auraria students.

Sure enough, we got in this morning and there's a whole new billboard. Glenwood Springs. So much more appropriate that Hans even visited the website.††

[SUMMARY: The power of advertising!]

And, of course, the real Madness in March,% the Selection Show is this Sunday. Pop your popcorn, chill your beer.

And remember: when someone offers you a place in the pool, just do it. You're just as likely to win picking cutest mascot or best team colours as sports knowledge and win/loss record.

That drives sportsdorks crazy.




[SUMMARY: Crazy! Crazy, I tell you!]

Saturday night? Kathryn and Angel-eek and Ange's friend, Morgan, came for dinner, knitting and a movie. Only we ate pasta and pie and drank three bottles of wine and never got to the knitting and movie portion of the evening.

Ah, well. The living room is clean, even if we didn't use it. That can't be a bad thing.

The yarn room is insane because I took all the yarn from the living room up and dumped it in the middle of the room.

It's kinda like squeezing a tube of toothpaste: you move the little bits out of the space at the bottom to the top until it builds up and explodes out the end. I fear this will happen to the yarn room.

[SUMMARY: Basic physics.]

Back to the living room being clean: I'm very excited because I bought an extra-special steam cleaner^ two weeks ago and I never had enough carpet available‡‡ to make it worth the assembly it somehow required.




Tonight I plan to steam clean the living room. I'll take before and after pictures.

[SUMMARY: Spring cleaning!]

You're *so* excited.

You wish you had my steam cleaner.

You wish you were me.

[SUMMARY: I am so delusional.]


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And rebounds. And squeaks its $220 endorsement shoes. Or am I the only one who notices the shoes squeaking at a basketball game?

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Some are a pain in the neck and some I just don't know how, so they sit all through the winter, an hour fast. Sometimes, if I'm distracted enough or tired enough or spacy enough, I forget it's an hour fast and I get where I'm going an hour and fifteen minutes early. 'Cause even without the hour thing, I'm fifteen minutes early for everything.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): F'rinstance, I'll see it's 9:31 on the Comcast clock and run upstairs to set my alarm clock. I'll set it for, say, 9:37 to allow for the time it took to get upstairs and get in position, then I'll close my eyes and randomly set it forward a double-secret set of minutes. I go back downstairs and knit or watch TiVi. Until I get an immediate telling of the time in the same room with my alarm clock, I don't know how far ahead I am and it keeps me running early in the mornings. Madness, I tell you.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which wasn't so chill. They were doing a Lance Armstrong Team OceanGirl fundraiser with guest bartenders and a whole passel of people we didn't know, so we went to Vita instead. Then went back to the Coral. And Benny bought us a couple or four shots. And why would anyone do that on a Sunday night? I dreamed of werewolves and exploding buildings. In retrospect, it makes Monday at work a little easier to stomach when there are no werewolves in the basement or Slavic looking men putting high-tech explosives on the elevators.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because I got the car during Daylight Savings and have never changed the clock, but it's lost six minutes in two years. You're welcome.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): skiswimstay.com, if you must know. And he was dismayed by their book-with-and-save, which only gave $13 off a hotel stay/lift tickets/hot springs pool. We figure the pool pass (being the cheapest component, though more than $13) should end up being free or it's not really worth the discount.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): What's madder about March than that part of March Madness is in April?

^FOOTNOTE (careted): It does carpet and hard floors and furniture. Oh, my.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Read: visible.