So I, the actual customer that has been giving you money all this time, can't get the discounted massage. I have to give it away. How is this customer appreciation? I'd call this customer utilization.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Who are you REALLY appreciating?
I got this in an email. Subject field read: CUSTOMER APPRECIATION!
So I, the actual customer that has been giving you money all this time, can't get the discounted massage. I have to give it away. How is this customer appreciation? I'd call this customer utilization.
So I, the actual customer that has been giving you money all this time, can't get the discounted massage. I have to give it away. How is this customer appreciation? I'd call this customer utilization.
Monday, November 30, 2009
The Itsy Bitsy Spider Went Into Julie's Bag
I think some of you know that our house has an inordinate amount of spiders. About a year ago I went to boil water for tea and three spiders came crawling out of the hinge on the spout. We have had several spider eggs hatch which resulted in about a thousand baby spiders on the wall; once when we arrived home at 2am after a night of carousing about town. I am sure if anyone was watching it was comical to watch two drunk people squish a thousand spiders with paper towels. For us, not so fun. Most recently I had a spider drop out of the tissue I was blowing my nose into.
Seriously horrifying stuff. Today I have added a new chapter to the spider chronicles.
I left the house this morning with the promise of a rainy commute home so I packed my rain boots and other goodies in a Whole Foods reusable bag and took off for the bus stop. The bag was pretty full. It held my aforementioned boots, a pair of shoes to change into in the office, a book, a yogurt and my purse. When I got on the bus it was pretty full but I managed to find a seat. I busted out the old lady reading glasses (which must be ultra hilarious to my fellow commuters to see me reading Twilight with old lady reading glasses) and my book and settled in for a crowded commute. As I took the book out of the bag I saw the spider on the book. The bus is packed at this point, someone sitting to my left someone standing in the aisle to my right. Freaking out was not an option. I transferred the spider from the book to the inside of my bag, where he stayed visible for about 3 seconds then scampered down into the depths of my bag.
Horrors.
The guy sitting to my left saw all of this go down and asked, "Are you OK? Do spiders freak you out?"
I said, "They freak me out enough to NOT want one sitting on my lap."
"Well if he comes back out I'll try to kill it for you."
There was no room to put the bag on the floor so there it sat, on my lap. I tried to read but I was distracted by my constant vigil, waiting for the evil little thing to resurface.
I got out of the bus and emptied all of my business out onto the sidewalk. Out came the yogurt, the boots the purse...no spider.
So now there is a spider somewhere in my purse or boots or bag. It's enough to drive one to madness, knowing it's there, waiting to pounce. It'll probably lay an egg in my purse.
Seriously horrifying stuff. Today I have added a new chapter to the spider chronicles.
I left the house this morning with the promise of a rainy commute home so I packed my rain boots and other goodies in a Whole Foods reusable bag and took off for the bus stop. The bag was pretty full. It held my aforementioned boots, a pair of shoes to change into in the office, a book, a yogurt and my purse. When I got on the bus it was pretty full but I managed to find a seat. I busted out the old lady reading glasses (which must be ultra hilarious to my fellow commuters to see me reading Twilight with old lady reading glasses) and my book and settled in for a crowded commute. As I took the book out of the bag I saw the spider on the book. The bus is packed at this point, someone sitting to my left someone standing in the aisle to my right. Freaking out was not an option. I transferred the spider from the book to the inside of my bag, where he stayed visible for about 3 seconds then scampered down into the depths of my bag.
Horrors.
The guy sitting to my left saw all of this go down and asked, "Are you OK? Do spiders freak you out?"
I said, "They freak me out enough to NOT want one sitting on my lap."
"Well if he comes back out I'll try to kill it for you."
There was no room to put the bag on the floor so there it sat, on my lap. I tried to read but I was distracted by my constant vigil, waiting for the evil little thing to resurface.
I got out of the bus and emptied all of my business out onto the sidewalk. Out came the yogurt, the boots the purse...no spider.
So now there is a spider somewhere in my purse or boots or bag. It's enough to drive one to madness, knowing it's there, waiting to pounce. It'll probably lay an egg in my purse.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Staycation
Yeah that's right I said it. Staycation.
We went away for 6 days but didn't fly, didn't leave the country we didn't even leave the state. We stayed!
I will say this about our trip, we have traveled far and wide and haven not encountered so much adversity and weirdness. Don't get me wrong, I had a hell of a time, but we really had a lot of obstacles to overcome and just flat out wacky stuff happen.
First off we had an uninvited guest. His name was Danny and he proceeded to piss all over us and our fun times. It rained our first 2 days of vacation and I'm sorry to say that, for some of our friends, this was the only time away they had. We tried to make the best of it but just ended up with soggy shoes and dampened spirits. We finally said F U mother nature and took the coolers, cornhole and chairs down the dune and sat in the drizzle on the beach. We used the beach umbrellas as...well...umbrellas and defied the elements for about an hour and a half before giving in and heading into the 'combah.
As usual we got beers, steamers and oyster shots. The Beachcomber is my happy place. I love it there and it was the only thing keeping me from being livid about the crappy weather. Usually we can get out of the bar without incurring any injuries, but alas the evening resulted in a swollen eye (I walked into a door. The bathroom doors at the comber are set up poorly and one opens in while the other opens out and I was stuck in the middle of it.) and a broken foot. The broken foot was not me it was poor Jenny who got stomped on by some dude on the dance floor.
Then on to Nantucket where we had beautiful weather and I was able to get in the last beach days of the season. Good sun was absorbed and I may actually keep the tan till October. The house we stayed in was beautiful and perfectly located (albeit jam packed with spiders) between town and Surfside beach. There was a tiny path that led to a nearly deserted beach and Michael and I decided to take said path via bicycle. Well...it was adventurous and really fun in an exhilarating sort of way, but I did fall off the bike and that has resulted in a decent case of poison ivy on my butt. Michael has it too on his wrists. I think from helping me up? I don't know. Whatever, we both have poison ivy and I'd much rather have it on my wrists than on my ass, thank you very much.
Anyway, we ate at two insanely good restaurants while there. Black Eyed Susan's is the home of the best linguine and clams ever. Yes, faithful readers, I have found my death row linguine and clams and they reside at Black Eyed Susan's in Nantucket. We went to LoLa 41 as well and that place was very impressive. I had the sesame chicken noodles (I love a good noodle, people) and it was delicious. When I inquired about the dish the waitress said, "it's a brothy dish." I said, "so it's soup?" She reluctantly agreed it was soup. What do Nantucketers have against soup that the waitress couldn't call a spade a spade?
Sigh...we are home now and even with all of the adversity, I'd rather be on vacation than sitting at work in my veal crate of a cubicle.
We went away for 6 days but didn't fly, didn't leave the country we didn't even leave the state. We stayed!
I will say this about our trip, we have traveled far and wide and haven not encountered so much adversity and weirdness. Don't get me wrong, I had a hell of a time, but we really had a lot of obstacles to overcome and just flat out wacky stuff happen.
First off we had an uninvited guest. His name was Danny and he proceeded to piss all over us and our fun times. It rained our first 2 days of vacation and I'm sorry to say that, for some of our friends, this was the only time away they had. We tried to make the best of it but just ended up with soggy shoes and dampened spirits. We finally said F U mother nature and took the coolers, cornhole and chairs down the dune and sat in the drizzle on the beach. We used the beach umbrellas as...well...umbrellas and defied the elements for about an hour and a half before giving in and heading into the 'combah.
As usual we got beers, steamers and oyster shots. The Beachcomber is my happy place. I love it there and it was the only thing keeping me from being livid about the crappy weather. Usually we can get out of the bar without incurring any injuries, but alas the evening resulted in a swollen eye (I walked into a door. The bathroom doors at the comber are set up poorly and one opens in while the other opens out and I was stuck in the middle of it.) and a broken foot. The broken foot was not me it was poor Jenny who got stomped on by some dude on the dance floor.
Then on to Nantucket where we had beautiful weather and I was able to get in the last beach days of the season. Good sun was absorbed and I may actually keep the tan till October. The house we stayed in was beautiful and perfectly located (albeit jam packed with spiders) between town and Surfside beach. There was a tiny path that led to a nearly deserted beach and Michael and I decided to take said path via bicycle. Well...it was adventurous and really fun in an exhilarating sort of way, but I did fall off the bike and that has resulted in a decent case of poison ivy on my butt. Michael has it too on his wrists. I think from helping me up? I don't know. Whatever, we both have poison ivy and I'd much rather have it on my wrists than on my ass, thank you very much.
Anyway, we ate at two insanely good restaurants while there. Black Eyed Susan's is the home of the best linguine and clams ever. Yes, faithful readers, I have found my death row linguine and clams and they reside at Black Eyed Susan's in Nantucket. We went to LoLa 41 as well and that place was very impressive. I had the sesame chicken noodles (I love a good noodle, people) and it was delicious. When I inquired about the dish the waitress said, "it's a brothy dish." I said, "so it's soup?" She reluctantly agreed it was soup. What do Nantucketers have against soup that the waitress couldn't call a spade a spade?
Sigh...we are home now and even with all of the adversity, I'd rather be on vacation than sitting at work in my veal crate of a cubicle.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Bottles
If you read with any sort of regularity you are going to scratch your head on this post unless I do some splainin. This morning Michael and I were out for our Saturday morning walk and we stumbled upon a recycle bin full of these crazy old bottles. We were flummoxed as to why some one would just get rid of these things, some of them were really impressive! We started picking through and one of the neighbors came out and started picking through with us. As it turns out this woman and her husband had been caring for her next door neighbors through 20 years of sickness, including Alzhimers. "You see", she said, "we're trying to get into heaven." She gave a little chuckle and I told her she has a great running start, if kindness gets you there. The neighbors have finally died and she was hoping that they would throw the bottles out so she could have her pick of them. She took most of the bottles and invited Michael and me over for a glass of wine some day. They were about the sweetest old couple I have ever met. The pictures below was my pull from the bin. I am posting this because I am going to post the link on an antique bottle site message board to see if any of these are worth anything. Start from the bottom and go up when viewing.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Mung Sucks
Alright kids we're going to have a little lesson in New England beach attendance. Pay attention there may be a quiz later.
1) The water is cold. Even at its warmest it is still pretty effin cold. I have learned to adapt and swim when it's bone chillingly frigid, especially when you have to climb up a 50 foot dune to get to a bathroom. Which leads me to the next point...
2) The dune at Cahoon hollow is designed to break your spirit. You really don't get the full notion of what you're getting into on the way down. When you do arrive at the bottom of the dune and turn around it's really daunting. You know you have to climb back up there at some point. By the time you get back up to the top with all of your beach going crap you're hot and sweaty and any sort of refreshment achieved by aforementioned cold water is gone, baby, gone. Here's a tip; avoid Cahoon Hollow beach when Aunt Flo is in town or you're having any sort of tummy trouble or when the water is "munged in."
3) The stuff in the water is called mung. It's seaweed I suppose, but this particular brand of seaweed is called mung and it is pretty nasty. It happens all over the Cape and it's a roll of the dice where the oilslick like black mass of crap is going to strike next. When it's really thick the waves don't crash on the shore, they more land with an ugly thud. Like someone hitting a big plastic bag of water with a bat. It has a faint smell to it, nothing crazy, you can only really smell it if it's really thick. Hearty New Englanders will brave the soup and swim in it. One friend of ours has even suggested that the mung soaks up the sun's heat and makes the water warmer. Interesting theory. I mean it does make some sense.
Anyway.
People may wonder why we live in such a place. Deathly cold winters. Barely there summers. Beaches that you have to pack a defibrillator to get to and from only to find out that the water looks like escarole soup that has been sitting out or 3 days.
My answer comes in the form of another cape experience. We were sitting at the Combah (the only beach bar on the cape...no really I'm not kidding it's the only one) and there was a couple from Montreal that kept asking us questions about the cape. They were surprised, and I think a little disappointed, that the beach was not built up. I think they were looking for Miami beach and got turned around at some point. They were intrigued. What do you do here? There 's nothing on the beach You can't stay at a waterfront hotel! What do you DO here?
I pointed them in the direction of P-Town and told them to explore the town centers. There are tons of galleries, shops and restaurant there. Our beaches are as nature intended them to be, condo and hi-rise free and the most peaceful place on Earth. The wonderful thing about it is that there is nothing. There is only something if you want there to be. The galleries and shops are where they should be, in town. The beaches are free of the modern world.
I challenge you to find another 43,000 acres of undisturbed beach. That's why we love it. I can't imagine living anywhere else.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
I Fell Down and Alicia Got Married
You wouldn't know it by all the attention I draw to myself with my big mouth and my online blithering, but being the focus of attention of a large group of people makes me want to pee my pants. The only part of my wedding I dreaded was the part most brides relish, the grand opening of the doors to reveal the bride in all her glory to the 100+ onlookers. All eyes on her. No thanks. I was totally freaking out on my wedding day about being the focal point of so many people. So when Alicia called and asked me to do a reading at her wedding I was humbled, touched, honored and terrified. I would never say no. I love my Alicia and I wanted to be close to her wedding and help in any way I could. So of course I said yes. I wanted to do it, I really did. But I knew the nerves would kick in. I'm glad I didn't know further in advance because I would have obsessed for longer than 10 days.
For the 10 days between the receipt of the poem and the wedding I looked at and recited the poem at least once a day. I practiced when I would breathe. I tried to memorize parts so I wasn't looking down the entire time. I practiced when to swallow so as not to let too much spit collect in my mouth (trickier than you might think!) The poem wasn't long but it contained words like "disdained" and "thine" and the ever feared "clasps." Go ahead, try to enunciate "clasps." It's a tough word!
The day of the wedding I was nervous. I recited the poem in the car on the way up to NH. Then a couple of times in the hotel room. To soothe my nerves my husband drew me a bath and made me some tea...uh ...not!!! To compound my nerves my husband revealed that he had forgotten his dress shoes at home (an hour away) and had to run to the mall to get a pair to wear to the wedding. Awesome.
When we arrived at the wedding my hubby, with his spankin' new kicks, dropped me and our friends that rode with us off close to the entrance. I stepped out of the car and right into a drainage ditch which, if you read with any regualrity, you will know is my one billionth time falling down while perfectly sober. There are two funny things about this fall:
One - I am geting so good at falling that I didn't hurt myself at all. My shoe is a bit scarred but I was remarkably unscathed.
Two - As soon as I fell my nerves calmed down dramtically. After I fell I was not as nervous. Weird.
As I sat in the chair and watched one of my best friends marry her one and only love it all became clear to me. I was so nervous because Alicia deserved perfection and I didn't want to ruin her day by flubbing up my lines, but the event was so moving, I began to worry I wouldn't be able to get through it without crying!
Well, I did it. I fought the nerves and nailed the poem. Even "clasps" came out as nicely as "clasps" can. I was so happy to be a part of the perfect day.
Alicia, if you asked me to I'd stand up in front of the world and have a zillion eyes on me.
But you'll have to supply the Depends.
For the 10 days between the receipt of the poem and the wedding I looked at and recited the poem at least once a day. I practiced when I would breathe. I tried to memorize parts so I wasn't looking down the entire time. I practiced when to swallow so as not to let too much spit collect in my mouth (trickier than you might think!) The poem wasn't long but it contained words like "disdained" and "thine" and the ever feared "clasps." Go ahead, try to enunciate "clasps." It's a tough word!
The day of the wedding I was nervous. I recited the poem in the car on the way up to NH. Then a couple of times in the hotel room. To soothe my nerves my husband drew me a bath and made me some tea...uh ...not!!! To compound my nerves my husband revealed that he had forgotten his dress shoes at home (an hour away) and had to run to the mall to get a pair to wear to the wedding. Awesome.
When we arrived at the wedding my hubby, with his spankin' new kicks, dropped me and our friends that rode with us off close to the entrance. I stepped out of the car and right into a drainage ditch which, if you read with any regualrity, you will know is my one billionth time falling down while perfectly sober. There are two funny things about this fall:
One - I am geting so good at falling that I didn't hurt myself at all. My shoe is a bit scarred but I was remarkably unscathed.
Two - As soon as I fell my nerves calmed down dramtically. After I fell I was not as nervous. Weird.
As I sat in the chair and watched one of my best friends marry her one and only love it all became clear to me. I was so nervous because Alicia deserved perfection and I didn't want to ruin her day by flubbing up my lines, but the event was so moving, I began to worry I wouldn't be able to get through it without crying!
Well, I did it. I fought the nerves and nailed the poem. Even "clasps" came out as nicely as "clasps" can. I was so happy to be a part of the perfect day.
Alicia, if you asked me to I'd stand up in front of the world and have a zillion eyes on me.
But you'll have to supply the Depends.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
I am Channeling Tippi
I really do wish my lunch breaks were less exciting. Maybe the city of Boston is channeling my husband from Brighton and trying to prevent me from spending money? Whatever it is, it's starting to get annoying. Yesterday it was the ugly dress brigade and then today I'm attacked!
As a follow up to my last post, I must tell you that I found a great dress at the Alter Eco in Allston. A sweet little vintage looking 1950s style dress that looks pretty nice on me. Excellent.
Now for shoes. I needed a new pair of black pumps anyway as my old ones are no longer wearable. What a perfect excuse to shoe shop. Yay!! On my way to DSW I was walking down Washington St when someone stepped out of a side street and disturbed a pigeon and it flew up and straight into my head. It batted me with its wing and flew off.
First of all, it scared the bejesus out of me. All I could think about was Melanie Daniels getting out of her rowboat (that she was using to stalk Mitch Brenner) with a bloddy head. My head could look like that!! Or even going the way of poor Annie Hayworth. Avert your eyes Cathy! Avert your eyes!
Secondly, gross. City street pigeions are nasty, filthy, disgusting creatures. The fact that a grody 'ol street pigeon was that close to my face is unnerving.
Such is the life of a Downtown Crossing office worker. At any given moment you could be pooped on or hit or puked on...not to mention the crazy pigeons!
Oh and I found a pair of pumps at Marshalls.
As a follow up to my last post, I must tell you that I found a great dress at the Alter Eco in Allston. A sweet little vintage looking 1950s style dress that looks pretty nice on me. Excellent.
Now for shoes. I needed a new pair of black pumps anyway as my old ones are no longer wearable. What a perfect excuse to shoe shop. Yay!! On my way to DSW I was walking down Washington St when someone stepped out of a side street and disturbed a pigeon and it flew up and straight into my head. It batted me with its wing and flew off.
First of all, it scared the bejesus out of me. All I could think about was Melanie Daniels getting out of her rowboat (that she was using to stalk Mitch Brenner) with a bloddy head. My head could look like that!! Or even going the way of poor Annie Hayworth. Avert your eyes Cathy! Avert your eyes!
Secondly, gross. City street pigeions are nasty, filthy, disgusting creatures. The fact that a grody 'ol street pigeon was that close to my face is unnerving.
Such is the life of a Downtown Crossing office worker. At any given moment you could be pooped on or hit or puked on...not to mention the crazy pigeons!
Oh and I found a pair of pumps at Marshalls.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Slacker
Yes that is me. Slacker. I haven't posted since April? And that was a youtube video?
FAIL.
Anyway, enough self degradation. I mean, life has been pretty smooth lately. That is, until I attempted to find a dress for my friends wedding.
At the last minute, I was asked to do a reading for a good friend's wedding. This means I have to learn a poem well enough to not make an ass out of myself in 10 days. It also means I need to buy a dress. I mean I guess I don't need to buy a dress, I suppose I could get by on what I have, but I think it would be nice to buy a new dress for such a special occasion.
What in the blue blazin' hell has happened to dresses this season? I went everywhere and I can't find anything that isn't butt-ugly for less than $300! WTF? Don't these people know that there is a recession? I have to be in love with a dress to pay more than $150 for it. I went to Marshall's, TJMaxx, Macy's, H&M, Filene's Basement (who by the way had like 10 dresses in the whole store. It's June, people. Why are you out of dresses!?!?), Banana Republic, The Gap...I mean I have left very few stones unturned here. I found nice dresses but they either didn't have my size (is everyone on the planet a size 8??) or they were just WAY to pricey. Out of desparation I walked into Ann Taylor. I mean it's worth a try right?
Sigh. I walked in and the rack of dresses they had on the first floor were weird looking so I continued up to the second and third floors to no avail. As I decended the stairs the sales girl asked if she could help and I told her I was looking for a dress. She brought me over to the rack of weird looking dresses and said, "You should try on one of these."
I said, "They're weird looking."
She said, "They look great on, very flattering to the neckline."
OK I'll give her a chance. I mean I own a few dresses that looked rediculous on the hanger but once I had them on they were great. But this dress was sort of cone like, small at the top and flared at the bottom, sleveless with a very high neck and a ruffly collar. Not big ruffels. But big enough to have me call them "ruffles."
I tried on the dress and it looked exactly like I thought it would, like a cone shaped bag with a clown collar. Flattering to the neckline? I was so distracted by the clown collar I didn't even notice I had a neckline. And it was $130. Bwahahahaha!!
I'm running out of time and retail options. I should probably stop focusing on the dress and start learning the poem.
FAIL.
Anyway, enough self degradation. I mean, life has been pretty smooth lately. That is, until I attempted to find a dress for my friends wedding.
At the last minute, I was asked to do a reading for a good friend's wedding. This means I have to learn a poem well enough to not make an ass out of myself in 10 days. It also means I need to buy a dress. I mean I guess I don't need to buy a dress, I suppose I could get by on what I have, but I think it would be nice to buy a new dress for such a special occasion.
What in the blue blazin' hell has happened to dresses this season? I went everywhere and I can't find anything that isn't butt-ugly for less than $300! WTF? Don't these people know that there is a recession? I have to be in love with a dress to pay more than $150 for it. I went to Marshall's, TJMaxx, Macy's, H&M, Filene's Basement (who by the way had like 10 dresses in the whole store. It's June, people. Why are you out of dresses!?!?), Banana Republic, The Gap...I mean I have left very few stones unturned here. I found nice dresses but they either didn't have my size (is everyone on the planet a size 8??) or they were just WAY to pricey. Out of desparation I walked into Ann Taylor. I mean it's worth a try right?
Sigh. I walked in and the rack of dresses they had on the first floor were weird looking so I continued up to the second and third floors to no avail. As I decended the stairs the sales girl asked if she could help and I told her I was looking for a dress. She brought me over to the rack of weird looking dresses and said, "You should try on one of these."
I said, "They're weird looking."
She said, "They look great on, very flattering to the neckline."
OK I'll give her a chance. I mean I own a few dresses that looked rediculous on the hanger but once I had them on they were great. But this dress was sort of cone like, small at the top and flared at the bottom, sleveless with a very high neck and a ruffly collar. Not big ruffels. But big enough to have me call them "ruffles."
I tried on the dress and it looked exactly like I thought it would, like a cone shaped bag with a clown collar. Flattering to the neckline? I was so distracted by the clown collar I didn't even notice I had a neckline. And it was $130. Bwahahahaha!!
I'm running out of time and retail options. I should probably stop focusing on the dress and start learning the poem.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
New Blog
Because I'm so active on this blog (ha ha) I have decided to start up a new one. The new blog is located here http://ourwalloffame.blogspot.com/ . Check back often to see what the family is capturing.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Skiing Adventure Part 2
As an amendment to my first skiing adventure post I'd like to point out that I didn't actually sit in the bar all day and drink. I nursed two beers until the guys were sufficiently worn out then we went to dinner. Sitting at the bar and drinking all day is what people expect you to do if you are at a ski lodge and not skiing.
Sunday was a great skiing day if you are a very experienced skier and you have thighs made of granite. Neither of these descriptions fit me so I waited until Monday to really get my ski on. I knew the foot of snow that had fallen on Sunday would be groomed to perfection on Monday. We went to Black Mountain and I had the best ski day of my life. The snow was groomed and soft. We got there early so the first three runs were fresh tracks. There is nothing like tearing up flawless corduroy, it makes skiing almost effortless. You just glide down the mountain. Michael had ungroomed trails to ski so we were both in downhill heaven.
As the day progressed, though, the snow started getting softer from the sun and skied up to the point where it became work again and my thighs were protesting. Sunday's shenanigans had really taxed my out of shape thighs so any effort put into skiing on Monday was really painful so I started being lazy on the straight-aways and not so steep parts of the mountain. It was during one of these lazy points when a little red squirrel ran right out in front of me. He was so close to my blades! I swerved to avoid him and he darted back the other way and I had to cut back again. It's a wonder I didn't hit a tree.
Swerving to avoid a squirrel in a car is one thing. Maybe hitting the squirrel insted of causing a head on collision is a good idea but can you imagine running over a squirrel in skis? I think picking little bits of squirrel out of the bindings of my blades would have pushed me right over the edge. Therapy would have been necessary. Michael suggested that, since the snow was so soft, if I had hit him I may have just pushed the squirrel down into the snow and just skied right over him and he'd have been fine. I think physics may have something to say about that.
Between dodging hari kari squrrels and giant mounds of softening snow falling out of the trees (I narrowly avoided that too) it's a miricle I survived Monday's ski adventure.
Sunday was a great skiing day if you are a very experienced skier and you have thighs made of granite. Neither of these descriptions fit me so I waited until Monday to really get my ski on. I knew the foot of snow that had fallen on Sunday would be groomed to perfection on Monday. We went to Black Mountain and I had the best ski day of my life. The snow was groomed and soft. We got there early so the first three runs were fresh tracks. There is nothing like tearing up flawless corduroy, it makes skiing almost effortless. You just glide down the mountain. Michael had ungroomed trails to ski so we were both in downhill heaven.
As the day progressed, though, the snow started getting softer from the sun and skied up to the point where it became work again and my thighs were protesting. Sunday's shenanigans had really taxed my out of shape thighs so any effort put into skiing on Monday was really painful so I started being lazy on the straight-aways and not so steep parts of the mountain. It was during one of these lazy points when a little red squirrel ran right out in front of me. He was so close to my blades! I swerved to avoid him and he darted back the other way and I had to cut back again. It's a wonder I didn't hit a tree.
Swerving to avoid a squirrel in a car is one thing. Maybe hitting the squirrel insted of causing a head on collision is a good idea but can you imagine running over a squirrel in skis? I think picking little bits of squirrel out of the bindings of my blades would have pushed me right over the edge. Therapy would have been necessary. Michael suggested that, since the snow was so soft, if I had hit him I may have just pushed the squirrel down into the snow and just skied right over him and he'd have been fine. I think physics may have something to say about that.
Between dodging hari kari squrrels and giant mounds of softening snow falling out of the trees (I narrowly avoided that too) it's a miricle I survived Monday's ski adventure.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Skiing Adventure Part 1
This weekend we went to New Hampshire to hang out with friends and to, once again, revisit the place where we got married. I can’t get enough of the Shovel Handle! As it happens we also did a little skiing.
A few years ago I made the switch from skis to skiboards (or blades, as I like to call them because I’m extremely hip). They are much easier on the knees and…well, just easier all around actually. You can turn and stop on a dime, I always feel in control and they are so much lighter and less of a pain to carry around. Since I have made the switch I have been exclusively on the blades, foregoing actual skis entirely. This has never been a problem at all since I live and ski in New England where powder days are about as rare as beach days. The blades have usually been kind to me but this Sunday we decided to ski in the middle of a snowstorm. The powder was too thick and too deep. I was miserable on the blades. I took one run and that was that, I had a decision to make. I could either go to the bar and drink for the rest of the day or I could man up and rent skis and have fun like everyone else.
Crap it’s only 10:30am. Bar is closed. Off to the rental shop.
Armed with my husband’s wallet (I’d left mine at the house) and an uncharacteristic spurt of courage, I de-bladed and clomped into the rental shop. The rental shop guys thought I was a total nut case. First off, I only had my husband’s wallet which means that I only had his photo ID. They were nice enough to let that slide. Then there was the poor chap that had to listen to me asking for the shortest skis possible since I’ve been on blades for the last five years and I’m freaked out about getting back into skis. He said, “If I give you too short skis you’ll have the same problem you are having with your blades.” Shush with your logic, rental shop man. He gave me 140s and some poles and sent me on my way. “Don’t break your neck, little lady.”
Michael and Steve are the best skiers I know. In fact, my friend Steve taught me how to ski. They could ski in any sort of conditions so they were taking a run while I was manning up and renting skis. There was no way I was skiing the trails they were on my first day on skis in five years so I looked at a map and decided to head up to the “wild kitten” trail to test my legs. I carried the heavy skis up the hill to the lift and headed up the mountain, on the slowest lift in recorded history, in a snowstorm, first time in skis in a half a decade, by myself. Good times were certain to follow.
I have been on the “wild kitten” before. Hardly anyone goes over there because once you get off the lift (which by the way went pretty smoothly) you have to traverse over to a tunnel (a tunnel that has snow in it which has always mystified me) and then traverse for what seems like a mile over to the easiest trail on the mountain. This was hard in heavy skis and in all that crazy powder, but I persevered and finally got to the down hill part of the trail. Shockingly, I was actually staying upright…sort of. Not only that, I was staying in control, somewhat. I was certainly not going to be hitting any black diamonds but I was doing ok. The snow was so deep there was no sound from the skis on the snow at all. It was showing hard and there was no one on the trail. It was mine to enjoy.
I thought, “Wow, this is so beautiful and peaceful.”
Then I thought, “Wow, I could totally fall and die out here and no one would find me until May.”
I skied the rest of the way down and made remarkable progress with my control. By my final run of the day (which was only two after that one, New England powder is exhausting stuff) I was executing tight little turns and handling the piles of powder with ease. It felt great to be back on skis!
Then I went to the lodge to drink for the rest of the day. Best of both worlds.
A few years ago I made the switch from skis to skiboards (or blades, as I like to call them because I’m extremely hip). They are much easier on the knees and…well, just easier all around actually. You can turn and stop on a dime, I always feel in control and they are so much lighter and less of a pain to carry around. Since I have made the switch I have been exclusively on the blades, foregoing actual skis entirely. This has never been a problem at all since I live and ski in New England where powder days are about as rare as beach days. The blades have usually been kind to me but this Sunday we decided to ski in the middle of a snowstorm. The powder was too thick and too deep. I was miserable on the blades. I took one run and that was that, I had a decision to make. I could either go to the bar and drink for the rest of the day or I could man up and rent skis and have fun like everyone else.
Crap it’s only 10:30am. Bar is closed. Off to the rental shop.
Armed with my husband’s wallet (I’d left mine at the house) and an uncharacteristic spurt of courage, I de-bladed and clomped into the rental shop. The rental shop guys thought I was a total nut case. First off, I only had my husband’s wallet which means that I only had his photo ID. They were nice enough to let that slide. Then there was the poor chap that had to listen to me asking for the shortest skis possible since I’ve been on blades for the last five years and I’m freaked out about getting back into skis. He said, “If I give you too short skis you’ll have the same problem you are having with your blades.” Shush with your logic, rental shop man. He gave me 140s and some poles and sent me on my way. “Don’t break your neck, little lady.”
Michael and Steve are the best skiers I know. In fact, my friend Steve taught me how to ski. They could ski in any sort of conditions so they were taking a run while I was manning up and renting skis. There was no way I was skiing the trails they were on my first day on skis in five years so I looked at a map and decided to head up to the “wild kitten” trail to test my legs. I carried the heavy skis up the hill to the lift and headed up the mountain, on the slowest lift in recorded history, in a snowstorm, first time in skis in a half a decade, by myself. Good times were certain to follow.
I have been on the “wild kitten” before. Hardly anyone goes over there because once you get off the lift (which by the way went pretty smoothly) you have to traverse over to a tunnel (a tunnel that has snow in it which has always mystified me) and then traverse for what seems like a mile over to the easiest trail on the mountain. This was hard in heavy skis and in all that crazy powder, but I persevered and finally got to the down hill part of the trail. Shockingly, I was actually staying upright…sort of. Not only that, I was staying in control, somewhat. I was certainly not going to be hitting any black diamonds but I was doing ok. The snow was so deep there was no sound from the skis on the snow at all. It was showing hard and there was no one on the trail. It was mine to enjoy.
I thought, “Wow, this is so beautiful and peaceful.”
Then I thought, “Wow, I could totally fall and die out here and no one would find me until May.”
I skied the rest of the way down and made remarkable progress with my control. By my final run of the day (which was only two after that one, New England powder is exhausting stuff) I was executing tight little turns and handling the piles of powder with ease. It felt great to be back on skis!
Then I went to the lodge to drink for the rest of the day. Best of both worlds.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
NESHDRs
Once a year or so I visit my family in Florida and I drag my husband along. This year my mom scheduled her annual chili cook off while we were there. Yum! She informed me that my dad (yes my mom and step-dad invite my dad and step-mom to their parties and vice versa. Very adult of them, wouldn’t you say?) has been commissioned to bring the hot dogs, presumably for chili dogs. I said, “Oh I’ll bring the rolls.”
New England Style Hot Dog Rolls are the sort that have flat sides for toasting or grilling or what not. Living in Boston I take the presence of these on my supermarket shelves for granted. Can you imagine a lobster roll on anything but a bun you can butter up and grill? Or never having the option for a toasted or grilled roll for your hot dog? Well, welcome to Florida. The land of sunshine, warm weather and rounded hot dog rolls. My dad has always made it perfectly clear that the NESHDRs are unattainable in Florida. When I said I’d bring the NESHDRs from Boston I could practically hear my parents drooling over the phone. My mom actually mentioned it twice to my sister in one day. Sure I’ll bring the rolls. I mean, how hard could it be to transport exceptionally soft white bread products in an airplane, right?
The day of the flight came and Michael had gotten the rolls the day before. I packed the rolls, as my friend Courtney advised, in the top of a canvas bag and planned to carry them on the plane with me. My plan was to store them under the seat in front of me.
Earlier in the week, I’d sent an email to my dad and step dad with my flight info and my step dad emailed me back saying “Hey you’re in first class! Have a Manhattan for me.” Well our flight was at 7:45am and a Manhattan at that hour is a bit boozy, even for me. I was surprised to learn that we were in first class. It wasn’t something that we asked for. We weren't scheduled to be in first class on the way back to Boston. We certainly didn’t use enough miles to be in first class. It’s a mystery, a very comfy mystery.
The bad thing about being in row 1 on a plane is that there is no seat in front of you and you have to store all of your carry-ons and personal items in the overhead bin. No chance I was putting the precious cargo in the overhead bin. The rolls had already survived being carried through the airport by a man whose boarding pass looked like it had been chewed by a lama after ten minutes (seriously how did he mess that thing up so badly in 10 minutes?), no way was I chancing the overhead bin and it’s contents that may shift during flight. The flight attendant was kind enough to put the bag in the closet at the front of the plane, albeit with some funny looks.
We arrived in FLA on Friday and the chili cookout was scheduled for Saturday night. I love that my parents can schedule a cookout for the 10th of January and not have to worry about potential snow or sub zero temperatures. In fact they were concerned that temperatures would drop to under 65 degrees that night, which would have prompted my parents and their friends to don their winter coats and my sister to actually put on socks.
The rolls made it from the plane to the rental car, to my dad’s pantry, to my mom’s cookout with minimal crushing and no signs of staleness at all. When I brought them into the kitchen my mom broke them apart and put them into a bowl and took them out to the grill for toasting. Buttering each roll seemed absurd as there were thirty-two of them. The bowl came back into the house as quickly as it left, “The grill is full. You’ll have to butter them and cook them on the griddle or else they get eaten as is.”
I did not bring 4 packages of NESHDRs 1,500 miles to have them eaten raw. So, dear readers, I buttered and griddled the crap out of those NESHDRs, all 32 of them. My grandma sat and watched me from the kitchen table and asked, “Are you cooking the rolls?” When I was done and I set them on the buffet table you would have thought I had walked a unicorn in on a leash.
“What are these?”
“Well, I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Did you cook these?”
Suffice to say that the rolls were a big hit, gone in mere minutes. I think I saw my dad knock over old ladies and small children to get to the plate of rolls. But the joy of introducing Floridians to a delicacy such as the NESHDR comes with a heavy price. I will never again be able to board a Tampa bound plane without NESHDRs in my canvas carry on.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Hint Hint
I went to have my nails done at Brighton Nails in Oak Square after work. Like most places the nail salon is run and attended to by Vietnamese women and as always there was a Buddha shrine in the salon. These little shrines always have a cup of rice and a bowl of water for an offering. Sometimes you'll see fresh fruit or veggies there as well. Today my nail techs were offering the Buddha Weight Watchers brownies. A full box of them, sitting there as pretty as you please in front of the Buddha shrine. I didn't snap a pic of this because 1) it seemed disrespectful and 2) I had forgotten my phone at home and was cameraless. That'll teach me.
Miracle Pants or I Got Splashed By a Cab
Running errands at lunch is always stressful. Trying to squeeze an otherwise enjoyable shopping experience into an hour long, nerve wracking blitz is never fun. Today I had an additional time line other than my hour lunch allotment. I'm leaving for FLA on Friday and I'm nearly out of foundation and moisturizer, both of which cannot be found in Spring Hill. In fact I don't think they sell anything other than St. Ives and Maybelline in Spring Hill and since I've developed this annoying sensitive skin issue I can't cheap out anymore, though I'd really like to spend less than $36 for a tiny thing of moisturizer. But I digress.
Since I have to be a facial product snob now I need to go to Sephora and get the things I need. Sephora is in the Pru Mall and I work the Financial District in downtown Boston. I got on the green line and headed off to run the obstacle course of the Pru at lunchtime. I needed foundation, moisturizer and to return a shirt to the GAP. Eyes on the prize. In and out. No funny business.
But Victoria's Secret was having their Semi Annual sale.
First things first.
Return the shirt to the GAP.
Get moisturizer.
Hit the VS sale.
Head all the way over to the other side of the mall to get the foundation.
Get back on the green line and go back to work.
All in one hour. Yeah right.
I was actually making pretty good time and got everything I needed. VS was the biggest bag I had and it was the cheesey paper bag they give you when you shop at the semi-annual sale not the nice shiny shopping bag for their "regular" customers who pay full price. They crammed all of the nice new, on sale bras and undies into the paper bag and sent me on my cheap girl way. I tried to condense the bags from the other stores in there as well which made for a cheap paper bag busting at the seams.
I speed walked through the mall in my Sorels (which must have been quite a sight) and headed out the mall door toward the Copley T station. As I waited on the middle-of-the-road island to cross the street a cab trying to make the changing light barrelled past and caused the ocean of a puddle of salty slush in front of me to slosh up and take up new residence on my pants. I must admit I let out a yell as it was happening. I saw it coming but too late to move out of the way.
My first thought was, "I wish I had superpowers so I could fly after that cab and pull the driver out and bludgeon him."
My second thought was, "Thank god I'm wearing my miracle pants."
I always wear my miracle pants when it rains. They are a light weight Geoffrey Beene Poly/Rayon/Spandex blend that dry remarkably fast. But wet pants were the least of my worries.
As I got on the T I noticed that my VS cheap paper bag, that branded me as a sale shopper, was wet. Had it been their nice regular bag it would have resisted the water but this one just sucked it right up and threatened to bust through the bottom, spilling my new bras and panties for all the world to see. I grasped the over stuffed, damp paper bag from the bottom and the sides and willed it to stay together until I reached the office. It did.
With my tattered bag and my wet pants I walked back into the office 20 min late from my lunch "hour." I dried my pants under the "excellerator" in the ladies room.
Shopping trip successful. Wet and cold, but successful.
Since I have to be a facial product snob now I need to go to Sephora and get the things I need. Sephora is in the Pru Mall and I work the Financial District in downtown Boston. I got on the green line and headed off to run the obstacle course of the Pru at lunchtime. I needed foundation, moisturizer and to return a shirt to the GAP. Eyes on the prize. In and out. No funny business.
But Victoria's Secret was having their Semi Annual sale.
First things first.
Return the shirt to the GAP.
Get moisturizer.
Hit the VS sale.
Head all the way over to the other side of the mall to get the foundation.
Get back on the green line and go back to work.
All in one hour. Yeah right.
I was actually making pretty good time and got everything I needed. VS was the biggest bag I had and it was the cheesey paper bag they give you when you shop at the semi-annual sale not the nice shiny shopping bag for their "regular" customers who pay full price. They crammed all of the nice new, on sale bras and undies into the paper bag and sent me on my cheap girl way. I tried to condense the bags from the other stores in there as well which made for a cheap paper bag busting at the seams.
I speed walked through the mall in my Sorels (which must have been quite a sight) and headed out the mall door toward the Copley T station. As I waited on the middle-of-the-road island to cross the street a cab trying to make the changing light barrelled past and caused the ocean of a puddle of salty slush in front of me to slosh up and take up new residence on my pants. I must admit I let out a yell as it was happening. I saw it coming but too late to move out of the way.
My first thought was, "I wish I had superpowers so I could fly after that cab and pull the driver out and bludgeon him."
My second thought was, "Thank god I'm wearing my miracle pants."
I always wear my miracle pants when it rains. They are a light weight Geoffrey Beene Poly/Rayon/Spandex blend that dry remarkably fast. But wet pants were the least of my worries.
As I got on the T I noticed that my VS cheap paper bag, that branded me as a sale shopper, was wet. Had it been their nice regular bag it would have resisted the water but this one just sucked it right up and threatened to bust through the bottom, spilling my new bras and panties for all the world to see. I grasped the over stuffed, damp paper bag from the bottom and the sides and willed it to stay together until I reached the office. It did.
With my tattered bag and my wet pants I walked back into the office 20 min late from my lunch "hour." I dried my pants under the "excellerator" in the ladies room.
Shopping trip successful. Wet and cold, but successful.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
My Cat is Crazier Than Your Cat.
About a week ago my husband informed me that there was a creepy-crawly in the kitchen under the boot tray. By creepy-crawly I mean a House Centipede which looks like this:
If you have never encountered one of these, count yourself lucky. They don't bite or sting. They aren't even especially large but they are about the creepiest things you'll ever see. When I came into the kitchen our cat, Miss. America, was pawing at the boot tray, trying to get the invader. We assumed she apprehended said creepy-crawly because it disappeared. Good riddance. Those friggin things give me the jeebs.
Every day since then Miss. America has been holding vigil at the boot tray. She sits and stares for hours on end at the boot tray and water dish. As I write this she is sitting next to me with an unwavering stare. It's creepy. Almost as creepy as the creepy-crawly. It has gotten to the point that I think our other cat, The Fozz, is dehydrated because she's blocking the downstairs water bowl. There is a water bowl upstairs as well but he's partial to the one downstairs for some weird reason. Same exact bowl. Same exact water. It's just on a different floor and he likes the downstairs water better.
I feel that I have to go into the kitty history a bit here. The Fozz and Miss. America are siblings, feral cats that were rescued from under a friends porch in Somerville. The Fozz seems to have come through the experience ok. He's sociable and pretty chill. He hangs out when guests are here and people marvel at his impressive girth (he's 18lbs of gray feline) and laugh when they watch him try to get through the cat door that seems impossibly small for a cat his size. The Fozz is our normal cat.
Miss. America is the crazy one.
Our friends don't believe that we have two cats because they only see The Fozz. Miss. America stays hidden when we have company. So far she will only show her face for me, my husband and my sons. That's it. When we are around she is a total attention hog. She will relentlessly head-but our hands so we'll pet her to the point that after a half hour of constant petting we have to sit on our hands to get her to go away.
But now all she does is sit by the boot tray, watching, waiting, poised for the attack.
Our neighbors cat is on Prozac. Perhaps that is the answer.
The Fozz
Miss. America holding vigil.
If you have never encountered one of these, count yourself lucky. They don't bite or sting. They aren't even especially large but they are about the creepiest things you'll ever see. When I came into the kitchen our cat, Miss. America, was pawing at the boot tray, trying to get the invader. We assumed she apprehended said creepy-crawly because it disappeared. Good riddance. Those friggin things give me the jeebs.
Every day since then Miss. America has been holding vigil at the boot tray. She sits and stares for hours on end at the boot tray and water dish. As I write this she is sitting next to me with an unwavering stare. It's creepy. Almost as creepy as the creepy-crawly. It has gotten to the point that I think our other cat, The Fozz, is dehydrated because she's blocking the downstairs water bowl. There is a water bowl upstairs as well but he's partial to the one downstairs for some weird reason. Same exact bowl. Same exact water. It's just on a different floor and he likes the downstairs water better.
I feel that I have to go into the kitty history a bit here. The Fozz and Miss. America are siblings, feral cats that were rescued from under a friends porch in Somerville. The Fozz seems to have come through the experience ok. He's sociable and pretty chill. He hangs out when guests are here and people marvel at his impressive girth (he's 18lbs of gray feline) and laugh when they watch him try to get through the cat door that seems impossibly small for a cat his size. The Fozz is our normal cat.
Miss. America is the crazy one.
Our friends don't believe that we have two cats because they only see The Fozz. Miss. America stays hidden when we have company. So far she will only show her face for me, my husband and my sons. That's it. When we are around she is a total attention hog. She will relentlessly head-but our hands so we'll pet her to the point that after a half hour of constant petting we have to sit on our hands to get her to go away.
But now all she does is sit by the boot tray, watching, waiting, poised for the attack.
Our neighbors cat is on Prozac. Perhaps that is the answer.
The Fozz
Miss. America holding vigil.
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