Yoko.....oh no!

Yeah, this story is about fate…..and kicking in its teeth. It is a very long post, but I guarantee it enters the hall of fame.

So it is late October and that means Halloween, my favorite holiday. Yes it combines my two great interests of eating candy and dressing up in a costume.

Well I usually pull out the sewing machine and whip up some pieced together costume (like the pregnant bride, the Las Vegas showgirl, and She-Ra princess of power to name some). I had some ideas about reconstructing my circus curtains, but frankly, I just ran out of time. Therefore I put on my 1950’s white prom dress that is all tulle! I love it and it makes me feel like Sarah Jessica Parker or something. I added a pair of wings from my Unicorn Fairy costume…yes a unicorn and a fairy, and a wand to become the Tooth Fairy. I even put a sign on my purse that said “TEETH” to further get into character. Bree dressed up as a monarch butterfly with a large pair of wings and decorative makeup.

We headed down to the club Libation for a Halloween party hosted by Zog Sports. My running friend Aimee plays in a flag football league and this was their end of season wrap party. I figured flag football party = lots of athletic men. Yes, yes I agree I feel like I have been overdosing on Libation (out of all the clubs in Manhattan, why that one…again), but it was a small price to pay to hang with testosterone filled men.

Since I deprived Bree of her Friday afternoon nap (a staple for her and I), she needed a red bull. We stopped at a bodega around the corner from the club. While we were waiting for her to finish her drink and for the pouring rain to let up, she turns and says “man, that guy looks like Marshall”. I glance over to the man having a cigarette at the next awning over and agree. Then Bree says “wait, that is Marshall…hey Marshall, Marshallllll!” before I could stop her.

We headed over to talk to him and I think he was as surprised as me to see each other. We had a bad falling out and have not spoken in several months. His band had just finished their set at that venue…which is no more than 50 feet from our Halloween party. Okay talk about fate! I think he initially thought we were down there to watch his band play, but the giant fairy wings and full costume made him think reconsider. The conversation was short because A) we were running late for the party and B) the boy and I were still not cool with each other.

So we go to the Halloween costume party and saw it all. I think the most popular male costume of the night was ‘my dick in a box’. I did see a lot of cowboys/girls, flappers, pimps, vampires, cavemen, 300 I am Sparta man, etc. My favorite single costume was Teen Wolf. My favorite group of the night was five guys dressed as Care Bears. Yep, they were wearing some sort of full footed pajama with hood. Basically it looked like they had skinned a Care Bear since the stuffed head was perched on theirs (like a bearskin rug or something). They even had the heart on their butts! I talked with the guy who was Cheer Bear. He was so pissed that he showed up last and therefore got stuck with the pink one with a rainbow on the tummy. Ah ha ha ha!

Towards midnight, I stepped on the edge of my full dress and slid down a flight of stairs. Of course the drink I was carrying flew up in the air and emptied itself all over the place. I don’t know what hurt me more, landing on my arm (subsequent bruising and tenderness) or that a group of men in super hero costumes at the foot of the stairs just stood there watching me! Okay Superman, not so super are you! That was the point when I decided to leave before permanently injuring myself.

I stepped outside and decided the cramped crowded streets of the lower east side would not produce a quick way home. I decided to walk two blocks up to the major street Houston because surely I can get a cab there. I had walked just one block (struggling the whole time trying to hold my umbrella up against the rain and put my jacket on…over my wings which I had forgotten where there) when I ran into Marshall! Yep, we both arrived at the street corner at the same time. Talk about fate part deux! He was taking his drummer (and NYC best friend) to Doc Holidays and invited me along. I think I jumped for joy because I love that bar but had to stay away since I lost it in the custody battle.

So Marshall, the drummer, and I walked the seven or so blocks to the east village dive bar. I think I tried to skip in heels and ended up face planting or something on the sidewalk (well I think that is how it happened since I had scratches on my arms). Marshall and I talked on the way and decided to be friends again. I’m all happy because I really wanted his friendship....and backstage access when his band makes it big….yes can you introduce me to Godsmack, thanks.

When we arrived at the bar, I had lost access to my wand. I guess I would talk with it and emphasize points by smacking the guys in the face. No worries because I was so happy to finally have smoothed out a very big aspect of my adult life. Well a few beers later, Marshall suddenly became moody and stormed out in typical Marshall fashion. The drummer came over with three beers and was like “did he leave, what should we do with his beer?” We ended shoving the unopened can of PBR into the drummer’s backpack that was full of pedals and other drum stuff. Yeah, the working minds of two drunks.

Well the drummer and I talked, and drank, and talked, and drank, and drank, and drank. I don’t know how things lead up to it (I stress the heavy amounts of drinking), but I eventually started to make out with the drummer. Yeah I know, pick up your jaw and get your tisking finger ready. Okay, I do that….you know, kiss boys when I am drunk. Do not be too quick to judge, we didn’t throw down right there in the middle of the bar. We first tried to go into the women’s restroom, but the bouncer yanked him out within seconds. We then moved to the dark hallway around the corner and in the back.

Well all was good (I think) until we heard a loud thump. We turn to see that Marshall! He had came back to the bar, grabbed our bags that we had left at the bar (soooo drunk), and dropped them at our feet when he discovered us. Everyone now….gasp! Well he turned on his heel and ran out. The drummer (and best friend mind you) asked why Marshall was mad, and I said “well, um…I am his ex girlfriend”. The drummer’s eyes got all wide and he yelled “oh shit” as he took off down the street.

The drummer returned five minutes later (oh what do I know) all winded. He ran around all the blocks looking for Marshall while calling him relentlessly to ask forgiveness. Only when I saw how distraught the drummer was did I realize how stupid our actions were (followed by a ‘duh’ hand smack to my forehead). As Farrell called it, I was a total asshole. We quickly agreed not to continue anything (pity since he is funny, tall, cute, and totally my bad boy type) since it could only worsen the situation. I mean come on, I don’t want to be responsible for breaking up the band! I wonder, maybe a song will emerge from this….you know, one about an evil bitch whore…. something to tell the grandkids about.

Hits and Mrs.

I’m back….and I am taking on NYC’s bachelors one at a time. Okay that sounds whore-ish, but I have had a very busy week of dating. First I should start with the four dates that were the result of speed dating (also known as the worst two hours of my life….even worse than that French Angel film from last year).

I met up with Raj (from India) on the Upper East Side on Wednesday. My first thought was “He must have been sitting down when I met him”. Yeah I was a good head taller than him. Normally height should not be a factor when the guy is really nice, smart, successful (banker), and strikingly handsome (hey I am a sucker for those dark looks). But….okay, call me picky, but the guy has to be at least on par with me….okay who am I kidding, I want a basketball center

I didn’t have to wait long for my second speed date, um date, whatever. I met up with Stewart the Kiwi dentist for a Thursday lunch. He asked if I would like a beer and I declined citing that I don’t usually like to drink while working. He then said “yeah I know what you mean, but I really can’t help having a pint with my food”. Okay hello, you are a dentist! I sure hope you don’t drink and work often! Imagine laying there with your mouth wide open and you smell booze on your dentist’s breath. Now hold for the drill….no way! Adding logs to the fire, he admitted that he was 37 (so he lied in order to get into our age bracket session) and divorced with two kids. Everyone now…errrrrr! I pictured the giant X‘s from family feud stamped on his forehead.

Thursday night (yes, count it, three dates in 24 hours), I met Meihi (from Romania) down in the village. I was afflicted with another perfect on paper but no physical desire syndrome. Faithful readers will recall a funny story last year about me dismissing a perfectly great “on paper” guy on the blog only to have him read it and call me out on it. Oops! Well this guy is good looking, really tall, really thin (like track high jumper thin…mmmmn), and has his PhD in mathematics from MIT. Okay, how can I not want to immediately bear his children! Seriously, his span would inherit the earth or at least significantly boost the quality of the gene pool. I am all anguished that I had no urge to kiss him which is basically head on collision for the relationship.

Sunday night was Amin (from India and Texas). Okay, he was attractive, successful, nice, and had some great stories. He told me about a haunted bridge in San Antonio that you can see tiny hand prints from children (if you dust/powder your car ahead of time). I am on the fence with him because I do have the urge to kiss him but he has a fondness for bright pink shirts, works 70+ hours a week (finance and mergers business) and has a pair of white jeans….yes white jeans! Well I’ll let you know how this one turns out after our haunted house second date tonight (yeah he is all super excited about Halloween too).

I'd rather be gay

Okay here is the post that everyone has been waiting for….my adventures in Speed Dating! Yep, I figured the experience would introduce me to local hot single men and possibly produce a great story. Well, one out of two is not bad.

I was a bit nervous before the event, so I enlisted help from work friends to create some good openers. Rob suggested that I comment “boy there are a lot of weirdoes here” but that would not fly if the guy showed up with his five brothers. Kate brought up the question “wait what if any of them are gay, you don’t want to go thru that again”. I’m pretty sure that it was a strictly hetro event, but they said I should have some test questions to find out if they are a wolf in sheep’s clothes. Do you have a Barbara Streisand CD….errrrrr! Do you like figure skating…..errrrr! Do you like giving it to guys in the butt…..errrrr!

The evening started with some mingling between the 25 ladies and 24 men (one guy didn’t show up…his loss). I was a bit worried at first because all of the women were catches. I’m not kidding….they all had pretty to down right gorgeous faces, hot bodies, and sexy dresses. Now add to the fact that all the girls were smart (physician’s assistant, art gallery clerk, dentist, med student, etc) and normal! Okay, at least it made me feel better about being habitually single since I obviously was not the only one.

Well if all the girls were so awesome, the guys are bound to be total packages right. Um….wrong! About a third of the guys could not speak English. Another third were completely hopeless like circus midgets and large facial moles sprouting hair. The final third were total wanna-be players and use the speed dating as ways to perfect their lame pick up lines.

Here is a sample of what I had to endure for 3 minutes at a time.
Ralph from Queens. Okay this guy was trying to play up the gangster guy image and I felt like I was watching an audition for Goodfellas. Hmmm wide open button down shirt, massive chest hair, several gold chains, I know, you are trying to distract from the fact that you go by Ralph. Oh no baby, you had me at ‘bout it’.

Edo from Nigeria. I asked him what brought him to the United States. I don’t know what he replied because I was answering for him in my head…what are Barnum and Bailey.

Dan the total player. I was his third girl in the rotation. His opening line was “I’ve been waiting all night to talk to you”. I thought “hmmm, yeah we are 10 minutes into the evening, so glad you did not have to wait that long”. He immediately scooted his chair next to mine so that our thighs pressed together and asked if I wanted to grab drinks afterwards and get to know each other better. I called him out asking him how he can say that when he has 20 some more girls to meet. He also goes to these speed dating things at least once a week…..um not improving my opinion of you. Thank God it was only 3 minutes. I then overheard the same lines being used on the girl next to me (the next girl in the rotation). Nice.

Mihai from Romania. When I asked him were he was from (because the accent was super thick), he made me guess. I basically was quizzed on all of eastern Europe. By the time I finally said Romania, the buzzer went off.

Amin from India. Okay he was normal, but his best friend kept getting in the way. Cock block.

Robby from Jersey. Yes Robby, not Rob, Bob, Robert, or anything not already used by a 5th grader.

Craig the very very very large guy (oh who am I kidding, he was a fat ass). He asked what I would be doing on a Thursday night if I was not speed dating. I replied that I would probably be watching the Office since I am addicted to that TV show. He then went on to lecture me about excessive television watching without knowing that I only watch a few shows a week. When I turned the table and asked him what he would be doing, he said “well Thursdays I like to hit the gym. You know I intimidate all the other guys because I am so big.” Okay I don’t know if he was kidding or if he really believed his bulk was actually muscle….the lumpy soft kind of muscle.

Mamei from Pakistan. Moley! Moley! Moley!

Fred from China. Well his real name was not Fred, it was something with a lot of x’s, u’s, and i’s in it.

Oke from Turkey. I asked him what brought him to America, and he said “I want a green card”. What…slow down buddy, I just met you. Well his accent was sooooo thick that he actually said “I won a green card”. Ooops, my mistake.

Yustof from Russia. Raj from India. Stewart from New Zealand.

Mark from Ireland who carted around a huge back pack like this speed dating event was another stop on his backpacking tour across the United States.

I figured I had nothing to loose (or gain since the pickings were slim), so I started using all sorts of random opening lines. I was assigned table 1 not for any particular reason besides I was nearest to the organizer when she started handing them out. Well after three beers (two bought by creepy Dan), I started chanting “I’m number 1! I’m number 1!” to the boys as they approached. I was also located in the darkest corner of the room, so guys could hardly see me. I kept telling the guys that they made a mistake putting me in the shady corner because it was only for people with Phantom of the Opera like physical deformities and that I only have a sixth toe. Well the girl next to me got mad because I was basically saying she was ugly….but she wasn’t, I was joking! Anyway, I stopped using the melted face routine in lieu of saying all the whores were over here (dark corner means stealth hand jobs). Yeah, that did not help the situation between the other girl and I any.

Okay, so speed dating was a bust (although I do have three dates lined up for this week). To help motivate me getting out there more, I have chopped off all of my hair. I signed up for a free haircut from an apprentice. She wanted experience cutting textured hair (i.e. my nappy curly head) with a razor. Basically I went to a swanky salon in the meat packing district and got a $200 haircut for free. The supervisor was this super high end guy who has cut (according to her) half the NYC celebrities hair. The one down fall is that it took 3 hours! Yeah, she would give me a consultation and then he would critique her and she would do it again. Then they would wash my hair and study the curl because every curly hair cut must be done differently. Then she would make a few cuts, then he would, then she would, blah blah blah. I gave them a picture of Sarah Jessica Parker and they matched it for my face. I didn’t know I could love my hair so much, but I cannot help starring at myself in every mirror I pass. Oh and I got bangs! Yeah, I had not had any since 6th grade, and those were the 80’s bubble bangs thing.

Here is a pic of the new haircut. I was in the middle of drinking a bottle of wine with Rob and Dana when I got the notion to document an “after” picture in Dana’s bathroom.

Not made in China

Okay this post is the equivalent of the potpourri category in Jeopardy. Yes, yes I am a super nerd and love Jeopardy. Alex is a fox.

Anyway, Thursday I had another date with Swim Boy. Bree says we are dating (since we have been going on dates for three months now), but since we have not had the “official” talk yet, I still consider myself single. Anyway we stopped for Chinese take out from this hole in a wall joint in Brooklyn (groan). We browsed the pirated DVD section in the back while we were waiting for our order. Yes you heard me right, pirated DVD….hundreds of them. Scanning the titles, Swim Boy would point out his selections: Die Hard 4, Half Nelson, 3:10 to Yuma, Ratatouille, and The Queen…huh, yep the movie with that old lady Helen M-something. Okay, I guess I am not the only one with a vagina here. I gasped when I came across my pick, Black Sheep. Yep the New Zealand indie flick about killer zombie sheep! I saw it at the Tribecca Film festival and I did not think it was released outside NYC. Hurrah! I did a quick celebration dance and bought it. Besides the lack of movie score and random DVD skips and jars, it was well worth the meager price.

In completely different news, I have accomplished my greatest sewing achievement ever! I’m no seamstress, so my sewing undertakings have not stretched beyond mending, tailoring, and the occasional Halloween costume (Las Vegas show girl, She-Ra, and my favorite….a pregnant bride wedding dress out of curtains none-the-less). Well my Chicago friend Ryan gave me a t-shirt printed with my vintage college mascot. Unfortunately, he bought it in his size (2-XL). Since the shirt was sooooo cute, I decided to cut it up and sew it back up to my size (M). Okay, I didn’t do it alone; Bree helped me figure out what acid the bobbin was on.

I’m an idiot and didn’t take a before picture of me in the XXL shirt, so I am substituting with a shirt I bought Ryan at the latest street fair.

Here is the after picture....not bad, next stop Project Runway auditions.

Things I can't swallow

The week started with a visit from my Chicago friend Dan R. He was in town for business, so we met up for dinner. Here is the view of ground zero from his hotel room. Now pull your mind out of the gutter, I always insist on seeing hotel rooms so I can jump on the oh so soft beds and 600 thread count sheets. Plus he is under a year away from his marriage to the lovely Emily.

We headed over to Stone street down in the financial district. This is a crooked cobblestone pedestrian street tucked away about a block from the NYSE. It is home to a few good restaurants and the bar Ulysses (where about exactly one year ago, I accidentally burnt a chunk of my hair off….see post archives). Not wanting a repeat, we decided to eat in a Swedish restaurant. We were greeted at the door by a Spanish looking woman with a…..side ponytail. Yeah, not kidding! It was not even a fashionable low one, but a freaking off center knob on the top of her head.

Dan and I ordered a bottle of red. I thought she was going to dislocate her shoulder trying to uncork it. Not to sound like a snob, but she totally skipped all the customary tasting motions (you know, small sample in the glass, hand you the cork to sniff, etc) and poured us two full glasses. Errrh. The best was watching her trying to re-cork the bottle because she thought A) that red wine should not be left to breath, and B) that we were going to shove it in our bags and take the remainder of the bottle home with us. Huh? Those who have tried it realize that it is down right impossible to get a cork back in. Dan and I let her attempt it for five minutes before informing her that we planned on finishing the bottle.

Not used to gourmet food, I often ask for recommendations from the wait staff. I asked side-ponytail if she preferred the caramel chicken or Swedish meatballs. She said, “umm, I’m a vegetarian, so I would recommend the eggplant”. Me: “Okay, well I want one of these two, do you find that customers order one more often than the other…(pause while she stares blankly at me)…is there anything your restaurant is known for…(again pause, then I cut her off when she tries to recommend the eggplant again).” I felt like dragging my own kill in just to show her that I am a happy meat eater and do not want a fucking plant!

My mind is in the toilet

Bree and I awoke Saturday morning (after one heck of a Friday night….two words - Coney Island, see previous post) just in time to drag ourselves to the KSU football watch party. The alma mater was playing their arch rival KU (the other Kansas school). Anyway, the parties are held at this okay bar on the upper east side.

After a bucket of beers (one way to cure the hang-over), I needed to use the facilities. The bar’s basement bathroom (say that three times fast) has two stalls. I walked into the first and was greeted by a giant turd! Yes, girls do poop too. Evidently this girl ate a bunch of sausage and….okay don’t want to think about it anymore. I quickly went to stall number two. The toilet in the stall was continuously running which seemed odd. Then I noticed the posted sign saying don’t throw toilet paper in the toilet, throw it in the bucket. Huh….then I saw the “bucket” heaped high with wadded up used toilet paper. Ugh….so gross just imagining it. I went back to the turd toilet and tried to flush it using my foot to press the handle. Nope didn’t go down, so I weighed my options and chose the continuously flushing/bucket stall. Next problem, the door wouldn’t shut! It was pulled from the wall by some zealous girl and hung at a weird angle. When you tried to close the door, it would knock up against the toilet. Okay, so there I am hovering with a wide open door when a girl walks in. She was startled and embarrassed but I quipped to her “no worries, you’ll see why I am doing this in about five seconds”. Yep, I then heard her say “ewwww, this is disgusting”….the turd has been spotted. I was pulling up my shorts when she said “maybe I’ll try to see if it will go down (pause for flushing noise)….oh my God, I think is going to overflow!” We bolted out of there so fast lest a brown submarine dock at our sandals. While panting and laughing my ass off with the girl in the hallway, I decided to creep back and take some pictures thinking, no one is going to believe this. Seriously, crazy things like this follow me around and those who don’t know me would not believe a simple trip to the restroom could generate such a story. Don’t worry, I didn’t take pictures of the turd, or the bucket, or anything else that would provoke a gag reflex. I did get this shot of the sign….see! Okay to top things off, I am pretty sure I know who left the present for us. She was a bit out of place (I don’t want to begin to explain) and I noticed she spent an awful lot of time in the restroom before me. Hey look on the brightside, she could just be a heroin addict.

Sunday I headed cross town to the Oktoberfest street fair. I was picturing lederhosen, tubas, and large beer steins. Unfortunately, it was just a street fair filled with the peddlers of imitation sunglasses, shawls, fried food, and costume jewelry. My disappointment did not last long since I found my favorite tiny Asian man artist guy. I bought one of his paintings last year and have been looking for him at every street fair since. Well I was debating between a central park scene and Times Square abstract. I opted for Times Square even thought I complain about it, I might as well commemorate my two year residence.

After dropping off the giant painting (and a brief detour around the Pulaski day parade), I caught the afternoon show of a new rock musical. Basically the theater district puts on a “theater festival”, similar to a film festival, where emerging plays and musicals are showcased with the hope that a major venue will produce them. I was told this was a good way to see the next big Tony winning play for cheap. My choice was a hard rock (go figure) musical based on a Greek mythology story. The two main characters were the God Dionysus (god of wine and lewdness, basically the blame for sex drugs and rock-n-roll back in the day) and his cousin the king. The Dionysus guy had skin tight, low rise pants, a bare upper body, and a giant blonde curly wig. Don’t get me wrong, he had a very hot body but the wig, effeminate character, and body glitter on the nipples and navel made me feel like a pervert. The king character’s costume was not much better as he was sporting a cut off tank top, skin tight acid wash jeans, and a giant metal codpiece! Yeah the thing stuck out at least 6 inches! I had second row center seats (sweet seats in any other play) which put me at eye level for his codpiece thrust dancing. Now don’t tell me that isn’t distracting. I would be watching the play and other actors when metal crotch guy would stroll onstage. Then all I would do is follow around the giant dick shield. Oh well, a girl has gotta get her action one way or another.

Man, you must have been drunk....or should be shot

Friday night started with a happy hour at a swanky Chelsea bar called “The Park”. It’s shtick is having a huge indoor/outdoor space with plants and trees, hence park. Well evidently swanky places don’t do happy hour, so I was happy to ditch the work crew in lieu of some more economical venue.

Bree, Josh, Jeff, and I made a pit stop at Josh and Jeff’s work. They work at a college sports network and have the sweetest office ever! Firstly, it is in the old Nabisco cracker factory. Secondly its décor consists of bleacher (yes real bleachers), hockey pucks, tennis balls, lockers, etc. It reminded me of the apartment Tom Hanks got in Big after his first major paycheck (I was disappointed not to see a trampoline or a fighting Godzilla). Okay, when you convert a factory into offices, there are some loose ends. Exhibit A, the rail car elevated road that leads into a…..brick wall.

We headed over to Half Pint bar in the village/NYU area. It is known for a large import selection and….beer towers! Yep the same deadly devices that the Chicago boys and I consumed a few weeks ago. Needless to say, two beer towers later, we were all thoroughly sauced! The bar was decorated with mini pumpkins and gourds. Yeah call us immature, but we later were comparing the gourd sizes to male genital….”hmmm, this would make for a very large ball (to which Jeff the skeeze would say that it was life size for him, wrinkles and all)”.

Unfortunately, the bar subscribed to the idea of single stall unisex bathrooms. Whoever came up with that trend should be shot. Okay guys are forced to pee in a toilet. Not only do they often not lift the seat, but their drunken state causes them to pee all over the seat (and surrounding area). We girls are forced to hover over the dripping toilet seat while trying to decide what puddle we should place our feet in. To add to my disgust, one bathroom had pubes all over the seat! Yep, you read right….little curly hair! Not one but several guys must have contributed to the “pube pile” because I saw a rainbow of color. It is like one guy accidentally ripped a handful out while “gripping” and left it. Then the next guy was like “well hell, everybody is doing it, why not jump on the pube bandwagon”. Okay, I just now wonder how many times you can write “pube” before it is too much…..pube pube pube pube pube pube pube pube pube pube pube pube P-U-B-E-S! Still there…just checking.

So we head out to get pizza because it is the natural progression after consuming beer (well actually making out is, but I didn’t have any options at the moment). Walking down west 3rd, I saw the biggest douche bag ever! Imagine a white sleeveless tux with a metallic vest and socks with sandals. Now imagine his ride….a minivan. Ah ha ha ha! Seriously, how can you not know how ridiculous you look!

Bree grabbed my arm and dragged me inside another bar. I don’t know what impulse came over her, but her boy-dar was spot on. The place was chocked full of cute guys! I quickly made talk with a medical research guy who was in town for a conference (i.e. a complete waste of my time).

Eventually I saw Bree and Josh sprint by with Jeff in tow. He caught me and said “we have to leave….NOW”. I can only guess what predicament they got into in my absence. When I emerged from the bar a few seconds behind them, the gang was no where to be seen! Well the blurry vision didn’t help, but I was definitely all alone. Ummmm….taxi!

Around 4am, I was woken up by Bree returning to the apartment (roommate in a studio…don’t ask). Anyway, she said “you will never guess where I have just been…Coney Island!” What the F! Evidently she got a subway sandwich and hoped on the subway without paying attention to the direction of the train. She was so into devouring her sub sandwich (which we all are after a long night of drinking) that she didn’t realize the 15 minute ride back to our place was taking much longer. She finished the sandwich around Avenue Z in Brooklyn and realized oh crap, where am I. Eventually she reached the end of the line in Coney Island. Instead of trying the impossible and hailing a cab in Coney Island at 3am in the morning, she just stayed on the train and rode it back to Manhattan….note it is an hour door to door! Okay, talk about giant oops! Ah ha ha ha.

Receptive Reception

Saturday night was my sister’s wedding reception. Yep, same sister that got married in Jamaica a month earlier (see Jamaica posts). Since not everyone was able to experience a really shitty vacation, they held a local reception. If you think about it, it is like they just bypassed all the boring ceremony crap and headed straight into the drinking. Not a bad idea.

Family weddings for me involve corralling the herds of children present. I was part of a wave of 26 first cousins (yes 26 blood related first cousins not counting spouses, well those of the ones I usually see at Christmas, so there may be more from the estranged relatives). Thanks to the strong Nebraska values of marry young and start breeding, this wave is producing a large crop of 25 second cousins (or first cousin once removed or something). I’m the token unfortunate cousin who is 28 and gasp not married yet (you would think I am cursed with leprosy or something). Yeah, the first question my aunts and uncles all ask me is “so Lindsay….have you found a boy yet”. Typically I shoot back an answer like “no, I’ve started running and I can’t find a guy to keep up” or “no, the guys don’t like to stick around much after they have paid for the blow job” or my favorite “boys, naw, I’m not into them anymore, I’m a lesbian”. Of course none of these are true but I love the look on my Mom’s face when she slaps my arm and hisses to me “don’t say that, they don’t even know what that word means”.

Although I am shunned by the adults, the kids all worship with me because I am willing to play with them. Hurrah! Typically I pick them up, run around with them, and pretend to shove them into things. I tell you, nothing generates giggles of joy like pretending to flush someone down the toilet or dangling them over a trash can. I sat down with them to catch my breath (give me credit, I was in heels and a green bridesmaid dress). It is true, kids say the darnd-est things. One kid started talking about how her dog eats its own poop! I told her there is a pill you can feed the dog to make it stop doing that (it is supposed to make the shit taste bad because plain shit is just to darn tasty….no wait, huh, must be a placebo or something). The little girl then clarified that her dog crapped dog treats…um nope, those are not candy bars sweetie. Turns out it was her Barbie dog and you stick plastic “treats” in its mouth and it comes out the butt. Well this sparked a flurry of conversation like “well I have a bunny that poops jelly beans” and “well I have a chicken that poops M&M’s”. Yep, 10 minute conversation about….pooping. I later told their parents the subject of our heated discussion. They all shook their heads and will rethink their toy selections from now on.

I fruitlessly tried to escape the under 8 crowd for some adult time (oh who am I kidding, I wanted to get some booze in me). Finally I asked them if they wanted to dance because, hey, what kid doesn’t freak out during YMCA. One particularly judgmental boy cousin loudly proclaimed “dancing is dumb”. I feigned being emotionally slapped in the face and said I like dancing and therefore I must be dumb by their logic (okay lame excuse, but the kids were sold and I was able to finally join the party). Well a half hour later, the ring leader (i.e. the oldest) approached me with a note. Evidently all the kids “felt really bad” about calling dancing dumb and really really really wanted me to come back a play with them. Okay, tear, it was very touching, but I loved the fact it was addressed “dear (blank)” because they didn’t know how to spell my name.

Speaking of dancing, we finally got my mom out on the dance floor. She mostly goofs off and just shakes her body while laughing. Well a country bumpkin cowboy fancied my mom and tried to dance with her. She kept the awkward seven feet of space between them but increased the distance when he started air humping her (you know when a guy thrusts his pelvis in and out at you).

One thing I like about weddings is seeing everyone dressed up. For some people it is easier said than done. For example, my new brother-in-law Brad. He normally keeps his ties (oh who am I kidding, his lone tie) already knotted on the hanger. Since my sister made him get a new shirt and tie for the reception, he was faced with the task of tying a tie for the first time in several years. To aid him, he printed off instructions from the internet. I don’t know what is more humorous, that he printed off instructions or that the shirt in the diagram is short sleeved. My dad eventually helped him out since he has worn a tie every work day for the last 25+ years.

One of the bad things about hosting the reception is that you cannot get completely out of control (as is standard with any friend’s reception or party or typical Saturday night). I spent the final hours of the party hauling gifts out to the car, handing out party favors, and boxing up all the misc items like votive candles and guest book pens. I did not do a good job getting rid of flowers since we still had over ten giant vases full at the end of the night. Not wanting to waste them, we piled them into the mini-van, along with my Aunt Patty, the bride and groom (yep, their luxury ride back home was in the family van), my parents, the gifts and decorations. On top of all of that, we were required to take all of the left over food home with us from the hall. So imagine me sitting there, surrounded by flowers (like in your face flowers), while balancing a travel bag in the other hand and leaning on one butt cheek so I don’t smash the cake top! About half way home, some one said “wait, do you smell that, what is it…” Of course I could not smell shit since I had a giant lily in my face, but evidently the canister of green bean/bacon cracked open and spilt in the car. The next day, the van still reeked of green beans, whew, not my problem.

I like the new brother-in-law more and more every time I hang out with him. He just does/says things that are so genuinely funny but I don’t think he realizes it. For example, on the way home from the reception, he was a bit drunk. He announced to van (parents, aunt, and me) that “I think my friends were trying to get me drunk tonight” as if it was a breaking news story. We got on the subject of grandchildren (because hey that is all my Mom wants to talk about these days). My aunt asked them when they plan to have kids. Brad patted Angela on the back like an old buddy and said “we’ll start trying in about…10 minutes”. Ah ha ha ha! Love it!

View from the top

Another weekend in September, another plane trip. Yep this marks my third round trip flight in this month alone. Fourth trip outside of NYC if you count the bus ride to Boston three weeks ago. Being super cheap, I take the bus shuttle service to the airport instead of handing over $30 for a cab ride. That means waking up at 4am and walking cross the island among drunks stumbling home. Nice.

Since I had to wake up predawn, all I wanted to do on the flight was sleep. Therefore the loud guy in the row behind me who kept yapping was the bane of my existence. He was all like “yes I’m a triple major at Cornel, its an Ivy school, actually it is the largest Ivy but our endowment is not as much as Harvard so we often do not get as much press as we should, blah blah blah”. Now imagine saying that with a very snooty privileged voice almost like Mr. Belvedere minus the British accent. His triple major is in English, Literature, and Physics. What the fuck! Okay how are those related? I may not have three degrees from an Ivy but I am smart enough to know you can’t get shit with those majors. Idiot. Oh what next Einstein….a teaching position at an suburban high school…way to blow 100grand in student loans. Okay, I sound bitchy, but put yourself in my very tired cranky shoes. The best was when he said “yeah, when I graduate and start making it big time (note I stifle laughter), I’m not going to flaunt my money. You know, I don’t need a big house or fancy car to tell me I am hugely successful. I mean, if I was driving around in a Mercedes, I would think to myself…” I took this opportunity to shout back “what that you are a douche bag”. Ah ha ha, score one for me. The girl sitting next to me gave me a high five.

I think that finally shut him up because he remained relatively quiet for the rest of the flight. I then could enjoy my prime seat. Yep, I got the aisle seat in the first row of coach. In front of me was first class, so I had yards of leg room. I eventually fell asleep only to be woken up by the cold wet sensation running down my leg. Yep a lady with a giant handbag (when only allowed one carry-on suitcase, some people find the biggest purse ever, seriously you could fit a toddler in one) walked by and knocked my half finished glass of juice on me. Oblivious of the trail of destruction her own zip code needing bag was causing, she just kept on walking. The first class stewardess rushed up to me and said “oh my God, I saw that, she didn’t even stop, how rude, let me get you some towels”. Our combined effort was able to extract most of the liquid from my purse (yep right into the purse) and my damp pants. When the lady emerged from the forward restroom, the first class stewardess gave her a lashing “well I hope you know you spilt this poor lady’s drink all over her and you didn’t even stop, I think you owe her an apology”. The woman came over and asked if she could help me with anything (although she was about two minutes too late), so shoved all the wadded up towels and ice cubes into her hands and said “sure you can get rid of this” before shooting her a surly look.

So I changed planes in Chicago and boarded the smallest plane ever! Granted it was enroute to Omaha, and the plane probably held a quarter of the state’s population (just kidding). Seriously, it held maybe 30 people. Although our tiny plane had only one stewardess, she made up for it in personality. Okay I say personality, but I mean to say completely backwoods twang accent. She over emphasized and held all ‘e’ vowels like “now eeeeeveryone, pleeeease take a seeeeat and fasten your seeeeatbelts”. I sunk low in my seat and counted the ways she helped set back Nebraska’s image about 200 years.

Okay I complain about the early hour of the flight, but the one great thing is the light. Yeah that sounds odd, but I usually hop on a flight after work and therefore it is usually pretty dark outside when I am in the air. Well the sight is breathtaking! I snapped some pictures of the farm landscapes of Iowa/Nebraska as well as the monster storm clouds that we flew over (yeah beautiful from above, scary as hell from below). At one point we flew thru a cloud for 10 minutes (one hell of a cloud) and it was a complete white out (like pitch black but with white).

Luckily I had my camera ready when I exited the plane because I was rewarded with my favorite picture of Nebraska sofar. Actually it was a series of advertisements. The first was a farmer guy approaching his mailbox in the middle of a cornfield (why a mailbox was in the middle of a cornfield is beyond me). The next picture showed him reaching inside. The final picture (the image in the blog) shows the farmer celebrating, saying “my favorite day of the month”, and clutching his Fastline tractor magazine. Ah ha ha.

My first stop in Nebraska was (drum roll please)…..Walmart! Yep, home of everything you never knew you needed. I loaded up on cereal and canned juice since both are about three times more expensive in NYC. Good thing I brought the big suitcase home. Yeah, call me lame, but I will be smiling when I roll around in my bed of fruit loops while sporting a grape juice mustache. Mom also sends me home with a gallon bag of rice crispy bars and brownies which last about, um I don’t know, a day when I return. Mmmmn.

Okay yeah I know, Walmart. What can I say, I’m a cheap ass m-f-er (why I suddenly got a conscious and decided to start abbreviating my swearing, I do not know). I would say it is better to be too cheap than too extravagant. I learned my miser ways from my Dad. His favorite store is the dollar general. If they have a special on T-shirts, (say 5 for $10), he will get 5 of the same t-shirts! Then because he is so proud of his good buy (even though the t-shirts are all like Huskers, big 8 conference champ, 1988) he will wear the shirts out all the time. Granted he is hygienic enough to wear a different shirt each day, but to the ignorant, it looks like he is wearing the same shirt all week. I was able to snap a picture that embodies my Dad’s loveable buy persistent thriftiness. Exhibit one – the TV with rabbit ears (duct taped in the back) and a nail clipper as channel changer dial. Nice.

That night I met up with a high school friend Tina for drinks and gossip. We stopped at the same small town bar that hosted our 10 year reunion. Well this place was happening, and by happening, I mean eight people! Yeah, I guess 10pm on a Friday night is must see TV time or something. Good thing about an empty bar is that we were able to monopolize the touch screen triva thing. Yes, that machine on the end of the bar that you always wonder about. It is addicting like big buck hunter or the mechanical claw. We spiced it up by playing photo match with Chippendale male strippers so we could be the token “perverts” at the bar. Thanks Tina….not.

One of the key items at the bar was the life size mannequin of Herbie Husker (Nebraska football mascot). They stuffed the body so it would fill out the overalls properly (ie with a beer belly). The mask kept starring at me as I moved around and I could not help think of the Steven King IT movie….creepy. Some girls (must be lost since there is zero tourism in Gretna) took a group picture with the thing.