Overheard: Tattoo

Scenario: Girl in her mid-twenties talks to a friend on the street corner.

Girl: …and on my calf I want a heart and a cloud with a rainbow. Then coming out of the cloud, I want like little hearts and stars and lightening bolts. Friend: (Dubious look.) Girl: Like, not hell of um, but a few.

Attention to Detail

The September 2007 issue of Domino has an article about how fashion designer Valentino likes to entertain. He mentions an interesting point of etiquette I’d never thought about before:

“I follow the rule of dividing my time evenly throughout the meal–first course to my right, second course to my left. Far too many young ladies in America get caught up in the media and forget to pay attention to their manners. When seats are assigned, it is for a reason. I expect my guests to show hospitality to their host and table companions throughout the meal.”

Dinner parties aren’t particularly common in our social circle, but I love the idea of hosting a smaller gathering with the intent of introducing people who will enjoy each others’ company.

Worse

– … He was a magician comedian.
– Oh man! The only thing worse than a magician is a “funny” magician.
– No, it could be worse. What would be worse?
– Magician comedian mime.
– Magician comedian renaissance mime.
– Magician comedian renaissance mime for Christ.

#42 Make Your Time Line

Prompt on page 49 of
No One Cares What You Had for Lunch: 100 Ideas for Your Blog.

My first decade:

Age 1: I do not cry when hungry or tired. The doctor says I’m probably slow.

Age 2: My mom and dad stare down at me. Dad says, “I think she’s lying.” Mom says, “I don’t think she knows how to lie.” I am lying.

Age 3: I would like to wear dresses and shiny shoes all the time, please.

Age 4: Dustin tries to “hump” my leg in the kindergarten recess line, and I shove him. Forever after, I will find the name Dustin slightly irritating.

Age 5: I carry a red purse with a long strap, and fill it with pennies. One day while Joey and I are chasing each other around the playground, I swing it excitedly and hit him in the back. His face is so surprised and pained that the memory of it still makes me cringe.

Age 6: Mrs. Bartlett sends my best friend home because she has a hole in her sweater. I cry because I know her family is poor, and I have to stand the corner as punishment for crying. I attend a new school for third grade.

Age 7: While swinging, I realize I have no impending doctor or dentist appointments, and experience a surge of pure joy.

Age 8: My father dies. At his body viewing, a young man who works at the funeral home takes me to the refrigerated florist shop to buy me a flower. I choose a carnation, a white one with red stripes.

Age 9: Mrs. Ross is my happy, curly-haired fourth grade teacher, and she assigns us poetry exercises. Her note on my first haiku says “Great imagery! You will be an excellent writer one day.”

Age 10: “Mom?” I say. “How do gay people have sex?” Mom takes a deep breath and pauses. She says, “I am very uncomfortable telling you this, but they say that if you’re old enough to ask, you’re old enough to know… Gay people have sex in the butt.”

  • ine

    • #5 Be a Sage

    Prompt on page 6 of
    No One Cares What You Had for Lunch: 100 Ideas for Your Blog    .

    My favorite pieces of advice:

    To choose a spouse, find someone who is flawlessly kind but has an incredibly strong backbone. See also: Marry him only if you will be proud when your child turns out just like him.

    Don’t make assumptions, and don’t take things personally.

    What you give is what you get. When you predict that negative things will happen, they do. The opposite is also true.

    *Update: Three more good ones:

    Plan less, do more.

    Always have a valid passport.

    Stop picking at that.