Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Watson the Dog’s Recipe for Disaster

This easy-to-prepare confection virtually assures a future visit to the glue factory!

3 large avocados
1 basket of Spenda packets
1 expensive glass fruit bowl
1 eye pillow

In a large living room, place the three avocados on top of the room’s nicest rug. Eat everything save for the skin and pits; place them aside for later. Smear any remaining avocado meat into the rug, taking care to blend it into the lightest portions of the weave.

In a medium-sized master bedroom, place the eye pillow on top of the room’s nicest rug. Tear apart the pillow, scattering its lentil contents all over the room; set the pillow material aside for later.

In a large kitchen, pull down the basket of Splenda packets from the kitchen counter, scattering them all over the room. If there is time, chew the nice African basket holding the packets. Knock over the glass bowl, leaving it teetering precariously atop the kitchen counter.

Take both the avocado skins and the pillow casing and scatter them about the house in difficult-to-find spots. Place the avocado pits in highly trafficked portions of the kitchen; ideally, one of the pits will cause your co-owner to almost break her neck some hours later when she slips on it.

Serve fresh with tail wags and look of sorrowful innocence.

Serves: 1-2 pissed-off owners
Monday, October 30, 2006

Late October dilemma

What's the etiquette on unwanted Halloween candy? A coworker just plopped a couple of edible eyeballs on my desk, and I don't want them. They smell like crap, and I don't like to eat eyeballs as a rule.

But throwing them out feels a bit wrong, especially in light of this news story.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Every year around this time....

I lament the amount of work I have to anyone who will listen. "Oh, god, I don't even know if I can go out this week. I have so much work."

And then I realize I'm counting baseball playoff viewing as "work."
Tuesday, October 24, 2006

And for the record, folks, adults can't fly either

Health care's so awesome. Earlier this year, when I signed up for my new plan, I picked out some random primary care physician on the website and then tried to schedule an appointment. Turned out though that, according to the blockhead who answered her phone, this physician no longer existed.

Over the next few weeks, distinctly unhilarious hilarity ensued wherein I was assigned to no less than five separate physicians -- none of whom, according to the five separate blockheads who answered their phone lines, actually seemed to work within my system. The kicker came when I made a customer service rep assign me someone new over the phone and then had her call the doctor for me to confirm that he did in fact exist. The rep came back onto the line after a few minutes, giggling, and said, "It turns out the doctor has been DEAD for more than a year! Can you believe that?" Yes. Yes I can.

Eventually I got a doctor, got an appointment, and ended up at this sketchy community health facility (on the corner of Mohawk Street and Devine Way; and yes, I really do wish I could make this stuff up). I waited for more than a half-hour, during which time I learned about today's most pressing health-care concern: children falling out of windows.* There were two separate posters hanging up in the waiting room declaring, "Kids Can't Fly," and then explaining what steps you can take to prevent your little ones from taking a free-fall-induced dirt nap (put screens up; close your windows whenever possible).

Eventually I got into the doctor's office, had my five-minute appointment, went outside to pay, and flummoxed the receptionist when I handed her my credit card. "Oh, we don't take credit cards!" Okay, what about a check? "Oh no!" Okay, here's a twenty then. "Oh, we can't make change!" Um, okay, what do we do then? "Oh, I don't know!" Silence. "Okay, wait here," she said, and went off to make the theretofore forbidden change.

I swear, it used to be that if you were looking to scam your primary care physician out of 60 free "chiropractic" massages, a giggle and a glance would get you anything you wanted. But it's almost not worth it anymore.

*Upon hearing about my day, Dan serenaded me with a very stirring rendition of "Tears in Heaven."
Monday, October 23, 2006

Just another manic...

All in all, it was a fairly typical Monday. Halfway to work, my car conked out on the highway, forcing me to coast downhill in the breakdown lane for about a half a mile until I could exit off the nearest off-ramp. Coasting to a stop about 200 yards later, I put on my hazards and prepped myself for the long walk to the nearest gas station -- my cellphone is MIA, you see, so I couldn't actually call AAA from where I was stopped. So I walked to the nearest station and called AAA, and the very nice rep assured me a tow truck would be there in an hour or so.

So I drank some coffee and read the paper and then peeked out the window to check on my car and saw that there was a cop car outside the station and another one way down the road next to my car. My car was sort of blocking the entire morning commute on this particular street, you see, and was causing a bit of a backup. So I went out to talk to the cop and it turned out they'd already run my plates and were about ready to tow my abandoned vehicle. But I explained that the car was mine and then the cop said in this menacing voice, "Okay, but who's Dan Tobin?" I explained that he was my huband and then the cop relaxed a bit and said, "Okay, well it's a good thing HE wasn't driving.... ", a comment I decided to let go because I didn't know what to make of it. So then the cop invited me to get in the back of the cruiser so he could drive me back to my car and wait for AAA with me; I acquiesced and climbed into the back and looked up front at the cop's computer and saw a photo of my college-aged husband staring back at me, ponytail, earring and all; apparently the cop had determined that Dan's Massachustts license had expired in 2002 but not that he actually was legally licensed in another state.

So we got to the car and I waited for a half-hour for the tow truck; then I got towed to the nearest garage and settled into the waiting room for what turned into a three-hour wait for a diagnosis. To kill time I watched a "Price Is Right" episode in which a French grandmother who spoke almost no English managed to win a Ford Focus by guessing its exact price on her very first time; turned out she had gone shopping with her grandson for a Ford Focus just a day earlier and so was pretty familiar with its price points. Later she made it to the Showcase Showdown, passed on the speedboat showcase, ended up with a showcase featuring a bathtub, a day bed and an electric moke, and bid $30,000, overbidding by $14,000.

So eventually, having exhausted morning television and every Family Circle and Latina magazine that the waiting room had to offer, I got lunch, came back, got caught in a rainstorm on the way, and learned that it would cost more than $700 to replace the de-something-or-other in our 12-year-old car.

I'd love to say this was the first time my car has broken down on the way to work. I'd love to say this is the first time my car has broken down and my cellphone has been AWOL. I'd love to say this is the first time my car has broken down at the peak hour of a daily commute. I'd love to say this is the first time I've had to abandon a stalled vehicle only to come back to it a short time later and find a cop parked alongside it, about ready to tow the damn thing. I'd love to say this is the first time I've been forced to get a ride in the back of a cop car because of car trouble. I'd love to say that this was the first time I've had to shell out $700-plus just to get my car running again. Yep, I'd really, really, really love to say all that.

No worries though: three beers and three Tivo'ed episodes of 90210 have calmed my nerves considerably.
Saturday, October 21, 2006

Why not to marry for love

My husband, before we went out last night: "So, jeans tucked into boots, huh? You look like you should be riding a horse or something."

Best gay male friend, later that same evening: "Those boots are really sexy!"
Friday, October 20, 2006

I have seen hell

... and it is being forced to listen to two coworkers talk about their Weight Watchers diets.
Thursday, October 19, 2006

Dr. and Mrs. McNightmary

In light of today's dumb NY Times piece about slutty Halloween costumes (written, unshockingly, by the same author who penned that memorable "I've seen today's slut, and she is me" piece a little while back), I will just say this: Two years ago I dressed up as Annie Hall, complete with baggy trousers, oversized hat and tennis racquet equipment bag, and received more male attention than I ever have before or since.

Now, were these attentive gentlemen actually expressing chivalrous dismay that my male escort, who was playing the John Oates half of our "Annie Hall and Oates" stroke of costuming genius that evening, sported a hideous Jewfro teased to before-unseen heights? Perhaps, perhaps. I'll let you be the judge.

The charms of Boston yoga, continued

Huge beefy guy to me, after an intense, heated vinyasa class:

"Wow, you were really contohtin' out theah."

I is a good reeder

I am in grave danger of becoming someone who no longer reads The Atlantic but rather scatters her unread subscription copies all around the house in a (mis)calculated effort to impress visitors.

To try and negate this trend, I recently gathered several of my unread back issues and placed them in a neat pile atop our hall table. I then added a couple of novels, many half-read New Yorkers and several fashion magazines (which I read for the articles, I swear!) -- all of which, due to a recent combination of work and school commitments, travel, and a soupcon of general malaise, I hadn't yet gotten around to reading. I then promised myself I would dedicate much of the weekend to lessening the height of this reading stack, ideally tackling the Atlantics first.

Here's what I got through during this supposed reading frenzy: one (1) Atlantic piece and an article in Elle about Jessica Simpson and Ken Paves's new line of hair extensions, in which I learned the following tidbit about their soulful first meeting:

"'As I sat beneath her, blow-drying her hair,' [Paves] says, 'she started singing and I started to cry. I fell in love with her at the moment. I saw something inside of her.'"

It may be time to admit that not only am I someone who should let her suscription to The Atlantic lapse, but I am also someone who should bite the damn bullet and subscribe to US Weekly already. I'm sure scattering those babies about the house would have the same desired effect anyway.
Monday, October 16, 2006

Hideous kinky

Verbatim, a portion of the shopping list I was carrying around yesterday:

House Lo Mein
Mongolian Beef
Spring Rolls
Dog Shampoo
Pigs Ears
Kitty Litter
Coffee Maker
Soft Scrub
Tracing Paper
Pica Ruler
Friday, October 13, 2006

No good deed goes unimpregnated

Remember the basset hound my sister and I rescued from a Georgia shelter a couple of weeks ago via Paypal sponsorship? This morning we received the following email and photo from her rescuer:

Re: Daisy Duke !!!

I just wanted to let you know that we found out that Daisy was actually pregnant and she has started having puppies this morning her first was at 10:58 am . I have attached a photo We are all so excited ! She is an excellent mom I will send more pics when them come.

I honestly can't tell if this guy loves us or hates us now. Meantime, we're planning a Southern roadtrip so as to head down and adopt the top two picks of the litter....

Update: More photos of the whole litter! (And yes, I am five years old.)

Thursday, October 12, 2006

Desperation is....

taking a nap in your car's back seat during lunchtime.

Alienation is...

sitting between two people who are IMing each other.
Monday, October 09, 2006

You can do sidebends or situps, but please don't lose that bat

Sophomore year of college, I stayed up for 40 straight hours. Pulled an all-nighter to write a paper, then had to go to classes the next day, then had to work an eight-hour shift that night. I remembered from one of my psych classes that sleep-deprived hallucinations usually kick in around the 40th hour, so after I knocked off work that night, I stayed up for a few more hours to see if I'd, like, start seeing bats or something. Nada, although my babblings were so annoying at that point that my roommates forced me into my bedroom and shut the door behind.

I spent all last week working 13-15 hour days, then flew to the West Coast for a 72-hour, off-the-grid wedding whirlwind capped by 24 straight hours of awake time. I don't know why I didn't see bats at some point. Now I'm home, overwhelmed with work and thoughts, and not quite in the blog groove again. Probably by the end of the week.

Although now that I've caught up on some sleep, I'm very happy to discover that I hallucinated neither the Mark Foley scandal nor the Yankees implosion.

In other news, I have to leave work early tonight to see my 71-year-old father perform in a musical. Sigh.
Monday, October 02, 2006

E-stalgia is bad for the soul

I've been going through seven-year-old emails for secret reasons this evening and am a bit terrified by them. Half of the email dialogues are strangers to me -- I can't remember ever worrying about some of the things I worried about or even writing some of the people I had impassioned exchanges with. Then there are the emails that are reasonable fascimiles of something I could have written last week. Gripes about the Red Sox starting pitching? Check. An involved dialogue with a male friend advising him how best to navigate his girlfriend's bisexuality? Change "male friend" to "lesbian friend" and it's pretty standard. An email squabble with Dan asking him to please stop throwing the cats across the living room? Yeah, not so anachronistic.

I also managed to dig up the most embarrassing inquiry ever posed to me via email:

"So, did you end up going online to find some Dragon's Lair hints?"