Today, Sunday, was the day I slated to get all my To-Do's done. It was a fairly reasonable To-Do list in terms of expectations:
"1. Go to gym which you have not done in 2 weeks. Do to be healthier individual (sure) and become less mushy person as you are off to Southern California later this week and there may be a bathing suit involved.
2. Go to Target and Plaza to return stuff.
3. Clean apartment that now looks like bomb hit it."
Not too scary, right?
Well, as of 4p.m. I've managed the following:
Wake up. (9:00)
Drive Mike to airport. (10:00)
Change into gym clothes. (10:40)
Dick around on computer. (10:42)
Wake up from nap. (3:30)
Realize am hungry. (3:35)
Realize nothing in cabinets and that household's grocery shopper is now on West Coast for next week. (3:36)
Cry a little. (3:40)
Make can of soup I don't want. (3:45)
Begin to feel sweat form in sports bra. Realize eating hot soup on a humid was a really dumb idea. (3:50)
Curse self for leaving the remainder of my bucket of Edy's Ice Cream Sandwich ice cream at Fance's house last weekend. That was really fucking dumb. Would have made for perfect late afternoon lunch. (3:51)
Lace up running kicks as am now "serious" about gym thing .(3:53)
Panic over MIA iPod. Consider bagging gym as who worksout without music anymore? What is this? 1985? (3:55)
Find iPod in pocketbook. (4:00)
Post this. (4:14)
It's a known fact - "never mess with the photographer." Follow my instruction and I can make you look amazing. Glamorous. Sexy. Superstar. The stuff that makes, well, family albums for now. Intentionally work against me? Don't give me what I want? Hurl semi-rotted fruit in my general direction? I write biting remarks with the corresponding photo and post them to my blog and Flickr accounts.
So let serve as a lesson to you all the next time you see me with my paparazzi looking camera. Consider yourself warned. I AINT HAVING IT NO MO'.
(Just posted a bunch of pictures, including the cute but not so cooperative Emily here, to Flickr. Enjoy!)
Today marks the day where for the next 5 months, my sister Kate and I are only 1 year apart. In other words, Kate turns 31 today.
A few words about the girl who - for my entire memory - has been by my side.
When we were little, Mom would always be surprised when she would hear other parents complain about how their kids would always be at each other's throats. But not us. Right out the gate we were each other's best friend. We were each other's back-up, therapist, look-out, entertainer, co-conspirator, cheerleader, fashion consultant, legal representation and protector.
The Milton, MA years. Ages 3-5:
You were there for my first ballet recital where I was a bear in a tutu. There's a picture of you standing next to me, you're half my size and yet you looked like the proud parent. Just beaming, you were.
We once decided it was a fabulous idea to sneak out of the house at 5:00 in the morning to go play on our swings. We had no idea that the loud "CREEEEAK. CREEEEAK" of the swings would betray us, waking Mom & Dad and landing us with a room that had a LOCK on it. I think next time we should spend a little more time considering ALL contingencies.
We did suffer a difference of opinion though when it came to Mister Rogers. I loved him. You, on the otherhand, announced that "Mr. Rogers is a fag" and decided to, quite literally, pull the plug on him. (what's with the hate, Kate?) This was a little more than a little upsetting to me. To this day, Mom is still wondering where you learned that word.
It was also great to know that our biggest issue that needed to be debated was that of "who gets to wear the yellow tights?" when we played "long hair". Any girl whose mom wouldn't let you have long hair, you know what I'm talking about. Anyway, the yellow tights meant you had blonde hair. But somehow through our negotiations, we shared them pretty equally. The UN could've taken notes on our diplomacy.
As I said, we were always each other's biggest cheerleader. Someone had taken us to see the circus with our cousin Ryan, who'd stayed over that same night. The following day during "nap time", the mattress Ryan had slept on was still on the floor. Freshly impression-ed with events of the circus, I thought it would be really cool to do a back-flip off our dresser onto the now adjacent mattress. You were also equally enthused. So much so, you even handed over the yellow tights. Unfortunately, I didn't quite "stick" the landing and instead gashed my forehead open on the corner of the dresser. Mom found me screaming with bloody tights on my head. The only thing the dismount landed was me with 5 stitches. I will say this was one of those times I really wished you'd talked me out of one of my big ideas. But you were only like 3 or 4 at time, so I guess I'll just have to get over it.
Your one moment of jealousy came when you learned that I knew how to snap and you did not. Mom easily rectified the situation quickly with, "yeah, but do you know how to whistle?" You did. And guess who did not?
The Vernon, CT years Ages 11- early 20s.
For some reason the following word pairings would crack us up:
"WOW. WATERMELON.(response) YES, YIPPEEHEAD"
"KELLY FRADET" (a small Home Depot-like store)
"Tappan Zee Bridge" (which we would bust out the Mexican Hat Dance whenever we drove by the sign.)
And later, much later:
"PENISES! FOR ALL MY FRIENDS!"
I would get in my first and only fight because a girl in the neighborhood was picking on you. And you for whatever reason said, "hold on a sec - I'm getting my sister." Granted, it wasn't much of a fight but I didn't know that going in. My opponent was tough (she used to fight with her older brother - who was in THE EIGHT! GRADE! SCARY!) and I was considerably scrawnier so I knew there was a better than even chance I was gonna get the shit kicked out of me. And I showed up and she had the freaking neighborhood posse of 11 & 12 year olds to watch this event. "GREAT," thought I. But I didn't care (though my heart rate would tell otherwise). Nobody gets to me mean to my sister. That said, now can I tell you how relieved I was that it wasn't much more than a couple of shoves between 12 year olds? Funny, I think people were just shocked that I showed up.
I'm not sure how to fit this in but you were the token "boy, I have so many kids, I have to count 'em" kid that was left behind. Brian and Emily were all, "uh Mom, you forgot Kate." She thought they were being smartasses - until she looked up in her rearview mirror to see you chasing after the car screaming, "MOM! MOM! STOP!" Heh. That was funny.
You knew all my secrets and you never judged. Once, when I'd "run away" from home because Mom was pissing me off, you knew exactly where to find me. You helped Mom smoke me out -"yeah, I'll get her" knowing I'd be camped out in the woods by the big tree we used to climb. "Hey Jen. Um, Mom says, "bus is pulling out in 15 minutes" and we're going for pizza. If you want to go, you gotta come home now. Nice digs, by the way. Love what you've done with the place." "But Kate, MY PRIDE! I can't go back now. She'll have won." "Yeah Jen, but it's pizza. And soda?" "Yeah, you got a point. And I am kinda getting hungry. [glancing at the saltines I'd packed] Give me a hand with this stuff?"
In high school we shared a room and the same bed and I would play Oscar to your Felix. There was the night were you decided to clean the room at 10:30 on a school night. And while you had every right to live in a clean room, you completely and utterly LOST YOUR MIND when you started making the bed WITH ME STILL IN IT. SLEEPING. This is when *I* finally snapped and told on you and Mom had to evoke the rule of No Cleaning After 9 PM. Yeah, that one you can own.
You threw me my "surprise" 16th birthday party. You knew how badly I wanted a party and I wasn't exactly popular so this was no small feat. When you got the "cool kids from Latin class" to come, including a kid I'd had a crush on, I thought you could do no wrong. You got people to show! For me! You'd even given me the heads up so that I would have time to look good for it. And we were both deliriously giddy about the whole thing. Well, maybe it was just me that was deliriously giddy but we were enjoying every moment of getting ready for it. This is truly one of the sweetest things you have ever done for me.
We can also be credited with shamelessly tormenting a 12 year old Emily with our new-found Spanish vocab at the dinner table. To wit: "¿Usted desea ir al cine a ver una película con me?" For some reason Em could "crack" our "code". "I WANT TO GO TO THE MOVIES TOO! CAN I COME?? AW C'Mon you guys!"
Somehow in our twenties we started to look a little too much alike. Our faces just....morphed or something. We'd go out and people would ask if we were twins. We'd work at the same restaurant and people who knew me would talk to you thinking they were getting me. We would also be in different states and still manage to buy the same clothes and get our hair cut the same way within weeks of each other. Strange.
We can finish one another's sentences without even noticing it. You're aware of my hate for the phone and yet you're one of the few people who can have me on it for over an hour and not even realize it. We are really good at spilling our guts to each other, and so I think it's you that knows me best. We have our best self-audits on the phone. At any moment, we'll grab the phone and just start off with, "Is it me, or is so-n-so fucking nuts?", "Oh my God, yeah. They're the asshole", "Thank you" and that's it. End of conversation. You totally got it when I said, "yeah, I heard you leave a message on the machine. I didn't pick up because I was watching the last 20 minutes of The Notebook." You responded with a knowing, "Oooooooh. Ouch. Yeah, I wouldn't have picked up either." Speaking of which, you are one of the few people I have no problem crying in front of - even the hiccupy, hyperventilating kind. "And then [sniff] and then....they DI-I-EEEED. [sob] Did you know that was gonna happen? And they were like, [sob] holding ha-aands and it was perfect but it was soooooo SA-AAAD." Man, I'm pathetic. And still, you understood.
Now you're a mommy of 2 of the sweetest, cutest kids I know who I love more than breath and you know I would do anything for. And that's "only" an "aunt's love", so I can only imagine what your life is like now, being A Mom. I thank God that we live close enough that I can be a part of what you're experiencing now. It's such a joy.
Happy Birthday, kiddo.
*How Sarah, Kate's daughter, used to pronounce "happy birthday" which has now been incorporated into our family's lexicon.
**Kate & I would go back & forth with this: Me: Katiedid Her: Katie DID NOT Me: Ohhh, methinks Katie most certainly DID, the little slut.
And then we would double over laughing because we thought we were so fucking hilarious.
I think I am getting stupider. No, really. I think it's very possible that I am getting stupider. Am now at the point where the consideration of taking the SATs again to see exactly what it is I'm dealing with here is not seeming like such a bad idea.
[um, okay - you can stop looking at me like that]
I'm not gonna try to lead to believe I was once this brilliant, Mensa card carrying, think-tanker kid. I wasn't. I only took one honors class my entire life. And it was Spanish. Spanish II to be exact.
But I wasn't dumb either. I managed this side of not half-bad if I actually did the work (*cough* on time *cough*). I was also one of those dorks who always had a dictionary in her bag because she hated reading something only to stumble upon a word she didn't know. And of course being of those types who needed to know RIGHT NOW, DAMNIT because I'm sorry, SOME WORDS YOU JUST CAN'T GET FROM CONTEXT, MRS. BLODGETT! YOU tell ME what "sanguine" means.
What's also annoying? Equally annoying actually? It is when I kinda-sorta know what a word means. I'll hear it in a conversation or read it at the same time someone else is seeing the word. And I'm not gonna let pride get in the way. Dude, I'll ask. Screw it. So you think I'm dumb. I don't care. Read above. Chances are, so do I. I'd just rather know for 100% certain than run the risk of using the word incorrectly and making an ass of myself. And with the way slang is? Maybe the words mean something completely different that what you thought it meant. On some of the websites I read, most of them written by the wicked smaahties, there's a ton of it. So, I don't know. There's no dictionary for this stuff. The other day I had to ask a co-worker who kept saying "Holla"to me- and that's it, a stand alone "Holla", what the hell he meant. Apparently this is the new "Hi".
Still, I'd argue that I don't think I am THAT out of touch either. I know "the kids" don't use "phat" anymore. I'm pretty sure "whack" has been disabled. The "fo shizzles" are "fo fo fizzlin'" (THANK GOD) and I'm almost certain I'm old enough to be "homeslice's" babysitter. ( "WHAT. EV-ER!") See? You see? I'm down.
However, this weekend I had another moment where I heard a word that I kinda-sorta thought I knew what it meant but did not have access to my Merriam-Webster Online (which has made my pocket dictionary obsolete. now I can carry smaller purses! bonus!). I had been watching Veronica Mars and the word "prolific" was used. I decided to ask the person closest to me what it meant and I'm sure she gave a better explanation but all I heard was " you know, when someone is prolific-y?" the prolific person was prolific." And I just did that blink-blink/stare thing when I don't understand something and nodded along, signifying "oh, that's right. of course."
Do you think the SAT board would have a problem with a woman taking her test again...16 years later?
I've heard of sympathy pains or how some people who are together long enough begin to look like one another (or how some people even resemble their pets) but this...I don't know. I just. Don't know. I think this falls somewhere between the two.
Over the past year or two, I have begun to notice that when Mike gets a pimple, I will get one - IN THE EXACT SAME SPOT. Today was a another prime example. He had a little pimple on his nose. I found that I, too, had a little pimple on my nose. A spot that is *usually* a pimple-free zone. And I didn't have this when I was at work either. It was after I noticed he had one. So-that-is-it. I am officially declaring this no longer just a coincidence. It's the universe. Clearly with a bone to pick with me. Or Mike. But,... who are we kidding here? I don't wear naive or coy very well. Yeah, it's probably me.
Yeah, chew on that one, Internet.
The HELL? Is this because he is a guy and thus can't sync up periods and so this is what I get instead? "Sympathy zits"? (and YES I KNOW if we could sync them up this would be an ENTIRELY DIFFERENT POST ALTOGETHER AND ZITS WOULD BE THE LEAST OF MY WORRIES. HA. HA. Boy, ya got me there.)
No, seriously, this happens. A LOT. You have one twisted sense of humor, Universe.
If anyone else has weird occurrences that have happened to many times to be justified as "coinky-dink" I would feel a lot better.
Today was my first day back in the office since last Wednesday. I left with much going on and after being out 3 office days, I am feeling a little overwhelmed with all the e-mails and phone calls and emergencies that I to respond to now. I think my body and psyche sensed the feeling of dread as I slowly woke up this morning to find that I was grinding/clenching what I have left in the teeth department. (secretly I am hoping to go for the trifecta: Root Canal, Wisdom Teeth and TMJ! Keep your fingers crossed, friends!)
The work stress dreams were your standard yawn; missed teleconferences and me begging them to reschedule/catch me up. I know - YAWN.
But then things got INTERESTING!
First: I got to watch Jennifer Lopez do a photo shoot for a Target campaign (yes, THE Target) with MY NIECE. J. Lo was very nice in person, by they way. Not at all the diva I was expecting. My niece was a natural at the modeling thing, too.
Then, in a completely different dream, Mike and I hauled butt up this huge hill to a house I told him I knew the people even though I totally didn't. We snuck into the house through the basement so that we could "borrow" their Christmas decorations for ourselves. Sneaking out of the house proved more difficult and eventually we were busted by the entire family and they were all, "and you are....who, exactly?" I got to hand it to them, they were pretty chill about it considering we were, you know, STEALING THEIR STUFF. Mike was also less than pleased with me, as you very well might guess. Why am I stealing people's Christmas decorations?? It's only August!
I could go on, but the one about me losing my sneakers kinda loses something here.
Okay, here we go (are you appreciating all the posts this weekend? You should be!):
Friday afternoon my car's passenger-side window decided to have issues. Using the electric window button (just HAD to get the electric windows, didn't I? Who do I think I am? A Rockefeller?), try to make it go back up as it was making a weird noise when I was lowering it. It gets stuck. A moment later, while driving on the highway, it makes a huge BANG! sound. Look over, it's all the way down. Press button to make it go back up again. And Again. Window/motor now making weird *crunching* sounds. Like sounds of crunchable glass perhaps?
Think: Oh Shit. Fuck. Shit. Hate. Car. Stupid. Fucking. Car. Cost. Money.
Can't really do anything about it until Monday. At least there is no rain in the forecast.
Sunday morning. 8 a.m. Wake up hearing the pitter patter of drops of rain on air conditioner. Think: Ah, lovely, rainy Sunday morning, sleep is nice....ooooh, wait..."RAAAAIN"?! (said aloud) SHIT! Mike! Rain! Car! Window! RUN!
I run to the kitchen to get the trash bags. Mike runs to his car to get duct tape. Rain goes from quaint, pitter patter to mini-monsoon proportions. Haul ass in my pajamas to the car and arrange garbage bags over window. Passenger seat official sponge. Before Mike can even get to the car with the duct tape, rain abruptly STOPS.
Car now looks like this:
I'm sure the other tenants of the mansion are enjoying this very, very much.
I didn't know our friend William had a POOL all summer! So Mike & I headed over to Brighton in our snorkels and flippers for a little dip.
The pool is about 12 feet in diameter and about 3 feet high (when blown up correctly). William (pictured left) swam "a lap" and actually did one of those swimmer's turn tucks which I would not have believed had I not seen it with my own eyes. You have any idea how hard that is to do in only 2 1/2 feet of water? That was pretty awesome. (click on the picture if you dare!)
This pool actually has an actual filter, a chlorine thingy and a step ladder. William says that this was the best 100 bucks ever spent at a Walmart. I'd have to agree with him. For anyone interested, he is now accepting applications for a pool boy.
What happens when you are a girl STILL searching for the perfect pair of jeans? You will consider these:
Not bad, not bad. Not bad, that is, until you go 'round back. What is the deal with the pockets? They give me, a girl with a cute heiny I might add, QUADRO BUTT (tm).
Here is what QUADRO BUTT (tm) looks like:
Please note that the pockets are one half on the butt, the other on the leg, thus giving the illusion that the butt is working its way down my leg and thereby giving the look of a square, smooshed, cut into quarters, ass. Not a good look. I liked the jeans so much (from the front,obviously)- they were the right length, the right color, they weren't too low, they were comfortable and they were a great price to boot, that I was debating if I could forgive any Quadro Butt (tm) situation. So, I brought them home so that my boyfriend and sister could weigh in on the Q.B. deal. Both of them were all, "yeah, it's a little weird looking. The pockets start too low." Okay, so it wasn't just me.
It's bad enough we women have to sidestep the landmine that is Ass Crackage, but now QUADRO BUTT (tm)?! Are you kidding me, Fashion Peoples?
Yep. They're going back. Damnit.