Your Girlfriend is Ugly

My worst nightmare.

This past weekend I spent time at our Cape house with my family relaxing, eating great food and doing some major shopping damage. My sister was home for the weekend so it was a nice opportunity to recharge our batteries.

On Saturday evening we went to our favorite restaurant in Osterville called Wimpy's. It's family owned and we've been going there for years. Plus we've become good friends with two of the waitresses Catherine and Tricia.

That particular evening  we were lucky enough to have Catherine as our server. She's Irish and can take a joke. Plus she always makes sure there's a nice big healthy pour in my wine glass.

Three-quarters of the way through the meal and three rounds of drinks in, a family seated a few tables down started to sing. I spotted four children; three girls and a boy. One of the girls was of toddler looking age. She had a pacifier in her mouth and didn't look like she could pee in the bathroom yet. That's a toddler right? Anyway this supposed toddler was having a hissy fit so the family was serenading "The Wheels On The Bus" to her.

This is my worst nightmare come to life. I don't like children. They make me nervous and they are dirty and they are so chatty. Like Jesus! The sky is just blue OK?!

Right in the middle of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" Catherine came over to see how we were doing.

I gestured my head towards the singing family and said to her, "Think they'll sing us a song?"

"Well let's see about that." And off Catherine went...to the table where the singing family was seated. To ask them if they'd sing to us.

You've got to be kidding me.

I heard her say, "That nice lady right there wants to hear a song from you." Catherine was talking to the little boy who had chocolate caked on his face and her finger was aimed right at me.

Oh God.

After some hemming and hawing the mother wrangled her brood and brought them over to where we were sitting.

I was horrified.

"Ok guys. Ya ready???"

I glanced at my phone. It was 8:15. Shouldn't children be in bed by now? Not out singing to strangers?! 

"The Wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round. The Wheels on the bus go round and round. All through town. The windows on the bus go up and down, up and down, up and down. The windows on the bus go up and down all though towwwwwn."

Ok fine it was cute. I decided to give them a standing O "YAAAAAAAAAY! Oh how wonder-"

"The driver on the bus goes sit right down. Sit right down. Sit right down. The driver on the bus..."

"....ful...UGH!!!!"

"....goes sit right down. Aaaaaal throooooooooough tooooooooooooooooooooown."

CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP. "Great job you guys!"

"The mother on the bus shoes shhh shhh shhhh, shhh shhh shhh...."

You've. Got. To. Be. Shitting. Me. Who else is on this Gdamn bus!!!??? If there is a field trip on this bus I'm killing myself with this butter knife.

"....The mother on the bus goes shhh shh shhhh alll through tooooooooown."

I held my breath, pleading to the baby Jesus that there would be no more verses of The Wheels on the Bus. He answered my prayers. But then we had to clap and catch the air kisses given to us by the little toddler child.

If Jack Bauer ever needs to resort to extreme torture to get information out of someone I recommend The Wheels on the Bus.  

Weird

I was looking at my calendar a couple of days ago trying to plan out the upcoming weekend, when I realized that this Saturday the 15th is the date of The Wedding.

If you're not sure what I'm referring to then read MOH Update before you go any further into this blog.

"Holy Shit," I said to myself.

The fact that I would've been the Maid of Honor in a wedding this weekend, had things turned out differently, kind of blew my mind. I wondered how it all would've gone down:How would I have managed everything with the insane travel schedule I had this past summer and fall? Would I have been able to plan a shower? A Bachelorette party? Would I have be able to lose the 10 lbs I needed for the dress? (Since the dress was my motivation the 10lbs are still attached to my hips). And more importantly, had I let the whole situation go, would I have secured a Plus One?

It's a situation I think about, not out of guilt but out of curiosity.

Since everything went down I haven't heard from the bride. This past summer I emailed her a quick FYI to inform her that one of our mutual friends fathers had passed. She couldn't even email me back a thank you. But I know I haven't heard the last of her. I'm sure I'll hear from her 2, maybe 3 or 4 years down the road. Maybe she'll call but I'm betting on a hand-written note since we all know how good she is at those.

Farewell

I had a good time in college. I lived in a prime apartment in the city with two guys and another girl. I was nineteen and never without liquor because either Tony Bologna or Stu would buy for me. We partied every night and there were always crazy shenanigans happening on our roof which looked into the Prudential Center. But that's what college is all about right? Hooking up with too many guys and drinking too many nips of Puckers.

I tried to relive my glory days when I moved to Southie four years ago. I was partying every weekend and drinking like it was my job. I even passed out in my friends bath tub and later on that night eventually puked pink stuff all over the street. Too much red wine and special brownies. 

Then there comes a point when you enter your mid-twenties that you say to yourself, "I can't drink like that any more." Don't get me wrong. I'll enjoy the bottle of red wine all to myself and I'm all for grabbing drinks after work. But gone are the days when I wake up at 7am on St. Patty's day and drink until midnight.

However, my responsible drinking self was shoved aside on Saturday for my Last Hurrah in Southie. I am moving out of the neighborhood that I've called home for the past four years and I wanted to remember the evening. Remember I did...until 6pm the following night.

Hooker made it a point to come up from NYC for the weekend so she could see me off in style. She used to live in the neighborhood and she was also my drinking buddy when she lived in Boston so it was totally fitting that she made it a point to be here.

At 5pm I cracked open a Stella and started to get ready for the evening. By 7pm I was totally buzzed and decided it was a good idea to pop open the bottle of Vueve Cliquot that was burning a hole in my fridge. The Ukrainian Princess had joined us by this time so the three of us bopped around my apartment sipping Vueve and applying eye liner.

By 9pm everyone had arrived at my place and I was reliving the Stairwell Story compliments of Iggy and Hooker. I don't know why those two feel the need to always retell it. Oh I know why. BECAUSE IT'S THE BEST STORY EV-ER.

The entire group of us made our way to the L Street Tavern around 10pm and the place was bumping. By this time I was totally buzzed and kept telling the random wicked drunk guy that my (sober) friend Rose liked him. This made him stand really close to her and rub up against her.

"YA FUCKIN' DEAD!" She shouted to me from across the bar as I collapsed in giggles. 

One thing you should know about me when I get drunk is that I ALWAYS want to do shots. It's like a relax or a gift from God or something. Saturday night was no different. I turned to my friends Jessie and T and told them I wanted to do a shot. 

"ANNNYFRING BUT JAEGAH MMKAY? I'LL BAHF IF WE DO JAEGAH."

"Irish Car Bomb?"

"What's that? I nevah done one."

"It's delicious."

"Ok. BAHTENDAH! THREE IRISH CAH BOMBS!!!!"

You should also know that when I get drunk my Boston accent comes out full force.

I pounded that Irish Car Bomb and after licking the Bailey's from my thumb proclaimed the Bahtendah to BRING ME ANOTHA!

"Leeeees....." JSutt had sidled up to my left, "Ok Leees. So you just did an Irish Car Bomb. Maybe you should wait 15 mins. If you want another one then come back and get one ok?"

"K." And with that I slithered off my stool and went outside to get some air.

During all of this drinking and debauchery I decided to undress Jhilll's fiancee Dave. I don't know what it is about Dave but whenever I'm drunk around him I feel the need to either take his clothes off or breath heavily near him. It's a wonder he even still talks to me. In between Irish Car Bombs -yes I did another one- I started to chat up this guy in a striped sweater. He walked by me and I just gave him a nod and said "HEY."

"Hey. How are you?"

"I'm good. You look like Pacey from Dawson's Creek."

"Really??? No one's ever told me that before!"

"Well you do."

We talked a little more but I had the attention span of a gnat and he eventually got sick of  me and walked to the other end of the bar. By 12:30 I had a revelation that we had to leave L Street immediately and head to Murphy's Law, the dive bar down the street that's open super late. I don't know why I felt the need to leave. L Street was bumping and Pacey and I were making bar eyes. I passed him on the way out and he asked where I was going.

"Murphy's."

"Why? It's so shady!"

"Yeah but it's open late!"

"So is my apartment."

I was too drunk to process this. "Mmmmkay byeeeee."

Hooker asked me later why I didn't get my boyfriends number. I told her I had two Irish Car Bombs. 'Nuff said.

Murphy's was filled with the usual clowns. One guy in a Patriot's hoodie kept telling us his friend was going to whip it out for us. Another guy with the smallest head I've ever seen started talking to Jessie and some guy named Dave kept grabbing my nose and saying, "HA! GOT IT!"

The nose grabbing thing was new to me. The threat to whip out a penis, unfortunately was not.

Saturday night was one of those great nights where everyone is in a good mood, the crowd is cool, the vibe is chill and even though you drink like you're going to the chair you don't hurl. That last point is the difference between grown up drinking and college drinking. When I was 20 I totes would've ralphed -totally the best synonym for puking Chris-.

Effing the Flu Shot.

'Tis the season for dripping noses, whopping coughs and using up those sick days. Flu Season is upon us. It's looming on the horizon like a cumulonimbus cloud. And with Flu Season comes the Flu Shot.

I myself have never had a flu shot in my adult life. Sure I was pinned down and injected when I was a small child but since I've been old enough to make my own decisions I've declined the flu shot every time. Why? I've never had the flu.

I know. Apparently the idea that getting the flu shot gives you the flu is bogus. But I will tell you that neither my father or myself have had flu shots recently and we've never been sick -knock on wood-.

I was checking out Slut's brother's Facebook page and his update was "had a bad reaction to the flu shot." Then I learned yesterday that HLP had to go home on Monday because she had a bad reaction to this seasons flu shot.

I'm seeing a trend that I'm not quite comfortable with. Like boyfriend jeans.

Two years ago I went to the doctor for a Sarcoidosis check up -in remission *woot*- and the lung specialist was telling me how important it is for me to get the flu shot.

"Yeah. I'm good."

"Why don't you want it?"

"I've never had the flu."

"You know that's just an old wives tale. It's not true. You don't get the flu from a flu shot."

"Ok. I'll take my chances. Everyone I know gets sick after."

"But it's not true!" He was starting to get pissed. His stethoscope was all shaky. Maybe he had to meet a flu shot quota for the day? Who knows!

All I know is that currently I know two people who have had really bad reactions to the shot and no matter how badly I may need a day off, I'm not going to risk it. If it's going to happen I'll let it come naturally.

Bring it Flu!

Crying in a corner with a mouth full of cavities.

I had a dentist appointment yesterday. In preparation for all dentist appointments I usually brush twice, floss, use anti-cavity mouthwash and don't eat or drink for 3 hours prior to the appointment. Actually this is my daily routine anyway. I realize it sounds slightly over the top but in the past 5 years I have developed a crippling fear of having any cavities filled. 

It's actually kind of embarrassing. 

I've been going to this dentist since I was able to go to the dentist. When I was a kid and had to have my teeth drilled, I'm not saying I welcomed it but I was comforted by the laughy fun gas and just concentrated on being high instead of the drill digging into my molar. Then, a few years ago I had a routine appointment and Doc informed me that I had some decay in between two teeth and they'd need to drill. 

Suddenly I started to have a panic attack. I couldn't breathe and tears poured out of my eyes like a broken faucet. Doc and the dental assistant stared at my mascara stained face in shock. 

"Uh...er....open please." 

I cried through the entire procedure. Which in retrospect probably made the process even worse. 

Ever since then I buy floss in bulk. I've been virtually cavity free since that incident with a few missteps here and there which have been dually accompanied by rivers of tears. And whenever Doc comes to examine my X-rays and tells me that I have some spots to watch I start to well up. Oh, and I did get weepy when he told me I had to get a night guard because I clench my jaw at night resulting in cracked teeth. 

So yesterday I went into the dentist's office all prepared to be in and out in 30 minutes. The woman who cleaned my teeth looked like Magda and apparently hadn't cleaned my teeth personally since 1993. She told me I take good care of my choppers and asked me if I was a regular flosser.

"Uh huh."

Then the X-ray portion of the day came. I was relatively calm. Fifteen minutes went by and after Magda had finished slicing my gums up with her razor floss she came back with the X-rays.

Then she let out a low whistle. "Oh.....oooooofffffff......"

 

I twisted my head around, "What?! What is it?????"

"Lisa. Did you ever have braces?"

"No. My teeth are naturally this straight." It's true. I have amazingly straight teeth and never had a brace on this face. "Why?"

"Well you're developing some decay in between and..."

That was all I needed to hear. I started to breath heavy and sweat. I was like this when Doc came in. It has to be said that Doc looks like the man from the Curious George books

"Hi Lisa. How ah you?"

"Fine."

Then Doc and Magda observed my X-rays and in between low mummers I could here, "T6, 40, 38, 5, no no...4....and 5 I suppose."

Doc came over and sat down next to me. "So you have some cavities. And they are at the point now that we have to fill them. We could wait until your next appointment in 6 months but I'd rather not."

Doc  paused and I took this opportunity to burst into tears.

"Ok. Can you get her a tissue?"

Magda handed me the box and I covered my face with a Kleenex.

"Why does this happen to meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee?" I wailed.

"I know. It's not the type of news you wanted to hear..."

Sob. Sob. Sob. Wah. Wah. Wah.

Still covering my face with the tissue I continued to cry. "I don't  know how this happens! I brush my teeth. I floss. Do you think I need to buy new floss? I use the anti-cavity mouth wash..."

Blank stares.

"I mean I'm not a big milk drinker. I only really have it when I eat cereal because personally I think milk is gross and do you think I should be eating more apples?

"Uuuh...Ya know. S-sometimes it's just genetic."

Groundbreaking. Really sometimes doctors just have all the answers.

I peaked out from behind my tissue. "So...gulp...are we doing this today?

"Oh no. Nooooooooo no no no. We'll set up two appointments. One for the left side. One for the right side."

I sniffled a thank you to Doc and he slipped out of the door, probably pumped that he avoided any future emotional outbursts.

Magda asked me what I was afraid of. "Is it the needle? You afraid of the Novocain?"

"What?  No. I don't mind needles. I watch my blood get drawn. I actually guide the phlebotomist to the correct vein. No. It's the drilling. The sound. The thought of that little drill pecking away at my teeth."

"Oh I see. Well for your appointments definitely bring an iPod and some headphones to drown out the drill sound."

I left the dentist crestfallen but what am I going to do? Not get them filled? Dentures at 27 aren't exactly a selling point ya know?

PS. Magda did ask me if I wanted to get screened for mouth cancer as it's apparently on the rise 27% (I think it was 27%) from last year. She explained that more and more teenagers are getting the mouth cancer. I found this an odd fact and asked her at what age you should start testing. You know like for a mammogram it's around your 40's.

She looked at me through her dentist glasses and said, "Well you know, it's not longer the smoking that's causing the mouth cancer. Now it's the oral sex."

I wanted to melt into a puddle and slide off of the chair.  

Yo Yo Yoga

I say all the time that I need a hobby. My dad thinks I should join some sort of South Boston softball team to relive my glory days as High school captain. That to me is just too intimidating. I talk to Brennon all the time about needing a hobby. He actually blogged about it on Look Back In Anger.  

What would I do for a hobby? Join a book club? I'm so wishy washy with my books. Knitting club? I'd feel more secure doing that if I had a boyfriend. And forget about getting a pet. I can't even take care of plants. I needed something that would be good for my mind and body. The thought of utilizing my gym membership that I pay $75/month crossed my mind but I just hate going to the gym after work. It's such a struggle.

I was talking to JSutt  about doing Yoga and she enthusiastically encouraged me to come to a lunch-time class with her and Alyssa. So today was the day. Ladies and gentlemen I have discovered Yoga. Yeah I know. I'm a little late with this trend. Yoga was so popular like 15 years ago that it's actually come, gone, been replaced by Pilates and is now "in" again.

I loved it! I mean forget about the fact that I was totally unprepared, rolling into the studio in flowy gaucho pants, a large Dunkin's iced tea and no hair tie to tame my wild locks, but even though I had those strikes against me, I really enjoyed myself. It was my first time EVER doing Yoga so even though it was a beginners class I was slightly snervvy.

• Five minutes into the warm ups my bobby pins slid out of my bun and my hair was all in my face.
• Five and a half minutes into the class I started to rain sweat profusely.
• Ten minutes into the class I had to pause every few seconds due to the insane amount of downward facing dogs we were doing. My lack of arms strength made it extremely difficult to move from plank to DFD.
• Fifteen minutes into class I got complimented by the instructor. *woot*
• In through the nose, out through the nose
• Twenty minutes into the class I started to get a muscle spasm in my right hip. When the instructor asked if I was OK I just said "Oh yeah I just have a cramp" and continued to lift my leg, wincing. She then gently informed me that if it hurts I should stop. Dir.
• Still sweating.
• But loving it!
• Don't forget to breathe!
• With fifteen minutes left in the glass I was so drenched that when I went to grab my ankle for a Quad stretch it kept slipping from my grip.

My favorite part was the cool down. Every time the instructor told us to relax a body part (neck, eyes, tongue, face, stomach, knees) a little bit of stress melted away. I was totally into myself and feeling all Yoga-esque when all of a sudden the upstairs tenant arrived home and started to stomp around in her heels up and down the hardwood floors. The Goose-stepping made it hard to meditate and get centered and all that jazz but I'll just have to work on tuning that out for the next class in the event that Mussolini is home when I'm trying to get my Yoga on.

I'm totally picking up a yoga mat this weekend and I promise it will not lay unused in a corner like my now deflated Pilates ball.

Not letting go.

The weather in Boston is a brisk 50+ degrees today. This makes Lisa unhappy. Forget about the fact that my tan faded at Mach speed this summer but I'm not prepared for the fall shoes at all. I can't even imagine putting my tootsies into boots, heels or anything with closed toes.  

Sure I like fall clothes. Who doesn't love a nice wrap sweater or a vest over a long sleeve thermal in the hottest colors? But I like summer more. Plus I have no idea where any of my fall clothes are. They are somewhere between the three closets in my apartment, my parents Norton house and my parents Cape house. I have some hardcore rummaging to do.

And since the brrrrtastic weather came out of no where, totally sideswiping me like an avalanche on K2, I'm forced to wear jeans with tank tops and random Granpa-style sweaters to keep warm. I'm still wearing my flip flops though. When I eventually do have to part with them it will be a teary separation reminiscent of a Nicholas Sparks novel.

But I'll be wearing flips until the first snow fall. Yes I intend to be that girl.

Where's my Whitney sweat rag at?

I enjoy the heat when I am on the beach, in a bathing suit oiled down with Hawaiian Tropic SPF 4 and having the option to cool off in the Atlantic if I start to melt.

I do not enjoy the heat when I have to pimp around. I don't like sweating the second I walk out of my door and having my eye shadow crease and run down to my chin.

Not. Cute.

I attended a trade show at the Javits in NYC today. But first I had to head to the Chinese Consulate in the morning to secure my visa -btdubbs my trip got pushed back one week so I don't leave until the 17th. Guest bloggers anyone?-. Along with my coworker I squished into the consulate and waited for my number to be called. Thirteen seconds into waiting the sweat began to trickle down my back.

Oh boy. I was also wearing dark denim with a light yellow shirt. Horray for back sweat stains!

After dealing with the Chinese woman taking my info and paper work - she actually told me that she couldn't understand me because my Engrish wasn't good?!- I walked from 42nd and 12th to the Javits on 38th and 11th. Not far, but I was drenched by the time I got there.

It's so nasty! I like don't even sweat, I rain! I have my own climate for crying out loud! I didn't want to scare any vendors with my mutant like pit stains so I wore my hoodie until I could feel myself actually drying out. And it has to be said that it's not even hot out. It's sunny but a nice 75 degrees. It's not as if it's 90 with 100% humidity. There's a nice zephyr for crying out loud. Half way through the show the coolness of my shirt touched my back, sending a shiver up my spine and I knew I was in the clear.

It's one thing to pit out when you're at the gym, it is quite another when you're in a professional environment reaming someone out about pricing as a rivulet of sweat trickles from your elbow crease.

The other night, I had my friends from LA staying at my apartment. True to the random nature of New England weather it was humid and perfect for swamp ass. We were sitting at my apartment having over sized hamburgers when I took a napkin and wiped a sweat droplet from my face. Vanessa looked at me and said, "Are you crying?"

Not wanting to tell her that I was in fact perspiring in place, I passed it off as a joke and said, with mock sadness, "I'm just so happy you guys are here!!!" She laughed and I excused myself to go and blot my face.

I'm ready to become a snow bunny.

Cool as a cucumber in a bowl of hot sauce.

Right, so a couple of days ago I blogged about the amazingness of creamy peanut butter- haters, creamy rules!- and at the end of said post I explained how I'm going to France next week and will not be able to dutifully attend to the fabulosity that is The YGIU so I offered my fellow bloggers and friends the opportunity to guest blog while I was away eating fromage and visiting glass factories.

People responded, naturally, and every day that I will be away there will be someone else's story to read. I'm not entirely technologically savvy. John Barleycorn yells at me all the time because I never check my Google reader and I had a melt down because I couldn't get my TV to turn on. I'm impatient and can barely charge my Blackberry. I mean, I'm lucky I'm still breathing.

When the four folks who responded to my blog saying that they would like to guest post, I simply handed over the username and password to my typepad account and said, "Here you go! Blog away on the designated day that we've already worked out."

Apparently this is not something people do. Apparently you can just invite people to guest post on your blog. This is something that I should have known since I am a contributer to Burt Reynold's Mustache - you won't see me on there yet. I had to take down my first post due to it's work related content, but check back on August 11th! - so I know that people get invited to blog on other blogs.

Is there a trade magazine I can subscribe to or a class I can take that will make me more in tune to these types of things?

Hearing problem.

I'm having a bit of a hard time today. Not for the normal reasons, those being that I've been traveling since Tuesday and I'm tired and I think that I need a new prescription in my glasses because I've been getting mind numbing headaches. No. None of the above. I'm having a rough go of it because I can't get the NKOTB song "Summertime" out of my head.

"I think about you in the summertime (ooooOOOOOH!) and all the good times we had babe-AY!"

"It's been a few years (a few?! Try like 20) and I can't deny (ooooOOOOH!) the thought of you still makes me cra-ZAY!"

I think that NKOTB are a little old to be talking about strapless sun dresses, mini skirts and short shorts on a girl. Aren't they married? Don't they have kids?

Cool in 1990

 

Awkward and weird in 2008

 

I've been trying to get this song out of my head all week. And I succeeded! It was replaced by some slime by Paramour but then this morning as Z100 was blasting out of LK's iHome the obnoxious chorus came spilling out and into my poor ear drums. I'm one of those people who can hear a song once and immediately know all of the words (10 years of piano playing and not knowing how to read music makes your ear extremely fine tuned) so naturally when the song begins I start to sing along not even realizing what I'm doing.

It's times like these, when songs such as "Summertime"  is on the radio that I wish Reverend Shaw Moore would come to my town and ban music.