Woo. My little stewards and the new chef just got a 98 (out of 100) on the health inspection for our fraternity eating club. So exciting. For me. And anyone who understands that first sentence. Yay!
And J & A & V, if you ever read this, please don't take the 'little stewards' title personally, it's just a habit I've gotten in to remind myself I'm not 20.
Friday, January 23, 2004
So, the other day Mom was polishing up her cast list of my life and I was helping her on a few last names, occupations and relationships to me and so on and so forth. It was interesting. While I joke that she's my stalker, it's really not that creepy. She just likes to know what's going on with me. She has her own life and all too. Honest! It's just funny how different she and Dad are with respect to me. I don't think either one of them cares about me less than the other, but Mom knows every little detail and Dad's perfectly happy to have overall highlights and only get the details on things that specifically interest him. He really does have the highlights down though. I quizzed him once. He did shockingly well.
I blame my completely schizophrenic nature on them and their differences. And I guess on being a Gemini (twins! two faced! woo!). I used to joke that Dad fought in Vietnam while Mom protested it. Not that that phrase sums up who they are all that well or their differences, but it seemed to prove a point at the time. They're both individuals with a million nuances, but... Mom tends to be the more emotional one while Dad's a bit more rational. So I'm kinda both. I can fly off the handle and cry at lots of things and be sympathetic and so on and so forth while being rational at the same time. This is not making sense. I tried to explain to a friend of mine once that while I do illogical strange 'girl things' (as I believe he put it), I realize that I'm being illogical and strange and just need to get it out of my system and then I'll be fine. And I don't actually expect others to take me seriously when I'm being goofy - because I'm still rational and know they shouldn't take me seriously. But sometimes you need to be emotional and sometimes you need to rein it in. Argh. This isn't making sense and I'm afraid that my parents are going to think I see them as an emotional freakshow and a cyborg and that is NOT the case. It's probably a topic that requires a long discussion and not just a couple paragraphs on a blog. It's just something I was thinking about this morning.
One thing my parents did do the same was embrace Mocking as a great Parental Tool. I got the occasional spanking and sometimes frequent groundings, but they really liked the mocking thing for the day to day stuff. Like when I went through the whining phase. They liked calling me Wendy Whiner and would start riffing off that old Saturday Night Live skit with that horrible whining family. It drove me out of my mind. But it worked. I learned that whining is only good in the same way shrieking is good - getting what you want from people who will do anything to get you to shut up. I also remember when I went through the early teen eye rolling phase. Mom liked to grab my arm and ask Dad for a quarter to put in my ear to see if they could win - implying I was a slot machine. This, of course, made me want to roll my eyes even more which caused more slot machine jokes until I wanted to cry. But, I actually started making a concerted effort to NOT EVER roll my eyes. To this day I'm not a big eye roller. I get my contempt out with snarking and cattiness. Don't know if that's actually such a good thing come to think of it... But I guess the mocking thing worked well for them. I'll probably torture my children with it some day. No whining and eye rolling in MY household.
Actually... when I worked for a day care center in college I enforced a strict no whining policy. If one of the kids would whine at me, I would tell them "No Whining" and wouldn't listen until they talked to me normally. I kinda figured this wasn't really sinking in much as these were 3-5 year olds I was working with. But then one day I was over dealing with something when I heard Kid A whining to her friend, Kid B. Kid B stopped Kid A in her tracks and promptly said "No Whining!". Kept repeating it too. Like I did. Heh. Cracked me up. His parents probably hate me. Still.
I blame my completely schizophrenic nature on them and their differences. And I guess on being a Gemini (twins! two faced! woo!). I used to joke that Dad fought in Vietnam while Mom protested it. Not that that phrase sums up who they are all that well or their differences, but it seemed to prove a point at the time. They're both individuals with a million nuances, but... Mom tends to be the more emotional one while Dad's a bit more rational. So I'm kinda both. I can fly off the handle and cry at lots of things and be sympathetic and so on and so forth while being rational at the same time. This is not making sense. I tried to explain to a friend of mine once that while I do illogical strange 'girl things' (as I believe he put it), I realize that I'm being illogical and strange and just need to get it out of my system and then I'll be fine. And I don't actually expect others to take me seriously when I'm being goofy - because I'm still rational and know they shouldn't take me seriously. But sometimes you need to be emotional and sometimes you need to rein it in. Argh. This isn't making sense and I'm afraid that my parents are going to think I see them as an emotional freakshow and a cyborg and that is NOT the case. It's probably a topic that requires a long discussion and not just a couple paragraphs on a blog. It's just something I was thinking about this morning.
One thing my parents did do the same was embrace Mocking as a great Parental Tool. I got the occasional spanking and sometimes frequent groundings, but they really liked the mocking thing for the day to day stuff. Like when I went through the whining phase. They liked calling me Wendy Whiner and would start riffing off that old Saturday Night Live skit with that horrible whining family. It drove me out of my mind. But it worked. I learned that whining is only good in the same way shrieking is good - getting what you want from people who will do anything to get you to shut up. I also remember when I went through the early teen eye rolling phase. Mom liked to grab my arm and ask Dad for a quarter to put in my ear to see if they could win - implying I was a slot machine. This, of course, made me want to roll my eyes even more which caused more slot machine jokes until I wanted to cry. But, I actually started making a concerted effort to NOT EVER roll my eyes. To this day I'm not a big eye roller. I get my contempt out with snarking and cattiness. Don't know if that's actually such a good thing come to think of it... But I guess the mocking thing worked well for them. I'll probably torture my children with it some day. No whining and eye rolling in MY household.
Actually... when I worked for a day care center in college I enforced a strict no whining policy. If one of the kids would whine at me, I would tell them "No Whining" and wouldn't listen until they talked to me normally. I kinda figured this wasn't really sinking in much as these were 3-5 year olds I was working with. But then one day I was over dealing with something when I heard Kid A whining to her friend, Kid B. Kid B stopped Kid A in her tracks and promptly said "No Whining!". Kept repeating it too. Like I did. Heh. Cracked me up. His parents probably hate me. Still.
Thursday, January 22, 2004
I love this story.
So, we were all hanging at McStinovich a few years ago. We were having a wonderful time, something you can't help but do at McStinovich what with all the drinking and the floating. We were up on the deck of the house focusing on the eating and drinking (not so much the floating right then) when S came out and informed C that the lemonade has gone bad. C was all surprised, "We have lemonade? Where did you find lemonade?" S informed her that he made it with his own two little hands, from frozen concentrate. C was again surprised at the existence of frozen lemonade concentrate in her home and wondered where S found it. He told her. She started cracking up and told him that's where they keep the fat. You know how every household stores the grease/fat from cooking bacon or frying burgers or whatever? My family keeps it in an old peanut butter jar underneath the sink - never to be mistaken for actual peanut butter or lemonade or whatever. The S's apparently store theirs in juice concentrate containers. Where any drunk fool can find it and be surprised at the bad taste.
Apparently S found the container and was craving lemonade. I always have a strong hope that he was well into the drinking portion of the weekend at this point. Because he found the concentrate container and poured the contents into a pitcher. He mixed in the two or three containers worth of water and stirred. He poured a glass and then tasted it. And thought it tasted a bit odd. And then he tasted it again. And then he came out to share the news of the funny tasting lemonade with everyone on the deck, so we will always and forever talk about 'The Time S Drank Fat'.
I think I tell the story better than I write it. And I can never decide when it's a good time to reveal the whole twist of it being fat rather than lemonade. Obviously if I start the story with, "Did you hear about the time S drank fat?" it really isn't important when the revelation is made as it's kind of already out there. But in writing it, I don't know. Maybe it's best to wait for later. Either way, still has me cracking up.
Hopefully he won't find me and beat me up if he ever reads this.
So, we were all hanging at McStinovich a few years ago. We were having a wonderful time, something you can't help but do at McStinovich what with all the drinking and the floating. We were up on the deck of the house focusing on the eating and drinking (not so much the floating right then) when S came out and informed C that the lemonade has gone bad. C was all surprised, "We have lemonade? Where did you find lemonade?" S informed her that he made it with his own two little hands, from frozen concentrate. C was again surprised at the existence of frozen lemonade concentrate in her home and wondered where S found it. He told her. She started cracking up and told him that's where they keep the fat. You know how every household stores the grease/fat from cooking bacon or frying burgers or whatever? My family keeps it in an old peanut butter jar underneath the sink - never to be mistaken for actual peanut butter or lemonade or whatever. The S's apparently store theirs in juice concentrate containers. Where any drunk fool can find it and be surprised at the bad taste.
Apparently S found the container and was craving lemonade. I always have a strong hope that he was well into the drinking portion of the weekend at this point. Because he found the concentrate container and poured the contents into a pitcher. He mixed in the two or three containers worth of water and stirred. He poured a glass and then tasted it. And thought it tasted a bit odd. And then he tasted it again. And then he came out to share the news of the funny tasting lemonade with everyone on the deck, so we will always and forever talk about 'The Time S Drank Fat'.
I think I tell the story better than I write it. And I can never decide when it's a good time to reveal the whole twist of it being fat rather than lemonade. Obviously if I start the story with, "Did you hear about the time S drank fat?" it really isn't important when the revelation is made as it's kind of already out there. But in writing it, I don't know. Maybe it's best to wait for later. Either way, still has me cracking up.
Hopefully he won't find me and beat me up if he ever reads this.
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
(Good Morning, Kristie! Have a lovely Thursday!)
So, I'm going to Vegas with some girlfriends next month and I'm very excited. K and I had an excellent time two years ago. We drank two buildings, took ridiculous photos (I have scanned them and you need to remind me to send them to you!) of our future children (we're going to have a bitch of a daughter and a really hot, gay son - woo), and drunk dialed my Mom. We even rode the trolley. Apparently one does not ride the trolley in Vegas unless one is over the age of 65. We didn't care. We were tired and the Stratosphere was so far away. I recommend the trolley. We also stayed in a room at New York, New York that was as far from the elevator banks as possible while still being IN the hotel. It took us half an hour to get downstairs every morning. Madness.
I'm so excited for this year. We've got a jacuzzi suite in the Luxor (with a slanty wall room in the pyramid) and another friend from high school will be joining us. K2 is newly single. And ready to get a little peppy in Vegas. As you may have noted from the activities above, K1 is not all about the drunken trashy stupidity so it should be interesting to mesh what everyone wants to do. There will be more buildings and photos and mocking most of the folks we see certainly. And eating and wandering. And the Stratosphere in the day since we've seen the view at night already. And I'm hoping to go to Star Trek: the Experience, but I don't know if my really pretty & sassy & not geeky companions are going to be up for that. Maybe after a few building drinks... And K2 and I hope we can get together and convince K1 that we should see a trashy show. And then there will be the Elvis Slot machines where my man sings to me when I win. And I'm thinking I might actually be ready for some black jack at the tables. Any suggestions from the peanut gallery? I think it'll just be fabulous to be with two (maybe three if K3 comes along) of my closest gal pals in a city like Vegas for a total girly weekend. We may even have to spa. Can you spa at 3AM in Vegas? You can't get a pedicure in LA after 9PM or so. Horrible city. Just so you know.
Vegas! Woo!
So, I'm going to Vegas with some girlfriends next month and I'm very excited. K and I had an excellent time two years ago. We drank two buildings, took ridiculous photos (I have scanned them and you need to remind me to send them to you!) of our future children (we're going to have a bitch of a daughter and a really hot, gay son - woo), and drunk dialed my Mom. We even rode the trolley. Apparently one does not ride the trolley in Vegas unless one is over the age of 65. We didn't care. We were tired and the Stratosphere was so far away. I recommend the trolley. We also stayed in a room at New York, New York that was as far from the elevator banks as possible while still being IN the hotel. It took us half an hour to get downstairs every morning. Madness.
I'm so excited for this year. We've got a jacuzzi suite in the Luxor (with a slanty wall room in the pyramid) and another friend from high school will be joining us. K2 is newly single. And ready to get a little peppy in Vegas. As you may have noted from the activities above, K1 is not all about the drunken trashy stupidity so it should be interesting to mesh what everyone wants to do. There will be more buildings and photos and mocking most of the folks we see certainly. And eating and wandering. And the Stratosphere in the day since we've seen the view at night already. And I'm hoping to go to Star Trek: the Experience, but I don't know if my really pretty & sassy & not geeky companions are going to be up for that. Maybe after a few building drinks... And K2 and I hope we can get together and convince K1 that we should see a trashy show. And then there will be the Elvis Slot machines where my man sings to me when I win. And I'm thinking I might actually be ready for some black jack at the tables. Any suggestions from the peanut gallery? I think it'll just be fabulous to be with two (maybe three if K3 comes along) of my closest gal pals in a city like Vegas for a total girly weekend. We may even have to spa. Can you spa at 3AM in Vegas? You can't get a pedicure in LA after 9PM or so. Horrible city. Just so you know.
Vegas! Woo!
Tuesday, January 20, 2004
Today is not a pretty day.
Some days I get ready and face the world and feel I look sassy and pretty and all that. For some reason the outfit works and the hair is doing it's shampoo commercial thing and the face isn't all pimply and the jewelry looks cute and the eyes look large and lovely and I hardly notice I'm fat and my shoes are all cute and fabulous and my nails aren't a mess and my pedicure isn't chipped and I'm all happy and gorgeous. Today is not one of those days.
The outfit, which was working for me when I wore it a couple weeks ago, is looking a little frumpy. And I don't think it has anything to do with the two days it spent on my floor. Really. I have two big, ugly red zits on my face, one is VERY red and VERY much on my forehead, almost dead center. It's really hot. Sexy beyond reason. My hair has actually decided to frizz a little. That's how dry it is in NYC. My perfectly straight hair is frizzy. And full of the crazy static. I barely have any jewels to distract from the zits and my lovely tan is fading. Today, is not a pretty day. But that should make it easier for me to go home tonight and put on my sweats and scrub the catbox. I hope.
I really prefer pretty days.
Some days I get ready and face the world and feel I look sassy and pretty and all that. For some reason the outfit works and the hair is doing it's shampoo commercial thing and the face isn't all pimply and the jewelry looks cute and the eyes look large and lovely and I hardly notice I'm fat and my shoes are all cute and fabulous and my nails aren't a mess and my pedicure isn't chipped and I'm all happy and gorgeous. Today is not one of those days.
The outfit, which was working for me when I wore it a couple weeks ago, is looking a little frumpy. And I don't think it has anything to do with the two days it spent on my floor. Really. I have two big, ugly red zits on my face, one is VERY red and VERY much on my forehead, almost dead center. It's really hot. Sexy beyond reason. My hair has actually decided to frizz a little. That's how dry it is in NYC. My perfectly straight hair is frizzy. And full of the crazy static. I barely have any jewels to distract from the zits and my lovely tan is fading. Today, is not a pretty day. But that should make it easier for me to go home tonight and put on my sweats and scrub the catbox. I hope.
I really prefer pretty days.
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