Tag: observations

Blogher

At Blogher, I did what I do at every other conference. I skipped every session my friends weren’t presenting and used the down time to seal shiny-new friendships with liquor. These are the women I met whose labor stories have convinced me to stop having sex immediately:

Mrs. Kennedy of Fussy

Melissa of Suburban Bliss

Jen of Jen and Tonic

Alice of Finslippy

Tracey of Sweetney

Amanda of Mandajuice

I’ve never met a wittier, more engaging group of women. It was like stepping into a sitcom, and when you add Heather to that mix everyone is shooting tequila out their noses in no time. (That burns by the way. Ow.)

Bryan and I have been talking about baby timing for a while now, and my biggest concern — aside from the possibility of ending up with stitches in unmentionable places — was that we be completely settled somewhere first. I want to have a strong support group that can talk me down when I’d rather scratch out my own eyes than watch another episode of Boobah.

The connection these girls have with each other made me realize that I can have that kind of support system wherever I go. They have each other’s backs, and though I’m just beginning to get to know them, I hope that one day they’ll have mine too.

(Photos)

First Things First

When I turn on the radio, I pay special attention to the very first thing the announcer says. Two quintessential NPR opening lines:

1)I have several Navajo friends, I can do a little plumbing

2) opened fire on a peaceful crowd.

Condolences

After the London bombings last week, I wanted to offer my condolences to the UK. I am so sorry. All of this is awful, bewildering, and needless, and the rest of the world is as stunned as you must be. We are with you in your grief.

That Kind of Day

At an outdoor cafe, my bag rests near my chair. A woman walks by with her dog on a leash. She sees a neighbor and stops to chat next to my table. The dog wanders over to my backpack, sniffs it disinterestedly, lifts his leg, and pees.

Discovery

In the city, sometimes you’ll smell something in the air, and you’re not quite sure what it is. At first you think it’s a savory smell–Chinese food, or maybe pizza. Then, when you inhale deeply, you realize it’s the stink of something profoundly rotten, so rotten that you can taste it in the back of your throat.

I hate surprises.

Trading Your eye for Mine

In conversation with the cab driver, the subject turns to crime.

Me: There seems to be a lot less crime in this area lately.

Cabbie: No. I been robbed twice.

Me: Really?

Cabbie: Yeah. Two times with knife.

Me: Oh no! What happened?

Cabbie: Nothing. Guys just wanted my money.

Me: That’s terrible! Were you hurt?

Cabbie: No, no.

Me: Did they both get away?

Cabbie: Oh sure! But one of them, he run in front of my car and I hit him. Stupid asshole.

Me: You hit him with the cab?

Cabbie: Yeah. He take my money, I hit him. Broke his leg good.

Me: Whoa! Did you get your money back?

Cabbie: No way! He had a knife.

Me: So you just drove away?

Cabbie: Yeah. He rob me, he get what he deserved.

Sacred V. Profane, Death Match

On the main strip in Vegas, there’s a billboard of a Hindu god with many hands. Each hand contains something holy: slot machines, dice, cards, a snow globe, a coffee mug, a showgirl. The slogan reads, “Souvenir Nirvana.”

About a hundred feet farther, there’s one with Jesus on it, but he only has two hands, so he’s holding a tiny prostitute in one hand and a martini in the other. The slogan reads, “Heaven on Earth.”

OK, all of that is true except for the part about Jesus. It’s actually a billboard of Buddha.

Kidding again! Vegas would never do that to Buddha and his lucky, lucky tummy.

Self Medicating

I feel like glahr. Gllaaaahhhhr. I got sick before I left for Utah, and oddly, a week of hiking and 3a.m. girl-talk sessions kind of made me feel worse. Now my phlegm is abundant and green. I fear that it’s a new phlegm-based life form that can draw energy from the sun and overtake the earth. The trip was totally worth it though.

Tomorrow we’re off to Vegas, because I hear Ann Margaret has restorative powers. Actually, it’s because Bryan is turning 36. (Happy birthday, baby!) So if you notice a mound of green ooze blocking out the sun, that’s because weak margaritas, second-hand smoke, and the taint of despair aren’t good for my cold either. Sorry about that.

World Watching

Gym soundtrack by iPod:

  • Old Navy shorts commercial: Missy Elliot’s “Work It.”
  • Yoga class: instrumental introduction of The Postal Service’s “Such Great Heights.”
  • Elliptical machines: “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” by the Tokens