One of the many things I like about Gene is that he has a good, strong stomach. Some people, on hearing that I have just eaten a sandwich of scrambled eggs, spinach dip and tortilla chips on wheat toast, have to move away from me rapidly, but Gene just turns a little green and carries on.
Late Night
Recently we met up with Jon and Rob at Lucky 13 and enjoyed several pints of their finest. Afterward, Gene’s throat smarting from his oncoming cold and both of us stumbling a bit, the choice between going home and not going home was made much clearer when we noticed the Jack in the Box across the street. (Suburban living, y’all!) We meandered over and discovered the restaurant portion closed at ten. (Suburban living, y’all.) However, the drive-through was still open. We had no car, but Gene was undaunted. We needed french fries, and not that good kind you get from the late-night kebab shop either.
One thing I like about slightly tipsy Gene: he tends to forget that he is a big, intimidating guy with scary facial hair. So when he began wandering up and down the drive-through lane and eventually approached the next car that entered, I think in his mind it was sort of a civilized, “do you have the Grey Poupon” moment. Whereas I can only imagine how the young lady behind the wheel was taking it, especially with me standing several feet away, swathed in bulky jacket and hood and yelling “Don’t scare her! You’re scaring her!”
Anyway, in spite of my vociferous protestations, Gene convinced the driver to order for us — stopping her before she continued on to order for herself, of course. Separate checks, please. So, not only did we scare the pants off her, we cut in front of her in line.
In the end we got our food, but I walked away shaking my head. “We shouldn’t do that,” I said sternly. “They do not like it.”
“It’s Jack in the Box,” Gene said, shrugging.
I guess he’s right, really. There are certainly rules one should follow — I like thou shalt not kill; some people are into the first amendment, and so on — but you have to draw the line somewhere, and drawing it at Jack in the Box rules seems pretty safe.
I still refuse to jaywalk or cut off mattress tags, but I think I just got a little more rebellious.
Work
I’ve decided to get back to writing fiction again, because the words in my head have reached critical mass and I can’t spend all day blogging at you people, especially as I don’t remember who any of you are.
There is something very daunting about looking at that blank stretch of Word doc, and something almost equally daunting about looking back at what I’ve written before and knowing it’s all there only because I thought of it and put it there. No one has read it or commented on it or edited it or approved it or anything. It’s just there, all me, part of my brain written down.
The same holds true for Carthage, I suppose, but I don’t care so much about that.
Anyhow, back to work.
And you are…
A funny thing happened at our New Year’s party. I ran into our friend Randy in the hall, the first time I’d seen him that evening, and completely blanked on who he was. My rather panicked thought was “This face looks familiar, but I can’t possibly know anyone this handsome.” It’s astonishing what a tuxedo does to a man.
On the other hand it may not have been just the tuxedo, because this seems to be my new reaction to large gatherings of friends. I haven’t written much about our wedding, and I won’t now, but one thing that happened was that I forgot who most of you were. Just for a second, when you first came up to me, you may have noticed me gazing at you blankly like an especially dim sheep. Or, since a lot of you were on your way to the food and drink tables at that point, you may not have noticed. Anyway, after a few seconds I remembered you, and meanwhile I filled in the time with generic comments like “It’s so nice to see you! Thank you so much for coming,” which works for just about everyone, so it didn’t matter much. Still, it was weird, and I hope does not signify a future trend for me.
New Year’s Eve
At our New Year’s Eve party we discovered that the Harry Potter closet under the stairs works as a pretty good photo booth. Here you see me with some supermodels, Merrit (center) and Zina (right).
I was calling out motivations all through (“coy!” “angry!” “dead!” “sexy!”), which Merrit and I made kind of half-assed attempts to replicate. Afterwards we studied the pictures critically. “Zina,” I said, “you only have sexy face.”
“I think that’s all her face can do,” Merrit agreed. It’s true. Zina kind of walks around in sexy face all the time.
If I looked like her I would do that too, but I didn’t tell her that. “You can’t take direction for shit,” is what I lovingly said instead.
Enjoy the rest of the photos here. (Click “view slide show” on the left sidebar for a more enjoyable viewing experience.)
Mr. Gibbs
I don’t know whether you guys ever watch Robert Gibbs’ press briefings. I would guess you don’t. I like to skim the transcripts occasionally; I find it soothing to see that at least one part of the White House is a lot like it is on West Wing. Here is a small sample from yesterday’s briefing, when a spider invaded the press room:
Q: On tax cuts on this tax — how is Senator McConnell — what did you do?
Q: Killer spider —
Q: Spiderman. (Laughter.)
Q: So I want to just follow up on Bill’s —
MR. GIBBS: Let me know if there’s a bigger one behind it. (Laughter.)
Q: So nothing about what the Senate Republicans did today punctures the happy talk from yesterday?
MR. GIBBS: Again, I think that —
Q: You totally brush it off?
MR. GIBBS: Yes — much like the spider. (Laughter.)
[Later]
Q: Also on the issue of Vince Gray, could you talk to me about the President’s relationship —
MR. GIBBS: Sorry —
Q: Okay —
Q: There’s another spider.
MR. GIBBS: Yes, I think it’s the same very active spider that — let’s just say if my ankle is this big tomorrow, you’ll know. (Laughter.)
Q: Is Bill trying to take you out or something?
MR. GIBBS: Let me just kill that spider.
Q: Is Bill trying to take you out with the spider?
MR. GIBBS: Here he comes.
Q: Is it still alive?
MR. GIBBS: I’m going to call him —
Q: You know if you step on him, you’ll get emails.
Q: I was going to say, PETA is going to be after you guys.
MR. GIBBS: No, he’s going —
Q: Crush it with your fingers.
Q: Geez —
MR. GIBBS: No, I’m just going to —
Q: Leave him alone —
Q: Okay, it’s not a — (Laughter.)
MR. GIBBS: I hope it’s not a brown recluse.
Go ahead. I’m sorry.
Categories: General, Recipes
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It’s curtains for you!
I found myself driving behind a modified hearse on the freeway a few days ago. The back window was all tricked out with red velvet curtains, including a rather snazzy valance, and a sort of dead-looking teddy bear was peeping out.
It is a measure of my current decorating madness that my first reaction was dismayed jealousy that this person had the wherewithal to choose window treatments for her car while we can’t even manage curtains for the living room.
hairs
Another reason grownups don’t dye their hair purple is that sometimes, apparently, it doesn’t wash out.
Urgh.
Fingers crossed that my salon appointment is productive. Otherwise, I guess it’s chin-length hair for me again.
URGH.
Halloween mean
Our first Halloween was a big success. We figure we got around 70 trick-or-treaters, so many that Michele and Tami had to go out for more candy halfway through the evening.
It did kind of bring out the mean old lady in me, though. I was mainly grumbling because some of the parents were coming up to the door with bags of their own and holding them out for their own candy. Hello? You are my age. Get that bag away from me.
See? Mean old lady.
I did give candy out to the (surprisingly MANY) older kids without costumes. I can sympathize; there’s nothing worse than the year you know you’re too old to trick-or-treat. I know I hung in there a few years longer than I should have. (I always wore a costume, though. Come on, a mask would kill you? See, mean old lady!)
Anyway, if I haven’t given myself a reputation in the neighborhood for being the mean lady in the house you avoid, I look forward to many more kid-filled Halloweens. But please: stay out of my rosebushes.
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My take on Obama’s appearance on The Daily Show
Interesting guy, but says “folks” a lot more than anyone ever should.
Also, I sort of wonder if Jon Stewart had to agree to only look the President in the eye a certain number of times during the interview. For about the first half he just talks to his desk.
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