My 15 year old (yes, you are still only 15 Abby, your birthday is not for another 3 months - YOU ARE STILL 15 - DO YOU HEAR ME?) needed a new practice suit for her high school’s swim team, which begins next week. Fine. I should have known we were in trouble when she asked to go to Sports Fair (which really should be called Swim Fair because they don’t sell any equipment for sports other than swimming) rather than go to Sports Authority.
The first bump in the road occurred when we drove to the store. My son used to swim, so I remember exactly where the store was (God knows I’ve written enough checks there). The store was gone - replaced by a nail salon -“well, can I get my nails done while we’re here?” she asked, clearly annoyed that I had dodged yet another attempt on her part to make me part with my hard earned money. I won’t repeat what I said, but I was scolded by my 15 year old for using the word “Fuck” too often this morning (mouthy teen!).
We drove home. We had lunch - Abby had a grilled cheese with monterey jack, one piece of swiss and 4 slices of bacon. I had a yogurt and a granola bar (still with me? - riveting stuff, damn straight yo!). Went online to check and see if in fact Sport Fair was still in business. It was, and oddly enough, still housed in the same store front as the nail salon.
I hate incompetence - especially on a Saturday - when I could be on tumblr looking at the same old pictures of Christoph Waltz (not complaining mind you). If you’ve moved your location, you really need to change it online, otherwise, how will I find you? Who will I give my money to (really there’s little enough of it?)
Eventually we found it (I had written down the old street number - sigh - further incompetence on a Saturday). Abby however was elated, as she was certain that I had the wrong number, and she had the correct one. Rather than utter another expletive, I praised her brilliance and exclaimed that “You can never leave me Abby - EVER!” This had the desired effect, of stopping her fist pumping and throwing her hair around.
We entered the new store. It looked like something that should have been on Rodeo Drive instead of Lee Highway (across the street from a strip mall). Blond hardwood floors, glass and teak counters. “Well, I now know why I was being charged a 500% markup for bathing caps last year,” I said looking around. “Mmaaaahm stop!,” said a mortified Abby, turning her head quickly from side to side as if on some sort of caffeine induced scavenger hunt.
Three very cute boys were working the counter. “Hey, what are y’all looking for today?” asked the boy with the curly brown hair and skinny jeans. “Lacrosse sticks,” I answered smiling. “Sssshhhh Mom!” Abby said. “Uh, I need a suit,” she said. “Cool, for practice or team?” he asked, batting his big brown eyes. “Practice,” replied my daughter, smiling shyly. “High school practice,” I said giving him my best Joan Crawford stare. “Cool. Do you know what brand - Tyr or Speedo?” This was already getting on my nerves. “Um Splish,” replied Abby. Big smile on the cute boy’s face. “Spliiiiiiish, very cool. Do you know which design?” He asked strolling across the floor, toward a rack of suits. “Um, the double rainbow.” Abby replied. This stopped him dead in his tracks. “Oh,” he said shaking his head sadly. “No, we’re like way … ” didn’t even finish his sentence and Abby picked right up “gone?” she asked pouting. “Yeah,” he said sadly. Their relationship was now going through a rough patch. “That’s ok, I can try one on here for size and then order it from their website,” she said walking over to the rack. “Nnnnnoooo, no, no, no,” I said. Just find a different design and buy it here. If you order online I’ve got to pay a shipping fee.” I said, letting Abby know who wore the pants in this mother/daughter relationship. “No Mom, you don’t understand,” Abby said, shaking that hair again. The cute boy with eyelashes quickly backed away. “Yeah I understand, you all want to have the same suit. Just tell your friends that the plan has changed and you’re now buying a different one.” “Nnoooooo, whined Abby. “I ca… oh, wait this is cute. Oh this is funny, look at this one. Oooooo I like this one.” Metal hangers wizzed across the rack at breakneck speed. Joan Crawford would have been rendered catatonic.
I was now standing in front of what arguably must be the ugliest bathing suits ever created. “These are Splish,?” I asked incredulously. “Yeah aren’t they great?” Abby held one up for me to see. It looked as if someone had slapped kiddy stickers all over it. “Oh my god, they’re hideous. Abby are you serious, this is what you want to practice in?” “Yeah, we’re all going to get them.” she answered, eyeing the bathing suit. Cute boy returned smiling, obviously relieved that the mother/daughter drama had concluded. “Do you want to try that on?,” he asked grinning and nodding. Honestly, I could have slapped him! “Um yeah,” Abby answered, smiling and looking down shyly at her top-sider encased feet. Oh gag, I thought to myself, unsure at this point who I wanted to slap more - cute boy or my daughter who was now visibly mooing over him. “Abby!” I wanted to say, “for God’s sake, pull yourself together!” I steered her toward the dressing room, away from cute boy.
After trying on 6 suits, each one more hideous than the other, she settled on one. I brought the suit to the counter, where cute boy #2 (who obviously was a step above cute boy, as he was allowed to use the register), proceeded to ring up our purchase. $57.71 is your total, he said smiling. “Are you fucking kidding me?” “Mmmmmaaaaahhhhhmmmmmm!
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
NaNoWriMo Complete!
Thank God! Finished with NaNoWriMo - submitted my book this morning, collected my certificate, made my donation to the future of high school writers, went for a walk, and now … I’m going to the library to find a good book to READ!
During this month of literary abandon, I avoided weight gain, mass, confession, superfluous whining, superfluous shopping, CBS Sunday Morning, 3 square meals a day for myself and family, good manners, and civility.
I did manage to get my hair cut and highlighted (I’m not completely without compassion for those who have to look at me.)
I will do my best to get to mass this weekend, I will re-engage with my family, I will prepare edible meals, I will be patient with my dog, I will become Christoph vigilant!
And now - to the library! Hooray!!!!!!!!
During this month of literary abandon, I avoided weight gain, mass, confession, superfluous whining, superfluous shopping, CBS Sunday Morning, 3 square meals a day for myself and family, good manners, and civility.
I did manage to get my hair cut and highlighted (I’m not completely without compassion for those who have to look at me.)
I will do my best to get to mass this weekend, I will re-engage with my family, I will prepare edible meals, I will be patient with my dog, I will become Christoph vigilant!
And now - to the library! Hooray!!!!!!!!
Typical Freshman
Soooooooo, last Thursday, my son came home from college for Christmas break. All was well, and my husband and I were happy to have our family unit restored (be it temporarily) to it’s full size.
Friday evening I was sitting on the couch in my happy spot, watching Brian Williams deliver the news, when my son came into the room and sat down next to me. I turned to look at him and discovered that he was sitting down, quite comfortably and confidently, drinking a Michelob (as if it were nothing more than a glass of orange juice).
“Uh, no no no, no, no,” I said, as if he was a two year old reaching for a knife.
To which he replied, “What I drink these all the time at school.” He looked at the bottle appreciatively, “boy, beer sure does taste better out of a bottle then it does from a can.”
This was too much. I stood up and pointed my finger at him. “No, no, you’re not 21.” I paused for a split second as I looked at the beer bottle, then continued, “finish that, because you’ve already opened it. But that’s it. No more! DO NOT DO THAT AGAIN. And when you’re done put that bottle out for recycling before your father sees it.”
“Moooom, I can drink like 6 of these and not feel a thing.”
“I’m sure you can’t feel a thing after 6 of those. Now finish that one up and eat some pretzels.”
Friday evening I was sitting on the couch in my happy spot, watching Brian Williams deliver the news, when my son came into the room and sat down next to me. I turned to look at him and discovered that he was sitting down, quite comfortably and confidently, drinking a Michelob (as if it were nothing more than a glass of orange juice).
“Uh, no no no, no, no,” I said, as if he was a two year old reaching for a knife.
To which he replied, “What I drink these all the time at school.” He looked at the bottle appreciatively, “boy, beer sure does taste better out of a bottle then it does from a can.”
This was too much. I stood up and pointed my finger at him. “No, no, you’re not 21.” I paused for a split second as I looked at the beer bottle, then continued, “finish that, because you’ve already opened it. But that’s it. No more! DO NOT DO THAT AGAIN. And when you’re done put that bottle out for recycling before your father sees it.”
“Moooom, I can drink like 6 of these and not feel a thing.”
“I’m sure you can’t feel a thing after 6 of those. Now finish that one up and eat some pretzels.”
Wild Week in Washington
I suppose if the Redskins had wanted a younger player to replace Donovan McNabb, they could have signed Gilbert Arenas, and if the Wizards wanted a more mature player to replace Gilbert Arenas, they could have signed Donovan McNabb and if the Capitols continue to suck, Ralph Friedgen is now available, and if the University of Maryland football wants to improve, Nancy Pelosi will have a little bit more free time after Congress returns in 2011.
This still leaves Robin Givhan’s Style Editor position open at The Washington Post, and Zach Efron without a girlfriend, but I understand that both are currently accepting applications, so I’m thinking that if Miami doesn’t work out, there is still hope for LaBron. My God, it’s just soooooooo exhausting!
This still leaves Robin Givhan’s Style Editor position open at The Washington Post, and Zach Efron without a girlfriend, but I understand that both are currently accepting applications, so I’m thinking that if Miami doesn’t work out, there is still hope for LaBron. My God, it’s just soooooooo exhausting!
19 Years Ago Today
19 years ago today, I was in labor (eeeewwwww!). That’s right - on Christmas eve. I watched A Christmas Story 5 times. Johnny Mathis was the guest on Oprah (to this day, I cannot stand the sound of Johnny Mathis singing Christmas carols). I begged my husband to push me in front of a metro bus (he did not). Finally at 4:00 I convinced him to go get me a Jamocha Fudge milk shake from Baskin Robbins (he made it in right before they locked the door - very Indiana Jones, no fedora, just a blue cashmere sweater).
When the nurse put the IV in my arm, I bit my husbands wrist (because sharing is caring). When the anesthesiologist arrived and gave me the epidural, I told him that I’d take him to lunch one day soon (oh yeah, I forgot about that).
We watched Roseanne. When that was over we switched to PBS and watched Die Fledermaus (even before that night, it was always my favorite opera - I saw it at the Met with Siegfried Jerusalem - he was my crush before Christoph Waltz). My son Nicholas was born at 2 am on Christmas day - right in the middle of Act 2, (the party scene at Prince Orlovsky’s -Ich lade gern mir Gäste ein).
Although he is a Christmas baby, he was not named after St. Nicholas, but rather Nick Charles (The Thin Man - William Powell was my crush before Siegfried Jerusalem).
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When the nurse put the IV in my arm, I bit my husbands wrist (because sharing is caring). When the anesthesiologist arrived and gave me the epidural, I told him that I’d take him to lunch one day soon (oh yeah, I forgot about that).
We watched Roseanne. When that was over we switched to PBS and watched Die Fledermaus (even before that night, it was always my favorite opera - I saw it at the Met with Siegfried Jerusalem - he was my crush before Christoph Waltz). My son Nicholas was born at 2 am on Christmas day - right in the middle of Act 2, (the party scene at Prince Orlovsky’s -Ich lade gern mir Gäste ein).
Although he is a Christmas baby, he was not named after St. Nicholas, but rather Nick Charles (The Thin Man - William Powell was my crush before Siegfried Jerusalem).
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Post Christmas Carnage
My house looks like a department store explosion. The following are some items I had to traverse to get to the kitchen (my God I need my coffee) this morning: a neon green sports bra (brighter than Vegas at midnight), a Columbia multi-tool (with mini LED flashlight), one LL Bean fur lined slipper, the dog, wrapping paper (SpongeBob meets Crane), Portmeirion wastebasket to replace quarter century old Audubon one (wedding gift from mother’s store), not one but two empty plates of blueberry peach pie (honestly, couldn’t the dog have cleaned these for me?), numerous pairs of new socks (various combinations of argyle and fair isle patterns), Banana Republic boxer briefs, Hanes tagless t-shirts (because no matter what else happens in life, we should always be able to trust Michael Jordan), empty DVD cases for Despicable Me and Inception, 1 lb Reeses peanut butter cups, an eight pack of Classic Coke, empty bottles of Wine and sparkling cider, birthday wrapping paper, Sperry top-siders box, empty DVD box of Hurt Locker and the life-size cut out of Taylor Lautner, who on Christmas day was permitted to leave my daughters bedroom and visit the living room to have his picture taken under the tree - he wore a green chenille bathrobe and jaunty terrorist scarf
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(there was some discussion about using him for target practice with an air gun - in retrospect, it’s really probably best that I don’t have a life-size cut out of Landa). Time to awaken the elves and put them to work.
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(there was some discussion about using him for target practice with an air gun - in retrospect, it’s really probably best that I don’t have a life-size cut out of Landa). Time to awaken the elves and put them to work.
Not to Worry, Ted Kaczynski is Still in Jail
I came home from work today burbling over with what can only be described as an excess of cortisol in my system. Needing a quick blast of exercise to get rid of it, I decided to go for a 4 mile walk (too cold to run - it shreds my delicate throat, and I might need the throat to yell at either my daughter or husband, or possibly sing along with my ipod - because I can sing - quite badly.)
I dressed for the cold weather. I began with my navy blue Block Island sweatpants with the elastic removed from the ankles (because nothing says “class” better than fraying on the bottoms of your sweat pant legs). On top I wore my long sleeved Alexandria Lacrosse Club t-shirt. Over this - my Tar Heels Lacrosse hooded sweatshirt (yes, I wore the hood up, because according to my eye, ears, nose and throat doctor, the ears are also connected to the throat). On my feet - my white asics with the kelly green trim. On top of everything, a down jacket. To complete the ensemble, I wore my Ray Ban aviators (with outdoosman green lenses).
As I was heading out the door, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and was shocked to see a middle-aged, female uni-bomber.
I dressed for the cold weather. I began with my navy blue Block Island sweatpants with the elastic removed from the ankles (because nothing says “class” better than fraying on the bottoms of your sweat pant legs). On top I wore my long sleeved Alexandria Lacrosse Club t-shirt. Over this - my Tar Heels Lacrosse hooded sweatshirt (yes, I wore the hood up, because according to my eye, ears, nose and throat doctor, the ears are also connected to the throat). On my feet - my white asics with the kelly green trim. On top of everything, a down jacket. To complete the ensemble, I wore my Ray Ban aviators (with outdoosman green lenses).
As I was heading out the door, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and was shocked to see a middle-aged, female uni-bomber.
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