Four of stuff

Four jobs I’ve had:
Church rectory receptionist
Walgreens cashier
Writing consultant
Marketing manager

Four movies I can watch over and over:
Back to the Future
Goodfellas
Napoleon Dynamite
Steel Magnolias

Four places I have lived:
North Reading, MA
Durham, NH
London, England
Brooklyn, NY

Four television shows I love to watch:
The Sopranos
24
How I Met Your Mother
The Apprentice

Four places I have been on vacation:
Canary Islands
Italy
Spain
Aruba

Four of my favorite dishes:
Lasagna
Filet mignon and red-skinned mashed potatoes
Chicken piccata
Turkey club with fries

Four websites I visit daily:
Long Story Short
The Cupcake Tent
Sundry Mourning
Comcast email

Four songs I love:
Sweet Child O Mine by Guns 'n' Roses
Black by Pearl Jam
Don't Look Back by Boston
Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac

Random questions

1. What would be your first purchase after winning the lottery?
A house. Not a mansion, but a nice house in a great neighborhood with a large family room, a gorgeous kitchen, and a big backyard. Hardwood floors, central air, garage and granite countertops go without saying, right?

2. What have you always wanted to have/do/be, but know is forever out of reach?
I have always wanted to go into space.

3. Who in your family are you most like?
I have a little bit from both sides… I’m social and conscientious like my mom, but not as much of a pacifier or pleaser. I’m also strong-minded and independent like my nana, but not as argumentative or emotionally stoic.

4. How long would you last on Fear Factor?
I’d never go on it in the first place. I don’t like competition, pressure or eating nasty stuff. The potential winnings wouldn’t be worth it.

5. Describe your sense of humor.
I’m not nearly as sarcastic as I used to be. I think I appreciate absurdity and observation more now.

6. T/F: All I need to know I learned in kindergarten?
True, for the most part. Share, be nice, no hitting or biting.

7. Religion or politics?
This is a painful question. I’d probably have to go with government.

8. What’s your favorite word?
I like the word “solipsistic.” Not that I get many chances to work it into everyday conversation.

9. Can you macarena?
Was this written in 1998? Shamefully, I can.

10. “Is it true that if you don’t use it, you lose it?”
“Is that a serious question?”
“Um… no.”

11. Why do you fill out online surveys like this?
Who knows, because I feel like telling the world I like chocolate more than vanilla. You know you care.

12. What are you most afraid to do, but have always wanted to try?
Skydiving.

13. What is the funniest joke you’ve heard?
I love Mitch Hedberg’s bit about club sandwiches:
“I like my sandwiches to have three pieces of bread instead of two.”
“Me too! Let’s form a club.”
“Great! And we don’t cut our sandwiches in half, we cut ‘em into little triangles.”
“Let me ask you: how do you feel about frilly toothpicks?”
“I’m for ‘em!”
“I like sprouts on my sandwiches.”
“Get the fuck out of here! You aren’t in this club.”

14. How many “where were you when...?” moments do you have?
I remember where I was when the Red Sox won the World Series (at home, going “Huh, they really did it, it’s really happening. Nice.” Delayed reaction, as you can see). I remember where I was when the OJ verdict came down (at the dining hall, and they made an announcement that the verdict was coming, and we all ran back to our dorms), and when 9/11 started going down (at work – my mom called and said “A plane just hit the WTC!” Five minutes later she called back and said “Oh my god, another plane just hit.” That’s when we all left our cubes and tried to find a TV or radio to find out what was happening).

15. What is the most memorable offhand remark you’ve heard/said?
“T.P.S. report. Is that like the new monthly reports?” (A guy who’s never seen Office Space, commenting on the T.P.S. report cover sheet on my wall)

16. “What is the average air speed velocity of an unladen swallow?”
Shut up. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.

17. Make up your own question:
Would you rather walk in on your parents having sex, or have them walk in on you?
It would probably be less traumatizing to be walked in on. They expect me to be having sex. I expect them to be sitting in the living room doing needlepoint and reading the paper.

This made me snort at my desk

Joe: leaving soon?
FlyingJ: soon, you?
Joe: yupo
FlyingJ: yupo?
Joe: hehe
Joe: the last o wasnt supposed to be there
FlyingJ: i figured, but it looked funny
Joe: hehe yeah it did
FlyingJ: ok, i guess i'm gonna go in a few
Joe: i am going right now :)
FlyingJ: see you at home! love you
Joe: love you too!! see you doon :)
FlyingJ: doon, yupo
Joe: ugh
Joe: hahaha
FlyingJ: hahaha
FlyingJ: ok, bye
Joe: bye :)

Monday already

Ha, who called it? It’s cold and snowing like balls today. It took me an hour to get to work and I only live in the next town over. Fortunately, Joe was nice enough to go out and scrape off the car for me since we forgot to put it in the garage last night. No man wants the guilt of not helping out his pregnant wife, right?

We saw something gross on Friday night. Waiting to park at a restaurant in Cambridge, we saw a rat go scurrying across the parking lot. It bolted right under our car. On the positive side: we were in the city, there are a lot of restaurants in that area, and parking is halfway down the block from the place we were going anyway, so it’s not like the rat and the restaurant were connected in any way. On the negative side: eww, rat.

Saturday my friend and I took advantage of the gorgeous 60-degree weather and went out for coffee and shopping. Saturday night Joe and I went bowling with Long Story Short, her high school friend who was up visiting, and Professor K. The friend was totally cool and nice, and we had a great time with them. My play, however, was abysmal. Sometimes I kick ass and sometimes I suck ass at bowling, and Saturday I totally sucked it. I barely broke 50 in the first string, though in the second I did manage an 83. Everybody else was flirting with 100, even the friend, who had never bowled in her life! I think she even had two strikes. Whatever—it was fun, and if I ever get competitive about bowling scores, please kill me.

Yesterday we mostly stayed in and lounged around. I woke up with a headache so I was in no mood to do anything except read, nap and watch football. I read “How to Kill a Rock Star” by Tiffanie DeBartolo in about five hours. And I was really happy to see Denver take a beating. Not that I wanted the Steelers to win, because I hate them, but I really hate the Broncos this year. And Carolina—what the hell happened? Delhomme’s QB rating was something like 6 at one point, though it did creep up to around 14 by the end of the game. Pathetic. I was glad they lost though, because I never want to hear the name “Steve Smith” again. I can’t believe he tied with Bruschi for Comeback Player of the Year. Hello, he broke his leg; he didn’t come back from a fucking stroke, so you can’t even try to say they’re on the same level as far as a comeback is concerned.

One last observation: Matt Hasselbeck is so very, very young and so very, very bald. As is his brother. Awful follicular genes in that family.

Balmy

Holy shite, a colleague just came over to talk to me with the worst onion breath. Christ, I almost fell out of my chair.

Anyway, it’s Friday, which is outstanding. I love a January where it’s 50 degrees every day. I can deal with this. And it’s 3:30 and doesn’t feel like we’re squeezing the last remaining minutes out of the daylight. It feels like spring. Which probably means that Arctic cold fronts are, at this very moment, receiving marching orders to swoop down and hit us with so much powder we’ll think we’re living on the ass of a ginorous infant.

49 things you were dying to know about ME

1. How tall are you barefoot?
I’m 5’5”.

2. Have you ever smoked heroin?
Yeah, NO.

3. Do you own a gun?
Just a water gun.

4. Rehab?
I’m not the 12-step type.

5. Would you ever "do" someone in their parents' bed?
NO. The only thing of mine that should be touching my significant other's parents' bed is maybe my coat, on a holiday.

6. What do you think of hot dogs?
They’re yummy, especially Fenway franks. What they’re made of is irrelevant.

7. What's your favorite Christmas song?
How can I be expected to restrict my choice to just one song when the whole Kenny Rogers/Dolly Parton Christmas album is so brilliant?

8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
I like coffee but sadly, I cannot drink it these days.

9. Do you do push-ups?
Not since I was last subjected to the Presidential Fitness Test.

10. Have you ever done ecstasy?
No.

11. Are you vegan?
Not even close.

12. Do you like painkillers?
Sure, when I’m in pain.

13. What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex?
My luring days are over, but I’m a girl who knows a little bit about a lot of things, so it was always easy to talk to guys about stuff they were interested in. Work in a couple of good details and you become the perfect woman. When discussing sports, know the teams, have an idea of the standings, and be able to talk about the no-huddle offense or the MLB’s tacit acceptance of steroid use. When discussing techie stuff, know the latest Apple releases and say that everything is evolving towards open source anyway. When discussing music, know a few bands in all the main genres. Operation Ivy, the Clash, Black Flag, the Ramones, the Smiths - these are almost always safe territory. Avoid the "Is Green Day punk?" debate.

14. Do you own a knife?
A whole block full of them, including a giant cleaver and the Norman Bates “Eee! Eee! Eee!” one.

15. Do you have A.D.D.?
No.

16. Do you love the pain a tattoo brings?
I am unfamiliar with that pain, but I imagine it would be like being stung by a thousand bees. And no, I don’t think I’d like that.

17. Top 3 thoughts at this exact moment:
How am I going to finish all this water?
Why does the office smell like Doritos?
Is winter ever going to end?

18. Name the last 3 things you have bought:
Gas - $28.02
Toll from NH - $1.00
A banana smoothie - $4.00

19. Name five drinks you regularly drink:
Water, water, water, milk, and grape juice.

20. What time did you wake up today?
6:20 a.m.

21. Current hair?
Straight and dark brown with side bangs and choppy angles. Needs a cut.

22. Current worry?
General concern that the tenant subletting my womb is healthy.

23. Current hate?
The bitterly cold weather.

24. Favorite place to be?
In a warm restaurant with my friends.

25. Least favorite place to be?
In the cold bathroom waiting for the shower to warm up.

26. Where would you like to go?
Greece.

27. What do you wear when you go to sleep?
A tank top and my Old Navy pj’s with the conversation hearts on them.

28. What do you think you'll be doing in 10 years?
Raising kids… going to parent-teacher conferences, packing lunches, taking them on vacation and swimming with them in hotel pools.

29. Do you burn or tan? I tan, but not as well as I did when I was young.

30. Last thing you ate?
Free breakfast at work. Yay civil rights!

31. Would you be a pirate?
No, but I would try to have one as an acquaintance so I could be in on all the good pirate gossip.

32. Last time you had an alcoholic drink?
November, up at the Mt. Washington Hotel. Yes, I was pregnant then. No, I didn’t know yet.

33. What songs do you sing in the shower?
I don’t, but on the rare occasions that I have, it’s been old-school Mariah Carey.

34. What did you fear was going to get you at night as a child?
Ghosts. When it was dark I used run up the stairs and slam my bedroom door to keep out anything that followed me. And also robbers – sometimes the headlights of passing cars looked like flashlight beams downstairs.

35. What's in your pockets right now?
I don’t have any pockets.

36. Last thing that made you laugh?
Imitating Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown at lunch.

37. Best bed sheets you had as a child?
Strawberry shortcake, since I wanted to be her.

38. Worst injury you've ever had?
In third grade I sprained my wrist riding my bike one-handed down a steep dirt incline. I also did something really bad to a tendon in my heel playing tennis and spent two days crawling around my house in agony. I’ve never broken any bones.

39. What are your dreams like?
Few and far between. But the ones I have are hot.

40. How many TVs do you have in your house?
Two.

41. Who is your loudest friend?
Yeah, Chris. If I were to write a book, I would have to represent his speech like Owen Meany: “THAT PICKLE-SNIFFER CAN GO FUCK HIMSELF.”

42. Who is your most silent friend?
Ralph.

43. Does someone have a crush on you?
Only everyone!

44. Do you wish on stars?
Occasionally. And sometimes I wish on airplanes that I think are stars but then it’s like, hey, that star is moving. And blinking. And serving chicken marsala.

45. What is your favorite book?
She’s Come Undone. I just love it.

46. What is your favorite candy?
Peanut butter M&Ms.

47. What song do you want played at your wedding?
Living on a Prayer by Bon Jovi.

48. What song do you want played at your funeral?
Living on a Prayer by Bon Jovi. What?

49. What were you doing 12AM last night?
Sleeping.

Second Worst Date Ever

Effie reminded me of another bad date I had. This one wasn't nearly as bad as the New Year's Eve one, but it's still worth telling. It took place the summer after sophomore year. I'd been talking to this guy online who was from Toronto, and he decided to come for a visit. There weren't really any expectations for the visit, but back then encounters with the opposite sex always held some degree of promise. And the plan called for us to spend two nights in hotels together. Not that any of this matters, because the bad date isn't even about him.

During our weekend together, I remember a few things we did: shared an ice cream sundae at the Hard Rock Cafe, went to the Sox game on a gorgeous late spring evening, drove up the coast to Rockport and poked around the galleries and shops, consumed McDonald’s quarter-pounders and Boone’s Farm wine on the boardwalk up at Hampton Beach, and slept in the same bed holding hands. It was kind of sweet and fraternal and we would have made good friends if we lived in the same city.

This story intersects with the bad date story at Fenway Park. In the middle innings, on my way to the ladies’ room, a guy stopped me on the concourse. “Excuse me,” he said. “Is that guy you’re with your boyfriend?”

I thought it was pretty ballsy of him to ask. I said no when I should have said yes. This guy wasn’t my type: he had a goatee and a leather jacket and wore a tweed hat that looked like it was hiding a receding hairline. He introduced himself (I forget his name), offered some chat-chit about noticing me in the stands, and wanted to take my number and give me his. Again I was an idiot, but I thought I was being smart by giving him my work number. I took his card (he was a cell phone salesman) and said I had to go. Back in my seat, I showed the card to Toronto Boy and said, “Check it: this random guy just asked me out.”

A couple weeks later he called me at work and wanted to go out. I said okay, figuring why not? Life is full of interesting people. We set a day and he met me after work. We went to a restaurant near the beach and engaged in stilted conversation over dinner, during which he ordered a glass of milk. Jesus, milk—who drinks milk on a date? I disliked him for that and disliked him even more when he casually mentioned having slept with 60 women. He asked me if I liked hot tubs. I think he said something like “I have a hot tub if you ever were to consider, you know, being with me…”

When we were finished with dinner, he stood all close next to the car and was definitely angling for a kiss, and I was trying to get my door open so we could go. He got the hint. We drove south, and he said there was someplace he wanted to take me. We drove to Winthrop, a town that sticks into Boston Harbor. Across the way was Logan Airport. The guy parked the car and wanted us to sit on a bench and watch the low planes go by overhead. I sat and watched for a while but my neck hurt and it was clear he wanted to use the setting as an inroad to making out because he was touching my hair and staring at me and not watching the planes. You don’t even know how interested I pretended to be in those planes—anything not to have to deal with the awkwardness of not wanting him to kiss me.

So, whatever, in the end he drove me back to my car without incident and I never heard from him again. But I did run into him randomly in Boston, when I was with Joe, a couple years later. He looked the exact same. Whatever—I just can’t believe hanging out beneath the flight path was what he was trying to pass off as game. Could that EVER work on ANYONE?

Worst Date Ever

Okay, the challenge is issued. Effie told, I'm gonna tell, now all of you have to tell. What was your worst date ever?

Mine was New Year's Eve, freshman year of college. I was home from school for a month and pissed off about it. I didn't want to be there, I wanted to be back on campus going to hockey games, drinking in someone's room, hooking up with someone's friend from home who was up visiting, going to the dining hall hungover, and slouching around the dorm in Adidas track pants and my ubiquitous white UNH baseball cap with the Heineken cap stuck to the back with a pop top.

So there was this guy I've written about before, the one who was way too old for me. I was 17, he was 24. He had no right being interested in the first place, but he was, and I was looking for a distraction. I only met him about a week before break started. He bought for me and my friends and I figured I could string him along until he figured it out. When I was back stuck in the suburbs with nothing to do, he seemed marginally more appealing and I'd agree to see him even without getting any alcohol out of it. He'd drive down to pick me up whenever he wanted to go out, an hour drive. He came in to meet my parents and I made fun of his hair and he looked at me googly-eyed and my mom wisely observed, "You definitely don't like him as much as he likes you."

He invited me to a New Year's Eve party. Part of the deal was staying at his house afterwards, on the couch. He lived with his mother, and she was going to be home. My mom insisted on talking to her before she'd let me go, and his mother was such a freak, talking about how much she liked me (I think I'd met her one time, for like two seconds) and making comments about how they would be talking a lot more "when we got serious."

On New Year's Eve he picked me up and I was acting really detached and telling him what I wanted him to buy me at the liquor store. He got what I wanted and we went to his house to have a few drinks before going to the party. Back then my friends and I drank a ton of Woodchuck hard cider, so that's what I was having. We went to the party and it was a few dorky guys and some random people and some white trash hairdresser friend of his who was like 35. She was big and loud and coarse. I remember sitting there just drinking and thinking I was so much younger and cooler than any of these people. And when I had to break the seal I realized how fucking drunk I was. I stumbled up and down the stairs, visiting the bathroom every ten minutes, and once I didn't come back down. I passed out on the floor, my cheek pressed to the blessedly cool tile.

He came up to get me at some point, and we went back downstairs and I remember someone commenting about dating someone younger and then him saying, "I got you beat; this one is seventeen." I remember being like, "Fuck you, pal," but I was too wasted to actually say it. Eventually we left the stupid party and went back to his house. His mother wasn't home. We had sloppy, drunk sex on his waterbed, and afterwards my head was spinning. I wanted to get away from him, which was usually the case. Once I had wrung the fun out of whatever we were doing, I wanted him to disappear. I would have guzzled a pot of black coffee and drove myself home if I had my car, but I was stuck. Instead I got up and went down the hall to throw up. I made him get me a blanket and pillow and said I was going to crash on the couch and no, I didn't want him to join me. I asked for a glass of water, and then probably went to puke again.

Back on the couch he brought me the water and two Advil. I popped the pills and took a drink--but it wasn't water, it was vodka. He was laughing like he thought it was the funniest thing ever. I called him an asshole, splashed the vodka on his shirt and got up to get my own water. I pushed him to his room and told him to please fuck off. He might have called me a bitch but he didn't come out and bother me again. That was what was so pathetic about him; he was capable of saying and doing cruel things, but only mildly cruel things. The rest of the time he was a pussy. Like the way he would call me, talk my ear off, plead with me not to hang up, and then call back two minutes later in tears.

I didn't sleep at all. Sometime in the middle of the night his mother came home. I remember pretending to be asleep and watching her walk around. The TV was on in his room and there was light under his door. She popped her head into his room to say good night. I don't remember much about the drive home the next day, but it was cold and gray and I sat there with a headache, hating his car and his face and his hand resting on the gearshift, which he did so he could try to touch my knee.

So yeah... that was a crappy date.

You suck, Dallas rules

This is my 100th post. Yay and stuff!

Last night I found out there are a lot of people who really hate Rachael Ray. Joe and I were watching 30 Minute Meals and Joe said, "She has her engagement ring on and she didn't in the last one. I thought she took it off because she was cooking, but maybe she just got married this year." Why he was giving it more than a nanosecond's thought I don't know, but it was probably because her hair color and style change in every episode. Having nothing better to do, I went online and looked her up, and sure enough, her wedding was in September 2005. Good observation, Joseph.

However, Google turned up five Rachael Ray Sucks pages to every one neutral or pro-Rachael page. Um, who really cares to form a caustic opinion about a Food Network chef? I mean, I enjoy watching Good Eats more than Semi-Homemade Cooking, but I'm not going to start a Sandra Lee is a Raging Alcoholic blog.

Oh yeah, I also came across Rachael's lingerie spread in FHM magazine. It was all gingham and airbrushing and licking chocolatey spoons. Are you kidding me, hon? Why would you consent to that? You can just see Paula Deen shaking her head in silent admonishment.