Beer in hell

So, have you seen this? You’ve probably seen this:



I can be silent no more.

I went to high school with this guy (well, not THIS guy. He’s an actor… I went to high school with the guy who THIS guy is portraying).

So, NOW Tucker Max seems to be a giant douchebag who hates women. He has no respect for people who… well, aren’t him. He’d probably say that it’s because most people are hateful, stupid, fat, whatever. Frankly, I don’t know what he’d say; I don’t know his mind. Actually, I REALLY hope I’m wrong and this jerky exterior conceals something better and deeper, and less amused by video-taping having anal sex with someone without them knowing (about the taping, that is. Presumably the anal sex was not a surprise).

So, Tucker came to my high school during my junior year. We were in the same Algebra II and English classes. He was kind of a jerk, but a LOVEABLE jerk. I liked him a lot. He was smart, saucy, funny. He didn’t really care what other people thought. He demanded on several occasions that I “learn him math”. I don’t think he actually needed the tutoring, but we always had fun together. One time, he came home with me from the weekend (it was a boarding school and I lived close by but his parents were in Florida and Kentucky). I warned my parents that he could be kind of a jerk and he made a fool out of me by being delightful and polite THE ENTIRE TIME.
UGH.

I just had… high hopes for him. I’m so disappointed. He has the resources to have accomplished ANYTHING. But this… this is just too bad.

Sidenote! the best thing I read in a review of this movie: "I hope they show 'I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell' in hell" - Chicago Tribune

religious experience?

The adorable curly-headed blond chick that I have kind of a style crush on at work just came in and said:

"These (veggie chips from the vending machine) taste just like the body of Christ"

If I had balls, I'd be laughing them right off...

180

So, in a complete switch from yesterday's post -not that those feelings have gone away, but you know I'm not Winona Rider writing:
"I AM UTTERLY ALONE"
or anything like that...

Is it crazy, or awesome, that I am still extremely excited to date my boyfriend? Tonight he's coming over for BLTs and some episodes of Deadwood. I could NOT be more psyched. He's dreamy and cuddly, and occasionally he falls asleep while he's petting my head so that his hand is flopped in my face and I just can't help but laugh.

Conversation we had at 2am, when I was fighting to not fall off of my side of the bed and he was lying right in the middle, his head on my pillow:
Me: Um, baby, can you move over just a little bit?
Him: You have more room than me.
Me: Uuuuuuuuh, ok.


*Edit @ 4:15pm - Yeah, so... he's going surfing. I'll have to save his BLT for later...
**Edit @ 4:41pm - Aaaaaaaaand now he's not surfing. I NEVER know what's going to happen with people.

Chicken Little (but I KNOW the sky isn't falling for real...)

Grr. Sometimes you cannot help but be DOWN. You know you really shouldn’t be. You’re well fed, healthy, sheltered, have a car with a check engine light that is NO LONGER ON. You have a job, fat pets; you’re able to pursue artistic fantasies. There’s a man – a brilliant, sweet, be-muscled man who likes to cuddle and watch Arrested Development with you and eat heart-wreckingly salty foods. How could things POSSIBLY get better?

And yet. Malaise. Melancholy…

It’s like you’re in middle school sometimes. No one likes you. People at work don’t care to socialize (with you). Your best friends think you’re alienating and weird. Strangers point and laugh. Everyone else is married/getting married/having adorably chubby-cheeked babies that you want to dip in jam. What the hell? When did this happen? Plus, is that an extra 5 pounds? Yeah. Of course it is.

I’d like to tag out for a few days and get in bed and watch Star Wars on a constant loop. But that’s not really the way to work stuff out, I know. Besides, I ALWAYS want to throw things at Hayden Christensen.

It’s just so pathetic to even bring it up. THERE IS NOTHING WRONG. But how can there be nothing wrong when something is wrong? And first things are fine, and then whoa, where did that come from – feeling like I’m alone (which I’m not, and many people can attest to that). How do you get what you need when you don’t know what you need? All of my needs are met – so, what’s lacking must be on me. That’s the logic that gets me right back to the question “How can I NOT be satisfied with this?”

I know this will go away. Because this isn't middle school. There are bills to pay and kitty-litter to buy and apple crisps to bake. There are rehearsals and car inspections and dates and yoga. These are good things. People wanting your company! Embracing the freedom of being adult! Doing what you want when you want most of the time!

Erm. I wavered on whether or not to post this, because it’s more intimate than what I usually put out there, but it just wouldn’t be right to gloss over it and say “Dear Internet, today I wore pink and ate ambrosia and I pooped rainbows and then I rode a unicorn. It was the BEST!” Not every day is the best. I was unemployed for several months, and I felt like this a lot. I just wish I wouldn’t feel like this when things are ostensibly great.

Maybe it's the end of summer getting to me...

Next on Yum: My Delightful Trip to the Gynocologist!

Ode to the Pumpkin Spice Latté, in haiku form:

Pumpkin spice latté,
You maintain my body heat
As I walk to work.

Dear spicy latte,
Your taste is beyond compare!
I’ll take two pumps please.

Pumpkin-y goodness
Fills up my mouth and heart.
So, thank you, Starbucks.

2 unrelated but true things

1. Every time I'm going to get my hair cut, I have a great hair day. My hair looks wonderful today. And I have an appointment. And I want to cancel because: WONDERFUL.
(Luckily, they do this fun blow-out thing to my hair when I get it cut that I can never duplicate that makes me look 5 years younger and 10lb lighter. MAGIC! If you want to see me later, I'll be at Toad.)

2. There are people in my office who do not eat lunch until 2pm. I cannot understand this. I am starving and grazing all day and I still require a whole lunch meal at 11:55. I need to further study this phenomenon. I am too much a slave to the hungries...

preference

After many many inquiries (ok, zero inquiries), and much pondering, I have decided that I strongly prefer any chicken in soups or salads to be pulled rather than cubed/diced.

Judge me if you will, I won't bend on this.
(Any more than I will bend on my views about certain craggy actors who were in certain terrible movies where they carry on completely inappropriate affairs with Drew Barrymore, despite the fact that she is approximately his daughter's age and orchestrated the death of his wife.)

There, I said it. I feel free.

Bras, Tom Skerritt, Kitty-Thunderdome: the usual...

I am wearing a new bra today. Since it’s inappropriate to show people, I thought I would tell people. That’s why there’s a little extra spring in my step. It’s lacy mint green. And sexy.

Open letters (because who likes to beat a dead horse? THIS GUY!):

To The girl wearing 4” heels walking sooooo slowly in front of me on my way to the T:
Those shoes are HOT! Yeah! They look fierce! Now take them off immediately so that I can incinerate them. You cannot walk in them. Almost no one can walk in them. And you are slowing me down. Don’t make me kick you, bitch. Switch to sensible flats or learn to teeter faster.
*****

To fans of Tom Skerritt:
I’m sorry, but REALLY? Have you EVER seen Poison Ivy?!?!? I know, I know: M*A*S*H. I loved it too. But c’mon… That man is DONE.
*****

To my Cats:
Whoa. I’m not sure what you’re fighting about ON THE BED at 3:30am, but dang. You know that there are 2 humans in this full-sized bed and that we like to sleep until the beeping of the alarm, yes? What makes you think that I want to wake up because the wind has just been knocked out of me because a 17lb cat leaped onto my diaphragm? Well let me tell you: I NEVER want to wake up that way again. Last night was a freebie, but the next time, say goodbye to your back legs. Both of you (since I don’t know who did it).
*****

To My Man, on the event of using his body as a human shield to prevent any more cat-related damage to me while trying to sleep:
You are so good. Extra cheese on your chili tonight, sir!

Passive-Aggressivity with the downstairs neighbors:

So, I live on the third floor of a three-family house. The landlord’s son and his girlfriend, cat, and totally sweet pitbull live on the first floor. There are two or three girls (there were three, and I think two moved out and one moved in) who live on the second floor. I have a large studio and two cats and heat included on the third floor. I try not to make a lot of noise. Clearly, everyone else in the building does the same, because I have been here for 3 months and I’ve almost never heard a peep. That is GREAT.
Recently, however, there have been some things. Physical items that have gotten in the way of my successfully walking up/down the three (count ‘em, three) flights of stairs to get to/from my apartment.
First, it was two bikes. The one was placed to the side in the rather modestly sized entrance way. The other: right in the middle of that entrance way so that just as I came in at 9:30pm (an hour of darkness), I put my leg through some metal parts of the bike and simultaneously tripped over one of the wheels. I fell into the first bike and dumped the contents of my large purse on the floor. I then extricated myself and felt around for the light switch. I re-assembled my bag, righted myself, and kicked that fucking bike. (Bike whereabouts update: The next day that bike was locked to the railing on the stairs, which the landlord said could NO LONGER HAPPEN. I have not seen bike #2 since. Bike #1 remains in the entrance way, and I have yet to fall into it again.

The OTHER thing is that the people in the second floor apartment now always leave their shoes in the hallway on the way up the stairs. This, by itself, doesn’t bother me at all. If you put your shoes to the side, I can easily walk around them. But these people don’t put their shoes to the side, they line them up just under the first stair leading up to the third floor, as if no one will have to ascend those stairs. As if those stairs are there for purely cosmetic reasons. Well, let me tell you, I busted my ass on those shoes in the dark too.

I know what you’re thinking: two words – HEAD LAMP. But no. Instead, my man and I have taken to piling those shoes up right in front of their apartment door. Perhaps if someone trips over them on the way out, they’ll see… I don’t know, they’ll see how annoying it is to trip over someone’s carelessly-placed shit. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Still truckin'

I continue to have good times, despite adversities. Like rain. And mere-2-day weekends. You know.

Saturday I had plans with J to make an early trip to Ikea because the weather was supposed to be all sucky (it was). Sadly, her new (to her) car, kind of crapped out just moments from my house, and we didn’t want to chance driving 45 minutes to Ikea, filling the car with swedish goodies, and coming 45 minutes home. It seemed unwise.
Instead, she called the seller and I drove her home, stopping at the mall and Target on the way there. At the mall I was obligated to use a $10 gift certificate that Victoria’s Secret had sent me for my birthday (Vicki is so considerate!). I purchased 3 very much on sale bras, and matching undies. I considered using the services of the bra-fitting woman hovering around the push-up/bling-covered/$60 bras, but then I remembered that I am a small C-cup and my bras fit fine. Duh.

We got some sandwiches after the shopping and went to J’s new (to her) place and ate them. Then I had THE SALTIEST PICKLES IN THE WORLD, made by J’s mom. Delicious. I took some for the road because if there’s anyone who loves salt as much as me, it’s my man, and I like to share.
So, I got home, and puttered around. For dinner, I juiced some planty-foods (an apple, pear, orange, plum, carrots, celery, spinach) to make use of my recently-purchased juicer. I also had a plate of lettuce, because I like to occasionally chew. Then the man came over, and we each had a glass of wine and two of THE SALTIEST PICKLES IN THE WORLD. We watched Superbad and stayed up until almost midnight and holy shit that’s late for us.
Sunday, we got up a little after 8 and went to the Ball Square café for breakfast. Walking back to my place, I lamented the fact that I had not gone to Ikea the day before with J, and my man, seizing the spirit of adventure, suggested we get in the car immediately and go. Which we did. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Dude. I effing love Ikea. We had a fun little time, walking around with coffees (and some chocolate I had bought in case we needed additional sugar – Ikea is quite large), trying to find modern solutions for our hectic lives. We both came out not too much poorer and stopped by a nearby Home Depot while we were in the area. My man in a Home Depot is like a kid in a candy store. Or a princess in a unicorn store (you get the idea). If I only knew what to purchase, I would shower my man in drills.

Having procrastinated enough by that point, we had lunch on the way home, including beer, and then parted ways. I re-connected with J, who was on my street waiting for her tow truck. We chilled for a bit and went to the butchery/discount-meat-a-torium in Davis and she went home. I had just enough time to shower and head over to meet the other theatre peeps for rehearsal – which I then left early to have some ice cream with A. Ice cream and girl chat is a lovely way to wrap up a weekend.

And, now it’s Monday, and I feel a little let down, frankly. I’ll try to snap out of it…

Birthday, etc.

So, my birthday.

It was a good few days/long weekend :)

On the day (last Wednesday), the lovely J contacted me and asked if she could take me to lunch. Hell yeah, you can! We work fairly close together and in the proximity of a lot of great restaurants. We went to Central Kitchen (they have the best mussels!). As you can see, we couldn’t wait to get started on the delicious tuna steak salad sandwich, or mussels with aioli fries. Otherwise I would have gotten a picture of the meal intact…



After lunch we went to Toscanini’s (it’s on the way!) for micro sundaes. The be-dreadlocked dude working the counter gave us many many samples to taste to ensure our getting the right flavor combination, and I went with berry shortcake ice cream with hot fudge and whipped cream. Yum!

After work I took the T home and ran into some theatre folk, who also wished me a happy birthday and walked me home most of the way. When I got to my block, I saw a dude and his adorable pug walking toward me, and I knew it was a photo op. The pug’s owner was very cool about taking our picture. He said I could even pick up the pug, but that skirt is silk, and not resistant to dog drool… (see how I'm about to EAT HIS FACE)



When I got home I cleaned up a little and then went over to meet my man, who was just finishing cleaning up himself. He announced that we would be going to dinner at Rendezvous, a place very near my work where neither of us had been. So, back to the T for us. We stopped and got a large Red-eye from Starbucks first, and shared it while heading to Central. First thing off the T, we run into some crazies drinking and singing, quite joyfully. I toyed with requesting “Happy Birthday”, but thought the better of it.

We got to the restaurant on time but our table wasn’t quite ready, so we parked it at the bar and ordered two dirty martinis. They seemed pretty dirty, but that could just be the vodka talking. There was SO. MUCH. VODKA. After a few minutes, we were seated at the table, and almost immediately received a complimentary appetizer of delicious olives and bread and hummus(es) because we were made to wait. It was delightful but completely unnecessary. We then ordered a bottle of syrah and the spicy bluefish cakes, which were so amazingly tasty that I almost wrote a song about them right there (thankfully, I did not). We went on to have the skirt steak (him) and the lobster/cod/clams in tomato-y broth (me). HEAVEN. We finished it off with some cappuccino and a quick cab ride home.

So, so good.

Then on Thursday, I was taken out by the ladies. The lovely J came over to my place after work, with proseco and cheese and bread. AND she bought me a pretty pretty gift at the artsy store across the street (she knows me!). After much cheese and chatting and the bottle completely empty (I hate waste) we met M and A at M’s house for… wait for it… MORE cheese and champagne. I assure you, this was not even remotely redundant. I LOVE cheese and champagne, so I would have been happy to do this all night. BUT! We had to go to dinner! We started out at the Highland Kitchen, but it was really LOUD and incredibly CROWDED, so we went to Pescatore, which is practically right on top of where I live, and despite the fact that most people think it is a “front” for the mob, it is actually completely charming and delicious. We indulged in some red wine and J and I split a giant salad and the mahi mahi on top of shrimp risotto. After dinner we drove to Toad to cap off the night with great music and more familiar faces. Faces that congratulated me on making it to 32.

Friday night was low-key – just dinner and an Arrested Development marathon with my man. Saturday I met a theatre pal, J for burgers and beers in Porter Square and then we tipsily weaved in and out of various shops on Mass Ave. Here is a pic of J embracing his inner demon (or his inner wicker-lover, whatever).



We also went to a hardware store that had lots of specialty woods. One type was lovely, and it had the BEST name: curly bubinga! I wish I’d thought to take a picture. When I have a child, I will name that child Curly Bubinga. Mark my words.

Saturday night the man and I left on a whim after dinner to his parents little cottage on Squam (I think Little Squam) Lake in New Hampshire. He forgot his key, and his parents gave him permission to break in. It was pretty rockin’ watchin him battering ram the door with his body until it broke. Seriously, I think they should just leave a key under a flower pot in the yard…

Sunday we slept in FOREVER (almost 10am) and lingered in bed for a while (cue porn music here because we totally got. it. on.). Then we went to a brunch buffet where we ate ALL of the corn beef hash in the world. The meaty-potato-y goodness fortified us, and we decided to take the boat out on the lake, which was fantastic. M even let me drive. Weeeeeeeeeeeee!
On the way home from the cabin we met M’s parents in Manchester and had Mexican food.

I barely did anything on Monday but run a few errands, vacuum, and read a book. It was a perfect way to spend Labor Day. Then dinner with the man and sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

So, longest post ever, but I had a lot going on, you know.
And this is a short week – YAY!

Open (sleepy) letter

Dear Guy Screaming Right Outside My Apartment at 4am:

Duuuuuuude. I don't know this "Rita", but she sounds kind of like a bitch. You shouldn't put up with her. I'm not sure why she "gotta keep breakin' your heart", but please stop shouting about it at dark-o'clock because some of us ARE TRYING TO FUCKING SLEEP.

Thanks. And, good luck with that.
L

Random texts saved in my phone

This is something borrowed from Sarah at queserasera .

-And transported yourselves back in time to the days of telegraphs STOP?

-I have a car with which we can go to places where Arlenes give up egg products

-Dude, ur having sex in the middle of the day on a Friday? Bitch.

-Fuck. Crazy. Who is going to get anything done. I hope they lay me off.

-Yes. There is nothing in the world that I want to do more right now than play trivial pursuit

-Great job. You look hot.

-Megatron!

-How's your ugly face?

-don't let him jive you...

-Got some sugar, sugah.

-Want to come over for nap?

-spider pig, spider pig

...Oh how I love these peeps and their kooky texts.

On this day in history...

Last year, on this day, I was celebrating my birthday a day early because it was Labor Day and I had off from work. Good friends Dr. Monkey and A did all kinds of fun stuff with me.
Thirty-one(derful) was a pretty good year, but also a tumultuous one. There was relationship drama, job-loss, lots of snow, moving, elections! Dude! I frequently thought I was in one place, only to find myself in another one all together (figuratively - I did not do a lot of mind-altering drugs or write myself into a Hunter S. Thompson book...).

I'm looking forward to thirty-two(bular). I'm getting better with change, but I really hope to be with the same friends, same man, same job, same theatre group. Maybe just better. If I can give a little more to each of those (people/things), I think I will have ended up learning a lot and taking a lot away, too.

It's probbaly in poor taste to toast yourself, so I'll just toast to EVERYONE having a terrific 365 days:
PROST!