Category: My Life

Here Comes the Bride

My to-do list is my life, and my life seems to be on red alert. We’re ten days out, and today I noticed that my list has ballooned into 123 items at five priority levels:

ACK!

Gasp!

Urgent

Necessary

Very Good Idea

The list is done though, so that’s comforting.

Potent Second-Hand Smoke

Walking past a head shop on the Haight, I notice a
Maneki Neko (Chinese lucky cat) in the window. This one is made of plastic and is battery operated, so the raised arm moves up and down. As I pass, the cat’s arm movement is perfectly timed to the music blaring out of the shop’s door. For the moment, Maneki Neko is rocking out.

Habits as They Form

Public pipe smoking has always seemed like a misguided pretension to me, one that’s especially odd in a younger man. A pipe-smoker in his twenties may as well stand on a corner shouting, “Look at me everyone. Observe my young yet thought-worn brow. I thoroughly enjoy Yeats!”

That said, yesterday I saw a guy in his early twenties parking his motorcycle. He removed his helmet, reached into his bag, and pulled out a pipe. Leaning against the bike, he packed and lit the pipe, and took a few puffs. Only then did he finish parking the motorcycle, and head inside with the pipe anchored in his jaw. So I was forced to wonder about his deal for a while. Which, I suppose, was the point.

Good Words

manque–unfulfilled or frustrated in the realization of one’s ambitions or capabilities

somatize–to express psychological conflict through bodily symptoms

Things That Happend at My Bachelorette

  • Had three seemingly innocent cocktails at the hotel. Noticed I was having trouble balancing. Turns out Vodka, Tequila, and Watermelon Schnapps (with a twist of lime) are pinkly delicious.
  • Almost climbed into a Toyota–occupied by a family of four–because I was under the mistaken impression that it was our cab.
  • Climbed into an actual cab with aforementioned Pink Terror cocktail in hand. This was less of a problem than you might expect, as the cab driver already had a bottle of beer in his cup holder.
  • Danced with another bachelorette’s giant inflatable penis.
  • Thanked my dear friends for not making me carry a giant inflatable penis.
  • Danced with a bridesmaid near a wall of cheering Latin gentlemen. When one of us tipped too far off vertical, said gentlemen caught us, tilted us upright, and resumed cheering.
  • Wore a pink, leopard-print G-string on my head.
  • Accidentally sprayed cherry-flavored whipped cream all over a friend’s blouse.
  • Assured my roommate that it was fine that she was making out with my high school sweetheart, who happened to be dressed as a very unattractive woman for the evening.

Overheard

Scenario: A 13-year-old girl in a thrift store holds up a trucker cap, showing it to her approximately 20-year-old shopping companions.

Girl: What do you think?

Guy: Of that?

Girl: Yeah!

Woman: For what?

Girl: For, like, wearing.

Woman: Are you serious?

Girl: Yeah. (Puts cap on.)

Guy: It’s ugly.

Girl: You don’t like it?

Guy: No. It’s ugly.

Woman: He’s right.

Girl: These are, like, really cool right now.

Guy: No they’re not.

Woman: It doesn’t look good on you.

Girl: Are you sure?

Woman: Very, very sure.

R.I.P.

Urban Outfitters is selling a sock-monkey wearing a T-shirt that says “Punk’s Not Dead.” This, of course, put the last nail in the coffin.

Overheard

Scenario: Two junior high-age girls chat over coffee. Their thoughts turn to love.

Don’t go out with him just because you want a boyfriend.

Weeeell.

He’s shallow.

Shallow is a whole other thing.

OK.

If you tell anyone…

I’m not gonna tell anyone.

OK, I swear, if you tell them.

I’m not gonna tell. You have a ton of dirt on me.

True. Anyway, it’s not hugely liking, but … I like him.

That’s awesome.

Yeah, but I’m not gonna tell everyone.

You should tell him.

You’re not gonna tell them.

Everyone knows.

Yeah, but you’re not gonna tell them.

There’s nothing to say. Everyone already knows.

You’re not gonna say that. I’m going to tell him myself.

No you won’t, you won’t do anything about it.

Yes I will. And if you tell, I’ll tell your stuff.

No you won’t.

Yes, I will.

Please. I haven’t done that much.

Well, I’ll dig up more dirt on you, or I’ll lie and say you did something really bad.

Whatever.

Seriously. Dooooooon’t tell.

Then you have to tell.

I wiiiilllll. Don’t tell.

Then you have to tell.

Don’t.

Then you do it.

Just don’t.

…

Okaaaay? Doooooooooon’t!!!

…

Seriously. Don’t.

Oops

If you came to mightygirl.net and found it missing this weekend, that was my bad. My spam has quadrupled in the past few weeks, and I somehow managed to delete my “domain expiring” emails without a second glance. Bryan spent many hours this weekend getting me up and running again (thanks, mister), while I addressed invitations. I now own mightygirl.net for the next ten years. Next time this happens, I can blame it on the kids.