Author: maggeh

Rights

Bryan and I pass two men picketing on the sidewalk. The typeface on their signs is too small to read. “Something is unfair,” Bryan says. And ain’t it the truth.

Class

This businesswoman is waiting for the bus. She wears a slim black suit with kitten heels, and her hair is pulled into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. She removes a dark compact from her pocket and peers at herself in the mirror, then begins picking at a zit on her chin.

Busy

I’m sorry for the silence, it’s been a busy few days. First there was Bryan’s birthday, then we both did some work for the John Kerry campaign fundraiser in San Francisco.

This was the first campaign event where I got a staff pin, or as I call it, a “don’t shoot me” pin. It’s a little metal badge you wear on your lapel that tells the Secret Service that you’re a goodie. Part of my job was distributing hotel information to the campaign staff hotel rooms. I’d passed the Secret Service room a few times, making sure to face the open door so they could see my pin and ID.

After about the fifth time passing the room, I figured everyone inside had seen me, so I just walked past. Friends, you don’t want to do that. That makes several polite, well-trained people in dark suits very curious about you. By “very curious” I mean “within a foot of you without you knowing it in under 1.5 seconds.” And that’s the kind of thing that will make you swallow your tongue when you turn around. Trust me.

Superior Schwag

After blogging for more than three years, I finally made some T-shirts. I made them mostly because I wanted one for myself and figured you might want one too. They’re risque, but you’re no milquetoast. So, without further ado…

Maybe you run like a girl, throw like a girl, catch like a girl. But there’s one more thing you do like a girl, and no one’s complaining about that.

Multicultural

Bryan and I are going to Amsterdam later this year, so I need to pick up a Dutch phrasebook. I want to learn a few key phrases like, “I seem to be bleeding from my ears,” and “I don’t speak Dutch.” Bryan points out that it’s funnier to use a more complex phrase when you’re telling someone you don’t speak their language. We kicked around a few ideas. “I’m terribly sorry, I can’t understand you. Dutch is, most unfortunately, not my native language,” and so on. We finally settled on, “I offer a halfhearted apology for not understanding Dutch. I’m American, so I didn’t bother to learn your little language. Where is the nearest McDonald’s?”

SxSW Memories

Our flight out of San Francisco was delayed and we had to go through multiple security check points before we finally got on a plane. At said checkpoints, they make you drink any fluid you have in your carry on to prove it’s not bomb-related.

Bryan: Do you have the flask on you?

Me: I packed it. I didn’t want to have to swill vodka before 8a.m.

Bryan: Until tomorrow.

Me: Exactly.

SxSW

I won’t be posting again until next Thursday, because I’ll be in Austin for South by Southwest. If you see me there, come say hi. I’ll be the one with Margarita salt all over my face.

Blue-Hair Tantrum

A sweet old lady comes out of the bathroom with her cane. A woman waiting for the bathroom has her back turned, and is blocking the path. The old lady raps her cane on the wood floor twice and stares intently at the customer’s back. She raps twice again, nothing. She begins to pound the floor repeatedly until the woman blocking her turns her head slightly and steps to the side.