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...
Showing posts with label The Boy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Boy. Show all posts
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Monkey Business
I am not likely to ever get political here. I have my politics. You probably wouldn't like them.† I don't care enough about either your politics or mine to make politics a rift between us.
So this isn't political, so much as news stuff.‡ I just want y'all to keep that in mind. Don't assume that my using "shit" and "Democrat" in the same blogbit has anything to do with anything.
As some of you may be aware, the Democratic National Convention will be in Denver shortly.
[SUMMARY: Urgh.]
Civic Center Park will be an even scarier place than it already is.
Our office building will be locked, accessible only via key card all day, every day. Many companies have installed serious security systems in preparation for the onslaught of wound up, emotionally- and politically-charged people.%
Local businesses near the Convention ground zero have been notified they may be shut down, locked down or otherwise screwed with if security becomes an issue.
Denver Water puttered through downtown a couple of weeks ago and put locking caps on the fire hydrants.§
And the City Council passed an ordinance yesterday calling bodily fluids illegal.
OK, it's both broader¶ and more specific# than that, but it's funnier and more shocking the way I say it.
[SUMMARY: I think I'm funny. And sometimes shocking.]
So the radical fringe is officially banned from maintaining feces bombs in Denver.^
While this is oh-so-comforting, I'm torn between renting my house out for $1200 a night during this ordeal to get *something* out of it, and just battening down the hatches and skipping town.
*************
Hermès - Un Jardin sur le Nil (Hermèssence)
Marin says: Started with a bitter green scent, like when you break some thick grasses and they have sap rather than just juice... reminiscent of the smell of multi-vitamins. It was so light that even though I didn't particularly like it, I was OK with it.
Then the roll-out started.
Oh, my gosh, this is a gorgeous perfume.
It's lightly floral†† (water lily? lotus?) tempered by a dry wood,‡‡ but the greenish scent lingered behind that. For a half-hour or so, it was like lemon verbena, with a hint of bitter and wood. Then it turned woody-grassy, but the floral lingered behind that. I've honestly never experienced a real "roll out" like that before in a perfume. I'm astonished and delighted.§§
Hermes says: A perfume of light and life, generous and sparkling. A bottle reflecting the shimmering green and ochre tints of the banks of the Nile River appreciated by women and men alike.
The Perfumed Court says: A fruity floral scent with notes of green mango,¶¶ lotus flower,$ aromatic rushes,$ incense## and Sycamore wood.$
Hans says: It smells like lemon!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Don't paint us all with the same brush. It's funny to me that so many so-called liberals are so narrow-minded when it comes to Republicans, while Republicans -- long thought to be the narrow-minded ones -- are well aware that there are degrees and flavours of Democrats. Though one of the funniest politicist (is that the political version of racist?) remarks ever came from The Boy, back when we were actually dating instead of just fucking through the drunken nights of everybody else's celebrations*:
"So the president gave a speech last night."
"So I hear."
"You didn't watch?"
"Nope. I try to avoid Bush where I can."
"Huh. I thought you'd invite your Republican friends over and pop popcorn or something."
*FOOTNOTE WITHIN A FOOTNOTE (asterisked, as always): Wasn't that evocative? How come I can evoke about sweaty, ill-advised, illicit sex but I can't communicate what the hell water frickin' lily smells like to me?
Reminds me of the trophy for getting the lowest possible score in the bowling tournament (I threw a 67. Over two games. I'm a *terrible* bowler), which was inscribed, "Stick with what you know."
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Y'all know how I love to keep you informed.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): 'Specially oil companies, with their double-whammy of highly sensitive, proprietary information and their current target-worthy social position as Evil Overlords.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Five years of drought and never locking down the hydrants until the wingnuts come to town.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): In that it also encompasses cement, barricades, Super-Soakers filled with Kool-Aid and anything that can be used as an assault mechanism or barrier.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): You may think that goes without saying, but there was a news story a couple of weeks ago wherein police were tipped off to a home in Denver that was the site for the stockpiling of human waste for use at the Convention.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): In that it specifies possession with the intent to harm or hinder. Funny note: Denver police have to prove whatever material was intended for sinister use in order to enforce the ordinance. If you have a bucket of human waste in a political crowd, what other use would there be?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Water lily? Lotus? Sheesh, I wish I knew what those actually smelled like rather than just guessing at what I think of as water lily or lotus.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Y'know -- not sweet, heavy or wet like some woods... more like the woodpile out back than the depths of the rainforest. And not as distinctive as cedar.
§§FOOTNOTE (round and round and round she goes): For the record, this is one of the two perfumes that is the subject of the book I got from eBeth for my birthday (The Perfect Scent, by Chandler Burr.)
¶¶FOOTNOTE (stoppers!): They talked about this a LOT in the book. It may be that bitter smell I got to begin with. Then again, it could be the lemony smell. I don't know what a grove of green mangoes smells like. Is there an "E" in mangos?
$FOOTNOTE (on the money): Ha! Got one! And, yes, I'm counting aromatic rushes as sappy grass, taking full credit for blundering into lotus and surely sycamore is a perfectly adequate dry wood... even though I have no idea what a sycamore smells like. Or even looks like. I don't think we have sycamores in Colorado.
##FOOTNOTE (pounding like a perfume headache): Huh. *Never* got that. And I thought I was all sensitive to incense.
NOTE: In case you didn't get it, I'm really not against the Democrats as a group.
I'm against large, life-changing groups of people overrunning my world and I'm whole-heartedly against wing-nut protestors and feces-flingers, who will be out en masse at the convention. Normal, everyday Democrats are OK by me.
Some of my best friends are normal, everyday Democrats.
Please don't go all politco-guerrilla on me.
And I don't have to explain the title, right? Y'all get the clever reference?
kthx
So this isn't political, so much as news stuff.‡ I just want y'all to keep that in mind. Don't assume that my using "shit" and "Democrat" in the same blogbit has anything to do with anything.
As some of you may be aware, the Democratic National Convention will be in Denver shortly.
[SUMMARY: Urgh.]
Civic Center Park will be an even scarier place than it already is.
Our office building will be locked, accessible only via key card all day, every day. Many companies have installed serious security systems in preparation for the onslaught of wound up, emotionally- and politically-charged people.%
Local businesses near the Convention ground zero have been notified they may be shut down, locked down or otherwise screwed with if security becomes an issue.
Denver Water puttered through downtown a couple of weeks ago and put locking caps on the fire hydrants.§
And the City Council passed an ordinance yesterday calling bodily fluids illegal.
OK, it's both broader¶ and more specific# than that, but it's funnier and more shocking the way I say it.
[SUMMARY: I think I'm funny. And sometimes shocking.]
So the radical fringe is officially banned from maintaining feces bombs in Denver.^
While this is oh-so-comforting, I'm torn between renting my house out for $1200 a night during this ordeal to get *something* out of it, and just battening down the hatches and skipping town.
*************
Hermès - Un Jardin sur le Nil (Hermèssence)
Marin says: Started with a bitter green scent, like when you break some thick grasses and they have sap rather than just juice... reminiscent of the smell of multi-vitamins. It was so light that even though I didn't particularly like it, I was OK with it.
Then the roll-out started.
Oh, my gosh, this is a gorgeous perfume.
It's lightly floral†† (water lily? lotus?) tempered by a dry wood,‡‡ but the greenish scent lingered behind that. For a half-hour or so, it was like lemon verbena, with a hint of bitter and wood. Then it turned woody-grassy, but the floral lingered behind that. I've honestly never experienced a real "roll out" like that before in a perfume. I'm astonished and delighted.§§
Hermes says: A perfume of light and life, generous and sparkling. A bottle reflecting the shimmering green and ochre tints of the banks of the Nile River appreciated by women and men alike.
The Perfumed Court says: A fruity floral scent with notes of green mango,¶¶ lotus flower,$ aromatic rushes,$ incense## and Sycamore wood.$
Hans says: It smells like lemon!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Don't paint us all with the same brush. It's funny to me that so many so-called liberals are so narrow-minded when it comes to Republicans, while Republicans -- long thought to be the narrow-minded ones -- are well aware that there are degrees and flavours of Democrats. Though one of the funniest politicist (is that the political version of racist?) remarks ever came from The Boy, back when we were actually dating instead of just fucking through the drunken nights of everybody else's celebrations*:
"So the president gave a speech last night."
"So I hear."
"You didn't watch?"
"Nope. I try to avoid Bush where I can."
"Huh. I thought you'd invite your Republican friends over and pop popcorn or something."
*FOOTNOTE WITHIN A FOOTNOTE (asterisked, as always): Wasn't that evocative? How come I can evoke about sweaty, ill-advised, illicit sex but I can't communicate what the hell water frickin' lily smells like to me?
Reminds me of the trophy for getting the lowest possible score in the bowling tournament (I threw a 67. Over two games. I'm a *terrible* bowler), which was inscribed, "Stick with what you know."
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Y'all know how I love to keep you informed.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): 'Specially oil companies, with their double-whammy of highly sensitive, proprietary information and their current target-worthy social position as Evil Overlords.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Five years of drought and never locking down the hydrants until the wingnuts come to town.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): In that it also encompasses cement, barricades, Super-Soakers filled with Kool-Aid and anything that can be used as an assault mechanism or barrier.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): You may think that goes without saying, but there was a news story a couple of weeks ago wherein police were tipped off to a home in Denver that was the site for the stockpiling of human waste for use at the Convention.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): In that it specifies possession with the intent to harm or hinder. Funny note: Denver police have to prove whatever material was intended for sinister use in order to enforce the ordinance. If you have a bucket of human waste in a political crowd, what other use would there be?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Water lily? Lotus? Sheesh, I wish I knew what those actually smelled like rather than just guessing at what I think of as water lily or lotus.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Y'know -- not sweet, heavy or wet like some woods... more like the woodpile out back than the depths of the rainforest. And not as distinctive as cedar.
§§FOOTNOTE (round and round and round she goes): For the record, this is one of the two perfumes that is the subject of the book I got from eBeth for my birthday (The Perfect Scent, by Chandler Burr.)
¶¶FOOTNOTE (stoppers!): They talked about this a LOT in the book. It may be that bitter smell I got to begin with. Then again, it could be the lemony smell. I don't know what a grove of green mangoes smells like. Is there an "E" in mangos?
$FOOTNOTE (on the money): Ha! Got one! And, yes, I'm counting aromatic rushes as sappy grass, taking full credit for blundering into lotus and surely sycamore is a perfectly adequate dry wood... even though I have no idea what a sycamore smells like. Or even looks like. I don't think we have sycamores in Colorado.
##FOOTNOTE (pounding like a perfume headache): Huh. *Never* got that. And I thought I was all sensitive to incense.
NOTE: In case you didn't get it, I'm really not against the Democrats as a group.
I'm against large, life-changing groups of people overrunning my world and I'm whole-heartedly against wing-nut protestors and feces-flingers, who will be out en masse at the convention. Normal, everyday Democrats are OK by me.
Some of my best friends are normal, everyday Democrats.
Please don't go all politco-guerrilla on me.
And I don't have to explain the title, right? Y'all get the clever reference?
kthx
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
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:
...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!
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:
- Tuesday: brief mention of Wisconsin, birthday recap
- Wednesday: Nintendo party (with pictures!)
- 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!
Monday, June 9, 2008
Breaking It Down
OK. I've been seriously debating on whether to go public with this post.
In fact, if you feel you want to read it, I'd get through it fast before I change my mind and take it down.
It's personal.
Wildly personal.†
Well... it's not something I'm unwilling to share,% but I very much don't want certain reactions.
I don't want pity.
I don't want fuss.
I don't want platitudes.
Any person who tells me they hope I'm feeling better or that they know what I'm going through or gives some version of the bright side or uses the term "so sorry" or talks about adoption gets banned for life.
Don't test me on this one. I'm deadly serious.
[SUMMARY: Pretty high maintenance for such a little thing.]
I didn't tell eBeth (the SIL) because I knew how she'd fuss.‡ And I knew she'd mean well and I'd have to pretend to appreciate it and I'd really want to snap and maybe cry. So I told Brother and let him pass it on with strict instructions not to fuss.
I didn't broadcast it here or on eVites received or to my co-workers§ or anywhere else. I've been loath to even mention it after the fact unless someone asks me to do heavy lifting or something else that I just can't do right now.
Like button my jeans, which I also can't do right now.¶
[SUMMARY: Holy fucking cats this is difficult.]
Last Tuesday I had a tubal ligation.
Through some uncharacteristically meaningful exchange with a new doctor, we found I have homogeneous Factor 5. Plus some other words I don't remember. It means I'm hypercoagulant and I get it from both sides of my family.
Because of this, they took my birth control pills away. Which sucked.
Because of this, as my doctor put it, "Your birth control options are really unattractive."
Because of this, I'm not to get pregnant. Between my age and my congenital blood thing, I'd be really likely to have a lung embolism and die.
I don't particularly want to die.
So I decided to get spayed.
[SUMMARY: TMI?]
Now, I'm nearly 41. Intellectually, I had come to grips with the idea that the odds of me having a baby were really, really slim. Kate Moss slim. MacBook Air slim. But slim and none are still two different maths.
Especially when I see certain people having babies well beyond their expiration dates.
The boss and his wife had their twins when they were 45.
Annie had hers at 40? 41?
Connie had my little datesake at 40-ish.
I knew I didn't want to be a 65-year-old room mother, but I also knew if the opportunity presented itself, I wouldn't turn it down.
So... breath of hope.
[SUMMARY: There are levels of delusion. I'm happy to hit them all.]
Being told flat out not to have kids was like hitting a brick wall head-first. It jarred. It hurt. It took my breath away.
I have little doubt I would have awakened childless the morning of my 50th birthday# with a twitch and a sigh and a shrug and my AARP card would arrive so at least I'd have that to look forward to.
Attrition through apathy: not heroic, but painless.
But being told "no" sets off all kinds of angst. And rebellion. I'm pretty sure the thought flitted through my head last Saturday morning that if I could get a good fuck in with The Boy, I might put myself in a position to play roulette with my poor little body.
Don't think I wouldn't have. Fraught with danger as that scenario is, I'd have done it.
Don't judge. My conscience went a hundred different paths over the last couple of weeks, but ultimately I made the "right" choice.
[SUMMARY: Right is a wholly subjective term.]
The surgery itself was pretty pleasant. All the doctors and nurses were really, really nice.††
General anaesthesia kicks ass.
I had no post-anaesthesia nausea and my enormous tolerance for pain served me well.
They gave me apple juice and animal crackers when I was awake.
I got to take my space blanket home with me.
Now?
I'm bloated as hell and feel like I have to pee all the time, only not really -- just that horrible pressure you feel when you really have to pee and every time you go over a speed bump or hit a pothole you groan from the pressure of it all.
My stomach is a most festive array of bruises. One incision in my belly button turned the area just below my belly button a confetti of yellow, purple, blue and green. The incision just above my pubic bone has turned the whole range of my belly from hip bone to hip bone the purple the USDA uses to stamp meat. Dark. Solid. Purple.
Cat for Scale is bewildered that he can't do the kitty dance on my stomach every time I sit or lie down.
I'm unusually tired and I'm sleeping all the way through the night, which is really unusual for me. Generally, I get up at least once or twice every night for just a few minutes.‡‡
But mostly I'm kinda sad.
Intellectually, I knew.
In my heart, I still wanted.
[SUMMARY: And I want my mommy in the worst way.]
Despite all the preamble here, I just decided I wanted to let you know.
Now go hug your kids and think of happy things.
And DON'T fuss.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Unlike, apparently, my sex life, which I trumpet from the roofs as it happens. But then, my sex life tends to be amusing, confusing and sporadic, so it's just kinda funny.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Woo-hoo! Way to back-pedal!
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): eBeth is not like the rest of us. She believes in fussing and niceties and near-pathological apologising. How she ended up in this viper's nest we call family, I'm not sure, but maybe some genetic tendency will soften up the gene pool.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Except on a need-to-know basis. Between you and me, it didn't really help, 'cause I told my boss a month ago and continued to remind him every time he'd say, "That first week of June is going to get hairy. We'll have people flying all over the place. How's your schedule at St. Mary's?"
"Well, I'm having surgery on Tuesday, so that may put a dent in your plans for me."
*long pause*
OR
"Probably not next week but the week after, I'll need you in Laramie's offices to go through the files..."
"I'm having surgery Tuesday."
*long pause*
OR
"Next week is going to be hell week. I may need you to go to Grand Junction to help Dan with the EnCana stuff..."
"Seriously. I'm still having surgery Tuesday. I will be completely unavailable Tuesday and maybe for much of the rest of the week. Don't schedule me for anything."
*long pause*
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I confess my jeans are buttoned today. I'm wearing an old pair of size 18 jeans and I can button those. Imagine my joy. Why did nobody tell me I'd be retaining water like the Hoover Dam?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Probably still fertile in the strictest sense, since that's how we roll in this family. Except probably eBeth. She's different, you know.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And lord knows what I said before I came out of the anaesthetic. Two minutes after I was conscious, the recovery nurse told me I was the easiest tubal ligation she'd ever worked with. "You're just so funny and nice... it's been a pleasure having you here." Seriously. I hadn't said two words I remembered to her.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I wouldn't even get up, except that any time I wake up, I have to pee. If I didn't eat or drink anything for three days, I'd still have to pee every time I woke up.
In fact, if you feel you want to read it, I'd get through it fast before I change my mind and take it down.
It's personal.
Wildly personal.†
Well... it's not something I'm unwilling to share,% but I very much don't want certain reactions.
I don't want pity.
I don't want fuss.
I don't want platitudes.
Any person who tells me they hope I'm feeling better or that they know what I'm going through or gives some version of the bright side or uses the term "so sorry" or talks about adoption gets banned for life.
Don't test me on this one. I'm deadly serious.
[SUMMARY: Pretty high maintenance for such a little thing.]
I didn't tell eBeth (the SIL) because I knew how she'd fuss.‡ And I knew she'd mean well and I'd have to pretend to appreciate it and I'd really want to snap and maybe cry. So I told Brother and let him pass it on with strict instructions not to fuss.
I didn't broadcast it here or on eVites received or to my co-workers§ or anywhere else. I've been loath to even mention it after the fact unless someone asks me to do heavy lifting or something else that I just can't do right now.
Like button my jeans, which I also can't do right now.¶
[SUMMARY: Holy fucking cats this is difficult.]
Last Tuesday I had a tubal ligation.
Through some uncharacteristically meaningful exchange with a new doctor, we found I have homogeneous Factor 5. Plus some other words I don't remember. It means I'm hypercoagulant and I get it from both sides of my family.
Because of this, they took my birth control pills away. Which sucked.
Because of this, as my doctor put it, "Your birth control options are really unattractive."
Because of this, I'm not to get pregnant. Between my age and my congenital blood thing, I'd be really likely to have a lung embolism and die.
I don't particularly want to die.
So I decided to get spayed.
[SUMMARY: TMI?]
Now, I'm nearly 41. Intellectually, I had come to grips with the idea that the odds of me having a baby were really, really slim. Kate Moss slim. MacBook Air slim. But slim and none are still two different maths.
Especially when I see certain people having babies well beyond their expiration dates.
The boss and his wife had their twins when they were 45.
Annie had hers at 40? 41?
Connie had my little datesake at 40-ish.
I knew I didn't want to be a 65-year-old room mother, but I also knew if the opportunity presented itself, I wouldn't turn it down.
So... breath of hope.
[SUMMARY: There are levels of delusion. I'm happy to hit them all.]
Being told flat out not to have kids was like hitting a brick wall head-first. It jarred. It hurt. It took my breath away.
I have little doubt I would have awakened childless the morning of my 50th birthday# with a twitch and a sigh and a shrug and my AARP card would arrive so at least I'd have that to look forward to.
Attrition through apathy: not heroic, but painless.
But being told "no" sets off all kinds of angst. And rebellion. I'm pretty sure the thought flitted through my head last Saturday morning that if I could get a good fuck in with The Boy, I might put myself in a position to play roulette with my poor little body.
Don't think I wouldn't have. Fraught with danger as that scenario is, I'd have done it.
Don't judge. My conscience went a hundred different paths over the last couple of weeks, but ultimately I made the "right" choice.
[SUMMARY: Right is a wholly subjective term.]
The surgery itself was pretty pleasant. All the doctors and nurses were really, really nice.††
General anaesthesia kicks ass.
I had no post-anaesthesia nausea and my enormous tolerance for pain served me well.
They gave me apple juice and animal crackers when I was awake.
I got to take my space blanket home with me.
Now?
I'm bloated as hell and feel like I have to pee all the time, only not really -- just that horrible pressure you feel when you really have to pee and every time you go over a speed bump or hit a pothole you groan from the pressure of it all.
My stomach is a most festive array of bruises. One incision in my belly button turned the area just below my belly button a confetti of yellow, purple, blue and green. The incision just above my pubic bone has turned the whole range of my belly from hip bone to hip bone the purple the USDA uses to stamp meat. Dark. Solid. Purple.
Cat for Scale is bewildered that he can't do the kitty dance on my stomach every time I sit or lie down.
I'm unusually tired and I'm sleeping all the way through the night, which is really unusual for me. Generally, I get up at least once or twice every night for just a few minutes.‡‡
But mostly I'm kinda sad.
Intellectually, I knew.
In my heart, I still wanted.
[SUMMARY: And I want my mommy in the worst way.]
Despite all the preamble here, I just decided I wanted to let you know.
Now go hug your kids and think of happy things.
And DON'T fuss.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Unlike, apparently, my sex life, which I trumpet from the roofs as it happens. But then, my sex life tends to be amusing, confusing and sporadic, so it's just kinda funny.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Woo-hoo! Way to back-pedal!
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): eBeth is not like the rest of us. She believes in fussing and niceties and near-pathological apologising. How she ended up in this viper's nest we call family, I'm not sure, but maybe some genetic tendency will soften up the gene pool.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Except on a need-to-know basis. Between you and me, it didn't really help, 'cause I told my boss a month ago and continued to remind him every time he'd say, "That first week of June is going to get hairy. We'll have people flying all over the place. How's your schedule at St. Mary's?"
"Well, I'm having surgery on Tuesday, so that may put a dent in your plans for me."
*long pause*
OR
"Probably not next week but the week after, I'll need you in Laramie's offices to go through the files..."
"I'm having surgery Tuesday."
*long pause*
OR
"Next week is going to be hell week. I may need you to go to Grand Junction to help Dan with the EnCana stuff..."
"Seriously. I'm still having surgery Tuesday. I will be completely unavailable Tuesday and maybe for much of the rest of the week. Don't schedule me for anything."
*long pause*
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I confess my jeans are buttoned today. I'm wearing an old pair of size 18 jeans and I can button those. Imagine my joy. Why did nobody tell me I'd be retaining water like the Hoover Dam?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Probably still fertile in the strictest sense, since that's how we roll in this family. Except probably eBeth. She's different, you know.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And lord knows what I said before I came out of the anaesthetic. Two minutes after I was conscious, the recovery nurse told me I was the easiest tubal ligation she'd ever worked with. "You're just so funny and nice... it's been a pleasure having you here." Seriously. I hadn't said two words I remembered to her.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I wouldn't even get up, except that any time I wake up, I have to pee. If I didn't eat or drink anything for three days, I'd still have to pee every time I woke up.
Monday, June 2, 2008
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*.
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*.
Friday, March 28, 2008
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):
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.
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):
- 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.
- 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.
- 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."
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.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Things I Learned in 2007
- It's not "rock seals and planes," it's "rocks, hills and plains."
- Page views go up every time Tommy makes an appearance.
- Never knit a baby blanket in linen stitch.
- Expired license plates are serious business.
- Estrogen is my friend. Sometimes friends abandon.
- Judy's Magic Cast On is... magic.
- Smile for the camera.
- Life is too short for bad friends, bad yarn or bad wine. Bad boys are another issue entirely.
- There is a fine-line difference between rap and hip hop, but I have to be in a room with you to explain it to you because there are hand gestures.
- You can never have too many T-pins.
- There is a Law of Conservation of Patience in my realm: patience can neither be created nor destroyed, only transferred. Thus, all the patience I may have exhibited in teaching Brother and Father to knit was eventually counter-balanced by an irrational blow-up at a customer service agent.
- No matter how much I pare back the nephews' gift list, I always end up getting them too much.
- Champagne can be a harsh mistress.
- Nothing bad ever happens to clean people (OK, I've known this one for years, thanks to my friend who works for DPD, but it bears repeating).
- Cars are cuter when they're clean.
- No matter how much you pay for kitty toys, they always play with the boxes. Figuratively speaking.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Putting the Duh Back in Holiduhs
For the last week or so, I feel like people are correcting me every time I open my mouth.†
Now, I'm not a particularly competitive person. And I'm too big a dork to evince a big ego. But after the 27th correction,‡ I start to become defensive. I usually won't actually defend myself, but I get irritated.
And I get competitive, as in I try to stump the corrector with frequently unrelated knowledge just to get back the points I lost in the correction.
And paranoid: what fresh correction will be around the next corner? Will I be able to keep from throttling the next person who tells me something like, "You do your shoes wrong. If you laced your shoes OVER the grommets, you'll be so much healthier and happier and also money will come to you within three weeks."?
So with all the nice people out for my own good of late, why didn't anyone tell me not to drink that last glass§ of champagne Sunday?
Y'all just wanted to watch the funny Marin circus, didn't you?
[SUMMARY: Vultures!]
OK. I get that. I'd probably have done the sameto for you.
Before we get too deep into the holiday season, let me take this moment for a public service announcement:
Champagne on an empty stomach can be brutal.
You're welcome.
The 20th Annual Champagne Cascade at the Brown Palace was a benefit for the Colorado Ballet.
I tried to snap a picture of the wandering dance-urchins as they flitted amidst the crowd, but missed. They got down to the end of the balcony, had a little urchin conference and decided to come back to me.
"Hello, miss,¶ we're from the Colorado Ballet's production of The Nutcracker." And they *curtsied*.
So I asked if I could take a proper picture and they complied. That girl in the front left was very outgoing. She's eleven and she's been dancing since she was four.
They were so cute and sweet they made my ovaries ache.
Here is the tower of glasses, ready for the pouring.
Champagne and flowers on the dais.
The chandelier, unlit.
I took a movie of Marcel Pitton% pouring the champagne. It wouldn't load. Also, it was disappointing. He just poured a ceremonial splash of champagne so it cascaded from the first glass to the second level of glasses and stopped.
The disembodied voice from the loudspeaker told us if he'd poured the whole cascade, we'd be there until Thanksgiving. Most of us would have been willing to hang in for that.
Look closely. There's champagne in one of them thar glasses.
Artsy flash version.
After the "cascade," the chandelier was lit.
And a couple of scenes of The Nutcracker were performed.
We made some new friends, who only encouraged us in the drinking of champagne.
Toby and Jonathan
...with Toby's sister, Janet#
And Janetice's boyfriend, Dari (blue and white shirt -- I don't know if I'm spelling that right. Sorry, Dari!) and Isaac (suit and tie), a champagne waiter Toby and Jonathan know. And, y'know... Kelley and Marin.
[SUMMARY: Friends good. Friends with champagne, better.]
A little side note: I generally get out of the shower, put some petroleum product in my hair, then leave it as much the heck alone as I can. The less I mess with it, the less the fuzzy. Consequently, I find myself at 3:00 some afternoons, washing my hands in the bathroom, looking up to realise... I haven't looked in a mirror all day.
This was one of those days.
If ever you see me out with my hair like this, would you please take me aside and gently push me in the direction of a mirror?
There's photographic evidence here, people. Anthropologists of the future may take my hair as a symptom of our society and you don't want that.
Ooooh... do you think I'll get a name? Like Lucy?
[SUMMARY: I put way too much stock in the power of hair.]
Anyway...
Kelley called The Boy when we got to the Coral.
Shiny, happy people
And an hour later, I was lying in the middle of my living room floor saying, "I just want to be NORMAL..."
And now you're all caught up on Sunday.
You're welcome.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): We are NOT back to the spit or swallow thing. My brother will thank me.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Some warranted, some not so much, some just plain wrong.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Maybe last glasses. Maybe the last three. Or four. I lost count anyway.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Seriously.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): You remember Marcel. From the spa anniversary?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Or maybe Janice.
Now, I'm not a particularly competitive person. And I'm too big a dork to evince a big ego. But after the 27th correction,‡ I start to become defensive. I usually won't actually defend myself, but I get irritated.
And I get competitive, as in I try to stump the corrector with frequently unrelated knowledge just to get back the points I lost in the correction.
And paranoid: what fresh correction will be around the next corner? Will I be able to keep from throttling the next person who tells me something like, "You do your shoes wrong. If you laced your shoes OVER the grommets, you'll be so much healthier and happier and also money will come to you within three weeks."?
So with all the nice people out for my own good of late, why didn't anyone tell me not to drink that last glass§ of champagne Sunday?
Y'all just wanted to watch the funny Marin circus, didn't you?
[SUMMARY: Vultures!]
OK. I get that. I'd probably have done the same
Before we get too deep into the holiday season, let me take this moment for a public service announcement:
Champagne on an empty stomach can be brutal.
You're welcome.
The 20th Annual Champagne Cascade at the Brown Palace was a benefit for the Colorado Ballet.
I tried to snap a picture of the wandering dance-urchins as they flitted amidst the crowd, but missed. They got down to the end of the balcony, had a little urchin conference and decided to come back to me.
"Hello, miss,¶ we're from the Colorado Ballet's production of The Nutcracker." And they *curtsied*.
So I asked if I could take a proper picture and they complied. That girl in the front left was very outgoing. She's eleven and she's been dancing since she was four.
They were so cute and sweet they made my ovaries ache.
Here is the tower of glasses, ready for the pouring.
Champagne and flowers on the dais.
The chandelier, unlit.
I took a movie of Marcel Pitton% pouring the champagne. It wouldn't load. Also, it was disappointing. He just poured a ceremonial splash of champagne so it cascaded from the first glass to the second level of glasses and stopped.
The disembodied voice from the loudspeaker told us if he'd poured the whole cascade, we'd be there until Thanksgiving. Most of us would have been willing to hang in for that.
Look closely. There's champagne in one of them thar glasses.
Artsy flash version.
After the "cascade," the chandelier was lit.
And a couple of scenes of The Nutcracker were performed.
We made some new friends, who only encouraged us in the drinking of champagne.
Toby and Jonathan
...with Toby's sister, Janet#
And Janetice's boyfriend, Dari (blue and white shirt -- I don't know if I'm spelling that right. Sorry, Dari!) and Isaac (suit and tie), a champagne waiter Toby and Jonathan know. And, y'know... Kelley and Marin.
[SUMMARY: Friends good. Friends with champagne, better.]
A little side note: I generally get out of the shower, put some petroleum product in my hair, then leave it as much the heck alone as I can. The less I mess with it, the less the fuzzy. Consequently, I find myself at 3:00 some afternoons, washing my hands in the bathroom, looking up to realise... I haven't looked in a mirror all day.
This was one of those days.
If ever you see me out with my hair like this, would you please take me aside and gently push me in the direction of a mirror?
There's photographic evidence here, people. Anthropologists of the future may take my hair as a symptom of our society and you don't want that.
Ooooh... do you think I'll get a name? Like Lucy?
[SUMMARY: I put way too much stock in the power of hair.]
Anyway...
Kelley called The Boy when we got to the Coral.
Shiny, happy people
And an hour later, I was lying in the middle of my living room floor saying, "I just want to be NORMAL..."
And now you're all caught up on Sunday.
You're welcome.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): We are NOT back to the spit or swallow thing. My brother will thank me.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Some warranted, some not so much, some just plain wrong.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Maybe last glasses. Maybe the last three. Or four. I lost count anyway.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Seriously.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): You remember Marcel. From the spa anniversary?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Or maybe Janice.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Just a Lickle...
How many times can one† lick the pig in a single week before one's loyal friends and readers openly revolt?
Apparently, I'm going to push that envelope. The pictures are trapped in the camera, the news of the weird is thin on the ground.
Welcome to Wednesday. Lick that pig.
*************
So I found this cool sock pattern% on Ravelry, free to download, but I had to join a Yahoo group to get it.
A German Yahoo group.
Oh, how you would have laughed at me trying to translate "Go stickensie fingeren en ein lightenschoketen und smokensie fuzzikopf" to figure out what to put in some of the vaguer blanks.
Part of me hopes I didn't out myself as a French-Canadian lesbian bioterrorist with oddly Marxist leanings.‡
Another part of me says, "Eh, I got the sock pattern. Who cares?"
[SUMMARY: Sometimes ya gotta take the bottom line.]
*************
My dad sent me this link to a nearly real-time§ map of disasters around the world.¶ I have *seriously* mixed emotions about it.
On the one hand, there's a dorky ludicrous side to it that I'm almost ashamed to laugh at.
On the other hand, it's kind of interesting.
On the other hand,# it may feed unnecessarily into some peoples' sense of doom.
I still haven't figured out what all the little icons mean, though they do have one specifically for bus tragedies. And they're going to have a gang activity map soon. And they have an illegal alien activity map†† I haven't fully explored.
Someone has too much time on his hands and too many worries.
[SUMMARY: Now that I put it that way, I'm not ashamed to laugh at this anymore.]
*************
I forgot to mention that Bag Lady Kathryn and I went to the Coral Monday night‡‡ because they have half-price bottles of wine and a couple of appetisers make a really nice meal.
Kelley and The Boy showed up and The Boy was very nice.
[SUMMARY: Wonders on top of wonders.]
*************
And I haven't heard from Soldier Boy.
[SUMMARY: Pbthththththth!]
*************
For those who are interested, Chameleon Colorworks has just changed hands.
It kinda hosed up an order I placed with them two weeks ago.
That order is on the way, however, which means there will be one more photo you want to see that I'm not going to show you for days while I try to get my computer and my camera in the same room together.
Did we like Chameleon for their colour or more because their yarn is soft?
It'll be interesting to see what a new dyer does.
Cider Moon is still in the legal ether. Just thought I'd throw that out. This seems like the place for it.
[SUMMARY: Turn and face the strange changes...]
*************
Last night, Brother asked if I had a Christmas present for him yet.§§
"Nope."
"No present. Don't get me anything. The time has come."
Honestly? I thought he'd finally gone off the deep end and decided we weren't going to exchange presents anymore... sort of like my gynecologist¶¶: "You're 40 now. It's time to put childish dreams behind and face the grim realities of your advanced age."
But, no... my brother is kinder than my gynecologist and simply reminded me that, oh, 16 years ago when I got my first tattoo, I'd given him a standing offer to pay for his first tattoo. And probably buy him a beer or something too.
He's been going to the gym a lot and has ink envy. He's the only guy over 5'5" who doesn't have a tattoo. That's hard on a man.
The moral of this story: Sometimes good tidings come back to you and you can knit one less thing at Christmastime.
[SUMMARY: It's all about the knitting.]
*************
{nasty werk deadline 11/20}
Thanksgiving.
{nasty werk deadline 11/30}
San Diego 12/1-12/3.
Houston 12/4-12/9.
{werk all weekend in Houston to make up for not going for two weeks like the client would like, only see other nasty werk deadlines, above/below}
Family Christmas 12/15.
Christmas.
{nasty werk deadline 12/31}
New Year.
[SUMMARY: Send vodka.]
Why are we still here? I must go werk!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And by "one," I mean "I."
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Actually, it was several cool sock patterns and it's that Stephanie van der Linden I told you about the other day.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Dear FBI, if you are reading this, I'm only kidding. I think I'm funny, and I think that fact has been well-documented. I know there is nothing funny about French-Canadian lesbian bioterrorism in your world. And by "Marx," I mean "Groucho." Please don't put me on the list.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): "Updated every 300 seconds... 24/7." Um, Einstein... you can just say "every five minutes." In fact, it sounds better. Cleaner. And no longer.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which should be a Franklin Mint collectors' plate series.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): With three hands, you'd think I'd be better able to count to four, wouldn't you?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): "SAN DIEGO - illegal alien arrested for drugs and rooster fighting." I am not making this up.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Text message from Kathryn: I can't believe I am suggesting this but how does the Coral Room at 5 for appetizers sound?
§§FOOTNOTE (do those look like those 45-rpm adapters we used to have?): I had a knitting project, of course. There's always a knitting project on deck.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (lop-eared bunny!): Not that my gynecologist and I exchange gifts, mind you, that definitely sounds like something she would say.
Apparently, I'm going to push that envelope. The pictures are trapped in the camera, the news of the weird is thin on the ground.
Welcome to Wednesday. Lick that pig.
*************
So I found this cool sock pattern% on Ravelry, free to download, but I had to join a Yahoo group to get it.
A German Yahoo group.
Oh, how you would have laughed at me trying to translate "Go stickensie fingeren en ein lightenschoketen und smokensie fuzzikopf" to figure out what to put in some of the vaguer blanks.
Part of me hopes I didn't out myself as a French-Canadian lesbian bioterrorist with oddly Marxist leanings.‡
Another part of me says, "Eh, I got the sock pattern. Who cares?"
[SUMMARY: Sometimes ya gotta take the bottom line.]
*************
My dad sent me this link to a nearly real-time§ map of disasters around the world.¶ I have *seriously* mixed emotions about it.
On the one hand, there's a dorky ludicrous side to it that I'm almost ashamed to laugh at.
On the other hand, it's kind of interesting.
On the other hand,# it may feed unnecessarily into some peoples' sense of doom.
I still haven't figured out what all the little icons mean, though they do have one specifically for bus tragedies. And they're going to have a gang activity map soon. And they have an illegal alien activity map†† I haven't fully explored.
Someone has too much time on his hands and too many worries.
[SUMMARY: Now that I put it that way, I'm not ashamed to laugh at this anymore.]
*************
I forgot to mention that Bag Lady Kathryn and I went to the Coral Monday night‡‡ because they have half-price bottles of wine and a couple of appetisers make a really nice meal.
Kelley and The Boy showed up and The Boy was very nice.
[SUMMARY: Wonders on top of wonders.]
*************
And I haven't heard from Soldier Boy.
[SUMMARY: Pbthththththth!]
*************
For those who are interested, Chameleon Colorworks has just changed hands.
It kinda hosed up an order I placed with them two weeks ago.
That order is on the way, however, which means there will be one more photo you want to see that I'm not going to show you for days while I try to get my computer and my camera in the same room together.
Did we like Chameleon for their colour or more because their yarn is soft?
It'll be interesting to see what a new dyer does.
Cider Moon is still in the legal ether. Just thought I'd throw that out. This seems like the place for it.
[SUMMARY: Turn and face the strange changes...]
*************
Last night, Brother asked if I had a Christmas present for him yet.§§
"Nope."
"No present. Don't get me anything. The time has come."
Honestly? I thought he'd finally gone off the deep end and decided we weren't going to exchange presents anymore... sort of like my gynecologist¶¶: "You're 40 now. It's time to put childish dreams behind and face the grim realities of your advanced age."
But, no... my brother is kinder than my gynecologist and simply reminded me that, oh, 16 years ago when I got my first tattoo, I'd given him a standing offer to pay for his first tattoo. And probably buy him a beer or something too.
He's been going to the gym a lot and has ink envy. He's the only guy over 5'5" who doesn't have a tattoo. That's hard on a man.
The moral of this story: Sometimes good tidings come back to you and you can knit one less thing at Christmastime.
[SUMMARY: It's all about the knitting.]
*************
{nasty werk deadline 11/20}
Thanksgiving.
{nasty werk deadline 11/30}
San Diego 12/1-12/3.
Houston 12/4-12/9.
{werk all weekend in Houston to make up for not going for two weeks like the client would like, only see other nasty werk deadlines, above/below}
Family Christmas 12/15.
Christmas.
{nasty werk deadline 12/31}
New Year.
[SUMMARY: Send vodka.]
Why are we still here? I must go werk!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And by "one," I mean "I."
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Actually, it was several cool sock patterns and it's that Stephanie van der Linden I told you about the other day.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Dear FBI, if you are reading this, I'm only kidding. I think I'm funny, and I think that fact has been well-documented. I know there is nothing funny about French-Canadian lesbian bioterrorism in your world. And by "Marx," I mean "Groucho." Please don't put me on the list.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): "Updated every 300 seconds... 24/7." Um, Einstein... you can just say "every five minutes." In fact, it sounds better. Cleaner. And no longer.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which should be a Franklin Mint collectors' plate series.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): With three hands, you'd think I'd be better able to count to four, wouldn't you?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): "SAN DIEGO - illegal alien arrested for drugs and rooster fighting." I am not making this up.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Text message from Kathryn: I can't believe I am suggesting this but how does the Coral Room at 5 for appetizers sound?
§§FOOTNOTE (do those look like those 45-rpm adapters we used to have?): I had a knitting project, of course. There's always a knitting project on deck.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (lop-eared bunny!): Not that my gynecologist and I exchange gifts, mind you, that definitely sounds like something she would say.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Wonderlick*
I finally got the camera together with the computer.† While there are still no knitting pictures, I find the meeting of the electronics a good thing. If nothing else, it means I am not a complete technoloser for the twelfth day running.
[SUMMARY: I have a camera and I know how to use it.]
I learned last week there is more than one way to skin a cat,‡ billboard-wise.§
Just across the street, west of the last billboard lesson, we saw this:
See, sometimes you just have to pop the old billboard off en toto, then snap the new one in its place.
You must always use a crane.
[SUMMARY: Continuing education.]
Last week, they also started putting up holiday lights downtown at the Pavilions. This guy is on a little crane. I kinda want him.
[SUMMARY: Everything is well-hung with a crane.]
Saturday, Kelley and I had an extravaganza of extravigant proportions.
We had brunch at the Coral Room, shopped 32nd Street, headed to Cherry Creek, where I took this picture from the top of the parking garage, which is where we had to park because the mall was for some unknown reason busier than Christmastime:
We visited Nordstrom and Urban Outfitter, then down South Broadway to look at cute, cheap shoes and sex toys.
Sex toys wasn't on our original list of things to do, but we were so close to The Crypt, we figured we'd better pop in and see what's the ups in fine leather accoutrement.
I hipped Kelley to pony play.¶ She's so happy to have me as a friend.
[SUMMARY: The more you know! {stars and rainbows}%]
We headed home for a little nap break before her friends Aaron and Stacy picked us up to go to Central City to lose some money.
I'm not much of a gambler. I find it boring, mostly because I've had the good fortune to never win. See, people who win are likely to get hooked looking for that *next* win. I just plugged a twenty in the video poker machine and played it for a couple of hours, lost it and quit.
But that's not the fun part. The fun part is that Aaron particularly wanted Kelley to bring a friend because he's trying to hook up with Stacy# and he wanted Kelley to be able to make herself scarce without making it too obvious that was what she was doing.††
[SUMMARY: We're in high school.]
Stacy turned Aaron down flat, so he decided to blaze up on our way out.@
"You guys mind if I smoke?"
Being not morally opposed to pot, and knowing many fully functional stoners,‡‡ I told him to go right ahead. I figured he'd take a couple of hits for the road and mellow out.
He smoked all. the. way. home. An hour-and-a-half in traffic.
I don't mind if people suck on the herb, but the smell nauseates me. And Aaron, in his role as my driver, was starting to worry me vis-a-vis his impairment level.
It was a long ride down the mountain.
[SUMMARY: OK, not in high school. Old and un-cool.]
When we got home, Kel and I went to the Coral Room to see Favourite Bartender.
"Just one drink," we said.
Two drinks and three shots§§ later, we moseyed home.
[SUMMARY: Debauchery!]
Sunday, we met for brunch again, as it was Miss Kris's last day (we didn't know that until Saturday) and we had to say goodbye.
Then Bag Lady Kathryn and I went to Old Navy, where I bought a whole new wardrobe and did some Christmas shopping and took care of a baby shower gift. I really would have liked to have knitted something for the tot, but I don't think I have time. Maybe a hat.
[SUMMARY: Knitting! I talked about knitting!]
Now let me tell you about the boys of my weekend.
Saturday, The Boy¶¶ showed up at brunch. He tapped me on the shoulder, gave me a friendly little rub on the back, then sat down next to me. I have a firm policy of giving back to people pretty much what they give me, so I was pleasant.
When we left, Kel said, "I don't know what that was all about. I didn't invite him or anything."^
Later, I turned to Kelley and said, "Hey, The Boy sat next to me. He always sits next to you. Even when we were together, he sat next to you instead of me."
"I know!"
[SUMMARY: Will wonders never cease?]
At the Coral## that night, The Waiter came in. Now, I don't know if I told y'all about The Waiter, but one night after a girls' night out, we hooked up.& We hooked up a couple of times, but with his schedule, he was wont to call at 3:00 on Wednesday morning, so it just kind of faded out.
He showed up right at bar close Saturday night when Kelley and I were the only people in with Favourite Bartender. He grabbed a beer and kissed my hand††† and sat and talked with us for awhile. At one point, Favourite Bartender asked, "How's your wife?"
And when we all left, Favourite Bartender said, "Tell the wife I said hi."
And when I got home, I called Kel, "How long has The Waiter been married?"
"He's MARRIED?!?!"
"So it seems."
"Didn't you and he..."
"So it seems."
"Holy..."
"So it seems."
I shake my head.$
[SUMMARY: Gaack!]
The Boy came to brunch on Sunday and was nice.
[SUMMARY: Nope! Wonders don't cease! The wonders just keep coming!]
I haven't heard from Soldier Boy since last Tuesday.
There. Now you know as much about my love life as I do.
[SUMMARY: You're welcome.]
I didn't get very good photos, but I was cleaning the pile of books‡‡‡ from beside my bed.§§§ I was on my hands and knees,¶¶¶ pulling some escapees from under the dust ruffle, when I heard mad scrambling from over my head. I popped up to find the cat had found the best kitty toy EVER.
He tossed it and chased it and batted it and chewed it...
Look close.
[SUMMARY: Best. Kitty. Toy. EVER.]
After visiting The Crypt Saturday, we popped into the Hornet so I could pee and I saw this in the bathroom stall. It was so poetical-artsy I had to take a picture of it to share:
[SUMMARY: She took pictures in a public bathroom stall?]
You're welcome.
Happy Monday!
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked. I'm getting soft in my old age): For those who don't know, this is kinda funny. The Wonderlic is an intelligence test made famous by the NFL. Well, famous to those who indulge in a little ESPN during recruiting time. The college guys coming out for the draft go to the combine. They are run through paces that look a little like fourth grade field day (remember field day? Good times.) and they take the Wonderlic test. Every year, some guy scores a two and everybody talks about how a cactus might be a better choice for the D-line, providing the cactus was big enough to block effectively, 'cause it's sure going to block smarter.
You can take a sample version of the test here. Just to see if you're smarter than a football player.
I envision the Wonderlick (my own creation, patent pending... well, pending application, approval and usage) being a test of humour. Which Wonderlick-the-pig items do you laugh at? Will you score a twenty-five (Jon Stewart)? A ten (Newt Gingrich)? A two (Jamar al-Fadl)? A one (Jimmy Fallon)?
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Do you camera, take the computer...
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): No wonder cats are so high strung. We're always looking for new ways to skin them.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Was that one of the hobbits from "Return of the King"? Bill Boardwise?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): If you don't know what that is, it's exactly what you *think* it is, given the context. I wouldn't Google it at work if I were you.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): If you can read this, thank a teacher. If you laughed at that, thank Sarah.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Yes, much in the way I hooked the camera up with the computer. In fact, the deeper you delve into that metaphor, the more interesting and apt it becomes.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Apparently Aaron's never heard of the women's bathroom.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Both to ease his pain and because he was previously on his best behaviour to impress Stacy.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Of which I could never be one. Pot makes me utterly stoopid. I can't talk. One New Year's, some friends of mine and I got stoned and watched a Beavis & Butthead marathon, culminating in the Beavis & Butthead movie. At some point, I realised we were watching Space Ghost. I turned to my friends and tried to say, "When did Beavis & Butthead end?" but what I actually said to them was, "Duhhhhhh." And because they were stoned, they laughed like loons. And because I was stoned, I tried to laugh, but mostly what I did was go, "Duhhhhhh."
§§FOOTNOTE (dangerous curves... I've already used that one, haven't I?): And twelve dollars. Not each, mind you, twelve dollars TOTAL. It's good to be queen.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (drumsticks!): You may remember he is Kelley's best friend. We were getting friendly, largely for Kelley's sake, when he had a little set-back and started being increasingly assish. I haven't even seen him for two months or more, possibly because I chewed him a new asshole the last time he pissed me off.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): I get the feeling she might have, actually.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a free shot): Pronounced "corral" if you're in the in crowd. I'm not in the in crowd, but I play one on TiVi.
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Read: fucked like bunnies.
†††FOOTNOTE (very cross): A move my brother can attest still plays in the 'burbs. And I gotta say, The Waiter has marvelous technique and I got a little fluttery and giggly until I found out his dirty little secret.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Here's the thing: I don't mess with other girls' boys. I did it once accidentally (Hi, Jeanne!) when I was a sophomore in high school and I hated the feeling of watching another girl cry because I was an inadvertant bitch. Girls who screw with other girls' boys are termed "barracuda" in my book. On the other totally hypocritical hand, I have a fantasy about sleeping with a married man... not one I'd ever act on. Except I did. Unwittingly. And maybe that's what really pisses me off in this scenario... I got one of my low-level fantasies and I didn't even get to enjoy it as such.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (staples!): Mostly knitting books... just so you know we're still highly involved in knitting.
§§§FOOTNOTE (wound like a spring): Y'all know... preparation. Just in case. In anticipation.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (Ionic shafts! I said "shafts." heh.): Stop it! You have a dirty mind!
[SUMMARY: I have a camera and I know how to use it.]
I learned last week there is more than one way to skin a cat,‡ billboard-wise.§
Just across the street, west of the last billboard lesson, we saw this:
See, sometimes you just have to pop the old billboard off en toto, then snap the new one in its place.
You must always use a crane.
[SUMMARY: Continuing education.]
Last week, they also started putting up holiday lights downtown at the Pavilions. This guy is on a little crane. I kinda want him.
[SUMMARY: Everything is well-hung with a crane.]
Saturday, Kelley and I had an extravaganza of extravigant proportions.
We had brunch at the Coral Room, shopped 32nd Street, headed to Cherry Creek, where I took this picture from the top of the parking garage, which is where we had to park because the mall was for some unknown reason busier than Christmastime:
We visited Nordstrom and Urban Outfitter, then down South Broadway to look at cute, cheap shoes and sex toys.
Sex toys wasn't on our original list of things to do, but we were so close to The Crypt, we figured we'd better pop in and see what's the ups in fine leather accoutrement.
I hipped Kelley to pony play.¶ She's so happy to have me as a friend.
[SUMMARY: The more you know! {stars and rainbows}%]
We headed home for a little nap break before her friends Aaron and Stacy picked us up to go to Central City to lose some money.
I'm not much of a gambler. I find it boring, mostly because I've had the good fortune to never win. See, people who win are likely to get hooked looking for that *next* win. I just plugged a twenty in the video poker machine and played it for a couple of hours, lost it and quit.
But that's not the fun part. The fun part is that Aaron particularly wanted Kelley to bring a friend because he's trying to hook up with Stacy# and he wanted Kelley to be able to make herself scarce without making it too obvious that was what she was doing.††
[SUMMARY: We're in high school.]
Stacy turned Aaron down flat, so he decided to blaze up on our way out.@
"You guys mind if I smoke?"
Being not morally opposed to pot, and knowing many fully functional stoners,‡‡ I told him to go right ahead. I figured he'd take a couple of hits for the road and mellow out.
He smoked all. the. way. home. An hour-and-a-half in traffic.
I don't mind if people suck on the herb, but the smell nauseates me. And Aaron, in his role as my driver, was starting to worry me vis-a-vis his impairment level.
It was a long ride down the mountain.
[SUMMARY: OK, not in high school. Old and un-cool.]
When we got home, Kel and I went to the Coral Room to see Favourite Bartender.
"Just one drink," we said.
Two drinks and three shots§§ later, we moseyed home.
[SUMMARY: Debauchery!]
Sunday, we met for brunch again, as it was Miss Kris's last day (we didn't know that until Saturday) and we had to say goodbye.
Then Bag Lady Kathryn and I went to Old Navy, where I bought a whole new wardrobe and did some Christmas shopping and took care of a baby shower gift. I really would have liked to have knitted something for the tot, but I don't think I have time. Maybe a hat.
[SUMMARY: Knitting! I talked about knitting!]
Now let me tell you about the boys of my weekend.
Saturday, The Boy¶¶ showed up at brunch. He tapped me on the shoulder, gave me a friendly little rub on the back, then sat down next to me. I have a firm policy of giving back to people pretty much what they give me, so I was pleasant.
When we left, Kel said, "I don't know what that was all about. I didn't invite him or anything."^
Later, I turned to Kelley and said, "Hey, The Boy sat next to me. He always sits next to you. Even when we were together, he sat next to you instead of me."
"I know!"
[SUMMARY: Will wonders never cease?]
At the Coral## that night, The Waiter came in. Now, I don't know if I told y'all about The Waiter, but one night after a girls' night out, we hooked up.& We hooked up a couple of times, but with his schedule, he was wont to call at 3:00 on Wednesday morning, so it just kind of faded out.
He showed up right at bar close Saturday night when Kelley and I were the only people in with Favourite Bartender. He grabbed a beer and kissed my hand††† and sat and talked with us for awhile. At one point, Favourite Bartender asked, "How's your wife?"
And when we all left, Favourite Bartender said, "Tell the wife I said hi."
And when I got home, I called Kel, "How long has The Waiter been married?"
"He's MARRIED?!?!"
"So it seems."
"Didn't you and he..."
"So it seems."
"Holy..."
"So it seems."
I shake my head.$
[SUMMARY: Gaack!]
The Boy came to brunch on Sunday and was nice.
[SUMMARY: Nope! Wonders don't cease! The wonders just keep coming!]
I haven't heard from Soldier Boy since last Tuesday.
There. Now you know as much about my love life as I do.
[SUMMARY: You're welcome.]
I didn't get very good photos, but I was cleaning the pile of books‡‡‡ from beside my bed.§§§ I was on my hands and knees,¶¶¶ pulling some escapees from under the dust ruffle, when I heard mad scrambling from over my head. I popped up to find the cat had found the best kitty toy EVER.
He tossed it and chased it and batted it and chewed it...
Look close.
[SUMMARY: Best. Kitty. Toy. EVER.]
After visiting The Crypt Saturday, we popped into the Hornet so I could pee and I saw this in the bathroom stall. It was so poetical-artsy I had to take a picture of it to share:
[SUMMARY: She took pictures in a public bathroom stall?]
You're welcome.
Happy Monday!
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked. I'm getting soft in my old age): For those who don't know, this is kinda funny. The Wonderlic is an intelligence test made famous by the NFL. Well, famous to those who indulge in a little ESPN during recruiting time. The college guys coming out for the draft go to the combine. They are run through paces that look a little like fourth grade field day (remember field day? Good times.) and they take the Wonderlic test. Every year, some guy scores a two and everybody talks about how a cactus might be a better choice for the D-line, providing the cactus was big enough to block effectively, 'cause it's sure going to block smarter.
You can take a sample version of the test here. Just to see if you're smarter than a football player.
I envision the Wonderlick (my own creation, patent pending... well, pending application, approval and usage) being a test of humour. Which Wonderlick-the-pig items do you laugh at? Will you score a twenty-five (Jon Stewart)? A ten (Newt Gingrich)? A two (Jamar al-Fadl)? A one (Jimmy Fallon)?
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Do you camera, take the computer...
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): No wonder cats are so high strung. We're always looking for new ways to skin them.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Was that one of the hobbits from "Return of the King"? Bill Boardwise?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): If you don't know what that is, it's exactly what you *think* it is, given the context. I wouldn't Google it at work if I were you.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): If you can read this, thank a teacher. If you laughed at that, thank Sarah.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Yes, much in the way I hooked the camera up with the computer. In fact, the deeper you delve into that metaphor, the more interesting and apt it becomes.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Apparently Aaron's never heard of the women's bathroom.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Both to ease his pain and because he was previously on his best behaviour to impress Stacy.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Of which I could never be one. Pot makes me utterly stoopid. I can't talk. One New Year's, some friends of mine and I got stoned and watched a Beavis & Butthead marathon, culminating in the Beavis & Butthead movie. At some point, I realised we were watching Space Ghost. I turned to my friends and tried to say, "When did Beavis & Butthead end?" but what I actually said to them was, "Duhhhhhh." And because they were stoned, they laughed like loons. And because I was stoned, I tried to laugh, but mostly what I did was go, "Duhhhhhh."
§§FOOTNOTE (dangerous curves... I've already used that one, haven't I?): And twelve dollars. Not each, mind you, twelve dollars TOTAL. It's good to be queen.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (drumsticks!): You may remember he is Kelley's best friend. We were getting friendly, largely for Kelley's sake, when he had a little set-back and started being increasingly assish. I haven't even seen him for two months or more, possibly because I chewed him a new asshole the last time he pissed me off.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): I get the feeling she might have, actually.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a free shot): Pronounced "corral" if you're in the in crowd. I'm not in the in crowd, but I play one on TiVi.
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Read: fucked like bunnies.
†††FOOTNOTE (very cross): A move my brother can attest still plays in the 'burbs. And I gotta say, The Waiter has marvelous technique and I got a little fluttery and giggly until I found out his dirty little secret.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Here's the thing: I don't mess with other girls' boys. I did it once accidentally (Hi, Jeanne!) when I was a sophomore in high school and I hated the feeling of watching another girl cry because I was an inadvertant bitch. Girls who screw with other girls' boys are termed "barracuda" in my book. On the other totally hypocritical hand, I have a fantasy about sleeping with a married man... not one I'd ever act on. Except I did. Unwittingly. And maybe that's what really pisses me off in this scenario... I got one of my low-level fantasies and I didn't even get to enjoy it as such.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (staples!): Mostly knitting books... just so you know we're still highly involved in knitting.
§§§FOOTNOTE (wound like a spring): Y'all know... preparation. Just in case. In anticipation.
¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (Ionic shafts! I said "shafts." heh.): Stop it! You have a dirty mind!
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Oh, For...
Fuck's Sake!†
Since y'all are commenting, I assume you can see yesterday's post. Perhaps you can even see yesterday's post with the proper spacing, since I tried so hard to fix it and maybe I did but how would I know because Blogger is (once again) playing peek-a-boo with my posts.
Sometimes I can see yesterday's Feelings post, sometimes not. I still have never seen my little note to the DK Nation, so I have no idea if it's floating around there in the unseeable ether, or if it's firmly anchored to every version of the Innernets but mine.
It makes me cranky, not seeing what you're seeing.
And just a little jealous.
[SUMMARY: Blogger... it sucks you in and spits you out.]
I bought a bazillions dollars' worth of patio stuff for the big shindig Saturday. A ten-piece patio furniture set (plus umbrella!‡) and a big ol' fancy gas grill. I know I'm going to get a lot of use out of this stuff, but spending upwards of $500 at my GROCERY STORE is a little weird.
Dad brought his big, black truck to move stuff. The patio furniture (some assembly required!) was mostly packed in one, brick-like, 200-lb box. We began rolling it, step by step, to my front door,§ when a very nice young man (New best friend Vincent, you rock! Katie, take him home to meet your parents!) offered to help. Moments later, Dad hurt his back.
Oh, the daughterly guilt.
And Dad says, "It was in no way your fault."
"Well, except for the needing patio furniture and asking you to carry it."
Then we went for Thai food and ice cream and it was better. And by that, I mean, "Certainly better than pushing giant, heavy boxes up stairs."
I hope Dad's back heals right up. I don't like it when my last remaining parent show signs of being out of warranty, y'know?
Despite all this drama, I will give major points to the manufacturer. The instructions for assembling the chairs were written for English speakers, by English speakers. The illustrations are clear. Best of all, all the hardware required for each individual chair is blister-packed together with its own allen wrench, so there's no counting out 24 of the cross-bar bolts and 12 of the back bolts and keeping them separate and all... just open each little package as you build the chair and when all the pieces are gone... voilá! Done!
[SUMMARY: I still get excited by little things.]
This weekend? Oh, yeah...
Friday: drinks with Kelley and The Boy,¶ knit on Green Gables at Favourite Bar, met a boy, got a hickey, lost my cell phone.
Saturday: thespian reunion,# bought a new cell phone, dinner with Dad (and Grandma and Aunt Teri), forgot how to do the magic cast-on (so didn't knit), cell phone found by kindly neighbour (New best friend Jim, you rock! You and Vincent should start a band!), new boy called (said he was bringing a bottle of wine, brought vodka and KOOL-AID, got terribly drunk, expressed several sexual ideas WAYYYYY out of my purview††)
Sunday: brunch with Kelley and The Boy Sunday, golf, beer, collapsed into bed, filthy and exhausted.
[SUMMARY: Whirlwind! Shitstorm!]
I didn't get my laundry done this weekend.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Which brings me to a funny "here, now, the news": A court in Sweden has determined it is a convicted rapist's right to read porn in prison. RIGHT. And I'm using that both as a very baffled "a just claim?!??" and a very sarcastic "yeah, sure." In any case, it gives new meaning to the phrase, "for fuck's sake."
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Plus umbrella stand! Which is separate! For why?
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): There are a LOT of stairs in my home life. The living room is a storey off the street. Everything that comes in the house has to be carried up a full flight of stairs. At least. In retrospect, rigging some sort of pulley system to the deck might have been worth the effort.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Yeah, I know.
Kelley went to the bathroom and The Boy leaned over and said, "So you and Kel OK?"
I said, "I guess."
He said, "She does this all the time. Sometimes I'll call and she won't call me back or she'll get pissy and I just leave her alone for a couple of days, then we go grab a beer and it's like nothing happened."
I said, "Good to know. And if you think of anything else that would save me some grief, you just pass it right along, OK?"
He laughed.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I highly recommend this form of reunion. As my high school drama teacher/director said about class reunions vs. the thespian reunion, "Yeah, those guys are just your classmates. This is family."
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): You didn't know that was possible, did you? Forgive the crudity, but any boy who says, "I'm going to Atlanta on Thursday. Are you going to fuck anyone else while I'm gone? Doesn't matter... I'm going to have to fuck the shit out of you Wednesday night," and, "You like ass-play, right? I brought anal beads," loses me quickly and completely. He was honestly bewildered when I told him it was time for him to leave. And he left his beads behind -- no pun intended.
Since y'all are commenting, I assume you can see yesterday's post. Perhaps you can even see yesterday's post with the proper spacing, since I tried so hard to fix it and maybe I did but how would I know because Blogger is (once again) playing peek-a-boo with my posts.
Sometimes I can see yesterday's Feelings post, sometimes not. I still have never seen my little note to the DK Nation, so I have no idea if it's floating around there in the unseeable ether, or if it's firmly anchored to every version of the Innernets but mine.
It makes me cranky, not seeing what you're seeing.
And just a little jealous.
[SUMMARY: Blogger... it sucks you in and spits you out.]
I bought a bazillions dollars' worth of patio stuff for the big shindig Saturday. A ten-piece patio furniture set (plus umbrella!‡) and a big ol' fancy gas grill. I know I'm going to get a lot of use out of this stuff, but spending upwards of $500 at my GROCERY STORE is a little weird.
Dad brought his big, black truck to move stuff. The patio furniture (some assembly required!) was mostly packed in one, brick-like, 200-lb box. We began rolling it, step by step, to my front door,§ when a very nice young man (New best friend Vincent, you rock! Katie, take him home to meet your parents!) offered to help. Moments later, Dad hurt his back.
Oh, the daughterly guilt.
And Dad says, "It was in no way your fault."
"Well, except for the needing patio furniture and asking you to carry it."
Then we went for Thai food and ice cream and it was better. And by that, I mean, "Certainly better than pushing giant, heavy boxes up stairs."
I hope Dad's back heals right up. I don't like it when my last remaining parent show signs of being out of warranty, y'know?
Despite all this drama, I will give major points to the manufacturer. The instructions for assembling the chairs were written for English speakers, by English speakers. The illustrations are clear. Best of all, all the hardware required for each individual chair is blister-packed together with its own allen wrench, so there's no counting out 24 of the cross-bar bolts and 12 of the back bolts and keeping them separate and all... just open each little package as you build the chair and when all the pieces are gone... voilá! Done!
[SUMMARY: I still get excited by little things.]
This weekend? Oh, yeah...
Friday: drinks with Kelley and The Boy,¶ knit on Green Gables at Favourite Bar, met a boy, got a hickey, lost my cell phone.
Saturday: thespian reunion,# bought a new cell phone, dinner with Dad (and Grandma and Aunt Teri), forgot how to do the magic cast-on (so didn't knit), cell phone found by kindly neighbour (New best friend Jim, you rock! You and Vincent should start a band!), new boy called (said he was bringing a bottle of wine, brought vodka and KOOL-AID, got terribly drunk, expressed several sexual ideas WAYYYYY out of my purview††)
Sunday: brunch with Kelley and The Boy Sunday, golf, beer, collapsed into bed, filthy and exhausted.
[SUMMARY: Whirlwind! Shitstorm!]
I didn't get my laundry done this weekend.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Which brings me to a funny "here, now, the news": A court in Sweden has determined it is a convicted rapist's right to read porn in prison. RIGHT. And I'm using that both as a very baffled "a just claim?!??" and a very sarcastic "yeah, sure." In any case, it gives new meaning to the phrase, "for fuck's sake."
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Plus umbrella stand! Which is separate! For why?
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): There are a LOT of stairs in my home life. The living room is a storey off the street. Everything that comes in the house has to be carried up a full flight of stairs. At least. In retrospect, rigging some sort of pulley system to the deck might have been worth the effort.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Yeah, I know.
Kelley went to the bathroom and The Boy leaned over and said, "So you and Kel OK?"
I said, "I guess."
He said, "She does this all the time. Sometimes I'll call and she won't call me back or she'll get pissy and I just leave her alone for a couple of days, then we go grab a beer and it's like nothing happened."
I said, "Good to know. And if you think of anything else that would save me some grief, you just pass it right along, OK?"
He laughed.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I highly recommend this form of reunion. As my high school drama teacher/director said about class reunions vs. the thespian reunion, "Yeah, those guys are just your classmates. This is family."
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): You didn't know that was possible, did you? Forgive the crudity, but any boy who says, "I'm going to Atlanta on Thursday. Are you going to fuck anyone else while I'm gone? Doesn't matter... I'm going to have to fuck the shit out of you Wednesday night," and, "You like ass-play, right? I brought anal beads," loses me quickly and completely. He was honestly bewildered when I told him it was time for him to leave. And he left his beads behind -- no pun intended.
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