Tales from the Beach | A Mostly True Story, Volume 4

The Only Sober Girl in the Bar
I'm not trying to act superior by saying that I was the only sober girl at the bar, and I'm not implying that my friends were tanked--they weren't at all. But by day three of living off of a steady supply of beer, I built up a resistance and just couldn't catch a good buzz. Also, three nights of straining my voice to talk over the house band left me voiceless. I didn't see the point in pounding back shots of tequila to get *crunk* (as the kids say), and chugging beer with no promise of a buzz seemed like a waste of calories. So, unable to get tipsy or carry on a conversation, I elected to observe and report. Below you will read an itemized list of my findings:

• I don't think you have to get drunk to have a good time, but I do think you should get drunk to use the public restroom at a bar. Through the clear eyes of a sober woman, there is nothing scarier than a public restroom that is used exclusively by drunks. Every surface is inexplicably wet. The counters, the floor, the toilet seats, everything is wet. Is it sink water? Toilet water? Did employees hose the place down after somebody puked on the floor? It's crowded, and clumsy girls are bumping their heads on sharp corners. Other drunk girls are sharing their lit cigarettes with strangers and almost burning themselves and each other. There is a major toilet paper shortage. I want to leave this place, and immediately take a Hazmat shower and dispose of everything I'm wearing. I propose a special, separate restroom for teetotalers and designated drivers. You would have to pass a breathalyzer to gain entry, but it would be clean, dry, and well-stocked. Somebody get to work and make this happen please.
• Drunk people pontificate. I patiently listened for five entire minutes as a man explained to me that Zooey Deschanel is the greatest actress of our generation. "If she is performing with highly capable actors, the result is magical, and if she is working with less talented or inexperienced actors, they rise to meet her. She makes them better." I love me some Zooey Deschanel, don't get me wrong, I just haven't spent this much time thinking about her impact and place in cinematic history. Oh, and the Zooey Deschanel devotee? He's in the Air Force. What did I tell you? My friends are always approached by members of the armed forces. They claim we seemed "non threatening". That's a flattering characterization if I've ever heard one. Accurate, too.

Beana: Who is Zooey Deschanel?

Me: She was in 500 Days of Summer.

Beana: What?

Mama: She was in Elf.

Beana: I don't remember anyone in that movie.

Me: Did you see Failure to Launch?

Beana: Yes! I saw that!

Me: She was Sarah Jessica Parker's roommate.

Beana: Ohhh. I like her.

• I'm seated at a table with The Gypsy, who has struck up a conversation with two members of the Canadian military. The men act like they're engaging both The Gypsy and me in conversation, but I can't talk on account of I lost my voice. I wonder how long it takes them to realize I'm not participating in this conversation. Ten minutes later...

Canada Steve: That's quite an accent you have. I like the way you talk.

The Gypsy: I speak with perfect diction, and if you say otherwise, I'll slit your throat.

Canada Steve: Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. You're quite a pistol.

The Gypsy: It's too bad this one over here can't talk [points at me]. She lost her voice, which sucks, because she's got all the funny stories. My banter would be more witty if she could talk.

Canada Steve: Oh, is that what's going on? Because she hasn't said a word, but her eyes are screaming.

• Drunk people injure themselves. I passed one girl on the way to the bathroom. She was sitting on a bar stool, surrounded by the bar's security team, crying harder than Shelby in Truvy's salon, as her foot gushes so much blood that a legit puddle forms beneath her bare foot. 

• I've decided that Alanis Morissette's "You Oughta Know" is the white woman's "Free Bird". When this song plays, every woman stops her conversation and begins an impassioned sing-along, like "this is my jam!" The guys watching them are sort of into it, but sort of scared at the same time. This is, after all, a very aggressive man-hating song. My favorite thing about this phenomenon is that there is always one girl who is singing along with her friends, but she doesn't actually know the words to the song, so she nervously mumbles jibberish like, "buh da love that ya gay dat we may wasn't ayyy ayyy ta may you up bup bup...no...and every tie you bee ber bay dun dee dun dun doe ray mee. WELL YOU'RE STILL ALIVE, AND I'M HERE!"
• The same band played both nights we were at AJs. They were a group of capable musicians with an extensive and varied repertoire. The problem was, they played all their songs at the same time. I blame Glee: on Glee, they are constantly yammering about how innovative and cool it is to "mash up" two seemingly different songs, like "I'm Walking on Sunshine" and "Halo" and put them into a single performance. So the house band performed mash ups--of every song they played. Just as Beana and I would start jamming along to the first verse of "Fat Bottom Girls", the band flips the script and begins singing Radiohead's "Creep". It was very off-putting. 
• We didn't fare much better at Rum Runners. Is that place a piano bar all the time? I must have been half in the bag every other time I visited this place, because the piano came as a surprise. There was a bachelorette party going on (there is always a bachelorette party going on), and these girls were dancing on the front row and trying to get on stage like they thought they were at a Poison Justin Bieber concert. Drunk white chicks love piano bars, who knew?! I don't know if they ever play "You Oughta Know" at the piano bar, but I bet it incites riots. 
• The bouncer at Rum Runners was absurdly gruff with Cara and me. Also, he looked like Rob Riggle, the cop from The Hangover.

Bouncer: [stern and glaring] Show me your ID!

Cara: [uncharacteristically perky] Sure!

Bouncer spends an inordinate amount of time scrutinizing Cara's ID. 

Bouncer: [irritated] Do you know that your license is expired?

Cara: [shocked] What? No! I had no idea. Wow, just...no idea. Thank you so much for bringing it to my attention. [perks up again and bats her eyelashes] It's my birthday!

"It's my birthday!?" Does she think this is going to win over the bouncer? Because it isn't. She has the youthful enthusiasm of a four-year-old hoping to score a free balloon at Chuck E. Cheese. This is so out-of-character for Cara. I'm standing behind her so she can't see me laughing.

Bouncer: Today is not your birthday. Your birthday was four days ago.

Cara: [crestfallen] Well...we're here to celebrate my birthday.

Bouncer: Here [gives back her ID, disgusted] Just go.

I step up and present my ID. The increasingly annoyed bouncer gives me a dirty look and snatches the ID from my hand. I decide to act like a cold-as-ice, bad-ass bitch. Show no fear! I'm not going to let him know that I think he is comically angry.

Bouncer: Well what the hell happened here? [He's referring to the bottom corner of my ID, which features prominent teeth marks.]

Me: [bored] Puppy.

Bouncer: [Suspiciously, while still carefully examining my ID] What kind of puppy?

Me: A Pembroke Welsh Corgi.

Bouncer: Glances up with one eyebrow raised] A what?

Me: A Pembroke Welsh F^#&ing Expensive Useless Corgi. [because the quickest way to earn street cred is with needless profanity and puppy mockery]

Bouncer: Mmm hmm [hands back ID]. Enjoy your evening.

Me: [casually] Thanks, I will.

Ok, gang--that's it for the Girls' Beach Trip 2011 Recap. I managed to stretch a three-night vacation into five blog posts. I even surprised myself at how much I could remember from the trip, three weeks after returning home. I'm glad I was able to document our experiences and that the memories aren't lost forever at the bottom of a shot glass. Thanks for reading! 

Tales from the Beach | A Mostly True Story, Volume 3

The World's Meanest Cabana Man

What does "The World's Meanest Cabana Man" look like, you ask? Kinda like A-Rod. Racially ambiguous. Obnoxiously tan. Highly defined muscles. Wears Oakley sunglasses and a tank top.

Beana: He's not that big.

Translation: He probably works out two hours a day, six days a week, avoids carbs and sugar, but doesn't take steroids.

Since I'm the ginge with a history of skin cancer, securing a chaise lounge with a giant umbrella is of paramount importance. I won't last an hour out there otherwise. As such, I am reliant upon Cabana Man for survival.

You should know going into this, that my way of coping with aggressively hostile people is to turn into the wide-eyed and demure "Charlotte" from Sex and the City. 

Me: [cheerfully] Hi!

Cabana Man: [sighs, annoyed] Yeah.

Me: [confused by his hostility] Uh...I'd like to rent a pair of chairs. With an umbrella.

Cabana Man: [shrugs] Ok. Which chairs do you want?

Me: Oh! Uh...I can pick any chairs I see here?

Cabana Man impatiently nods. I attempt to communicate this information to the girls, who are about a quarter -mile down the beach, using sign language I've just invented, to ask, "Which chair should I choose?" The girls don't understand my made-up sign language.

Cabana Man: Look, I don't have all day.

Me: Right! Right...so sorry. 

Mean people make me nervous.

Me: Umm...so I can choose any chair? Ok, let's go down this way.

Cabana Man: [highly agitated] I'm following you.

I begin marching down the beach towards the girls. Following me is Cabana Man...who is fast becoming Cabana Nazi, along with a middle-aged man who is also interested in renting chairs.

Me: Let's see...I can choose any chairs without a yellow tag? We would like to be seated away from children if possible...do you--

Cabana Man shakes his head and gestures to five pairs of chairs in a row.

Cabana Man: This is it.

Me: Alright. I'll pick one in the middle.

Cabana Man begins filling out the rental form.

Waiting Man: We're going to be renting four pairs of chairs, so my family will be seated on either side of you, and there are some children, but--

Me: [smiling] Oh! I can rent a pair of chairs on the end. Your family should be all together!

I think it's nice when strangers are kind to one another and work together in a spirit of cooperation. It gives me a sense of hope for the future in a world filled with chaos.

Waiting Man and I turn to Cabana Man, who glances up from his clipboard, annoyed.

Me: Can I change to that chair? [pointing at the chair on the end]

Waiting Man: It's just I heard you say you didn't want to be near children, so that might be better for you since we have children with us.

Me: Oh, yeah, we like children. We have children. We just didn't want things to get too rowdy.

Waiting Man: Oh, they're pretty calm.

Me: I wasn't talking about your children. 

Waiting Man: [uncomfortably] Oh.

Me: [laughing sheepishly] We're on vacation.

Cabana Man: [sigh] Whatever! You need to just pick a chair and stick with it! I'm writing this down in pen!

A pen?! That's absurd. He should work in pencil.

The girls approach with their cooler and bags.

Mama: [points at our chairs] This it?

Me: Yep. [grabbing Cara by the arm and whispering] He is the meanest Cabana man ever!

Cara: To hell with him. What did he say to you?
Me: I asked to rent a different chair, so that we wouldn't be sitting in the middle of that other man's family, and Cabana Man snapped at me because he had already filled out the rental form in pen.
Cara: Well, that's his fault for being stupid. He should work in pencil.
Me: I know, right?!

Beana, unsatisfied with the position of our umbrella, begins to wiggle the umbrella out of the sand

Me: [whisper-shouting so Cabana Man won't hear] I wouldn't do that if I were you.

Beana: [loud and indignant] Why not?

Me: [in a hushed tone] That Cabana Man is scary.

Beana: Psh. [continues wiggling umbrella]

Cabana Man throws down clipboard and stomps over to Beana.

Cabana Man: You can't do that!

Beana: [Pivots around with hands on hips] Why. Not?!

Cabana Man: Because. Then the umbrellas wouldn't all be in a straight line.

Beana: Psh. So?!

Cabana Man: Don't. Touch. The umbrellas!

Me: [whispering] I told you he is the meanest!

Beana: What a bastard. He isn't even that hot.

Tales from the Beach | A Mostly True Story, Volume 2

A follow-up to my previous post, I'm attempting to chronicle my recent beach adventures with my college friends, to the best of my recollection, three weeks after the fact. Here is the second installment, later in the first night at AJ's bar in Destin, Florida.

They're Not Creepy At All

Beana, Mama, and I are sipping cocktails and enjoying the people watching at AJ's. At a nearby table, a fight breaks out between two girls, one of whom has crunchy-curly hair (it has been my experience that one never wants to cross a girl with crunchy curls. She has no qualms about clawing out your eyeballs.) The other chick is wearing a backless shirt that showcases her full-back tattoo of wings. I wonder whether they are meant to depict angel wings, or Pegasus wings, or even falcon wings. I will leave AJ's without answers.

As the fight breaks up, we are approached by a group of men who we soon learn are Marines. They are always Marines. Unless they're in the Air Force. One guy spills Mama's full beer all over her lap in a clumsy attempt at a handshake introduction. (Seriously, why do we shake hands in a bar? We're drinking beer. This is not the setting for a handshake).

Lance Corporal Cutie: Oh, man, I'm sorry!

Mama: It's cold!
Lance Corporal Cutie: I can't believe I did that! I'm not even drunk, I swear.
Mama: Wow. I have beer all over me.

Me: [points at Mama] It's her birthday.

Lance Corporal Cutie: Now I feel worse.

Me: [smiling] I meant for you to.

Lance Corporal Cutie buys Mama a beer. Bonus: Lance Corporal Cutie buys me a beer. We strike up a conversation.

Me: You are heavily tattooed, Lance Corporal Cutie.
Lance Corporal Cutie: Yeah, I am. [lifts his shirt to show off his ink]
Me: Does every tattoo tell a story, or am I going to find Yosemite Sam on your shoulder?


Lance Corporal Cutie reveals symbolic tattoos covering his torso, along with shrapnel scars. They're his war wounds. He tells me a harrowing tale from his last deployment to Afghanistan, where his fellow Marines saved him from a roadside bomb. Yeah, this small-talk just took a sharp turn into Serious Town, population: 2. He points out the heroic fellow Marines (who he repeatedly tells me he loves and that they're his brothers) among us at AJ's. These guys are conversing with Beana and Mama. I typically don't like when a group of guys approaches our group of friends at a bar, because I think their intentions are insincere. They strike up a conversation with the pretense that they "just want to talk to some nice, normal girls", but I don't believe that single men want to have innocent chit-chat with girls at a bar while on vacation. They're just interrupting our girl time. Maybe I'm jaded. Either way, after listening to Lance Corporal Cutie profess his undying love for his fellow Marines, I decide they're alright.

Then Lance Corporal Cutie asks me to guess his age. Why do people play this game? It's awkward, and it seems to only occur in bars. If you guess the person's age, and you guess too young, they may possibly be flattered, or they will find you absurdly insincere. If you guess too old, you've hurt their feelings or insulted them. If you guess the correct age, no matter what their age is, they're still insulted that you think they look their age, and will say something along the lines of, "Really? You think I look 28? Well, I am 28, but everyone tells me I can easily pass for 23. Hmmph. I guess not..." 


Lance Corporal Cutie: How old do you think I am? Go ahead, guess.
Me: Ugh...[eye roll]...25?
Lance Corporal Cutie: [stunned] What?! I'm 22!
Me: Oh. Well, I didn't guess "25" because I think you "look 25". It's just that I would never guess that a man of only 22 could be as worldly and experienced as you. Besides, I'm almost 30, so whether you're 25 or 22, you're still very young.
Lance Corporal Cutie: [Feigns a shocked expression] Wha--?! 29?! Nuh uh, no way! You're shitting me! I swear, I swear, I was sure that you were 22.

I smiled politely, but the conversation ended there. He was sure I was 22? Please. Even when I was 22, nobody thought I looked 22. I've been mistaken for 25 since I was 18. I always look older. Whatever. So, unless I've stumbled into an alternate universe where I'm living in some kind of Benjamin Button situation, there's no way in hell anybody thinks I'm 22. Sidenote: This is the second time in three years that I've revealed my age to somebody who is younger, and their reaction was to gasp in shock, and spend the next five minutes comforting and consoling me and assuring me that I appear much younger. I've never had a problem with my age, why do they feel they need to console me?

Having grown bored with my conversation with Lance Corporal Cutie, I'm even more grateful to see that Cara and Sally have finally arrived! Before I can do anything else, I must debrief Cara on the military insurgence at our cocktail table. Cara has a history of overzealously protecting her friends from skeezy would-be suitors. She will literally chase them off, hurling profanity and threats so they'll never come back. I decided these fellas didn't deserve the "Cara treatment".

Me: I know what this looks like, but it's all under control. We've been talking to these guys a while. They're Marines, they're 22, they're from Mississippi, they bought us drinks, and they're not creepy at all.
Cara: [incredulous] Really? What about the one who's raping Mama with his eyes?

Cara points across the table, and I turn to see Mama, smiling and sipping her beer, blissfully unaware that a man standing directly to her left is vigorously thrusting in her general direction, looking at her with an expression that is intensely dirty.

Me: Eww. I didn't know about that.
Cara: Hey buddy! [snaps fingers] You better lock it up!

Thrusting Marine ceases and desists from dry-humping Mama for the rest of the evening.

Cara and I turn our attention to the dance floor, where a Latino man is wearing tear-away pants and demonstrating some straight-up MTV Grind dance moves. Where is Eric Nies when I need him?

Out of the corner of Cara's eye she notices a highly inebriated young woman wearing a white sundress with a veil, dancing barefoot in the center of the floor.

Cara: That bride--has lost her shit.
Me: That is our sorority sister.
Cara: What? 
Me: True story. She's getting married. See all those girls in black who are holding her shoes and looking on with concern? Sorority sister, sorority sister, sorority sister. It's a small world after all, yes?
Cara: Indeed. You know, I have to hand it to the Bride. She's doing an excellent job maintaining her balance. And she looks hot.
Me: I'm concerned she's going to get splinters in her feet--oh! What--? Oh, now she's doing The Worm. That's nice.
Cara: I love everything about this.

Tales from the Beach | A Mostly True Story, Volume 1

Cara asked me to write a post about all the fun times we had at the beach. We had a blast and met a colorful cast of characters. It's too much for one post, but I'll share the highlights in a series of shorter posts. These are true stories, told to the best of my sharp-yet-beer-soaked recollection. I may improvise to fill in the gaps or paraphrase some dialogue, but this is basically what happened.

Meth Face Molly

Mama, Beana and I are the first from the group to arrive in Destin, so we go to AJ's to wait for Cara and Sally. AJ's is crowded, so Mama, Beana, and I stand in a single file line waiting to order a drink from the bar. Suddenly a woman comes barging in between Mama and Beana. She looks...older. And the years have been unkind. I name her "Meth Face Molly". I'm good like that. She looks like Patty the daytime hooker from My Name is Earl. She perceives Mama and Beana as great adversaries and begins aggressively sparring with them.

Meth Face Molly: Hey! Back away from my man! You better watch out! You're not so hot!

Beana and Mama are stunned. Molly reaches under the bar, pulls out a stool that was previously unseen, and that Beana was unknowingly blocking, and sits down next to a guy who is young enough to be Molly's son. I'm watching in amazement, as Beana juts her head back, and Mama's eyes bug out of her head, their signature, non-verbal way of saying, "Bitch, who do you think you are?" Molly better check herself before she wrecks herself.

I'm standing back a short distance. I can observe the catfight better this way. I watch Beana and Mama, both so offended, muttering and grumbling things to each other like "That hag!" and "Who died and made her the Queen of AJ's!" I am really enjoying the show. Molly has gotten under their skin.

Mama pays for her drink and moves away from the bar. She stands behind Molly and loudly comments about "classless people". Beana pays for her drink, and as she turns to walk away, she endures one final insult from Molly: "It's a shame you can't get a man to buy your drinks for you!" Beana glares at her, her jaw dropped in disgust as though Patty spit on her shoes. She struts off, furious. Now it's my turn to face Molly's wrath.

Me: [smiling at the bartender] Redbull and vodka, please.
Bartender: Eight dollars
I hand a $10 bill to the bartender
Molly: It's a shame you can't get a man to buy your drink.
Me: [calmly smiling] My husband buys my drinks, thank you.
Molly: [stammering] Oh, yeah? Yeah, well, my--my husband buys my drinks too!
Me: [grinning] It's nice, isn't it?
Molly: Yeah. Sure is. I'd buy you a drink.
Me: What a sweet thing to say!
Molly: You're a sweetheart, not like these other bitches [points at Mama and Beana, still shocked by Molly's continued verbal assault.]
Molly: Especially this one [points at Beana, who gasps]
Molly and I both glance at Beana, then Molly and I lock eyes with one another
Me: [straight-faced and deadly serious] She better recognize.


Molly stares at me intently. She's trying to decide if I'm serious or if I'm mocking her. We're now in a staring contest. Molly decides that I'm sincere. I'm on Molly's side.

Molly: Yeah! She will if she knows what's good for her!
Me: I'll keep an eye on her. You have a good night.
Molly: Thanks, hon, you too.

Mama, Beana, and I walk off.

Me: She looked like a day shift hooker, no?
Mama: We almost got our asses beat by that meth face, and Freaky makes friends with her!
Beana: Yeah, what the eff is that about, Freaky?
Me: I just saved us all from getting our asses beat. You have to follow the rules for managing belligerent drunks: fully agree with everything they say, maintain eye contact, and match their intensity level.
Beana: How do you know that?
Me: Everybody knows that.

Girls Beach Trip 2011: Meet The Girls

My best friends from college have been taking an annual "Girls' Beach Trip" since our first Senior year of college. We made a pact that we would do this every year, even after we got married and had kids. I think we've kept up the tradition longer than anybody thought we would. Some years it's a small group enjoying a weekend at the lake, and other years it's a beach blow-out with eight or nine girls. This year was a "big" year. Seven women in a high rise condo with ocean views, and big plans for the night life. We're gonna party like it's 2004! Only better, because we're old enough to afford mid-range liquor and all the oysters we can handle!

Some of the girls asked me to blog about our adventures. It's much too much for just one post, so this blog will exist as a brief introduction. Names have been changed to protect the fabulous. I'll be using college nicknames, aliases, and alter-egos we've adopted over the years. I've also substituted their actual photos with photos of celebrities or characters who remind me of them. The hope is that they won't mind my blogging about them if I don't reveal too much and they are represented by photos of sexy starlets.

Mama

Mama is the Cruise Director of the group. Planner of trips, maker of ham sandwiches, provider of aloe vera gel. She is also the Vice President of Conflict Resolution, meaning she will speak up for the underdog, mediate disputes, and, if need be, she will smack a bitch. In short, she's the glue that holds this operation together. She has a three-year-old and 11-month old twins, and one of her twins was born with a life-threatening tumor. I tell you this because it's brought up later in this post, and because I'm proud of her. Mama is a total blast, super-loyal, and smokin' hot. Kind of like Jules, Courteney Cox's character in Cougar Town. 


Sally

Sally is literally never angry, and she's a good person in the purest sense. She is friendly, devoted, and giving, but without being naive or blindly optimistic. She's one of the best people with whom to have a serious conversation about life because she's very thoughtful. It's not that she's impervious to anger, sadness, or disappointment; she just manages those emotions differently. She doesn't get fired up. Not one to dwell on things or hold a grudge, she's quick to shrug it off and move on. As my roommate, Sally taught me the simple joy that can only be found when sitting in a camping chair in the middle of an open field, for no reason whatsoever, just drinking beer and laughing with friends. I'm a better person for having lived with her.

Cara 

When Cara and I struck up a friendship at age 22, we really clicked, and I had a feeling that we'd be friends for years. We complement each other. We both know a little bit about everything, and we want to tell you about it...whether you want to hear it or not. She works hard and plays hard, which I appreciate. She's three months and one grade older than me, and I like to consult her when I need advice from somebody "older." We always share a room on the Girls' Beach Trip.

The Gypsy

The Gypsy is a fun, free-spirited and unpredictable kind of gal. Not unlike the lovely Drew Barrymore. She's probably the friend who is least like me, and that's cool, because she makes me do things like try edamame and rock climb (I hated it, and I loved it). She always has this mischievous twinkle in her eye. She's fiercely protective of the ones she loves, she's always planning her next adventure, and the Billy Joel song "She's Always a Woman to Me" may or may not have been written about her.

Beana

Mean Girls' Gretchen Weiners instantly reminds me of my pal Beana. Beana is in the unique position of being a lot smarter than she sounds. She means well, but behind that bright smile and sassy strut lies a girl who knows how to turn a phrase:

Beana: Those Vermont Hokies sure are strange, but I'll tell you one thing: they love their football as much as we do.

Me: Actually, it's Virginia Tech

Beana: [sighs and shakes her head] "VT" stands for Vermont. It's the Vermont Hokies.

Me: That is true. "VT" is the postal abbreviation for Vermont, but the car decal you're staring at is the Virginia Tech logo. 

Beana: Are you sure?

Me: Positive. My friend's sister went there. [That wasn't true, but I thought saying so would give me credibility and make me more persuasive.]

Beana: Well. Guess ya learn something new every day!

Freaky-Freaky Wil' Wil' (Me)

I wasn't planning to include myself in this character sketch of my friends, since it exists purely for identification and illustration puposes, and you already know me if you read this blog. But, Steve insisted that I include myself. So...the celebrity or character who most reflects my personality is Kelly Kapoor from The Office. Kelly Kapoor and I are both cheerful, friendly, gossipy chatterboxes who are pop culture obsessed and have a flair for the dramatic. Am I leaving anything out?

Conversations About Nothing

Seriously, if the lives of Steve, Robinson and me were a television show, it would be a show about nothing. So it would be either a quirky and loveable smash like Seinfeld...

...or it would be dreadfully tedious like The Real World: London. "This week, Jacinda buys a puppy. She names him "Legend". He pee-pee'd in their flat" [a bored-to-tears thirteen-year-old Samantha turns to ten-year-old Jarred and says "Please stab me."]

So here's a scene from last night in our house: Steve is on the patio, grilling steak, and I am cooking on the stove. Robinson is sitting in his high chair watching me. He's taking those Gerber Lil Crunchies (they're like cheesy poofs for babies), stuffing them in his mouth two at a time, and then spitting them out all over the place once they are a nasty, gummy mess. I have no time for that at the moment though, because I'm cooking potatoes and having this totally necessary conversation with Steve.

Ok, so when you read this, just imagine all 6-foot-2-inches of Steve bouncing around the kitchen all wound up like Tigger, and I am completely calm and expressionless and never bother to look up from what I'm doing.

Steve: Do we have a spray bottle?! For water?!
Me: Yes.
Steve: We have a spray bottle?
Me: Yes.
Steve: --For water?!
Me: Yes.
Steve: We have a spray bottle for water?!
Me: Yes.
[I reach into the cabinet under the sink for the spray bottle, and pass it over the counter to Steve, who cradles the spray bottle in hands like it's a gold chalice]

Steve: Why--do we have a spray bottle? For water?
Me: To mist my house plants.
Steve: Really? [we both glance at the house plant in question]

Regular misting is what makes it so...crispy. Oh, and while you're here, can somebody call "Time of Death" on this ivy? I can't do it. I'm not a doctor, I'm just an intern.

Steve runs back to the grill. I hear the sounds of vigorous spritzing, and then the air surrounding Steve turns steamy/smoky. So yeah, I think he was extinguishing a small fire. I guess that explains the urgency.

You're out of the woods, You're out of the dark, You're out of the night

My blogging activity has experienced a steep decline in the past couple weeks. I tend to write about marriage, motherhood, friendship, light-hearted observations, pop culture. I'll write about any little thought that crosses my mind, but I keep it upbeat. The past couple of weeks I have been met with an onslaught of sad events, and while I wouldn't say that I'm overly affected, I would say that my blogging inspiration has been temporarily extinguished. I mean, really, how could I joke about dogs humping babies and adventures in Netflix at a time like this? I'll return to blogging, just as Dorothy returned to Kansas, but consider this my attempt at a graceful segue: Things that happened while I wasn't blogging, that kind of made me feel like I have nothing to blog about.

North Texas is spellbound over case of missing woman: for the local reader, I could sum this up by simply saying the name "Susan Loper", but I'll recap for my non-Dallas readers:

A beautiful mother and local fitness instructor is kidnapped in the early morning hours from the local country club where she teaches Pilates, leaving behind only her phone, her purse, and signs of a violent struggle. A touch of irony: this was to be her last day of work at this country club before realizing her dream of opening her own Pilates studio. She is found a day later, brutally murdered, in an open field off a major road that I drive every day. Adding to the tragedy: she has an eight-year-old autistic son. As our peaceful suburb comes to terms with this shocking tragedy, police finally name a suspect. News outlets show his photo and photos of his home...and he lives across the road from me.  Authorities announce that they have located him. In the Grand Canyon. After he jumped into it. And lived. It's just awful, piled on top of tragic, smothered in horror and sprinkled with bizarre. Family and friends of Susan Loper are asking donations be made to help secure her 8-year-old son's future. You can assist by sending donations to

Jake Loper Trust
c/o Ferguson Law Group
2500 Dallas Parkway, Suite 260
Plano, TX 75093

Make checks payable to Jake Loper Trust


Tornado devastates Tuscaloosa: The level of devastation throughout the state of Alabama following this tornado is really beyond comprehension and I'm deeply saddened by it. At the same time, I feel kind of disconnected because I am all the way in Texas. We don't have to be in Tuscaloosa to help, though. Anybody can make a donation (every dollar helps) to the American Red Cross.

This picture touches me because those kids look just like my friends and I did when we were in college. I'm so sad for them over what has happened to their college town.

The Royal Wedding Happened: The coverage began around 3:00AM, as did my dutiful DVR, but I didn't press "start" until about 9:00AM. My mom's house was without power, so, being the good daughter that I am, I took photos of the television screen with my camera phone and sent picture messages of Kate's wedding dress, and I downloaded photos from online gossip sites and texted those to her, so we could discuss the hideousness that was Princess Beatrice's Fascinator (also, I'm proud to have learned the difference between a hat and a fascinator), and debate just how little effort we believed Chelsy Davy put into primping for the day.

It's my personal belief that her messy updo was the product of an all-night bender with the boys, and that her hangover hadn't even kicked in yet. Takes one to know one. Not for nothing, the girl's as cute as a button and would look good in a paper sack, so I'm not trying to be mean. I'm just sayin'. Also, if there had been a betting pool for being able to best predict Kate's wedding gown description, my mom would have a fistful of cash right now. The day before the wedding, since she was bored and without power, I indulged her in a little game of "What do you think Kate's dress is going to look like?" Her prediction: full skirt, strapless bodice, long lace sleeves, plunging v-neck, "very similar neckline to the blue dress she wore to announce her engagement". Well, how do you think my mom did?

Special thanks to Pippa Middleton for setting the bar for aspiring foxy bridesmaids everywhere. I have my work cut out for me if I want a chance to compete for the title of Hottest Bridesmaid 2011

Osama bin Laden was killed: Steve and I are watching TV in bed and simultaneously surfing the Internet on our respective phones. I know, it's good, quality time spent together, right? Steve catches a whiff of something on the Internet about an important announcement from Obama that will be taking place in moments. Of course we now know what that announcement is, and that we were kept waiting for over an hour to hear the announcement. Steve turns the channel to CNN, where the journalists, stalling as the press conference is pushed further and further back, repeat that they refuse to speculate as to what the announcement may be. Steve is all up in arms over this, but I'm all like, "Pfft, Barack Obama schedules press conferences more often than I schedule pedicures. He probably just wants to tell us that he saved a lot of money on car insurance by switching to Geico...or something." Steve insists, along with the news anchors, that this announcement is going to be major. Well, if this announcement is so major, where is my silver fox, Anderson Cooper? Steve gets bored with CNN and their refusal to speculate, so he changes the channel to Geraldo Rivera. I know, I know. Geraldo is so amped up, his voice has gone up a couple of octaves. He, of course, is not above speculation. He keeps shouting in a high-pitched voice that this announcement is going to be earth-shattering, etc. Not even looking up from my celebrity gossip, I nonchalantly mumble to Steve "The only way this is going to live up to the hype is if Obama is announcing that they've killed bin Laden." Steve gasps, "You think?! That could be it! You could be right!" "I've been right before," I say with a shrug. Moments later, Geraldo rips a printed email out of the hands of somebody off-camera and excitedly reads aloud on-air that Osama bin Laden is dead. This news comes as a relief, but I'm always going to kind of hate that Geraldo Rivera is the person who told me. I wish it had been the President. Or Anderson Cooper. Or Hugh Jackman.

So, throughout this flurry of events, my mom is living for six days like a pioneer woman--without power. This of course, is due to the aforementioned massive tornado. She calls me on the morning after her power is restored.

Mom: Well, I turned on the TV for the first time in nearly a week. I'm finally seeing footage of the tornado that has ravaged our state and only missed my house by about ten miles. Charlie Sheen is visiting Tuscaloosa to assess the damage. There was a Royal Wedding. Osama bin Laden is dead...

...My lights are back on, and it's a dramatically different world than when the lights went off.

Me: It's frickin' trippy, right? Did The Lollipop Guild greet you outside?

Mom: Pretty much.

Why Do I Know This?

I have a slight reputation for being kind of good at pop culture trivia. This semi-talent doesn't win me money or fame, but I have garnered a modest level of notoriety in various social circles and have won a few free pitchers of Natural Light in college. I know. I'm feeling boastful today.

Sometimes a person will ask a question that is pop culture-related, often to nobody in particular, and I find myself blurting out the answer the way my baby burps up formula. It's an involuntary response, and sometimes I even surprise myself with the truly random tidbits of knowledge rolling around in my brain. Here are just a few examples. You may not think they're that remarkable, and you can feel free to tell me so. But remember this: Each example I'm about to list occured within the last seven days. I'm on fire.

1. At dinner last Tuesday to celebrate our friend Bean's promotion, Brad jokingly called Bean "Mr. Bean". Then somebody at the table asked nobody in particular the name of the British actor who portrays the character Mr. Bean.

After racking my brain for a half-second (just as I do when trying to remember my 12-times tables), I blurt out "Rowan Atkinson". Everyone within earshot just stares at me.

Why do I know this?

2. While waiting in the doctor's office on Thursday afternoon, I receive a text message from Steve: "Scarlett Johansson dead...she fell onset at a movie shoot in France 70 feet".

What the what? I only had time to fire off an "Are you sure?" reply before being whisked away for an x-ray. While I'm standing in the x-ray machine, I'm considering this possibility. First of all, I have a healthy level of skepticism whenever my husband is the first person to break a piece of major celebrity news. In 2008, he called me at work, breathless, to announce that Jessica Biel was tragically killed when she fell off a yacht in international waters. I seriously don't know what that man is looking at on the Internet,  but he apparently likes to visit web sites that erroneously report the untimely, accidental death of celebrities with famous figures and questionable acting ability who are travelling abroad. AccidentalDeathOfCelebritiesWithFamousFiguresAndQuestionableActingAbility...I wonder if that domain name is taken? That would be a great website. Anyway, I don't believe Steve. Also, I don't think she's even in France. This is what I said to Steve when I finally got to call him:

"I think you're wrong about ScarJo. She was photographed by paparazzi jogging in Malibu with Owen Wilson and Sean Penn just a couple days ago."

Why do I know this?

These pictures caused a huge stir because people thought Scarlett looked pregnant. Boy, I'm so glad that I'm not famous enough for paparazzi to take my picture while I'm jogging. Those would be some unflattering photos! Oh, who am I kidding? I don't jog.

3. While lounging on the couch and flipping through channels on Sunday, Steve poses this question: "Is it bad that I think Lois Griffin is hot?

Me: No. She is hot. ["Us redheads gotta stick together," I think to myself]
Steve: Yeah. I think so, too.
Me: That's random. What made you think of that?
Steve: [points at TV, showing an episode of That 70's Show.] The mom on this show is the voice of Lois Griffin.

Me: No. She isn't.
Steve: [very firmly] Yes, she is.
Me: That's not right.
Steve: Yes it is!
Me: [sigh] Debra Jo Rupp plays Kitty on That 70's Show. Alex Borstein is the voice of Lois Griffin.
Steve: Oh, yeah right. Like the voice of Lois Griffin is a guy! [Shakes his head and laughs, like I'm so dumb and he's so smart]
Steve: Alex can be a girl's name. Like Alexandra.
Steve: Oh yeah. Well, are you sure she's not the voice of Lois?
Me: Uh, yeah.

Why do I know this?

Sidenote: Mila Kunis, who plays Jackie on That 70's Show is the voice of Lois Griffin's daughter Meg on Family Guy. But you knew that, right? That's an easy one.

4. Later on Sunday night, Steve is flipping back and forth between a baseball game and The Wizard of Oz, which is airing on cable.

Steve: Do you know who Judy Garland's mom is?
Me: Um, no...Judy Garland's real name is Frances Gumm, and her parents were Vaudeville performers. But I don't know her name.
Steve: Oh. I'm sorry, I meant to ask if you know who Judy Garland's daughter is.
Me: Oh. Yeah. Liza Minelli. You know that. Why are you even quizzing me?

Why do I know this? (Not the part about Liza, of course. The whole Frances Gumm-Vaudeville thing).

So, yeah. That's all for today. The moral of this story is: in the absence of Google or any other search engine, there's a possibility that I can answer your obscure pop culture trivia question. I'm adding that skill to my resume as soon I finish typing this.

Cinematic Vernacular

Lots of people like to quote movies. There are websites and magazine articles devoted to listing the great memorable quotes in cinema. This is not one of those posts. This post is about my recent realization that there are movie quotes and dialogue that Steve and I have seen together over the years that somehow seeped into our language. If someone overhearing our conversation was unfamiliar with the film we were referencing, they might be confused by what we're saying. Here is a rundown of movie lines that Steve and I commonly use in the context of our conversations. So nobody will have to ask me, "Who's Shelby?" ever again.



 

Line: "Bring your green hat."
Movie: Old School
Background: A highly intoxicated Frank (Will Ferrell) strips naked during a college party where Snoop Dogg is performing. He commandeers the microphone and invites everyone to join him as he goes streaking through the quad into the gymnasium. As Frank tries to recruit Snoop to join him, Snoop's spiritual advisor Don Magic Juan, wearing a green hat, steps between them. Frank encourages him to come along, saying "It's cool, I'm cool, bring your green hat, let's go".
How we use it in a sentence: It's a way of saying "Come with me right now", or "Just come as you are"
Example: "We're meeting for dinner at a place near work. Come on, bring your green hat."

Line: "I'm an excellent driver"
Movie: Rain Man
Background: Raymond (Dustin Hoffman) is the autistic brother of Charlie (Tom Cruise). They go on a road trip in a vintage car. Raymond repeatedly announces that he is an excellent driver, among other things.
How we use it in a sentence: Whenever Steve and I are getting ready to go somewhere together, we inevitably have a conversation about which car we'll take and who will drive. We say this line in our best "Dustin Hoffman" voice.
Example:
Steve: Let's take your car.
Me: I'm an excellent driver.

Line: "Drink your juice, Shelby"
Movie: Steel Magnolias
Background: Diabetic Shelby (Julia Roberts) gets a little too much insulin on her wedding day. While having her hair done at Truvy's (Dolly Parton) Salon, she has a reaction. Everyone rushes to her aid, but her mom (Sally Field) asserts that "juice is better" and she struggles to force juice down an uncooperative Shelby's throat.
How we use it in a sentence: Whenever somebody is babbling nonsense, they are advised to "drink their juice". It's a polite way of saying "you should probably stop talking." This person is often tipsy or hungover, or maybe just groggy and sleep-deprived, and is always holding a beverage when this is said to them.

Line: "I don't know, Margo!"
Movie: Christmas Vacation
Background: Todd and Margo (Nicholas Guest and Julia Louis-Dreyfuss) are the yuppie a-holes who live next door to the Griswolds, and look down on them for not meeting their high-class standards. Throughout the movie, Clark's (Chevy Chase) holiday misadventures make Todd and Margo's life a living hell. Todd and Margo come home late one night to find their stereo destroyed by an unknown object (a block of ice that Clark managed to send flying from his gutters through their window). Confused and aggravated, Margo asks, "And why is the carpet all wet, Todd?", he responds with the utmost yuppie-angst: "I don't know, Margo!"
How we use it in a sentence: Whenever we feel we've been asked a dumb question, or one that we have no reason to know the answer.
Example:
Samantha: What time does American Idol come on?
Steve: I don't know, Margo!

Line: "It'd be a lot cooler if you did"
Movie: Dazed and Confused
Background: Wooderson (Matthew McConaughey) is the older guy who has already graduated, but still hangs around with high schoolers. He picks up freshman Mitch and asks, "Say, man, you got a joint?" Trying to play cool, Mitch casually replies, "No, not on me, man," and Wooderson smiles and says, "It'd be a lot cooler if you did."
Example:
Me: Did you pick up more formula for Robinson?
Steve: Aw, no...
Me: It'd be a lot cooler if you did.

Line: "Say 'What' again!"
Movie: Pulp Fiction
Background: Jules (Samuel L. Jackson) is a hit man on an assignment. He brandishes a handgun while questioning a young man named Brett. Brett is too terrified of the gun to say anything but "What". This creates a very unproductive conversation, leading Jules to threaten Brett to "Say 'what' again!"
Example:
Steve: So the craziest thing happened at work today...
Me: [reading and not paying attention] What?
Steve: Say 'what' again!

Line: "You're killing me, Smalls"
Movie: The Sandlot
Background: Scotty Smalls is camping with his buddies, when Ham offers him a s'more. Scotty doesn't know what a s'more is, prompting Ham to say "You're killing me, Smalls"This phrase is commonly used as a sign of frustration towards a person's cluelessness or ineptitude (per Urban Dictionary)
How we use it in a sentence:
Me: What are you doing? The Bachelor finale is on right now!
Steve: But the Rangers are playing a double-header!
Me: You're killing me, Smalls.

Line: "Bitch! I don't know your life!"
Movie: Baby Mama
Background: Angie (Amy Poehler) is Kate's (Tina Fey) surrogate mother and is staying in her apartment. Kate confronts Angie when she discovers wads of gum under her coffee table. Even though we see her do it, Angie says she doesn't know if she put the gum there, and that maybe Kate put some of the gum there.
Kate: Yeah, actually, you might be right. ‘Cause sometimes, when I work a really long day, I like to come home and chew a huge wad of Bubblicious gum and stick it under my reclaimed barnwood coffee table!
Angie: Bitch, I don’t know your life!
How we use it in a sentence: I might say this in response to a person who has misdirected hostility over me not knowing something that I would have no way of knowing.
Example:
Me: Can you come early tomorrow night?
Steve: I can't! I have to meet with some reps at Outback after work.
Me: Bitch, I don't know your life!

Line: "I feel teriboo!"
Movie: Forgetting Sarah Marshall
Background: Rock star Aldous Snow (Russell Brand) is vacationing in a Hawaiian hotel where Matthew (Jonah Hill) is an employee and aspiring musician. He slips a demo CD to Aldous, urging him to listen so that he won't miss the opportunity to discover his talent. To persuade him, Matthew imitates Aldous, which sounds more like an Ozzy Osbourne impression, saying "OH! I saw that guy! He was my waiter and I totally dismissed him like everybody else does... in his life. And I totally was wrong cuz he's a major, major, major influence on me now... and I feel terrible!" But his fake British accent sounds like he says "I feel teriboo!"
How we use it in a sentence: Basically, whenever we make a mistake or forget something important
Me: I totally forgot my mom's birthday!
Steve: I feel teriboo!

So what about you? Are there any movie lines that have taken on their own meaning for you, or that are used as a kind of short-hand between you and your friends or family?

Sad Day: Bravo TV Shooting Reality Show in Dallas--Without Me

Damn. Since 2006, I've been waiting for the press release that Bravo is expanding their Real Housewives franchise to Dallas. You know, so that I can attend the casting call. How fun would it be for a camera crew to follow me around my palacial 1,800 square foot home and hob-nobbing with my glamorous friends? Could you imagine seeing film footage of me, cleaning my oven while watching Grey's Anatomy reruns on DVR? That's some pretty riveting shit, I tell you. I mean, I'm Real. I'm a Housewife. I'm exactly what they're looking for, right?

Whomp, whomp.

So, the good news is that Bravo TV, my favorite channel (previous reports that I live for the E! Network have been greatly exaggerated) that is known for shining the spotlight on real people in cities all over the country, is finally paying some attention to a greatly overlooked city: my (new-ish) hometown of Dallas. The bad news is, instead of spotlighting Real Housewives, they are producing a show entitled Dallas' Most Eligible, which focuses on hot young singles in the city. I should tell you how I learned of this fascinating news, so allow me to rewind a few clicks:

I wake up every morning at or about 6:40 AM. For no reason whatsoever. I am of the belief that nothing good happens at 6:40 AM, so I change the channel to NBC (so that the Today show is waiting for me whenever I begrudgingly agree that morning is upon me and I am forced to greet the day) and I lie in bed, face down, eyes tightly shut, spooning whichever dog has hopped onto Steve's side of the bed, and I try to will myself back to sleep. Sometimes I catch another hour of shut-eye. Sometimes I'm just lying there in a half-stupor. You're probably brushing your teeth and getting ready for work at that time. It's ok, you can be annoyed with me. I deserve it.

On this particular day, I'm snuggling Laney, trying to catch a few more zzz's while Steve gets ready for work. When the local NBC news anchors start talking about Bravo TV coming to Dallas, my and Laney's ears perk up (she is also a fan). They explain that the network is in town filming this new series about hot young singles in Dallas, and then they go to Reporter Babe on the scene--even though she's on the scene of a completely unrelated, actual news story.

Reporter Babe is a reporter whose name I don't know, but I always see her on the air in the wee hours of the morning, usually wearing a reflective safety vest while reporting from the side of the road, and no matter what time it is, she is always boasting expertly-applied eyeliner, premium hair products, and optimal hair "poof". She's your basic beautiful nightmare.

So, the anchors, who are unusually aflutter over news of a reality show filming in our city ("Big whoop", I say, TLC filmed a reality show in Dothan, Alabama. Why wouldn't Dallas have a show?) and so they cut to Reporter Babe who is standing on the side of the road in a reflective safety vest with impeccable hair and makeup, and they ask her if she knows anybody who is being featured on this new show.

Blogger's Note: When reading this, you should know that Reporter Babe, who usually speaks with perfect diction, inexplicably transitions to Valley Girl when the subject turns from "real news" to her personal life. She begins drawing out her words and her consonants. The transcript will reflect this shift. Also worth noting: Anchor Woman goes from being a credible, professional news anchor to acting like an excited school girl, thrilled to be discussing the latest gossip with the school's most popular girl while in the cafeteria. It was surreal.

Anchor Woman: So! Do you know anybody on the new Dallas' Most Eligible?
Reporter Babe: Yeah. I pretty much know alll the people on the showww. Actuallyy, I was approached to be on the showww, but I thought it would be a conflict of interestttt.
Anchor Woman: Wow! You know them? So does anything exciting happen?
Reporter Babe: Well, I was with them for a lottt of the shootingg, and I have to sayyy, it gets prettyy dramatic.
Anchor Woman: So they're pretty interesting people, huh?
Reporter Babe: Uhh, yeahhh, they're all my friendsss.

Steve has paused his morning routine to walk back into the bedroom to watch this breaking story unfold.

Steve: Is she serious?
Me: I had to open my eyes, just so I could roll them. [face smacks back into the pillow]
Steve laughs and makes a wise crack
Me: [face-down in pillow] You didn't know Ashley is a journalist now, did you?
Steve laughs louder. I have a friend named Ashley who speaks fluent Valley Girl. To know her is to love her.

For the rest of the day Steve makes me say (in Valley Girl voice) "Uhhh, yeahhhh, they're my friendssss."

Sooo, will you be watchinggg Dallas' Most Eligible? I knoww I will. Ummm, yeahhhh, they're my friendssss.