Your Girlfriend is Ugly

Random Ramblings for your Monday.

Well hello.

After my harrowing experience at La Guardia on Saturday, I eventually made it back to Boston on Sunday afternoon, still in time to bust over to Norton and celebrate Father's Day with Dad and The Donna. We ate steak (yum!) watched golf (golf is a good walk spoiled) and then The Donna and I watched the Celtics give the game away to The Kobe LA Lakers.

As I pulled into my parents driveway I noticed all of their greenery. They have all sorts of pretty trees and hanging plants and flowers from a variety of exotic places all over the yard. Instantly I started to think of what my deck would look like if I brought flowers into the equation.

I've never been one to have a green thumb. My cousin gave me a plant at Easter and I forgot about it in my car. When I was a small child I used to only keep cacti because you only have to water them, what? every other month or something like that? My kind of plant!

But I really wanted to do up my deck. Summer is quickly approaching and with summer comes impromptu BBQ's after work. And what better place to have them than on my deck since I am right across the street from the beach. Perfect. First things first though, before I resurrected my green thumb, I had to do something about the peeling paint.

The houses on either side of my three-family just had new decks put on. It's not that my deck is old (well OK it's old) but it's not like the wood is rotting or anything (actually, yeah, the deck is not structurally sound at all) It just needs some TLC. But I refuse to put any work (read: lots of money)  into it since I'm renting. This is where my need for a hobby kicks in!

I don't really think that watching all the TV one person can watch is considered a hobby. I need something to occupy my (single) time. My dad will ask me constantly if I ever think about taking up softball again (I played baseball/softball ever since I was a little kid, that was before I knew about manicures and pedicures and blowouts): 

"No, dad. I don't' think I would take up softball again." (Plus One gets mad at me and tells me that Dad gets sad when I say this and that I should just lie and say that I do miss it. I mean I miss the competitiveness but not the laps and polyester uniforms! Dad, are you sad that I don't miss playing softball??)

"Really? You wouldn't join a league in Southie?"

"Um. Mostly likely no. But I'd watch my boyfriend play if I had one!"

I can barely get to the gym! Let alone make it in time for grounders with the team.

But paint scraping...THIS I could do!

*ring* *ring*

"Dad, what type of instrument do I need to scrape paint?"

"A paint scrapah."

"Ok. How do I obtain one of those?"

"You go to Home Depot and buy one for two dollahs."

Right-O!

I will begin my paint scraping hobby tonight! I'm leaving work at 5pm to head to HD at the South Bay Plaza. If you're in the vicinity look for the girl with the distressed leather gold purse, blue, white and green tank top, jeans and yellow flips looking UTTERLY confused.

In other news. I was flipping through the Sunday Times yesterday, (well OK that's not entirely true, I rifled through the paper to get the Style Section) and after torturing myself with reading every single one of the wedding announcements I opened up the style section. On the cover was Melissa C. Morris, a 28 year old blogger who married a 58 year old super duper rich guy from New York. The name of her blog is May/December (get it, for their age difference...*wah* *wah* *waaaaaah*) and she "writes" about things like the oh-so-painstaking process of picking out a new dishwasher for their house, ("Do we choose the model with the rack on the top or the rack on the bottom?? How am I ever going to decide which one to buy?!") and her beloved Italian Greyhoud Monty who she treats like a human.

This blog upsets me. Mainly because she's famous for doing nothing and middle American women eat this shit right up! She's your typical rich Manhattan housewife who's bored so she decides to blog about a trip to Bergdorf's or a trip to Scully & Scully to pick out a new desk chair that is probably the equivalent of a middle class person's mortgage.

She also has a picture of her and her grandfather husband on their wedding day. She is gingerly kissing the top of his head and he is clearly smiling because the excitement of the day mixed with all the Cialis he took is giving him the biggest boner he's ever had.

Barf. This type of blog is what ruins the good name for funny, smart, sharp women bloggers like myself. I'm not saying I'm saving the world and buying bamboo tampons, but I don't spend my days snapping photos of my dog eating ice cream and blogging about "how he ate da whoooole ting!"

Really. Why can't the SNYT do a profile on a woman with something to SAY? I mean Melissa C. Morris blogs about the new hot preppy tunic for the spring and her writing has as much personality as my stapler. Go do something! Go get into a fight! Grow your hair long! Get highlights! Just do something else!

I blog about this. Now I ask you, who deserves the NYT ink more?

In closing, has anyone here ever sent a smack talking text message to the person you were talking smack about by accident? Yeah. WHOOPSY DAISY! What's more awkward than awkward??? I tried to make a joke about it since what I wrote wasn't untrue at all. But I'm sure the person is still mad about it. Even though I'm the one who feels like the heel.

Happy Monday!

The Sushi of it all

Sorryyyyyyyyyyyyy I've been so lax with the blogging. I've been in New York and trying to get my head screwed on tight before I go on vacation.

Yes. Vacation. A sweeter word has never been spoken.

Anyway more about that later when I'm tan and have had a few Kettle One and Sodas with a splash of pineapple and an orange wedge for garnish. For now I'm short on time but I need to discuss something.

I don't consider myself an overeater. I mean by the looks of my arms one can tell I need to work out these atrophied pythons but with the exception of my birthday and mowing on cake I think I'm pretty good about portions. Except when I go out to eat at a sushi restaurant. I don't know what it is about those rolls, but the second I pick up a sushi menu, I black out. Next thing I know, I'm elbow deep in maki and designer rolls. I'm flanked by empty cocoons of edamame and swimming in sides of eel sauce and extra peanut sauces.   

And I eat the whole damn thing. I leave no seaweed salad unturned, no droplet of soy sauce left unattended.

I have friends, and we will go out to sushi together. I order about 3 rolls, they get 1 and simply "can't finish it" they are "too full."

TOO FULL!? What are you full on? You had a California roll! GIVE IT HERE!!!

When did I get so old?

A couple of days ago I was shooting the breeze with Brennon on gmail chat. We were swapping tattoo stories since he recently got some new ink. The conversation progressed into him asking what I was doing tonight.

"Going shopping after work."

"Well I'm going to karaoke with a few of my friends. You should come."

"I'll be shopping."

"It starts at 10 so...."

My fingers typed the words about as fast as I could spurt them out: "Ten?! Oh. Oh no. That's too late."

"When did you get so old?"

That's a good question. When did I get old? When did ten o'clock become an "absolutely not" time to go out? When I was in college I'd be napping until 9 and then getting ready at 10 to start my night, a screwdriver in one hand, a Jell-O shot in the other. Going out BEFORE 10 was considered lame and "waaaaay too early".

Now when I make plans it's always "7? 7:30 the latest..."

It's not that I think 10pm is late. Please. If I'm still up at 10, which I always am, I'll do my nails, or read a book, or put away laundry. There's so much to be done at 10pm. And it's not that I'm never out past 10. If I go out at a decent hour 10pm comes and goes with little fan fair. Next thing I know it's two in the morning and I'm dragging my ass home.

I don't know what it is. I'm twenty-six and single I should be going out and meeting my friends to do karaoke. Right?

Oh but it had been such a long week. And an emotional one at that. And the next two weeks are going to be filled with travel. I had the apartment to myself (a rarity indeed) and I just wanted to make tomato soup with the mini saltines, get into my comfy clothes and watch Dexter on my Netflix.

Me and my hot old fart ass will hang out with Brennon eventually. It will just have to be at a more civilized hour.

The Joys of Cooking.

As you all know I was in Baltimore this past weekend. Well on Saturday after a thoroughly enjoyable day of shopping and busting around Jen decided to cook us spaghetti squash. No idea what spaghetti squash is? No worries, neither did I.

Spaghetti Squash, which is it's actual name, is a type of squash that, when cooked and cut open, the insides actually look like spaghetti. Does it taste like spaghetti? No. But it also doesn't give me IBS like the real deal either. And the brilliant thing, is that it pretty much tastes like whatever you put on it. Want some tomato sauce? Go for it? How about a nice creamy pumpkin sauce? YUM!

All of this fun experimentation for basically no calories!

On Monday I headed to the grocery store for our weekly shopping trip. I happen to LOVE grocery shopping. I had my typed out, alphabetical by department, then alphabetical with in department, list and was ready to get to it.

As I sidled up to the produce section I started with the apples, then some carrots, red peppers...oh...look...there's the squash! Well I think I'll grab one and make some spaghetti with it!

Also on the list was a roasted chicken and various other sundries that I enjoyed purchasing with Shana's Amex.

I headed home giddy with the idea that I'd be making the spaghetti squash. I informed my sister of the fun we would have when I plopped this gem in the microwave.

"Well why don't you make it tonight? I mean I think it will be too late for the roasted chicken."

"OK!"

I thought back to what Jen did: stabbed it with a fork a few times, then wrapped it in paper towel and placed in the microwave on high for 5 minutes. Once that side was done I'd flip it and put the other side on high for 5 minutes.

While the squash cooked I prepared some sauce and little mini garlic breads on reduced fat english muffins.

Ten minutes went by and it was still rock hard. Hmmmm...maybe I really need to do the full twelve minutes like Jen did.

After two minutes it was still rock hard.

I put it in for another ten minutes and putzed around my apartment, lighting candles and randomly vacuuming up hair balls with our mini Dirt Devil.

After twenty-two minutes the squash did not look that great. The skin had turned a strange shade of gray and it appeared that it was bubbling.

Hi you've reached the mobile phone of Jen Katz. Please leave your name and number and a brief message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can.

*beeeeeeeeep*

"Um. Hi. It's me. I'm trying to make this spaghetti squash and well it's not really happening for me. Can you call me back thanks."

I decided to make it a solid twenty-five minutes for it to be in the microwave. Surely after that it would have to be done.

After my microwave informed me that my food was ready I extracted it from the revolving plate and placed it on our counter.

Hmm...the skin felt tender. Save for the bubbling squash pustules it looked OK. I took a knife and chopped into it. And what I found was neither spaghetti looking nor squash looking.

What once was I'm sure the flesh of the squash was now just a shriveled up mess of orange and seeds. Gross. Maybe my microwave was just too hardcore to cook a squash in. I discarded the remnants into the trash, converted my mini garlic breads into mini pizzas and poured a glass of wine.

Then my cell phone burbled.

"Hey! It's me!" It was Jen.

"Oh man. The spaghetti squash was a disaster."

"What?! WHY?"

"It just didn't work!"

"Did you pierce it with a fork?"

"Yup."

"Did you wrap it in paper towel and put it in the microwave for 5 minutes on each side?"

"Yup."

"And you used an actual Spaghetti Squash right?"

"Wait. What do you mean?"

"You have to buy the actual squash called Spaghetti Squash?"

"You mean you can't just do this on any old squash?!"

"NO!!!" Here's where Jen erupted in laughter.

"Wait. It's actually called spaghetti squash?"

"YES! AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAAHAH!!!"

"Well I didn't know that all squashes weren't created equal!"

I'm pretty sure that the squash I tried this on was of the Butternut variety. Poor thing. Never saw it coming.

I doubt that the Shaw's in Dorchester sells fancy Spaghetti Squash and I'm not schlepping it up to Trader Joe's in Brookline so I guess I'll just have to wait it out to attempt Spaghetti Squash Part 2.

Oh and were you wondering what happened to that roasted chicken I bought?

Funny you should ask!

Last night I decided that I'd prepare the roasted chicken for my sister since it's her favorite dish. Now I do a lot of things. Preparing a roasted chicken is not on my resume.

*ring* *ring*

"Hello?"

"Mom, it's me."

"Oh, hi sweetie. You ready to cook the chicken?"

"Ya. This thing is freaking me out. What do I do?"  I didn't realize you could like see the part of the neck where they had chopped the head off. Blech.

"Ok. First you have to wash it off.."

As I lifted chicken little from the platter it started to drip juices out of its back door orifice.

"OMGEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!"

"What?!"

"It's leaking! Oh ewwwwwwwwwwwwww. Mom it's like leaking juice from it's hole."

This is where The Donna erupted in laughter.

"Ok now rub some olive oil on it..."

I rubbed on I Can't Believe It's Not Butter.

"...Add some salt and pepper and put it in the oven at 350 degrees for an hour and a half."

"But it doesn't have one of those pop up things. How do I know it's done?"

"Check the legs. If the legs are done the entire thing will be done."

"Ok." I started to put the salt and pepper on it and then thought what I'd name the chicken. I liked Alastair.

I came to the back of Alastair when I noticed some paper sticking out.

"Mom he's got a piece of paper in his butt...OH MY GOD!!!!!!AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"

I had forgotten about the gizzards.

"OMG! OMG! This is so gross! ewwwwwwwww." 

"Lisa just pull it out."

I grabbed the trash can and put it up next to the counter. With a little tug,the gizzards came soaring out and landed in the trash with a muted thud.

"Oh God. That was heinous."

My mother had recovered from laughing and asked if I was OK. I thanked her for her moral support and hung up.

For my first roasted chicken it ended up being pretty good! Although I didn't know how to cut it so Alastair looked like he'd been through a wood chipper and back but tasty none the less!

The first Random Ramblings of 2008

I need a vacation. It's not even 3pm on Tuesday and already this is the longest week of my life. Meh. Just had to get that out of the way.

Without further adieu, I present to you the first Random Ramblings blog of 2008.

• I went to 7-Eleven today for water and walked out $50 poor-er. Who in their right mind goes into 7-Eleven and spends FIFTY DOLLARS!!??? What is wrong with me? When the guy motioned to the screen to inform me of my total (he couldn't verbalize it, well, because he doesn't speak English) my eyes bugged out of my head. What on earth could I have forked over a Ulysses S. Grant on?! I looked at the smattering of things on the counter and took inventory: a book of stamps, about twelve magazines (when was I EVER going to read all of them?), a variety of snacks: mini pizza combos (why am I getting these?) a bag of M&M's (what is wrong with me?), a package of SHOCKER candy for LK because it was funny. I giggled in the aisle because I'm an 18 year old boy. I punched in my debit PIN number and collected my SWAG. I had to get out of there before I decided to become a franchisee.
• Not that it's a shocker based on the above bullet but I'm stress eating. I'm so mind numbingly stressed out at work that when I get frustrated I just tear open a 100 calorie pack and lose myself in the mini packages of Chex Mix. (I know. A 100 calorie pack...I am SUCH a renegade.) But for real. I've already had one package of 100 calorie TWIX, a Fage yogurt with added honey and sugar (the point of yogurt is to be healthy, hot to douse it in lard), and for lunch was a DELISH seafood salad on a roll. Mind you the rolls were mini but the calorie intake of the salad was not.
• Since I'm on a calorie kick I figure I'd do a little Heart Attack PSA. Were you guys aware that the Simply Asia Pad Thai is basically a clogged artery in a box? I'm not entirely sure why I purchased this. I think I blacked out at Shaw's and just threw it into my basket. Either that or I had a hankering for the stuff since I'd been depriving myself for so long. In any case, I grabbed a package of the microwavable stuff and tossed it on my cart. Later I brought it to work with the rest of my "food to bring to work bag." So today, LK was lamenting about how she had no food and I was all smug because I had my microwavable Pad Thai. I tore open the box and was about to add the water when I decided to check the nutritional info. SIX HUNDRED AND SIXTY CALORIES!? NINE GRAMS OF FAT...??!!! I threw the microwaveable pad thai to the side and walked to Foodies with LK.
• Totally random (well this is random ramblings is it not??) in my craziness of just writing about the Simply Asia calories I wanted to find out how much a Big Mac has. I'm not entirely sure why since I've never even had a Big Mac, but for the FYI of it all. 540 calories with 29 grams of fat in case you were curious. Then I scrolled down to see how much a chocolate shake is because sometimes, on very very rare occasions I'll stop at McyD's and get a small one. Um. The Supersized shake has...ONE THOUSAND ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY CALORIES. Can you even imagine?! That is legit your daily intake. If you were to ingest one of those and NOT puke you basically leave room to have broth for the rest of the day.
• Did you guys know that my grandfather Brefini assisted in the development of the microwave? True Story. He was a chef and he collaborated with the Raytheon Corporation on perfecting the gizmo for food preparation.
• I'm going to see a psychic tomorrow with LK. I've never been to one and I'm so uber excited. I hope she has all sorts of insight as to where my life is going and when it will eventually start. In reality I'm totally expecting to just spend $36 dollars for her to tell me that I live "near water" and am an "outgoing person" who will "marry well".
• I'm on the hunt for a good pair of cowboy boots. Not because I'm a cowgirl or own a 10-gallon hat, I just really like the look of them with jeans. If you know of any that are 1.) stylish and 2.) not a million dollars holler at [email protected]

Well that's about it. Currently I'm discussing with LK about her "See ya later" party on February 16th. Oh and did you know, dear reader, that you can be a friend of YGIU on myspace? (Yeah I'm not on the Facebook wagon yet. It confuses the shit out of me and I really don't need another thing to be addicted to.) So if you want to stalk YGIU on myspace then go to your myspace account and look me up by [email protected] email addy and add me to your friends list! Oh and subscribe to my Myspace blog and you'll know immediately when I post.

Happy Hump Day Eve!!

Xx

The aftermath of a facial

I had a facial this morning. I received a gift certificate to Bella Sante about a year ago and I figured now was as good a time as any to cash in. I booked an 80 minute AHA facial with Jill and I was oh so pumped. My skin was incredibly dehydrated and while it was blemish free to the naked eye it was time for some serious muscle to have a gander.

I highly recommend Jill if you need to book a facial there. She was wonderful, gave a mean foot massage and didn't try to chat me up which I like. Especially at 10a.m. on a Saturday morning before my coffee kicked in.  When Jill announced that we were "all done" my heart sank because I didn't want to move. I was nestled in my cocoon of comfy-ness and was content to lie there all day and into Sunday. But finally I made a move. I was woozy at first due to sheer fact that relaxation had settled into every poor and crevasse of my body. I smiled and took the cucumber water that Jill had waiting for me, padded softly into the women's locker room, changed, paid and was out the door.

It was a lovely, chilly Saturday morning. I felt like my body and soul had been rubbed and scrubbed away of the toxins that had accumulated during the week. I decided to hit the Starbucks on the corner of Berkley and Boylston for a latte. A line. No matter. The nice guy behind the register smiled at me and took my order. I tipped him a dollar. As I made my way to the waiting area and as I inched down I read a funny message I received on my Blackberry. I smiled and gave a chuckle when all of a sudden I felt something wet hit my forehead.

What the...?

"Sorry."

I looked up and the Barista behind the counter was apologizing to me and two other girls. She didn't look sorry, but I still had no idea what happened until I looked at the girl behind me. She was completely covered in coffee splatters.

I pawed at myself surveying the damage, sort of like what someone does when then think they've been shot. It was then I realized that I had coffee in my hair, on my glasses, on my coat, on my Louis Vuitton. What the hell did this girl do? Just take a cup of coffee and throw it at us?

I was annoyed. My bliss bubble had broken and now I wanted my coffee and to get the hell our of this now overly crowded Starbucks.

The Coffee-hurling Barista seemed to hand everyone their drinks but me. Two old people who were making out behind me in line got their earthy Chais before I got my latte. Some girl even got her breakfast sandwich in the time it took me to get my measly drink. Finally I spotted LISA written in green Sharpie on a Grande cup. I watched her pour non-fat milk into the cup and before she could call out what she was placing on the table I shouted, "RIGHT HERE! THAT'S MINE."

Apparently my shouting out that she was holding my $4 coffee was way worse and far more offending than her squirting coffee on me because she gave me a disgusted look and pretty much shoved the cup at me.

As I exited, the bum standing right at the door asked me for money. I passed him by, to which he shouted, "ENJOY YOUR  BREAKFAST!!!"

I made my way back to the South End where Susi was parked, via Clarendon Street. As I walked by the back end of the John Hancock building out of the corner of my eye I saw something pink wizz by. It was a little girl looking to be about 5 on a manual scooter. Uuuuh....did this child belong to someone or is this what parents do now? Let their kids run amok through Boston on scooters? I turned around and about twenty yards back was a woman teetering on about four inch heels waving to the little girl.

Nice shoe choice to wear when your child is on a scooter and could possibly scoot right into on-coming traffic.

As I continued my walk back to the South End the little girl decided that she'd keep pace with me. For three blocks she scooted next to me with about five inches between us. Wow. Not annoying at all. I shot the little girl dirty looks but they were completely lost on her. She just smiled back. The mother was useless. At this point she was on her cell phone speaking Hebrew or something and barely paying attention to her daughter let alone me. I had to get away from them. I was standing at a cross walk with the no walk sign. There was a slight gap in traffic so I made a break for it. I ran (and I don't run) across four lanes of traffic to escape the little scooter girl in the pink jacket.

The next series of events do not include any scooters but they are just as entertaining:

• Me stepping to avoid a large patch of ice and landing in a pile of dog shit. Granted it was only the toe that landed in it but still. Pick up after your dogs people!
• A Back Bay girl coming out of Aquitaine on Tremont, looking at me muttering to her friend, "UGH. I'm so SICK of seeing Louis Vuitton bags everywhere."  If she wasn't carrying a sick ass Kooba bag I might have been offended.
• I waited to cross Washington Street to get to the other side. A car slowed down to let me go. As I was mid-cross walk the car sped up I yelled, "WHAT THE FUCK DUDE!?" and the car slowed down again. But not without giving me a confused look.

I finally made it back to my office where I am right now. Working. On a Saturday. But it's fine. At least my skin looks amazing!!!

An open letter of apology to JSlutt.

Many blogs ago, you guys may remember reading this one about how I was having a little pity party for myself and how I don't do it often but when I do, I just need to be.

Well my pity partyslashself imposed depression lasted about a month. I was just sad about being single and a bad date that I went on didn't improve my mood. Work was stressful and I hate my arms. All that put together resulted in a Lisa that was not very cheery. And usually I have sunshine coming out of my ass. I mean guys am I right??

Anyway, so about a week before Christmas our boss took us all out to lunch. The conversation, which took place over a not too appetizing "Chinese food" spread, meandered to the movie Atonement. Back in the day JSlutt and I used to be movie buddies. So she said to me, "I really want to see that. You and I should go on a movie date."

I was deep into feeling sorry for myself so I replied, "Um. Thanks. But I don't need your pity date."

OK. Fine, beastly. But good God give a girl a break. Doesn't everyone get depressed around Christmas?

With that being said...

Dear JSlutt,

I am sorry for beasting out on you. Let's go to the movies and never talk about this again.

Love,
Leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees
Xx

Monday's Random Ramblings

Champions do it with their Sox on

Usually I hate Mondays. HOWEVA, this particular Monday is not too shabby. Why? Because on this morning when I peeled myself out of my bed at 7:15a.m. The Red Sox were World Series Champions.

OMGEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE HOLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HEEEEELLL YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!

It's good to be a sports fan in Boston. Varitek and his thighs came through and swept the rubble formerly known as the Colorado Rockies under a thread bare carpet, and not a half hour before the start of Game 4, the Patriots positively tomahawked the Redskins in a 52-7 blowout. I'm pretty much drooling just thinking about it.

The fact that the Red Sox won their second World Series in four years is amazing. But I'm not going to sugar coat it. I'm glad it's over. I don't know how many more 2 a.m.-er nights I could do. Or how many more Washington Apple shots I could stomach. Or how many passes by the L Street Tavern doorman I could laugh off. (Although he is a nice guy.) I'm just happy that I didn't have to wait 86 years to see another World Series.

Dead Sexy

Well as you all know from my awkward gym story I posted last week, I joined the BSC in the South End across from our new office. I started things off with a bang and went the next morning to work my muscles.

As I was getting in my car, preparing to head to another day of work, I happened to glance to my left and saw this atrocity:

No no. It's not a mirage. I mean unless Toyota Corollas are starting to sell their vehicles like that, someone actually did that on purpose. I mean, I've heard of vanity plates, but vanity door handles? Honestly...

Chuck Norris

Chuck Norris has some sort of cult following. Everywhere I look there are hipster kids, nerds, accountants and your mom making funny cracks about Chuck Norris. I mean I really don't get it and his beard makes me nervous but whatever. Everyone has their thing. My thing is coffee. I understand. But were you aware that Chuck Norris and all of his Chuck Norrisness has gone International.

Last week I was sitting in the office I share with LK. She was out of town so I was pimping around like I owned the place. There were two Russian guys here that day helping to put up shelves that just happen to be located directly behind our office. I could hear everything the two guys were saying. I mean, granted it was ALL in Russian but I could hear noise.

I was working out some deadlines for Steiner when I hear this:

"speakingRussianspeakingRussiandadadaRussianRussianRussian CHUCK NORRISSSSS!!!"

Eruptions of laughter proceed the Chuck Norris outburst and I feel like I've just heard my college roommate having sex; you can't help but listen because they are right next to you so you sit there all awkward.

The Russian speaking continued. I continued to work out the deadlines for Steiner.

"RussianRussianRussianRussianRussiandadada....CHUCK NORRIS!"

It really was one of those times that you wish someone, anyone, even someone you don't like, was there to witness it with you. And whenever I retold that story someone always asked, "What do you think they were talking about?" Uuuhhhh...Kathy Bates..?

CHUCK NORRIS came in handy this past weekend. We would yell "GO RED SOX...CHUCK NORRISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!" Then we'd do our Papelbon bon bon bon bon bon bon dance. It's a pretty amazing dance btdubbs. Too bad you'll have to wait until next year to see it.

Friday Random Ramblings

Oh I'm pumped it's Friday. Every Monday I'm like "Mer it's Monday." But in the back of my brain I know it's OK because after the various packaging dilemmas, I know that the weekend is right around the corner.

It's been a random one so far. Here are the Friday random ramblings:

Nice Melons

Around 11:30 this morning I pimped over to Bailey's Coffee Shoppe on East Broadway to partake in my third cup of the day. I got my small Snickerdoodle, cream no sugar with a smiley face on the cover :) and then made my way back to The Rollerskate. As I did so, a guy was rummaging around in the backseat of his Pathfinder. He was average height, built like a brick shit house and had tattoos all over his calves and arms. I figured he was looking for a lost dumbbell. As I went to cross the street I looked back; he had made it out of the car and in each hand he was carrying a Honeydew Melon. I couldn't help it. I said to him, "Hey. Nice melons." He laughed and goes, "Thanks. Yours aren't so bad either." Then he threw them in the trash.

Radarrrrrrrrrrrr

I do love me a good magazine. There's nothing I enjoy more than hitting the beach (or my couch during the winter) and hunkering down with a copy of Vogue (when it gets delivered to me that is)or a nice juicy US Weekly. I used to be a big book worm. I would drop significant amounts of cash at Barnes & Nobel on books that I promised myself I'd read back to back to back to back to back. Looking back I just think books were just another "issue" I had with shopping.

Anyway so I was in the burbs on Wednesday getting my hair did and for being a burby hair salon their magazine wall was quite impressive. They had this month's Bazaar and the new OK!, all of the rag mags and the new In Style. A gift from heaven. Then I zoned in on a magazine that had a picture of Posh and Becks on the cover. Always one to want to keep up on the gossip, I picked up this magazine entitled Radar and began reading it. Now let me just say this, it was my first time visiting this salon and I'm almost positive I freaked everyone out. As I sat in the chair, laughing hysterically to myself with hair coloring goop piled on top of my head in a haphazard bun, I couldn't help but notice the raised eye brows coming from my fellow salon mates. I didn't care though. I think I'm the last person on earth to hear about this magazine, but I feel like it is my duty to pass along the knowledge. Check out Radar Online. Pay close attention to The Hype Report. You'll totally be nodding your head in agreement re: their portion on Sex With Virgins.

The Red Sox

The amount of TUMS I need to take to watch a Red Sox game is not normal. I feel like a piece of chalk. WTF are they doing!!!!???? Why are they looooooooosingggggggggggggggggaaaaa!? All they have to do is win one more game! ONE. MORE. GAME!!! How hard is that? And the Spankees just have to lose. Then we clinch the division! No wild card games! Just a straight shot to the ALDS. I don't understand why they always have to give me such agida. Just win for Christ Sake!

Birthday Etiquette

I am a birthday Grinch, but I do believe that when you agree to go out in celebration of someone's entry into this world, then you should expect to pay for them to some extent. I guess some people still have a hard time with this concept because for some reason there is always a hullabaloo about the bill when it comes. I hate being "that person" but whenever I go out for someone's bday I put my stuff and some of their drinks or whatever on my own tab. That plus the fact that I never have cash on me.

Blast off!

I ended my gym membership to the Boston Athletic Center back in June. I was rarely going because working out around Castle Island is a much more pleasant option. Plus the exorbitant membership fees were not worth the stuffy atmosphere and the jacked up beef cakes who checked out their reflections while nursing their sick pythons. So I breezed in, canceled with Seth and went on my merry way. Well wouldn't you know, every Friday since then I have received an email blast.

COME RUN A MARATHON WITH THE BAC RUNNING CLASS! (psssha! I only run from danger)
BOOT CAMP CLASSES ADDED TO MONDAY MORNINGS!! (the words "boot camp" and "Monday mornings" should never, ever, be used in the same sentence. *shudder*)
TENNIS TIPS! (tennis makes me nervous)

Considering I only ever used the BAC for cardio and weights and the occasional attempt at running (yikes) you can guess that the email blasts did not cater to me. And I'm also no longer a member. So after every blast I email customer service and ask them to remove me. Well after three months of asking this former gym go-er is telling them. I asked the BAC to "remove me from their mailing list or I will call the Better Business Bureau." Yes it's extreme and I probably would never do that because I have too much DVR to watch but honestly! I work in an industry that sends out email blasts and we take un-subscribes very seriously.

I love the 80's (said in a sing-songy robot voice)

Me and the HLP are going to the Pavilion to see Heart tonight. Hollerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!! I, for one, am so excited to end my work week belting out "Alone" and "All I wanna do is make loooove to yooooou" at the top of my lungs. What would make this night perfect would be for Journey to make a surprise appearance. *GAH*!

I have to go pack some tubes. Have a good weekend.

Weekend Observations: A Random Ramblings Blog

I hope everyone is enjoying their Monday back to reality. Personally for me, Hell is wonderful this time of year. (Merrrrr.....) But for those of us who are 9-5ers, the one thing we can always look forward to is the weekend. The sweet relief of the weekend. (Unless of course you have a crazy beast boss who makes you come in and work your ass ragged Saturday and Sunday. But if you have a normal boss, please....read on!)

Beginning

In any case my weekend started off with a bang. Or a droplet of sweat I should say. JSutt and MG had a very grown up, very fun wine/house warming party at their new apartment. It was so totally fun and the booze were flowing, well they were flowing like wine! However the temperature in the apartment would have given the equator a run for it's money.

I got a text from JSutt as I was leaving my apartment "CAN YOU BRING A FAN IF YOU HAVE ONE!" As it happened I did have one so I snatched it up and off me, HLP and Slut went. We arrived at JSutt's and as HLP and Slut grabbed the booze. I had the fan in both arms and carried it diligently down Harvard Street as various co-eds stumbled past me with Kegs. I felt like Baby in Dirty Dancing when she carries that G-damn watermelon. Anyway we arrived at the landing of their apartment. The hot breath and steamy insides from the kitchen bore down on us. It felt like 27 German Shepherds were taking turns panting on me. I glanced down at my Vornado fan and couldn't see how, at all this would help the situation. As I thought this, a bead of sweat from my brow landed with a "plunk" on the top.

We entered into the kitchen and were met by equally sweaty bodies. This made everything OK. Although instead of fans she should have told everyone to bring their very own Whitney Sweat rags.

I made the rounds and said HI to people I liked. Then I made my way over to the "bar" area. As I was pouring myself a goblet of Riesling a Dood sidled up to me.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"What's up?"

"Um. Nothing."

Dood looked me up and down with a smile on his face. He inched closer.

"So. How long you been here?"

"I don't know. Like a half hour?"

Dood raised his eye brows and goes, "Humph....well then. In that case, you're worse off than I am in the sweat department!"

"Wh-WHAT?"

"Sweaty!!! What's up Sweaty!!" He started shouting and went to high-five me.

Now. It has to be said that this guy looked like he has just taken a dunk in a pool. And he was calling me Sweaty McSweaterson's?! Is that how he picks up girls?

I laughed it off and went over to my friends who all offered to fight him. It was sweet really.

Middle

The party train continued into Saturday afternoon. I headed to our family friend's house. See where I grew up it was a tight-knit neighborhood. All the kids were the same age. The parents all liked to drink. It was kind of like paradise in a way. So every summer all of the dads would get together and play golf. Then we'd all come back to the Parker's house and swim, eat and booze it up until like 3 in the morning.

So the Parker's moved to Lakeville. It's the same party just different geography. That and everyone pretty much has kids now. Except Shana and I.

Towards the middle of the party, Shana and I were sitting at the edge of the pool, feet in water, trying to cool off. Mark, the youngest Parker decided to do a cannon ball and soak Shana and I. The only two dressed for a party, not pimping around in our bathing suits. So needless to say I walked around the entire time with wet underwear and a shirt that refused to dry. The only saving grace of the entire thing that Mrs. Tilley made 10 pounds of her famous potato salad. Seriously amazing.

End

I headed down to The Cape after Lakeville. Shana was in Norton hanging out with a long time friend so I had the rental units all to myself and surprisingly they behaved themselves! Well sort of. Read on.

On Saturday evening our very white trash neighbors across the way had a little get together. I'm sure, by the way they act, there was a pig roast involved and lots of mullets. Anyway there were about seventy-five children at this party and the parents seem to think that they don't have to watch the kids and just let them run amok. And by run amok I mean hooting and hollering at 4:30am on Sunday morning, running up and down their street popping wheelies on their stupid bike ramp.

I was sort of woken up by the commotion but I can sleep through a bear attack so I passed right back out.

For now I'm going to leave the story of the white trashy neighbors, but we'll come back to them.

So I'm at the beach soaking up mad rays. And I have to ask, What is it about people sitting RIGHT NEXT TO YOU when there is an entire beach to be inhabited?! Honestly. I was minding my own business reading Harry Potter when these two young 20 looking guys sat literally RIGHT behind me. Seriously right behind me to the fact that when I went to recline my beach chair it hit one of the guys feet.

"Oh...uh sorry," he said and sort of shimmied away.

I whipped around and glared at him. Then in a huff moved my chair away and told my mom how annoying people are. Not dramatic at all.

When I was finally settled with my back to the dunes and an expression on my face that said "Do not come near me," I observed the family of four in front of us. A man, a woman and twin boys around the age of 8. The boys were good kids. Rarely spoke and when they did they were very polite. The two adults were horrifying. The guy (who had a mustache, a Chevy Truck hat on and wearing a Coors Lite bathing suit) took a bunch of grapes and fed them to the woman all Ancient Roman times.

Gross.

Then he got on the phone and immediately heard his hick-like drawl (NOT that everyone with a drawl is a hick or stupid. But this guy was. So I can say it.)

"What's up buddy....yeah yeah I'm still here. Yeah yeah...I'm leaving around 3 which should get me home around 8 or 9 tonight....I know right! Well I'll have to get to the shop early tomorrow...Whoah what's the matter with you? Oh yeah...well what's up? Did you not get any last night? She not putting out?"

Honestly. Ew.

Fast forward four hours.

I'm standing in front of my car getting ready to head off Cape. I'm saying goodbye to my mom and Dad when my mom goes, "OH! There's the bike ramp!" And she takes off down the drive way. My eyes dart to where the offensive bike ramp is lying on its side. The Donna leans down, grabs it and then sprints back to where my dad and I are standing.

"Um...mom?"

"What?!"

"What are you doing?"

My dad is standing there with his head in his hands.

"This is going to the dump!" The Donna exclaims as she throws it against my dads truck.

"Ooooh no! No. No. No. I'm not having any part of this Donna." My mother had stolen a bike ramp.

"Mom. You do realize that they will just go and get one that is bigger and louder right?"

"I don't care." I could barely hear her over the *THUNK* of the bike ramp hitting the bed of my father's truck.

Happy Monday everyone.