I am blessed with an extended family that I've chosen for myself, and tonight we had a baby! My friends Lisa and RJ called me this afternoon to tell me that the doctor was thinning Lisa's membrane (a visual I'd rather not have, of a procedure that apparently can be kind of painful), when the following ensued (cribbed from RJ at www.procrastinet.com) :
Lisa: Are you doing it?
Dr.: Yep! You're very ready.
Lisa: Wow I heard it was really painful!
Dr.: Well, for some women it--oops.
Lisa: ... Did you just break my water?
Dr.: ... So let's get you to the hospital!
With the fam in the hospital, I came to the house to relieve grandma of her babysitting duties (and send her off to the hospital to do her motherly duties) and, of course, to bake cookies. Because what baby shouldn't be celebrated by a big batch of kitchen sink cookies?
It is with much glee that I welcome Charles Owen into the world tonight. (And slightly more glee that I got Max to finally fall asleep.)
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
the pooey stall
So something's been going on at work, and I just have to tell someone about it, and it's too mean to really tell my co-workers, so I'll just tell you guys and hope for the best.
There's a woman I work with who has a colostomy bag. Ok, well, I don't know that for a fact. What I do know is that she has some set up that involves what I can only call a Poo Tube. And when my firm was at our old location, you could periodically come into the bathroom to find her washing out her poo tube in one of the sinks. (Not exactly the most appetizing of events.)
Luckily, when we moved to our new location, the firm built a stall especially for her -- one with a sink inside of it, where she can cleanse her poo tube with anonymity. And that has eased the poo tube viewing conundrum considerably.
However, a number of my other co-workers, who never had the pleasure of viewing the poo tube cleansing, and have absolutely no knowledge whatsoever of even the existence of the poo tube, have started to use the special stall. They don't know that the sink in there is all pooey. I bet they think it's less pooey than the other sinks that get shared by everybody.
And the worst part of all this is that while my other coworkers are in her stall, the special coworker is cleaning her poo tube in the regular sinks -- but not while the special-stall-hogging coworkers can see it happening!
It's like a very pooey moebius strip.
That nobody can really talk about.*
*I would like to make it clear that I in no way blame the special coworker. In fact, she's always been very decent about her situation, and very businesslike about something that must be fairly embarrassing and unpleasant for her. I do, however, blame my special-stall-hogging coworkers for not knowing something that they have absolutely no reason to know. Because that's the kind of girl I am.
There's a woman I work with who has a colostomy bag. Ok, well, I don't know that for a fact. What I do know is that she has some set up that involves what I can only call a Poo Tube. And when my firm was at our old location, you could periodically come into the bathroom to find her washing out her poo tube in one of the sinks. (Not exactly the most appetizing of events.)
Luckily, when we moved to our new location, the firm built a stall especially for her -- one with a sink inside of it, where she can cleanse her poo tube with anonymity. And that has eased the poo tube viewing conundrum considerably.
However, a number of my other co-workers, who never had the pleasure of viewing the poo tube cleansing, and have absolutely no knowledge whatsoever of even the existence of the poo tube, have started to use the special stall. They don't know that the sink in there is all pooey. I bet they think it's less pooey than the other sinks that get shared by everybody.
And the worst part of all this is that while my other coworkers are in her stall, the special coworker is cleaning her poo tube in the regular sinks -- but not while the special-stall-hogging coworkers can see it happening!
It's like a very pooey moebius strip.
That nobody can really talk about.*
*I would like to make it clear that I in no way blame the special coworker. In fact, she's always been very decent about her situation, and very businesslike about something that must be fairly embarrassing and unpleasant for her. I do, however, blame my special-stall-hogging coworkers for not knowing something that they have absolutely no reason to know. Because that's the kind of girl I am.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
same assholes everywhere
So I had another speed dating adventure this weekend, but since a number of my friends were at the event, finding me (and this blog) through them could be way too easy. So I'm going to reserve comment on it. At least for now.
However, something that happened after the rapid courtship event (as I'm now calling it) has proven shareworthy. I went with my girlfriends to a Yale class of 1998 mini event. Nothing formal, just some drinks in the back room of a decent bar, so we headed over after the RCE (see above). Keri and Tracy and I were near the only entrance to the special Yale room, so as a guy was leaving, I said, "Thanks for coming! Hope you enjoyed your stay!"
He smiled, so I thought I'd engage him in a bit more conversation before losing him to the night, and we ended up talking about what colleges we were in and what we studied, and then along came this guy who I'm sure I know, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out how I knew him. Maybe he dated my roommate? Maybe he was in improv? I didn't know. So I asked him.
"Did you date my roommate, Liz Pontikes?"
"Um, no."
"Hmmm. Did you do improv?"
"No."
"Hmmm. I know I know you, but I just can't place you. Were you in SAE?"
"No."
"I was!" chirps the other guy who has miraculously not left yet.
"Oh, you were?" I asked. "I was good friends with Patrick Egan." I added, but at that point, Leaving Guy had started taking to Familiar Looking Guy and wasn't listening to anything I was saying. So I continued, "I was good friends with Patrick Egan, WHICH I HAVE JUST ANNOUNCED TO NO ONE IN PARTICULAR."
The girls had a good laugh, and the guys continued talking because they hadn't the slightest clue that I had even just called them out on their rude behavior.
Awesome.
You know what they say about SAE...*
*my dad was SAE, so I don't actually subscribe to the theory en masse. but this guy definitely warranted it.
However, something that happened after the rapid courtship event (as I'm now calling it) has proven shareworthy. I went with my girlfriends to a Yale class of 1998 mini event. Nothing formal, just some drinks in the back room of a decent bar, so we headed over after the RCE (see above). Keri and Tracy and I were near the only entrance to the special Yale room, so as a guy was leaving, I said, "Thanks for coming! Hope you enjoyed your stay!"
He smiled, so I thought I'd engage him in a bit more conversation before losing him to the night, and we ended up talking about what colleges we were in and what we studied, and then along came this guy who I'm sure I know, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out how I knew him. Maybe he dated my roommate? Maybe he was in improv? I didn't know. So I asked him.
"Did you date my roommate, Liz Pontikes?"
"Um, no."
"Hmmm. Did you do improv?"
"No."
"Hmmm. I know I know you, but I just can't place you. Were you in SAE?"
"No."
"I was!" chirps the other guy who has miraculously not left yet.
"Oh, you were?" I asked. "I was good friends with Patrick Egan." I added, but at that point, Leaving Guy had started taking to Familiar Looking Guy and wasn't listening to anything I was saying. So I continued, "I was good friends with Patrick Egan, WHICH I HAVE JUST ANNOUNCED TO NO ONE IN PARTICULAR."
The girls had a good laugh, and the guys continued talking because they hadn't the slightest clue that I had even just called them out on their rude behavior.
Awesome.
You know what they say about SAE...*
*my dad was SAE, so I don't actually subscribe to the theory en masse. but this guy definitely warranted it.
my most recent netflix
This morning I crawled out of bed (after having a horrible dream that my mother was dying of cancer -- boo!) and spent several hours trying to get my wireless router to work. (It still doesn't, so I'm stuck typing in my office. Rude.)
I got fed up after a while and called it quits. I tromped into the living room and popped my recent netflix arrival into the dvd player. I plopped down on the couch, and when those familiar orchestral strains hit my eardrums, I was almost instantaneously in tears.
That's right folks, Netflix sent me Little House on the Prairie: The Pilot.
(It's a hell of a movie, actually.)
Some statistics:
Number of whole family hugs: 5
Number of braids: 4 (5, if you count Ma's french twist as a braid)
Number of outfits for each girl: 3, I think.
Number of God, Bible or church references: 5
Number of logs Ma split wearing a floor length, impeccably clean blue skirt: not sure. lots.
Number of near drownings: 3
Number of Indian visits: 3
Number of wolf-related incidents: 3
Number of prairie fires: 1
Number of miraculous, Little House-saving rainfalls: 1
Number of times the adults snapped at the children: 2
Number of times the adults were severly guilt-wracked over it: 2
Number of foals born: 1
Number of times I fell in love with Michael Landon: about 100
Number of times I found myself in tears: at least 12
Some excellently memorable quotes:
"Charles, I'm worried about the girls growing up proper... so far from a church.""Caroline, don't you worry about that. You can't get any closer to god than this."
"I was sure glad Pa had brought his fiddle, for it made a most joyful noise."
"I thought Pas never got scared.""Oh no, half-pint, Pas get scared.""But not as scared as Mas."(chuckles) "No, I guess that's right. Not as scared as Mas."
Mix in a little John Denver and a bowl haircut, and you have my childhood.
(No wonder I was in tears...)
I got fed up after a while and called it quits. I tromped into the living room and popped my recent netflix arrival into the dvd player. I plopped down on the couch, and when those familiar orchestral strains hit my eardrums, I was almost instantaneously in tears.
That's right folks, Netflix sent me Little House on the Prairie: The Pilot.
(It's a hell of a movie, actually.)
Some statistics:
Number of whole family hugs: 5
Number of braids: 4 (5, if you count Ma's french twist as a braid)
Number of outfits for each girl: 3, I think.
Number of God, Bible or church references: 5
Number of logs Ma split wearing a floor length, impeccably clean blue skirt: not sure. lots.
Number of near drownings: 3
Number of Indian visits: 3
Number of wolf-related incidents: 3
Number of prairie fires: 1
Number of miraculous, Little House-saving rainfalls: 1
Number of times the adults snapped at the children: 2
Number of times the adults were severly guilt-wracked over it: 2
Number of foals born: 1
Number of times I fell in love with Michael Landon: about 100
Number of times I found myself in tears: at least 12
Some excellently memorable quotes:
"Charles, I'm worried about the girls growing up proper... so far from a church.""Caroline, don't you worry about that. You can't get any closer to god than this."
"I was sure glad Pa had brought his fiddle, for it made a most joyful noise."
"I thought Pas never got scared.""Oh no, half-pint, Pas get scared.""But not as scared as Mas."(chuckles) "No, I guess that's right. Not as scared as Mas."
Mix in a little John Denver and a bowl haircut, and you have my childhood.
(No wonder I was in tears...)
Friday, February 22, 2008
the girl in the snow
On a day like today, when the snow makes the world look polka dotted, the girl has to don her boots and slip and slide her way to the subway. She hikes up her pants to keep them from getting salty, snowy and slushy (together, "snalshy"). And she really drags her heels at home, knowing that "any latenesses due to weather will be forgiven."
She toys with wearing jeans to work (a complete and total no-no) with the simple excuse that "the snow would have ruined my good pants." Instead, she sucks it up and wears her good pants -- but selects a pair that is machine washable. (The girl is, after all, no dummy.)
While slip sliding away (you know, the nearer your destination, the more you're slip sliding awaaaaaay...), the girl freely hands out Good Neighbor Awards to anyone who has shoveled, salted or sanded (together, "cleaned") the sidewalk in front of his/her house.
She actually passes someone shoveling, and thanks her. The woman looks up at the girl, smoking a cigarette, angry-looking and bedraggled, clearly woken from a deep, warm and peaceful sleep by her good-for-nothing husband telling her it's her turn, since he did it last time (even though the woman knows that "last time" there wasn't even half an inch of snow on the ground).
"Thanks!" says the girl in a voice far too chipper for the morning.
"Como?" scowls the woman, ash falling off the tip of her cigarette, dropping to the ground and mixing in with the snow she has yet to shovel.
But the girl can't hear her, because she's moved on to the ice-strewn sidewalk of a Bad Neighbor. A Bad Neighbor, who gets Bad thoughts and Negative Energy from the girl.But not in excess, because, really, when the snow is swirling in big, fat flakes that stick to your eyelashes and nest in your hair, there's only so much negative energy to go around.
She toys with wearing jeans to work (a complete and total no-no) with the simple excuse that "the snow would have ruined my good pants." Instead, she sucks it up and wears her good pants -- but selects a pair that is machine washable. (The girl is, after all, no dummy.)
While slip sliding away (you know, the nearer your destination, the more you're slip sliding awaaaaaay...), the girl freely hands out Good Neighbor Awards to anyone who has shoveled, salted or sanded (together, "cleaned") the sidewalk in front of his/her house.
She actually passes someone shoveling, and thanks her. The woman looks up at the girl, smoking a cigarette, angry-looking and bedraggled, clearly woken from a deep, warm and peaceful sleep by her good-for-nothing husband telling her it's her turn, since he did it last time (even though the woman knows that "last time" there wasn't even half an inch of snow on the ground).
"Thanks!" says the girl in a voice far too chipper for the morning.
"Como?" scowls the woman, ash falling off the tip of her cigarette, dropping to the ground and mixing in with the snow she has yet to shovel.
But the girl can't hear her, because she's moved on to the ice-strewn sidewalk of a Bad Neighbor. A Bad Neighbor, who gets Bad thoughts and Negative Energy from the girl.But not in excess, because, really, when the snow is swirling in big, fat flakes that stick to your eyelashes and nest in your hair, there's only so much negative energy to go around.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
k8 and Castro sittin’ in a tree...
You know I've had this thing for Castro for a long time now. And to read today that he's stepping down, well, honestly, I'm baffled.
The man is fine! I see him weekly at the gym!
"My wishes have always been to discharge my duties to my last breath," Castro wrote in a letter published Tuesday in the online edition of the Communist Party daily Granma. But "it would be a betrayal to my conscience to accept a responsibility requiring more mobility and dedication than I am physically able to offer."
Yeah, yeah, yeah, Castro, I know what you're physically able to offer -- 3.5 mph on a 2.0 incline. Quit your whining and get back to leading the last notable communist holdout within howevermany miles of our borders.
The man is fine! I see him weekly at the gym!
"My wishes have always been to discharge my duties to my last breath," Castro wrote in a letter published Tuesday in the online edition of the Communist Party daily Granma. But "it would be a betrayal to my conscience to accept a responsibility requiring more mobility and dedication than I am physically able to offer."
Yeah, yeah, yeah, Castro, I know what you're physically able to offer -- 3.5 mph on a 2.0 incline. Quit your whining and get back to leading the last notable communist holdout within howevermany miles of our borders.
Friday, February 15, 2008
oh friendster, how I love thee...
Oh dear. I got another amazing letter in my Friendster inbox yesterday.
Maybe "amazing" isn't the right word.
Astounding?
Perplexing?
Amusing?
I am including it for your entertainment.
How is life treating you and also how Everything with you, Hope all is Well.....Well am green by name.
Hmmmm. Imagine this one:"Hey honey, what should we name our kid?"
"Well, I was thinking something like Ted, or Brian or Nick."
"How about Green?"
"Wow! How original. He'll never be mocked for that. We've done our child a service he'll never forget!"
A single gentle man living alone from UNITED STATE, florida. i am just passing by and i saw ur profile so i decided to email you, coz i see your beauty and it shines across the globe, so i will like to know u better...
Wait, wait, wait, my beauty shines across the globe? How does anyone in Guam sleep at night?
Coz women are the most beautiful thing in the nature. Because she imbibe all beauties from nature and expresses her beauty in the manner of her talks, walks and looks.
I don't think it's my talks, walks and looks that have been imbibing the nature
.....i really care to know you better if you dont mind about that.
(I'm tickled by his phrasing there.)
I am Honest, understanding, open minded, trust, faithful, sharing of Views, sharing of Feelings, hard working, Love, caring, don't cheat, don't lie.
Apparently, I am only sharing of Letters.
for me I am just looking deep into your profile i can find the deep blue love. My seeing a kind of woman like you is never a crime.
No, but your writing is. (And by the way, my Friendster profile is practicall empty. It has a photo and some friends, and no details.)
looking deep into your eye you can guess wat i see? Its the paradise but all I need is to meet you on my yahoo chat list.
"Welcome to paradise, please log in your Yahoo chat account."
HIT ME UP,
green.
Is this a closing? I'd never considered it before today.
HIT ME UP,
k8
Maybe "amazing" isn't the right word.
Astounding?
Perplexing?
Amusing?
I am including it for your entertainment.
How is life treating you and also how Everything with you, Hope all is Well.....Well am green by name.
Hmmmm. Imagine this one:"Hey honey, what should we name our kid?"
"Well, I was thinking something like Ted, or Brian or Nick."
"How about Green?"
"Wow! How original. He'll never be mocked for that. We've done our child a service he'll never forget!"
A single gentle man living alone from UNITED STATE, florida. i am just passing by and i saw ur profile so i decided to email you, coz i see your beauty and it shines across the globe, so i will like to know u better...
Wait, wait, wait, my beauty shines across the globe? How does anyone in Guam sleep at night?
Coz women are the most beautiful thing in the nature. Because she imbibe all beauties from nature and expresses her beauty in the manner of her talks, walks and looks.
I don't think it's my talks, walks and looks that have been imbibing the nature
.....i really care to know you better if you dont mind about that.
(I'm tickled by his phrasing there.)
I am Honest, understanding, open minded, trust, faithful, sharing of Views, sharing of Feelings, hard working, Love, caring, don't cheat, don't lie.
Apparently, I am only sharing of Letters.
for me I am just looking deep into your profile i can find the deep blue love. My seeing a kind of woman like you is never a crime.
No, but your writing is. (And by the way, my Friendster profile is practicall empty. It has a photo and some friends, and no details.)
looking deep into your eye you can guess wat i see? Its the paradise but all I need is to meet you on my yahoo chat list.
"Welcome to paradise, please log in your Yahoo chat account."
HIT ME UP,
green.
Is this a closing? I'd never considered it before today.
HIT ME UP,
k8
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
more of what you’ve always needed to know
Part One: The End of an Era
Friends, gather 'round. Take a comfy seat, and grab a tissue. I have some sad news for you, and I hope you'll still continue to read along after you find this out.
Ready?
It turns out that the days of the cake terrorist (a.k.a. "Enjoy") are near an end. I found out today that she'll be leaving us on February 25th.
No more apologies for breathing.
No more "Forgive me, I'm sorry, enjoy!"
No more sorry-ass brownies.
Truth be told, these things really ended for me when I got my new job and moved into my new office, but to know their potential is ending as well... (deep breath) All I can say is:
WOO HOO!
(so I'm an awful person. read on. you know you want to.)
---------------------------------
Part Two: An Inbox Delight
This is slightly past its prime (i.e., last week) but my friend Rhonda sent it to me and I find it funny nonetheless:
This is a year where both Groundhog Day and the State of the Union address occur in the same week. It is an ironic juxtaposition of events: one involves a meaningless ritual in which we look to a creature of little intelligence for prognostication, while the other involves a groundhog.---------------------------------
Part Three: Call the Olympic Committee!
While in Colorado this weekend, I saw a woman in the park rollerblading with her baby in a carriage. I think perhaps she's invented a new sport: Strollerblading.
---------------------------------
Part Four: Poetry Corner
I've had some enormous personal triumphs in the past couple of days, but I am not quite ready to discuss them publicly yet. One thing I will say is I'm involved in a situation where I could easily have beaten myself up at a number of points, and made the conscious choice not to go there. In discussing this with my friend Jon this morning, he wisely pulled out a quote from John Donne, which sums us up quite well (and by "us" I mean "those of us who have ever given ourselves a hard time for not being who/what/where we think we're supposed to be") :
"Nothing but man of all envenom'd things
Doth work upon itself with inborn stings."
---------------------------------
Part Five: Alternative Holidays
Not in the mood to celebrate Valentine's day? Why not do a combo number on all the February holidays? Do Lincolntine's day. Washingdents' Day. Or my favorite, Valenhog's Day. (Complete with a built-in mascot... Cupig!)
Friends, gather 'round. Take a comfy seat, and grab a tissue. I have some sad news for you, and I hope you'll still continue to read along after you find this out.
Ready?
It turns out that the days of the cake terrorist (a.k.a. "Enjoy") are near an end. I found out today that she'll be leaving us on February 25th.
No more apologies for breathing.
No more "Forgive me, I'm sorry, enjoy!"
No more sorry-ass brownies.
Truth be told, these things really ended for me when I got my new job and moved into my new office, but to know their potential is ending as well... (deep breath) All I can say is:
WOO HOO!
(so I'm an awful person. read on. you know you want to.)
---------------------------------
Part Two: An Inbox Delight
This is slightly past its prime (i.e., last week) but my friend Rhonda sent it to me and I find it funny nonetheless:
This is a year where both Groundhog Day and the State of the Union address occur in the same week. It is an ironic juxtaposition of events: one involves a meaningless ritual in which we look to a creature of little intelligence for prognostication, while the other involves a groundhog.---------------------------------
Part Three: Call the Olympic Committee!
While in Colorado this weekend, I saw a woman in the park rollerblading with her baby in a carriage. I think perhaps she's invented a new sport: Strollerblading.
---------------------------------
Part Four: Poetry Corner
I've had some enormous personal triumphs in the past couple of days, but I am not quite ready to discuss them publicly yet. One thing I will say is I'm involved in a situation where I could easily have beaten myself up at a number of points, and made the conscious choice not to go there. In discussing this with my friend Jon this morning, he wisely pulled out a quote from John Donne, which sums us up quite well (and by "us" I mean "those of us who have ever given ourselves a hard time for not being who/what/where we think we're supposed to be") :
"Nothing but man of all envenom'd things
Doth work upon itself with inborn stings."
---------------------------------
Part Five: Alternative Holidays
Not in the mood to celebrate Valentine's day? Why not do a combo number on all the February holidays? Do Lincolntine's day. Washingdents' Day. Or my favorite, Valenhog's Day. (Complete with a built-in mascot... Cupig!)
Thursday, February 7, 2008
thirty three minutes until vacation
So I'm going back to Colorado for another long weekend. In precisely thirty three minutes. And there's not a snowball's chance in hell that I'm going to actually get any work done before then.
(Sorry, lawfirm. I've been so good lately.)
Here are some choice things I've overheard lately:
1) A dad and his kid are walking down the street, engrossed in a very important conversation. Dad says, "And then we'll do what?" Kid says, "Duh, we'll go pick up balloons and marshmallows." What they planned to do with them, I did not hear, as I had turned the corner.
2) A guy is pontificating to a group of his friends, and all I manage to hear is, "I'm sure Hitler was a nice guy, but..."
3) I get in the elevator with a number of other women who must work in a law firm upstairs. One of them says, "I mean I can't believe he acts like that. He's an attorney. He's a grown up. He should know better." I stop her, of course, because I am charming and funny, and I say, "I think you've made a mistake. You've said he was an attorney AND a grown up." Everyone laughs and one woman says, "Isn't there a word for that? Like idiot-moron or something?"
-----------------------------
I've had an epiphany about something I mentioned a while ago regarding dating -- what the difference is between who someone is and how that person treats you. Who someone is will be very unlikely to change. How that person treats you? Well, that can change at the drop of a hat.
-----------------------------
Speaking of change, I am appealing to all the dorks out there. How many of you noticed that Delta's campaign (which really isn't so new anymore, but is something like "We are change" or "Change is what Delta's all about") is really just a big math joke?
-----------------------------
I typoed decaf coffee the other day as "decarf" coffee and that just made me giggle.
-----------------------------
Fernando and I got into a heated discussion today about the what-would-you-like-to-be-in-a-bathtub-full-of debate, because I said it would be yogurt today. ("if it wasn't cold," I added.) He argued that I wouldn't want to eat my way out of a bathtub full of yogurt and I said no, probably not, and he said, then what's the point of being in a bathtub full of it? Why would I fill a bathtub full of butterscotch pudding, he asked, if I weren't going to eat my way out of it?
Good question, Fernando.
-----------------------------
Has anyone else noticed that Samoas changed their names? They're Caramel Delights. I asked an Australian I know if they have girl scouts in Australia (where the Samoans might actually be upset about having the MOST DELICIOUS COOKIE IN THE WORLD named after them) but he said no, there are no girl scouts in Australia (and hence, no girl scout cookies). Girls, however, can join the Scouts, and it turns out there is a band in Australia called "Scouting for Girls." (I currently have one of their songs stuck in my head.)
And now it's three minutes INTO vacation! WOO HOO!
(Sorry, lawfirm. I've been so good lately.)
Here are some choice things I've overheard lately:
1) A dad and his kid are walking down the street, engrossed in a very important conversation. Dad says, "And then we'll do what?" Kid says, "Duh, we'll go pick up balloons and marshmallows." What they planned to do with them, I did not hear, as I had turned the corner.
2) A guy is pontificating to a group of his friends, and all I manage to hear is, "I'm sure Hitler was a nice guy, but..."
3) I get in the elevator with a number of other women who must work in a law firm upstairs. One of them says, "I mean I can't believe he acts like that. He's an attorney. He's a grown up. He should know better." I stop her, of course, because I am charming and funny, and I say, "I think you've made a mistake. You've said he was an attorney AND a grown up." Everyone laughs and one woman says, "Isn't there a word for that? Like idiot-moron or something?"
-----------------------------
I've had an epiphany about something I mentioned a while ago regarding dating -- what the difference is between who someone is and how that person treats you. Who someone is will be very unlikely to change. How that person treats you? Well, that can change at the drop of a hat.
-----------------------------
Speaking of change, I am appealing to all the dorks out there. How many of you noticed that Delta's campaign (which really isn't so new anymore, but is something like "We are change" or "Change is what Delta's all about") is really just a big math joke?
-----------------------------
I typoed decaf coffee the other day as "decarf" coffee and that just made me giggle.
-----------------------------
Fernando and I got into a heated discussion today about the what-would-you-like-to-be-in-a-bathtub-full-of debate, because I said it would be yogurt today. ("if it wasn't cold," I added.) He argued that I wouldn't want to eat my way out of a bathtub full of yogurt and I said no, probably not, and he said, then what's the point of being in a bathtub full of it? Why would I fill a bathtub full of butterscotch pudding, he asked, if I weren't going to eat my way out of it?
Good question, Fernando.
-----------------------------
Has anyone else noticed that Samoas changed their names? They're Caramel Delights. I asked an Australian I know if they have girl scouts in Australia (where the Samoans might actually be upset about having the MOST DELICIOUS COOKIE IN THE WORLD named after them) but he said no, there are no girl scouts in Australia (and hence, no girl scout cookies). Girls, however, can join the Scouts, and it turns out there is a band in Australia called "Scouting for Girls." (I currently have one of their songs stuck in my head.)
And now it's three minutes INTO vacation! WOO HOO!
Saturday, February 2, 2008
speed dating (round two)
If you're just joining us now, I highly recommend checking out my previous post ("how to meet a quality guy in three minutes or less") for the background on this story. Without it, well, you'll probably be fine, but do you really want to take that risk??
Stan L.
Keri describes Stan L. as "Russian Disco Guy" and I'd say that's being pretty generous. I saw him as more of an iguana that drinks through a straw by turning its head, reaching its tongue out for the straw and hoping for the best. Either way, we spent a good two minutes and forty five seconds discussing my name.
Stan: What is "Kate"?
Me: It's my name. What do you mean?
Stan: I don't know it.
Me: Aren't there any Kates in Russia?
Stan: No. (darts his tongue at the straw and drinks.) There are Katherines.
Me: Well, Kate is a nickname for Katherine.
Stan: What about Cathy? C-A-T-H-Y?
Me: Um, what about it?
Stan: Isn't that the nickname for Katherine?
Me: It's one of them.
Stan: Why aren't you Cathy?
Me: Because it's not my name.
Stan: You should be Cathy.
Me: Ok, but I'm not. I never have been.
Stan: Why not?
Me: BECAUSE MY NAME IS KATE.
The verdict: It's too bad iguanas don't speed date. I'd take one over Stan.
Patrick C.
Patrick gets credit for being one of the more normal participants. He was well dressed, not bad looking (aside from the mole on his right temple that Keri just couldn't get over -- I won't say I didn't notice it, either...) and said everything just right at all the right times. (Can anyone say "too polished"?) He told me that he had just come back from the gym, where he had been Spinning, and I told him that I hate spinning, that it's like "hitting some very important body parts with a baseball bat over and over again." He ran out of topics rather quickly, and I was forced to resort to something I didn't want to have to pull out if I could avoid it: cheesemaking.
I had agreed with myself beforehand that if anyone was really boring, and they asked me what I enjoy doing in my free time, I'd tell them about the cheese I made for Lisa on Wednesday. I only had to whip it out twice (thank god), but Patrick was the first.
The verdict: There's a spinning milk into cheese joke here, I just can't figure it out.
After Patrick came intermission, which started with the creepy sex story told by Alan F. and ended with Keri and I both throwing out the bland-ass cookies and Keri announcing, "They're just not worth the calories!"
For the second half, the men stayed seated and the women moved from table to table, which was fine, except that for that half, the guys were facing the tv screen full of gyrating, half-naked women. (Although, who am I kidding, pretending to care??)
Max
The first guy in the second half for me was Max. He was wee. Very very wee. He told me I looked "very sharp" and then talked about himself for the next three minutes. He'd ask me a question, I'd respond, and then he'd interrupt me to go on about himself. Since that's my favorite way to have a conversation, I think I'll be calling him tomorrow.
Keri hit the nail on the head, however, when she described him as "the guy who plays the oompa loompas in the new version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory."
The verdict: Oompa Loompa doompa-dee-do/There's not a chance I'd go out with you / Oompa Loompa doompa-dee-dee/ I'd really rather drink my own pee!
Oscar
A knight is shining armor is one thing. A guy in a shiny suit is another. I thought Oscar was German, but apparently he's Colombian. I recall very little of what we talked about, but I think there's a chance he was my second cheesemaking reference. He was also a very, very close talker. One of those intense, deep-eye-staring guys who's supposed to win you over with a glance, and when the glance doesn't do it, he works it with a lingering once over, which eventually just turns into a stare.
The verdict: I'd take him on my team in a staring contest, but that's about it.
Carlos Q.
Ah, Carlos Q. The Argentinian Asshole. (Keri's name for him, not mine.) All I know is that we talked about penguins (neither of us having seen any, but his country's full of them) and New York tourists. Keri, on the other hand, had an exceptionally pleasant interaction with him.
Keri: (sitting down) Hi, I'm Keri.
Carlos: Wow, you look exhausted. Are you ok?
Keri: (blink) (pause) (blink)
If only she had had the foresight to say, "Oh, no, I'm fine, it's only Lupus."
The verdict: I'd have to be one tired penguin to go out with this guy. (Although I did see him seriously try to chat up Keri as we were leaving. Maybe she liked it...)
Goutham R.
Wow. There are few words (if any) to describe Goutham R. Keri's notes read "Jesus H. NOOOOOOOOO!" and that pretty much sums it up nicely.
I saw Goutham as kind of a potato. He had a nice, brown outside like a potato, was kind of lumpy like a potato, and held a conversation almost as well as some potatoes I've chatted with in the past. He we definitely getting on the old side, but wasn't sprouting anything... yet.
The verdict: Smothered in sour cream and chives, the answer'd still be Jesus H. Nooooooooooo!
John O.
And last, but not least, John O. I glanced at him while he was chatting with Keri, and I thought to myself, "Thank god! Someone almost normal! He had too much facial hair for my taste, but I probably could have talked to him for a while without bringing up cheesemaking. (Excuse me, but when did Not Discussing Cheesemaking become a datable quality??) But when I sat down with him, there was this negative energy suck that took all nice things and made them frustrated, negative and antsy. I think he may even have accused me of "giving up the dream," and then admitting to doing it all the time himself.
And, oh, did I mention he was a lawyer? And a litigator to boot?
The verdict: In the land of the blind the one-eyed man is king.
We wrapped it up with these fellas, said goodbye to our poor female compatriots and headed out of the bar, waiting until we were a decent distance away to fall apart in laughter.
"International night? Who's genius idea was that?? We would have had better luck at Special Ed night!" I blurted out once we crossed the street.
"Special Ed night? No, we would have done better at Missing A Limb Night!"
That's when I fell down on the sidewalk and nearly peed myself.
The upsides of this adventure were many. First, it was an excellent bonding experience for Keri and I (not that working in a law firm together for a couple of years didn't do it), and second, it reminded me that if I can hold a conversation with a potato, I can hold one with a willing human being. We went to a friend's birthday party afterwards, and I felt so extremely socially competent, I almost walked up to strangers just to have conversations. (Keri, unfortunately, had to go back to work. At 9:30 on a Thursday. Good thing she wasn't tanked...)
Will I do it again? I don't know. It was a really fun experience, and made me laugh harder than I have in quite a while. Is it a legitimate way to meet people? That's a good question. Just ask Patrick C. -- he's just out of a two year relationship with someone he met speed dating. (No wonder he sounded so polished...)
One thing's for sure, we will never go back to International Night!
Stan L.
Keri describes Stan L. as "Russian Disco Guy" and I'd say that's being pretty generous. I saw him as more of an iguana that drinks through a straw by turning its head, reaching its tongue out for the straw and hoping for the best. Either way, we spent a good two minutes and forty five seconds discussing my name.
Stan: What is "Kate"?
Me: It's my name. What do you mean?
Stan: I don't know it.
Me: Aren't there any Kates in Russia?
Stan: No. (darts his tongue at the straw and drinks.) There are Katherines.
Me: Well, Kate is a nickname for Katherine.
Stan: What about Cathy? C-A-T-H-Y?
Me: Um, what about it?
Stan: Isn't that the nickname for Katherine?
Me: It's one of them.
Stan: Why aren't you Cathy?
Me: Because it's not my name.
Stan: You should be Cathy.
Me: Ok, but I'm not. I never have been.
Stan: Why not?
Me: BECAUSE MY NAME IS KATE.
The verdict: It's too bad iguanas don't speed date. I'd take one over Stan.
Patrick C.
Patrick gets credit for being one of the more normal participants. He was well dressed, not bad looking (aside from the mole on his right temple that Keri just couldn't get over -- I won't say I didn't notice it, either...) and said everything just right at all the right times. (Can anyone say "too polished"?) He told me that he had just come back from the gym, where he had been Spinning, and I told him that I hate spinning, that it's like "hitting some very important body parts with a baseball bat over and over again." He ran out of topics rather quickly, and I was forced to resort to something I didn't want to have to pull out if I could avoid it: cheesemaking.
I had agreed with myself beforehand that if anyone was really boring, and they asked me what I enjoy doing in my free time, I'd tell them about the cheese I made for Lisa on Wednesday. I only had to whip it out twice (thank god), but Patrick was the first.
The verdict: There's a spinning milk into cheese joke here, I just can't figure it out.
After Patrick came intermission, which started with the creepy sex story told by Alan F. and ended with Keri and I both throwing out the bland-ass cookies and Keri announcing, "They're just not worth the calories!"
For the second half, the men stayed seated and the women moved from table to table, which was fine, except that for that half, the guys were facing the tv screen full of gyrating, half-naked women. (Although, who am I kidding, pretending to care??)
Max
The first guy in the second half for me was Max. He was wee. Very very wee. He told me I looked "very sharp" and then talked about himself for the next three minutes. He'd ask me a question, I'd respond, and then he'd interrupt me to go on about himself. Since that's my favorite way to have a conversation, I think I'll be calling him tomorrow.
Keri hit the nail on the head, however, when she described him as "the guy who plays the oompa loompas in the new version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory."
The verdict: Oompa Loompa doompa-dee-do/There's not a chance I'd go out with you / Oompa Loompa doompa-dee-dee/ I'd really rather drink my own pee!
Oscar
A knight is shining armor is one thing. A guy in a shiny suit is another. I thought Oscar was German, but apparently he's Colombian. I recall very little of what we talked about, but I think there's a chance he was my second cheesemaking reference. He was also a very, very close talker. One of those intense, deep-eye-staring guys who's supposed to win you over with a glance, and when the glance doesn't do it, he works it with a lingering once over, which eventually just turns into a stare.
The verdict: I'd take him on my team in a staring contest, but that's about it.
Carlos Q.
Ah, Carlos Q. The Argentinian Asshole. (Keri's name for him, not mine.) All I know is that we talked about penguins (neither of us having seen any, but his country's full of them) and New York tourists. Keri, on the other hand, had an exceptionally pleasant interaction with him.
Keri: (sitting down) Hi, I'm Keri.
Carlos: Wow, you look exhausted. Are you ok?
Keri: (blink) (pause) (blink)
If only she had had the foresight to say, "Oh, no, I'm fine, it's only Lupus."
The verdict: I'd have to be one tired penguin to go out with this guy. (Although I did see him seriously try to chat up Keri as we were leaving. Maybe she liked it...)
Goutham R.
Wow. There are few words (if any) to describe Goutham R. Keri's notes read "Jesus H. NOOOOOOOOO!" and that pretty much sums it up nicely.
I saw Goutham as kind of a potato. He had a nice, brown outside like a potato, was kind of lumpy like a potato, and held a conversation almost as well as some potatoes I've chatted with in the past. He we definitely getting on the old side, but wasn't sprouting anything... yet.
The verdict: Smothered in sour cream and chives, the answer'd still be Jesus H. Nooooooooooo!
John O.
And last, but not least, John O. I glanced at him while he was chatting with Keri, and I thought to myself, "Thank god! Someone almost normal! He had too much facial hair for my taste, but I probably could have talked to him for a while without bringing up cheesemaking. (Excuse me, but when did Not Discussing Cheesemaking become a datable quality??) But when I sat down with him, there was this negative energy suck that took all nice things and made them frustrated, negative and antsy. I think he may even have accused me of "giving up the dream," and then admitting to doing it all the time himself.
And, oh, did I mention he was a lawyer? And a litigator to boot?
The verdict: In the land of the blind the one-eyed man is king.
We wrapped it up with these fellas, said goodbye to our poor female compatriots and headed out of the bar, waiting until we were a decent distance away to fall apart in laughter.
"International night? Who's genius idea was that?? We would have had better luck at Special Ed night!" I blurted out once we crossed the street.
"Special Ed night? No, we would have done better at Missing A Limb Night!"
That's when I fell down on the sidewalk and nearly peed myself.
The upsides of this adventure were many. First, it was an excellent bonding experience for Keri and I (not that working in a law firm together for a couple of years didn't do it), and second, it reminded me that if I can hold a conversation with a potato, I can hold one with a willing human being. We went to a friend's birthday party afterwards, and I felt so extremely socially competent, I almost walked up to strangers just to have conversations. (Keri, unfortunately, had to go back to work. At 9:30 on a Thursday. Good thing she wasn't tanked...)
Will I do it again? I don't know. It was a really fun experience, and made me laugh harder than I have in quite a while. Is it a legitimate way to meet people? That's a good question. Just ask Patrick C. -- he's just out of a two year relationship with someone he met speed dating. (No wonder he sounded so polished...)
One thing's for sure, we will never go back to International Night!
Friday, February 1, 2008
how to meet a quality guy in three minutes or less
I wanted to write about how to meet a quality guy in three minutes or less, but after my Speed Dating Debacle last night, the truth is, I HAVE NO IDEA.
My dear friend Keri and I have been discussing a speed dating adventure for the last several months, mostly because it's such a New York thing to do, and because it seems like a really good idea -- sit down with a guy for seven minutes, see if there's any chemistry and whether there is or not, move on. What we didn't take into account was the fact that there could possibly be a speed dating event with so many social rejects in one place.
[Oops, I got judgmental there for a second. (Don't worry, it's only going to get worse.) This post is not for the faint of heart, the easily offended or any of the men who were at that bar last night.]
Our major mistake for the evening was having picked "International Night." We thought that meant there would be a variety of men in a variety of colors, and not just your run-of-the-mill white guys in suits. What it actually meant was that only three of the participants were from the US, and the rest of them had accents stronger than their biceps. Keri now calls it the "United Colors of Benetton" Speed Dating. It also meant (thank god!) that the dates would be only three minutes so that "everybody could meet everybody."
We got a drink, settled at our tables (8 and 9, respectively) and got ready to start our evening of three minute "dates." However, the first guys we sat with were there for almost ten minutes, until the organizer got her shit together... which meant that those "dates" streteched out into an unknown eternity. (Please note that mine was spent with Hiro, and Keri's was spent with Yu.) Finally, the gong went off and they moved on down the line.
Here's a composite rundown of the men we met, compiled by both me and Keri:
Hiro N.
Keri aptly describes Hiro in her notes as "off the boat Japan." He was a tall, good looking Japanese accountant who knew about seven words in English, five of which were "you understanding what I say?" I tried to talk to him about Murakami, a Japanese author whose book I'm reading right now, but I'm pretty sure he said something about hard-boiled eggs. Maybe we were talking about sushi?
The verdict: We don't need another Hiro.
Yu K.
Ha! I just realized that Yu K's name looks like "Yuk" which is what his breath smelled like. I have no idea what I talked to him about. All I remember is that he was short, bald and had the worst breath I've smelled since that homeless guy in Grand Central.
Keri, however, recalls a whole conversation with him.
Yu: New York women are too picky, that is why they are single.
Keri: Hmmm, did you ever think that maybe we choose to be single?
Yu: (stunned silence)
Keri: So, you're from Burma? What's that like?
The verdict: It would only be fun to go out with Yu because your friends would call and say "Who are you going out with tonight?" and you'd say "Yu" and they'd say "No, I can't I'm busy."
Geoff D.
I don't recall what I discussed with Geoff either. I do know, however, that it had nothing to do with trucks, which was a miracle, given the fact that the gap between this guy's front teeth was so big, I spent the whole three minutes imagining what kind of trucks could drive through it. He was Scottish, but lacked enough of an accent to qualify him as Automatically Attractive Because He's Scottish, and I think he plays the piano. Keri notes, and I'm not 100% sure I agree, that he resembled Gollum.
Verdict: If the trucks in his mouth would honk their horns when you make that elbow-horn-yanking motion, then... maybe.
John D.
John D. works for a non-profit that starts charter schools. I admired his willingness to do more to further public education, and whipped out the soundbyte that I had heard on the news just that morning, that NY public school funding was being cut by $20 million (or something), but beyond that, I have no recollection of the other three minutes. Keri's notes reflect much of the same thing -- she says "apparently he wasn't offensive enough or memorable enough to get more than a 'something' note" on her paper. He bore a slight resemblance, I think, to Montogmery Burns.
Verdict: I'm sorry, was I supposed to be paying attention?
Tom T.
Tom T. is a special case. On our way to the event, a nerdy, creepy guy approached us and asked if we knew the neighborhood well. We said "kind of" and he asked if there was a Washington Mutual bank nearby. (We were right next to Madison Square, which boasts a big, fat WaMu logo.) We directed him inside there, and as he walked away, I said to Keri, "He's probably going to get cash so he can buy us drinks!"
Um, yeah, he was. Keri notes, "I would like to point out that I actually referred to the book 'The Gift of Fear' when we met this guy on the street. I almost fell out of my chair when he came into speed dating!"
The verdict: There ain't enough cash in all the WaMu's in the world.
Alan F.
Poor Alan F. He was funny(ish), spoke good English and knew how to have a conversation (for three minutes). Keri points out that he was carrying a hard-sided briefcase, which nobody does anymore, and my notes reflect that he knows all about the gentrification of 5th Avenue in Park Slope. He was doing fine, until the intermission (when they served us bland, tasteless cookies and mealy fruit salad) when he told us the plot of Auto Focus, a story about a sex-crazed man and the Indian--I mean, Native American -- who end up having foursomes together that were videotaped and the Indian -- I mean, Native American -- ends up killing the guy who's addicted to sex because he wants to give it up and the Indian -- I mean, Native American -- doesn't want to and will die without sex. (note: those are his caveats, not mine.)
At the end of the plot synopsis, Keri rightfully called him out for having turned a perfectly fine conversation into a story about foursomes. She also later referred to him as the "creepy old dad who looks like Ed Asner."
Verdict: Would you date Ed Asner -- I mean, Alan F.?
Mike D.
The extent of Keri's notes? "Spanish from Queens." Mine? "Software." Not much to be said for Mike D., although he does get credit for getting Keri's Beastie Boys reference.
Verdict: Check the lyrics, Mike. It's No Sleep 'Till Brooklyn, not Queens. Sorry!
Intermission (with the nasty cookies and fruit) came two guys later, but since this is the actual halfway mark, I'm feeling the need for a drink.
Check back for the second half...
My dear friend Keri and I have been discussing a speed dating adventure for the last several months, mostly because it's such a New York thing to do, and because it seems like a really good idea -- sit down with a guy for seven minutes, see if there's any chemistry and whether there is or not, move on. What we didn't take into account was the fact that there could possibly be a speed dating event with so many social rejects in one place.
[Oops, I got judgmental there for a second. (Don't worry, it's only going to get worse.) This post is not for the faint of heart, the easily offended or any of the men who were at that bar last night.]
Our major mistake for the evening was having picked "International Night." We thought that meant there would be a variety of men in a variety of colors, and not just your run-of-the-mill white guys in suits. What it actually meant was that only three of the participants were from the US, and the rest of them had accents stronger than their biceps. Keri now calls it the "United Colors of Benetton" Speed Dating. It also meant (thank god!) that the dates would be only three minutes so that "everybody could meet everybody."
We got a drink, settled at our tables (8 and 9, respectively) and got ready to start our evening of three minute "dates." However, the first guys we sat with were there for almost ten minutes, until the organizer got her shit together... which meant that those "dates" streteched out into an unknown eternity. (Please note that mine was spent with Hiro, and Keri's was spent with Yu.) Finally, the gong went off and they moved on down the line.
Here's a composite rundown of the men we met, compiled by both me and Keri:
Hiro N.
Keri aptly describes Hiro in her notes as "off the boat Japan." He was a tall, good looking Japanese accountant who knew about seven words in English, five of which were "you understanding what I say?" I tried to talk to him about Murakami, a Japanese author whose book I'm reading right now, but I'm pretty sure he said something about hard-boiled eggs. Maybe we were talking about sushi?
The verdict: We don't need another Hiro.
Yu K.
Ha! I just realized that Yu K's name looks like "Yuk" which is what his breath smelled like. I have no idea what I talked to him about. All I remember is that he was short, bald and had the worst breath I've smelled since that homeless guy in Grand Central.
Keri, however, recalls a whole conversation with him.
Yu: New York women are too picky, that is why they are single.
Keri: Hmmm, did you ever think that maybe we choose to be single?
Yu: (stunned silence)
Keri: So, you're from Burma? What's that like?
The verdict: It would only be fun to go out with Yu because your friends would call and say "Who are you going out with tonight?" and you'd say "Yu" and they'd say "No, I can't I'm busy."
Geoff D.
I don't recall what I discussed with Geoff either. I do know, however, that it had nothing to do with trucks, which was a miracle, given the fact that the gap between this guy's front teeth was so big, I spent the whole three minutes imagining what kind of trucks could drive through it. He was Scottish, but lacked enough of an accent to qualify him as Automatically Attractive Because He's Scottish, and I think he plays the piano. Keri notes, and I'm not 100% sure I agree, that he resembled Gollum.
Verdict: If the trucks in his mouth would honk their horns when you make that elbow-horn-yanking motion, then... maybe.
John D.
John D. works for a non-profit that starts charter schools. I admired his willingness to do more to further public education, and whipped out the soundbyte that I had heard on the news just that morning, that NY public school funding was being cut by $20 million (or something), but beyond that, I have no recollection of the other three minutes. Keri's notes reflect much of the same thing -- she says "apparently he wasn't offensive enough or memorable enough to get more than a 'something' note" on her paper. He bore a slight resemblance, I think, to Montogmery Burns.
Verdict: I'm sorry, was I supposed to be paying attention?
Tom T.
Tom T. is a special case. On our way to the event, a nerdy, creepy guy approached us and asked if we knew the neighborhood well. We said "kind of" and he asked if there was a Washington Mutual bank nearby. (We were right next to Madison Square, which boasts a big, fat WaMu logo.) We directed him inside there, and as he walked away, I said to Keri, "He's probably going to get cash so he can buy us drinks!"
Um, yeah, he was. Keri notes, "I would like to point out that I actually referred to the book 'The Gift of Fear' when we met this guy on the street. I almost fell out of my chair when he came into speed dating!"
The verdict: There ain't enough cash in all the WaMu's in the world.
Alan F.
Poor Alan F. He was funny(ish), spoke good English and knew how to have a conversation (for three minutes). Keri points out that he was carrying a hard-sided briefcase, which nobody does anymore, and my notes reflect that he knows all about the gentrification of 5th Avenue in Park Slope. He was doing fine, until the intermission (when they served us bland, tasteless cookies and mealy fruit salad) when he told us the plot of Auto Focus, a story about a sex-crazed man and the Indian--I mean, Native American -- who end up having foursomes together that were videotaped and the Indian -- I mean, Native American -- ends up killing the guy who's addicted to sex because he wants to give it up and the Indian -- I mean, Native American -- doesn't want to and will die without sex. (note: those are his caveats, not mine.)
At the end of the plot synopsis, Keri rightfully called him out for having turned a perfectly fine conversation into a story about foursomes. She also later referred to him as the "creepy old dad who looks like Ed Asner."
Verdict: Would you date Ed Asner -- I mean, Alan F.?
Mike D.
The extent of Keri's notes? "Spanish from Queens." Mine? "Software." Not much to be said for Mike D., although he does get credit for getting Keri's Beastie Boys reference.
Verdict: Check the lyrics, Mike. It's No Sleep 'Till Brooklyn, not Queens. Sorry!
Intermission (with the nasty cookies and fruit) came two guys later, but since this is the actual halfway mark, I'm feeling the need for a drink.
Check back for the second half...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
