This man is rolling a car tire up our block. His action is effortless, almost soothing to watch. He walks next to the tire, bending occasionally to give it a slight push or correct its course. The tire seems alive, like an obedient dog, until the man stops it with his foot and lifts it into the trunk of his car.
The Source
Scenario: Bryan has an interest in politics.
B: When’s the State of the Union Address?
M: Beats me.
B: Hmm. (Goes rummaging around online for several minutes.)
B: Arrgh. I can’t believe it could be this hard to find.
M: You can’t find it?
B: Nowhere.
M: Huh.
B: (Points, clicks, types for another fifteen minutes.) AAAGH! (Picks up phone, presses speaker-phone option, lets it ring as he types.)
M: Who are you calling?
B:
Phone: White House. May I help you?
And Salt Will Take Care of That Stain
Me: Man, I can’t keep my hands off these stupid things.
Her: What are they?
Me: Molasses chips, they’re like toffee.
Her: Oooo. They have dark chocolate ones too.
Me: Yep. They’re good with red wine. Pretty inexpensive too. They make great hostess gifts.
Her: Hostess gifts? You’re so
Me: I know.
Which reminds me of a joke Rosecrans sent me the other day after receiving thank-you note #601 from me:
Why don’t WASPs have orgies?
Too many thank you notes.
While I Was Away
I contributed to the Santa Claus piece for The Morning News.
The Fray posted my “Chagrin and Men I Have Loved” piece. It’s the same one you may have already seen on The Morning News, albeit with a new introduction and a few photos of me as a kid. The first one you’ll see is a photo of me and my sister jumping from sand dunes. I’m the one standing on the dune, she’s the one leaping to her doom. If you click on my name, just below the story title, you’ll find my favorite childhood photo. I was three, and I was pissed. If you scroll down, you can see me and my junior prom date Rahul. He’s going to be an usher at our wedding. We offered him flower girl, but my niece threatened to beat him up, and he chickened out.
Back
I’ve been in Colorado, where I had my first Awesome Blossom (recipe) at Chili’s. I had no idea what I was getting into. They take a genetically engineered gigantuonic onion, slice it decoratively, deep fry it, and slap it on a plate. The result looks like an enormous sea anemone with ranch dressing garnish. It is roughly the size of a small head of iceberg lettuce. In San Francisco, when you order onion rings, you get about four of them on a plate. In Denver, they give you enough to bring your entire circulatory system to a halt right there at the table.
Anyway, next time I go on vacation, I promise to say, “I’m going on vacation now” so I don’t get worried emails. Still haven’t adjusted to the idea that strangers assume that I’ve died/sunk into a deep depression/fallen into a hole where the well used to be when I stop posting. I was in Colorado eating an onion anemone, happy, above ground. Thanks for the notes.
In Other News
After a year of inattention, my archives are current. Lest you think that I finally let the guilt of a thousand (dozen) emails get to me, it was actually Bryan who finally snapped. He’s an orderly kinda guy. Thanks, mister.
They’ve Gone Wild
Me: Have you seen any of these “Girls Gone Wild” videos?
B: It’s all these women showing their boobs, and then every ten minutes or so, the guy filming says (monotone voice), “They’ve gone wild.”
Me: It’s hilarious, he’s totally deadpan, no inflection whatsoever. That poor guy needs a new job, he’s seen one too many pairs of boobs.
E: I heard that stuff was fake, that they bring in strippers.
J: No. Remember? That one girl sued and won.
Me: They actually do bring in strippers. I just read a really interesting article about it. They bring in the strippers and get them to do stuff that wouldn’t ordinarily happen out in public. Then the other girls get more comfortable with it, because of the group-mentality thing. They jump in, and the strippers move out of the camera frame.
E: Really? Smart.
Me: Chilling.
E: Yeah, but smart.
B: I’m just saying
E: Yeah. I’m just saying it’s smart.
B: I’m just saying, “mental note.”
Mouth, Ow
When you don’t leave the house for four days because your mouth hurts when you speak, eat, or breathe, and the medication makes you feel like your brain is swaddled in wool, you find new ways to measure self-worth. For example, a while ago I purchased a lot of spaghetti noodles–too many spaghetti noodles, some might say. (Drat the two-for-one and it’s terrible draw!)
Yesterday, as I shuffled into the pantry for a small spoonful of smooth peanut butter and marshmallow cream, I noticed that we’ve eaten nearly all the spaghetti. This gave me an inexplicable surge of accomplishment. Time to take a shower.
Hat Baby
The Morning News posted my third piece in the fashion series yesterday. It’s about hats. I would’ve told you sooner, but I was busy with oral surgery yesterday and jury duty on Monday. It’s been a monkey-butt week, but everything is better with painkillers.
Overheard
Characters: Two homeless men on the bus.
Guy one: (angrily) SIT down!
Guy two: Why?
Guy one: We’re not getting off until Church!
Guy two : (Silent)
Guy one: I’m close to God.
Guy two: That’s good.
Mighty Girl 