Friday, July 31, 2009
As I was doing some research on things for the blog, I stumbled across this video.
Cracks me up..would be totally something I would want to do to someone, but would hate if done to me. It is the whole "You can dish it out, but can't take it" routine.
And yes, I can admit it...I can dish it out like the best of them; not so much a taker.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
...and my 60-something mother is on Facebook.
It is not that she is enjoying herself and has found ways to spend her golden years. It is not that she is able to keep in contact with family from across the country. What it boils down to is this: I can't do much of anything without her knowing about it.
Having been on my own for way too many years to count, it feels like I am still living in my childhood home - however there is no homemade lasagna, no freshly washed Garanimals and no one to make my bed. All I hear whenever we talk on our weekly check-in-Thursday-night-pre-Survivor phone call in her best Jewish mother voice:
"I see you just lost another $5.63 on online poker."
"Why do you drink Bloody Marys EVERY Sunday morning?"
"Did you get that rash checked out?"
So again I get to hear a re-hash of my friend's postings from the week.
"OMG...I didn't know that Chuck is bi and was once 'Gigi Spot', the 2004 Charm City Drag Queen Champion!"
"Why don't you still wear that rugby shirt I gave you in 1988 that you drunkenly had over your head in that picture Pete posted of you playing beer pong in college?"
Don't get me wrong - I love my mother (and my father, but his main online entertainment is
So, as I sit here and think about it...would I really want it any other way?
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
My family is weird.
I know we are weird and I typically embrace our quirky nature (it’s the Irish in me). But sometimes the weirdness escapes me and I find myself wondering how I ended up different. There’s not much chance there was a quick liaison between my mother and the milkman since those days were long gone by the time I was born. The fact that I look a lot like my “real” grandmother (that’s a story for another time); have my mother’s thighs, and my father’s temperament means there’s a 99.99% chance I belong to these people.
The weirdness to which I am referring this time comes from our preferred choice of dealing with what is generally considered bad news. My mom’s mom (my “real” grandmother) died when my mom was just 17 years old. This has a tendency to shape your outlook on life…and death. It is startling to me that my brothers & I developed such an openness about death considering I never realized the grandmother I grew up with wasn’t my real grandmother until I was in high school (again, a story for another time).
We don’t shy away from discussions about living wills, or who is going to get what when my mom passes on, but its easy to joke about these things when Death isn’t standing on your doorstep with a cab waiting at the curb. What’s disturbing to me is that apparently when something serious does happen there is a good chance I’m not going to find out about it. At first I thought this was because I’m “sensitive” and “emotional” but nope that’s not it. Turns out it’s just not my family’s way to share what some may consider potentially life threatening news.
This is where I begin to wonder if my mom perhaps did had an affair with Sam the butcher. Because I don’t do this. I’m more of the I’m so sorry to hear you are sick, can I get you anything, can I bake you cookies and eat them with you, can I snuggle in next to you and make you laugh kind of person.
And when it’s me that’s sick you can be pretty sure that you’re going to know something happened to me. You’re going to know, all your Facebook friends are going to know, your relatives and friends of relatives are going to know. Because I feel like crap and I want you to cheer me up. That’s what friends do.
But please, whatever you do – don’t tell my family because they don’t really want to know.
Monday, July 27, 2009
One of my many jobs, at times, is to hire personnel. Recently I was reviewing resumes that were submitted for an available position. One that caught my eye happened to come from someone who used to work for my old organization.
After a quick review of the application and because I can - I did a little checking on the applicant. Hey...membership has its privileges people.
Come to find out the applicant did not "resign" as her resume says... she was basically fired. (Please note...it is not that easy to be fired from the government. It does happen though, so just imagine how bad she was for it to happen). Hold on, this story only gets better.
I read through her last performance review she so kindly included, she sneakily (well not that good, since I caught it) whited-out her previous supervisor's name and wrote what turned out to be her co-worker’s name. WTF? Did she acutally think no one would notice the white streaks and the bumpy paper? Seriously? Any supervisor worth their salt (and here I mean me) would do some checking with references and previous supervisors.
Government being what it is of course, I still have to interview her. So I came up with a few (HR disapproved) questions I would love to ask her:
- What is it like to be fired from a job - a government job at that?
- What have you been doing since 2003 when you were fired, oh, I mean resigned?
- If I hired you, would you white out my name on the outside of my door?
- Can I have the last 45 minutes back of my life that I just spent wasting interviewing you?
Oh, well...one can dream.
Friday, July 24, 2009
You would think the very fact that my answers were of the “Mmmm, hmmm”, “Yeah”, “I guess” variety that he would have gotten the hint. Not so much. He continues to talk away about budget numbers and republican politics as I am inching as quickly as possible towards the door. And now...I have to engage with him several times a day and try not to envision him with his pants around his ankles doing number 2.
Naturally - getting back to my desk to eat my PB&J, I couldn’t help but to wonder if women also do this; and as I sat trying not to picture Chatty Charlie's polka dot boxers, I wondered if it would go something like this:
"Hey Barb, is that you?"
"Sure is, Betty"
"Nice Manolo Blahniks...I was staring at them in our staff meeting."
"Thanks Betty, I got them at DSW - half price!. Along with these sheer tan hose, you see ‘em....down there by my ankles?"
"Uh oh...hey Barb...can you spare a square?"
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Most of the time cool stuff happens to everyone else I know. I (almost) never win anything which is why I don’t play the lottery and simply settle for complaining about being poor and never winning the lottery.
I enjoyed a cool moment this weekend and was sober enough to be able to recognize that it was a cool moment. Those are my favorite kind. The poo was the reason for my cool moment. And really how many times in life do you get to say that?
A friend whom I haven’t seen in 22 years came down to visit. Sadly, I wasn’t the reason for the visit but I like to think I was a little perk nonetheless. Friend’s friend penned a catchy little number entitled “Pepe! The Mail Order Monkey Musical” which premiered at the DC Fringe Festival. Pepe was based on a true story of 2 young boys who order a live (yes live) monkey out of the back of a comic book. Apparently this mail order monkey ad was all the rage back in the day, but seeing as how I never read a comic book this point was a little lost on me.
No matter because it didn’t really require a college education to follow the hilarity that ensued when 2 boys order a monkey that arrives in their quaint suburbia home. The monkey, while shy at first, quickly goes into survival mode when released from his cardboard prison and begins to pee and throw poo on everyone in the vicinity. (I would like to take this moment to thank the S.O.’s for taking a bathroom break before the show which forced us toward the back row of the theater.) I don’t know about you but whether or not the poo was real didn’t really affect the ew that’s so gross but how hilarious factor as we witnessed it being flung about. I don’t want to ruin the end for anyone who will bear witness to this theatrical marvel someday, but suffice it to say it was charming, witty and endearing. Two thumbs up.
As friends of friends of the director/writer we got to tag along to the VIP party. Cue the cool moment. Just shy of the Verizon Center, above a trendy restaurant we took a brief elevator ride and were deposited in an open space that was bigger than most DC apartments. If I ever wanted to live in the city again (I don’t) this is what I imagined my cooler than cool urban oasis would look like. Big open space, rooftop deck, exposed brick, baby grand piano and dozens of guitars gracing the wall. It took some doing to find out what the deal with the guitars was but it turns out the space we were hanging out in was owned by Gibson. A few of the more knowledgeable guests filled me in that it was used for visiting artists that were performing at the Verizon Center. Said artists were lured to the VIP space with promises of newly released, never before been played, Gibson guitars to try out and buy for a few dozen of their closest friends.
I don’t know about you but when I come thisclose to sharing space with famous people I get a little bit giddy. Of course you couldn’t tell that I was giddy because that would be uncool, but trust me when I say that my insides were giddy. As I roamed around the space enjoying the free booze, free food, touching every single guitar simply because I could, and relaxing on the contemporary but comfy sofa, I thought about those famous people.
Artists like U2, the Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, The Police, Elton John, Madonna, Britney Spears….that’s when I realized it was time to head home and take a shower because there is no telling what Britney did on that couch.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
We’ll give you the shortened version of us:
met in college,
she fell in love with him,
forced him into dating her (lasted less than a week),
they slept together (just slept),
and have ever since remained the best of friends, give or take a six month period when we didn’t speak to each other but we made up and promised never to do that again until one of us does something or says something really stupid and hurts the others feelings.
Today we are a little less Lloyd Dobler and Diane Court, a little more Will & Grace, with a dash of Bart & Lisa Simpson thrown in.
We have a tendency to be opinionated and generally don’t care if others agree or disagree with us so a blog seemed a natural fit. We welcome comments but you should be warned that we both like to argue so don’t be surprised if you incite a heated discussion.
By nature we are optimistic, fun loving and hard working so during those times when life gives you limes (and it will my friend) we invite you to pour some tequila, shake some salt, and come sit by us.
We hope you enjoy.