So, during pool breaks today, the godkids and I killed time doing silly Facebook-ish surveys. Here are their answers about me…
What is my favorite thing to do during the day?
Her – Read a fiction book.
Him – Texting?
What is my favorite thing to do at night?
Her – Go out to dinner with friends.
Him – Go to a Red Sox game. Or have a glass of wine with mommy.
What is my favorite food?
Her – Chicken.
Him – Yogurt.
What is my favorite drink?
Her – Martini! Just kidding. Iced tea or crystal light.
Him – Iced butt.
What is my favorite color?
Her – Blue.
Him – Black, because you have a black Blackberry. No, your favorite color is green because whenever you play Sorry you always have the green pawn.
What is my favorite place?
Her – Fenway Park.
Him – Heaven!
What is my favorite fruit?
Her – Strawberries.
Him – Strawberries with cool whip.
Her – Cool whip isn’t a fruit.
Him – I know that! She puts cool whip on her fruit!
What is my favorite TV show?
Her – Seinfeld.
Him – Friends.
What do I always say?
Her – “You must chill.”
Him – “Clean up your mess.”
What is my favorite movie?
Her – Slapshot!
Him – Jaws. Sponge Bob: The Movie. No, the Simpsons movie.
What is my favorite sport?
Her – Baseball.
Him – Ping pong! Sumo wrestling!
Who’s my favorite baseball player?
Her – (.27 seconds later) Jason Varitek
Him – Victor Martinez (to which I told him he wasn’t getting any lunch and he switched his answer to “JV”)
What was my favorite subject in school?
Her – Creative writing
Him – History. Or free period.
What annoys me?
Her – [Him]!
Him – When [their dog] licks your toes or licks your suntan lotion off.
What makes me happy?
Her – [Her]! Or the Red Sox winning.
Him – Thinking of heaven.
What would I do if I was abducted by a UFO?
Her – Use [him] to block your face.
Him – Scream your head off, probably. No offense. You’d probably die.
What would I do if I met the president?
Her – Hola Senor Obama!
Him – Puke.
Who do I talk to on the phone the most?
Her – My mom.
Him – I have no idea.
What famous person do I look like?
Her – Beyonce!
Him – Michael Jackson. A guy from Kiss. Wally!
How old am I?
Her – Approximately 32.
Him – 31.
What do I like to wear?
Her – Flip flops.
Him – A shirt. You always wear a shirt.
On July fourth in Salem, some storm cloud of a guy rained on my friends and I long enough to say something like, “Well, summer’s basically over now.” Thanks, Eeyore. Who says that mid-fireworks? Except that conversation was about five seconds ago. Seriously, summer, why must you tease us so? And why must I use Old English? Bring me an answer henceforth at once.
It was a great summer, though. IS, sorry…I know. But Labor Day fast approaches, as does my life of gainful employment…and just in time, because no one is less liked than someone who works in edumacation at the end of August.
This summer was the usual fun litany of weddings and endless baseball. Vows and Varitek; doesn’t get much better. And great trips…I went to Pennsylvania for my grandmother’s 85th, New Hampshire with my family, New York City for the Sox-Yankees series. New Seabury beach on the Cape, yummy lobster and cold Riesling, nights at Fenway…
But I love fall. I LOVE fall. Sweaters, baby pumpkins, watching the godkids’ soccer games at sunset wearing a hoodie and drinking something warm. My job starts up, baseball heats up. Weather nice enough that you can have the windows open all the time. Apples, cider, Halloween. Speaking of, does anyone think I could pull off going as Tobie from Labyrinth at this year’s costume shindig? This may be the year.
Goddaughter is starting middle school next week and doesn’t understand why she got such a long list of supplies to buy, because “we already pay taxes!” Godson is starting fourth grade, and did I mention that he’s five foot one? Which is weird, considering I was just giving them bottles about three seconds ago. Now it’s all sports and friends and Miley Cyrus songs that show up on my online banking statement. Never link up your iTunes account with tweens, people.
Anyway. How were (are…ARE!) your summers going, friends?
This video will give you a pretty good idea of what my weekend was like.
Juuuuust kidding. Well, kind of.
My dad (a born and bred Yankees fan) and I drove into the city on Friday, checked into our hotel, and wandered around Central Park for awhile. The first person to comment on my Sox hat was a Jamaican street vendor. He came in peace, though, and he told me that there are more Sox fans in New York than Yankees fans. Uh. Really?
Later on, we headed into the Bronx for the first game of three that we would be seeing over the weekend. It was the second game of the Sox-Yankees series and the Sox had lost the first one the night before, thanks to the painful descent into oblivion of one John Smoltz.
First of all: Yankee Stadium. People, it’s a colosseum. Overwhelming, impressive, everything you’d expect. My friend Mary (a Yankees fan) said it best when she described it as Disney World. The jumbotron is longer than the distance from home base to first, and very well-designed. For every player that’s up, you get stats, random facts, game score, balls/strikes/outs, as well as pitch count, speed, and description. And of course, it’s ridiculously high-def. Very neat.
Friday night’s game was a blast. It was scoreless until the 15th inning and lasted five and a half hours. I know, I know, you have to really love baseball to enjoy a game like that. The pitching was phenomenal, and would continue to be, on both sides, throughout the weekend (aside from the occasional Boston relief guys). The Sox and Yankees had never before played a game that went scoreless past the 13th inning. My dad’s favorite player is Mariano Rivera, their badass closer. My dad had never seen him close before, so it was fun when he sauntered in to Enter Sandman by Metallica. Unfortunately, A-Rod was the one to finally crush the winning home run. It was a bummer to lose, but still a really fun game.
Saturday afternoon’s game: Scoreless for awhile, but then the Yanks pulled it out 5-0. Another game without so much as a run from the Sox. Very disappointing. Also, A-Rod threw himself in front of a pitch and then whined. Classy as always. Despite our loss, Buchholz pitched very well.
Sunday night’s game: That one was going to be ours! You can’t come from Boston to see your team get swept by its arch rivals, can you? Uh, can you? Turns out you can. Lester did well, and we finally got a run (our only two the whole weekend) thanks to Martinez, who is a nice addition to the team (despite the fact that his presence does somewhat threaten my beloved captain’s future with us). But it wasn’t enough. It was tough to leave that night, to a deafening chorus of BOSTON SUCKS. Well, we did. That weekend, we did. What can you say? The worst thing the Yankee fans did, in my opinion, was mock the “Yoooooouk” when our beloved first baseman (or third, or sometimes left fielder, hey why not?) got up to bat. Too far, New York, too far!
Other stuff: We met Manny Delcarmen (one of our relief pitchers, for those of you non-baseball types) and asked him if they can hear us cheering for them when they’re playing away, and their fans are a tiny fraction of the crowd. He said, “Yeah, we can, and that’s all we can hear.” Cool. We had a lot of fun conversations with very nice Yankees fans, among whom the consensus seems to be that the only black hole on their team is A-Rod. Agreed. (Well, I’d argue that Johnny Damon is another black hole, but that’s only because he left us. He’s a good player, though. I’m kinda over it.) Ate dinner at the very adorable Lily’s on Lexington, which was awesome despite the fact that my shrimp had a face (I had to remove the EYES, people). I got a free pity dessert from our waiter, who wanted to make sure it was red, in honor of my defeated team, so he added lots of strawberries. Got to meet up with Kate, Mary, and Terry for drinks. It’s important to have restorative time with friends when your team is losing, right? Did a three-hour boat cruise around the island which was interesting, but loooooong. All in all, New York was a blast. I missed the friends that I didn’t get a chance to see, and wish I had more time with Kate, but baseball weekends are quick. Two things I wish we could copy New York on exactly are their subway system and profusion of open air wine bars. Can we get on that, Beantown?
As far as my feelings toward the Yankees…they’re a great team. Let’s be honest, they’re not the dynasty they’d like to think they are, but they’re a great team. They were epic decades ago, and then up until 1995, they were pretty shitty, and they haven’t won a title since 2000. But that’s in the past, and a Sox fan is in no position to throw stones. Thanks to their pitching, they’re probably in their best form all decade. And with players like Jeter and Matsui, among others, they’re playing a lot of good, honest baseball, the kind Mickey Mantle would’ve been proud of. And anyway, what would we do without the Yankees? Play Toronto until we’re blue in the face? Kick the Twins all over the field? Tampa Bay has been playing great for a few years, but who wants to see them take home the rings? The Sox need a team that challenges them and raises the game to a new level, and the Yankees do just that. I hope that since 2004 the Sox have done the same for them.
One thing that kept cracking me up was the sheer drama of New York baseball. Throughout the games, they showed clips from Rocky, 300, and screaming coaches motivating their teams in sports movies. They played long video montage tributes to players and pitchers set to songs like Warrior by Pat Benatar. They had lots of silly between-innings games. They could use a little less payroll and little more soul, but that’s who they are. They’re rock stars. The Sox are very different, but then Boston is very different. New York is a big city and Boston is a small town. The Sox are the scrappy underdogs, playing in the most rundown but beloved ballpark you’d ever hope to watch a game in. The Sox are the Beach Boys and the Yankees are the Backstreet Boys, but I think those roles work for both cities. At the end of the day, as far as I’m concerned, they’re the only two teams in baseball. It was kind of a drag when the Yanks were out of the game so early last season. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to see them win, but the fact that they’re back in fighting form makes this season, well, a whole new ball game.
Okay, I’m blogging again. Michael would’ve wanted it that way.
So last weekend I was in Connecticut for my cousin’s wedding (the only things I ever do in Connecticut are drive through it and attend weddings). I was watching TV in the hotel one night before bed, and there seemed to be an unhealthy abundance of infomercials parading before me. One in particular was for Meaningful Beauty, which is the beauty line that Cindy Crawford apparently promotes meaningfully. Watching it went something like this:
Ha. This is so dumb.
[seven minutes later] So the natural antioxidants in the rare melon extract in the moisturizer are what will protect my skin from free radicals and collapsing collagen? That makes so much SENSE. And I need the cleanser, day cream, night cream, eye cream, face mask, glowing serum, and neck cream (wait, neck cream? Oh, okay.) And a three month supply is available for just $29.95 per month if I agree to purchase…hang on a second. Is Columbia House selling skincare now?
I actually do have a few things that I’ve acquired over the course of my life from infomercials, and people, I have to be honest, this shit has just not let me down. Except for ProActiv, which made me look like Chucky after the toy factory went up in flames. Boo, Jessica Simpson. Good thing I’m not 11 or else I’m sure your candy-flavored body glitter would’ve broken my heart, too.
Anyway, in college, I bought a CD compilation called Cool Rock after seeing it advertised on late-night TV. It took 6-8 weeks to arrive (back then I’m pretty sure they used carrier pigeons) and boasted tons of 80s gems. I took lots of abuse for it, but I loaned it out once and never got it back. Clearly never got over it, either.
Back to one that I bought this century: Smooth Away! To be fair, I got it in a store, but it really is a good product. And I bet I’d totally grow tomatoes if I had the Topsy Turvy! The Strap Perfect seems like a great invention! I know they look like they’re about to start chanting, but darn if all those family members don’t look warm and cozy around the fire in their Snuggies. And I want like 97 Bumpits OMG you guys we should totally have a Bumpit party!
And then the truth sets in. I’ve never grown and seldom even buy tomatoes. I’ve never really had bra strap issues so extreme that intervention is required. If I’m chilly, I know of another warmth-creating product called a blanket. And as for Bumpits…well, fuck, it’ll be a cold day in hell before I say a cross word about the Bumpit. (I’m about to get like 900 hits from search engines from Bumpit enthusiasts. Bump it, ladies! Bump it long and bump it hard!)
All of this leads me to an alarming conclusion. I’m not saying that I don’t have my own opinions but apparently I DON’T HAVE MY OWN OPINIONS. What if cults start using infomercials? Or John Mayer? Or the Yankees?
I usually drive when I go to New York, and NOW I KNOW WHY.
This weekend I decided to give the Chinatown bus a shot. At $30 roundtrip, the price was right. The idea of not having to remain conscious for the trip, pay for gas, or deal with parking was definitely appealing as well. Yes, they overbooked and I had to take a later bus than I had planned for, but the conversation that I had with an adorable third grader while in line pretty much made up for it. (You can’t not love someone who says, a minute after meeting you, “I have a High School Musical 2 sticker book. Do you want to see it?”)
Everything was mostly fine until we stopped at a Burger King in Connecticut for a bathroom break. I was walking back out to the bus when I saw it pulling away. The. Bus. Was. Pulling. AWAY.
My immediate solution to this problem was to point at the driver and say, “What? No!” This may be why I wasn’t cast in Speed. (“There’s a bomb on the bus! You need to keep it above fifty!” “What? No!”)
Then several other passengers came out behind me and said similar things in various languages. The driver noticed us and kind of waved us away, as if to say, “WHAT? Don’t bother me.” Then he started backing up, and it became clear that he had just been moving the bus. But, seriously? Would it have killed you to tell us ahead of time that you might need to drive aimlessly around the parking lot? When you move the bus, every single passenger thinks you’re stranding them at a Burger King in another state, and there is no one for whom that isn’t a terrifying situation. The plastic-faced king is scary enough. And I still don’t understand what chicken fries are!
And I know it’s probably just icing on the mentally unstable cake that we’re baking here, but since I was a kid I’ve actually had a recurring dream about missing a bus. It’s usually a school bus, and I have no idea why I periodically dream about it, but the fact remains. Now, nobody’s asking the bus driver to delve into my subconscious here, but I’m just saying, that little stunt in the Burger King parking lot is not exactly going to help me sleep well at night.
Aside from that, the rest of the trip was great: Friends (including Kate, who – plug! – has a hilarious new blog, as well as a dear blogfriend that you all know and love, DarrenMcITriedToConvinceHimToBlogAgain), dinner in Little Italy, homemade guac and blue margaritas in the West Village, ridiculously perfect weather, and the indisputable reality that New York is way too cool for me. And that I may never see a fast food place without having abandonment issues again.
I was actually starting to think that I had finally entered the elusive realm of the technologically savvy with my new Blackberry. I mean, when you can receive emails in your car, can the silver jumpsuit and flying car be far behind?
One of my high school friends is getting married in Denmark over the summer, which is another way of saying that I will not be attending the blessed event. Her little sister emailed that she’s putting together a montage of well wishes from friends, and asked if I’d make a “little video, just a minute or two.”
A video? With, like, a…uh…camcorder? I know I’m thirty years old and all but HOW DO I MAKE A VIDEO? Also, a minute or two is kind of a long time; after the five seconds it takes for “I love you! Congratulations!”, I may need to sing a song or something. And something tells me there is vast double chin potential. Whatever happened to registering at Williams-Sonoma? What says love more than a stainless steel panini press?
So, yeah, I finally realized that no matter how much I fool myself with portable communication devices, I’m just not living in the future that Marty McFly promised me. If you need me, I’ll be in the corner swaying along to Earth Angel and avoiding the Libyans.
(My cousin) Andrew: Okay, what are your coping strategies [for being with my family over the holiday]?
Me: Before I respond to any character attacks, I’m going to wait the amount of time that it takes to mentally review the lyrics to The Power Of Love by Huey Lewis in order to give me time to calm down and formulate a reasonable response.
Andrew: And what’s your response to, “I gave birth to you and you never loved me!”
Me: “Well, not NEVER.”
Andrew: Oh, I’m sorry. You just lost your inheritance. Now it goes to me.
Me: Shit, wait. Okay. “AHHHHHH…the power of love…is a curious thing…make-a one man weep, make another man sing…” I’m sorry you feel that way, mom. It works!
Andrew: Of course it does. I do it all the time. Not with stupid songs, though.
Me: What are you talking about? You don’t need no credit card to ride this train.
Merry Christmas, everyone! I mean happy holidays blahbittyblah.
I hope that The People Who Run Boston are more embarrassed than the time they mistook a neon blinking sign promoting a show on the Cartoon Network for a bomb. A few friends in neighboring states assumed it had to be a blizzard causing all the commotion on Thursday: “Heard about the snow! You guys okay?” Yeah, fine, cough, thanks. But, um, it wasn’t a blizzard. We got something like, what, 8 inches? It was sheer stupidity. When the governor tells everyone in the state to leave work at the exact same time, ridiculousness ensues.
When I first got on 128 I sucked it up, inching along, texting friends and assuming the traffic would break at some point because it always does. Then people started calling into radio shows with their horror stories (two hours to drive a mile! ran out of gas! windshield wipers broke!) and it became clear that nobody was going anywhere. Ever, it appeared. Seriously, I almost put a down payment on the ramp for exit 31B. Come visit anytime, you can’t miss it.
It took me three hours to drive seven miles, and a lot of other people had it much worse than me. Even at that point, though, I wasn’t even close to halfway home. I was also thoroughly rattled, especially when it got dark, and that’s probably saying something considering I’ve been a New England driver my whole life (the second half of it, anyway). The visibility was beyond shit (that’s one step below “poor”) and no one was in any particular lane because you couldn’t really tell where the lanes were. Cars were randomly abandoned all over the highway (did you ever fathom a time that you’d stop your car and GET OUT on 128?) and you couldn’t see them until you were practically on top of them. And when you tried to go around them, there was still THAT GUY behind you who tried to take it as an opportunity to pass you. I’ve flipped that guy off many a time but never had the reaction of just wanting to cry into my mittens out of frustration.
It was around that time, with a quarter tank of gas and a bladder that wanted to know when and for what reason I had turned on it, that I decided to get off the fucking highway. I had to put on my hazards and hope that the good people coming up behind me on the right would just assume I was about to break down and let me go, because I couldn’t even see whether or not they were giving me room or riding my ass.
When I got out of the Papa Gino’s ladies room, which I will now always think of as a tiny piece of nirvana in the town of Bedford, I got word that they had closed the portion of 128 that I needed to be on because a tractor trailer had jackknifed. Okay then. I looked up and saw…the Christmas star. Actually, a Best Western. And that’s where I spent the night. They had available rooms, food, and underground parking, and that was all I needed to know.
Once I checked in, I went to the bar before I went to my room, if that’s telling you anything. The general manager was filling in as bartender because the regular guy couldn’t make it there, and pretty soon the place was filled with people, all locals like me in the exact same boat. We made a group trip to the convenience store across the street to buy toothbrushes, then went back to the hotel, got drunk and watched the SNL Christmas special. What else could you do? Ultimately I was glad I got off the road; my cousin has a similar commute as mine and it took him six hours. I mean, if I had to do it over again I’d have called in sick that day stayed at work until late, but given the circumstances, my somewhat seedy and utterly surreal detour was a small price to pay for relative sanity. ($99, not including tax, to be exact.)
I went to work on Friday wearing the same clothes that I wore on Thursday, and no makeup, but then made matters worse by telling everyone exactly that when they asked about my journey, wide-eyed like I was Moses; most of them live within a mile or two of the school. And although I felt like a homeless person, everyone told me they’d never know the difference. Hmmm. Either they were being kind or I’m putting too much effort for naught into my regular morning routine.
P.S. Supergirl left work early and made it home before any snow had fallen. Of course she did. Granted, she’s seven months pregnant, so I can’t exactly begrudge her not wanting to mess around with inclement weather. But I mean, of course the only person more efficient than Supergirl is Superbaby.
Life has been crazy in general and Thanksgiving didn’t go well. For that reason I think it’s more important than ever to cornball out and remember what I’m thankful for.
My family, which is in the midst of a lot of crappiness and instability right now, but we’ll get through it and be better for it. Well, that, or I’ll snorkel in chardonnay and wait for the sweet release of death.
The four members of my not-really-my-family-but-basically-my-family, who have always been hugely important to me, but especially lately.
My friends, who are so awesome that sometimes, like tonight, I don’t know what I did to deserve them. Especially one in particular. I’m not sure how I got so lucky as to find her.
My job, which has been insane, but the plus side to that has been that my normally stoic boss is heaping me with praise. I’m enjoying it while it lasts.
My front right tire, which went flat on Wednesday in the parking lot of work, and not on the highway.
My school principal, who threw his tie over his shoulder and changed it so that I didn’t have to wait for Triple A. (A gesture that, unbeknownst to him, will earn him a tin of Crate and Barrel sea salt caramels when he gets to his desk Monday morning. I’ll talk more about those morsels of unspeakable deliciousness at a later date. A friend reminded me that I once described them as Jesus in candy form, but that’s a little tacky and clearly not something that would ever come out of my mouth.)
My checking account, which has not been hurting for awhile thanks to all the extra work.
My upcoming third date with a boy I might really like. (Although I’m a little afraid that he’ll end up being a serial killer because I wrote about it here.)
My La Mer body cream, Benefit’s Mr. Frosty which is the makeup equivalent of a full night’s sleep, and the fact that a friend recently told me that I’ve perfected the smoky eye. (I may be having a cheesy moment, but I’m still the same materialistic, superficial girl that I usually am.)
(Bonus: The fact that my dad once looked at a La Mer display at Bloomingdale’s and, while I swooned and slathered it all over me, said, “What’s lamer?”)
My blog, which is a blasty blast to write, and that you are kind enough to read.
My bed, which I’m about to crawl into and not come out of for 12 hours. Which of course means that I will not be there when Kohl’s opens at FOUR IN THE MORNING. What the eff, people?
A random sampling of the crap that’s strewn around my office at home: Aveda carribean therapy body scrub, CDs (Liz Phair, Kings of Convenience, The Innocence Mission, and an old boyfriend’s demo from 2001), books books books, lamps, suitcases, and a Rosacea: Are You At Risk? pamphlet, presumably from a dermatologist. And a MILLION OTHER THINGS.
This room is out of control and has been for-freakin-ever. I don’t know where to start. I suspect there’s a lot that can be thrown out, but mostly I just see Things That I Don’t Know What The Hell To Do With, like a perfectly good clock radio or a purse somebody gave me that I don’t like. God, I’m turning into one of those people, aren’t I? They’ll be digging me out of here someday with the jaws of life.
Funny enough I’m actually pretty organized in most other areas of life. I just let this one spot become completely out of control. It’s to the point now where it’s totally distracting and unnerving and too much time has gone by and I’m just not doing anything about it. I’ve had friends who have tried to just organize the room for me, or at least clear a path, and have reinforced the idea that, yes, most of the stuff is crap that I should just throw away, particularly if I haven’t needed it or missed it for two years. But, but… but! Maybe I’ll need it someday! And how do you just throw away a framed picture you had in your first apartment or a pin that says “Dated The Groom”? Okay, the first step is admitting you have a problem.
Any born organizers who can offer suggestions? Or tough love-distributors who can encourage me to take advantage of this long weekend and STOP PROCRASTINATING ALREADY?
Even the word “procrastinating” makes me want to lie down and take a delightful nap. I have a sickness, people.
