Okay, I have to say it. This is really hard for me. People like me are not known for doing this, but I feel that I must. As my friends, I know that you will be understanding and supportive.
Here goes….
I was…wrong.
I finished The Life of Pi this weekend, and I must admit that I wrongly prejudged the book. I still stand by my assertion that the first 100 pages was superfluous, but now that I can see the book in it’s entirety, I don’t think that the book is to the canon of literature like a Hostess cupcake is to my hindquarters. If you can manage to trudge though the first hundred pages, the rest of the book is a good read. It provokes deep thoughts, a sense of mystery, and an “oh, I hadn’t thought about it that way” sort of reaction.
There I said it. Now onto a recap of this weekend’s drivel:
I was clicking through Ebay this weekend and found a woman selling my dress. Well, not my dress specifically, but her own dress from her own wedding that is the same style as mine, unaltered except for three bustling buttons that I needed to add anyway. She was asking half the price I paid for mine, so I bid on it and won. I’ll tell the folks at David’s Bridal to take my dress off hold, and I’ll probably buy the skirt off the just to make them happy. I also found some pretty jewelry on Ebay that will match the dress nicely. All in all, it was a productive and frugal experience.
No word yet on who the crazy flakes woman is. All of my credit cards are accounted for, and no oddball charges have appeared on my accounts, but just to be safe I think I’ll call Experian and ask if I should get a copy of my credit report.
I spent the weekend lazing around with Dimitri. It was fun in a slothful shut-in kind of way. Overslept for church: bad. Found new book to keep me occupied: good.
Speaking of books, here are a few words and terms that I learned from the books I have been reading lately: (Yes, I keep a list by my bed. Shut up.)
Pyrrhic Victory- A victory achieved at great or excessive cost; a ruinous victory. A Pyrrhic victory is so called after the Greek king Pyrrhus, who, after suffering heavy losses in defeating the Romans in 279 B.C., said to those sent to congratulate him, "Another such victory over the Romans and we are undone."
Occidental – (I had only heard it as the name of a college.) a member of one of the occidental peoples; especially : a person of European ancestry.
Flagrante Delicto (okay, I knew what this was, but I didn’t know the literal translation) Latin for flaming crime.
Dragoon – a member of a European military unit formerly composed of heavily armed mounted troops.
Ersatz- being a usually artificial and inferior substitute or imitation (Whew. Thought I was using that incorrectly. It meant what I thought it meant.)
Fusillade - 1 a : a number of shots fired simultaneously or in rapid succession; 2 : a spirited outburst especially of criticism
Now back to my Sunday crossword.
So Lindsey calls me from the office telling me that a strange woman had called asking for me. Lindsey said I wasn’t there, and could she take a message? The woman got snippy and wouldn’t leave a message, but demanded that Lindsey give her my home number. “No way, lady” Was Lindsey’s response. She added that there was no way she would give out private information without (a) substantial amounts of cash or (b) a durned good reason why she needed my number. The lady wouldn’t provide either. Lindsey managed to coax a name and number out of the woman, and told her she would pass the info on to me.
I don’t recognize the lady’s name. I have three theories about the woman. Theory one: she was a nurse from my Gynecologist’s office (I’m expecting a return call, and they won’t give medical information over the phone to strangers.) Problem with theory one: the woman wouldn’t identify herself as nurse so-and-so from Dr. Whatshisface’s office. Surely the name of the doctor does not constitute private/privileged information.
Theory two: I assume that it’s an SAT mom (they can get clingy) whose surname differs from that of her kid. Problem with theory two: While clingy, possessive, and often obsessive, SAT moms (Parentificus overbearingus) are also whiny as a lot, and will generally bend any available ear with their percevied traumas. This lady wouldn’t make a peep about the purpose of her call, nor did she identify herself as So-and-so’s mom, another telling trait of P. overbearingus.
Theory three (deprecated) - It’s a plan on behalf of the Overlord to confuse his minions, thus returning a certain level of chaos to the universe. Problem with theory three: It’s a stupid idea.
So I call the number, expecting to hear “Dr. Whathisface’s, how’s your vulva today?” Instead, I hear the tinkling voice of a young receptionist say “Dewey, Cheatem, and How law offices, how’s your litigant today?” er, okay. Theory one is shot; onward towards theory two. The SAT mom is a lawyer. Greeeeaaat. A traumatized lawyer SAT mom. Just launch me into a nest of hungry vipers, why don’t you? Better yet, dangle me over a vat of rusty razors in lemon juice. “May I please speak to [crazy lady’s name]? This is Jennifer McNamee returning her call.” Greeeeaaat. Abba on the hold music. See that girl. Something something seventeen. Something something dancing queen. I never “got” Abba. I don’t quite understand how it was substantial enough to support a long-running musical.
Crazy lady picks up the speakerphone. Boy, she must really be important. Non-Executive-more-important-than-you (read: polite) people don’t talk to you on speakerphone. Yes, we can put men on the moon and communicate clearly with satellites hurtling around Saturn, but making a person sound like something other than an asthmatic donkey in a mine shaft is a little too technical for the folks at Ma Bell.
Donkey with an inhaler: “Hello Jennifer. Thank you for returning my call.”
Polite: “Not a problem. To be honest, I’m sorry, but I don’t recognize your name. What was the purpose of your call earlier today?”
Exasperated: “You know what? I really don’t like the tone of this conversation. Goodbye.” *click*
Okaaay. Someone obviously had two bowls of crazy flakes this morning. My tone wasn't rude, I don’t know why the woman would hang up. If she were an SAT mom, her response would have been “My son’s therapist said that he isn’t hugged enough at home. Could this affect the Verbal score on his SAT...?”
Anyone have a theory four?
Alright already! I never thought my drivel was so interesting to so few. Here is what has been happening for the past few hours…days….oh, fine, weeks.
I have been working very little over the past few weeks, and I couldn’t be happier. The cat likes me now (since I’m not a stranger in the house anymore). I enjoy the soothing repetition of mopping downstairs. I still hate folding laundry though. I don’t think that one will change much.
I’ve been spending time with my grandma chatting. She’s such a pistol, I love that I have the time to spend with her. She tells me stories of the old days, most of which I already knew, some of which I didn’t. My grandfather had a mistress. My aunt went to church in a bathing suit. My dad embarrassed my grandmother at his cub scout induction. Stuff like that. I’m so lucky to have a grandmother who, at eighty-something, has her wits about her and can shoot the breeze with me and not make me feel like I’m talking to my eighty-something grandmother.
I hate my VW. I have to take it to the dealer to get the Anti-lock brakes looked at. Anyone want to venture a guess at how many hundreds of dollars this will set me back? Stupid German cars. Where’s my Toyota?
Yes, I found my wedding dress. I put the deposit on it, and Kat offered to keep the dress at her house. I wasn’t expecting at all to find the dress. I only went with Kat and Lisa to appease Lisa’s wedding-planning urges. I thought that finding the right dress required a misty-eyed mom, some violin music in the background, and months of searching. Apparently, The Wedding Story on TLC has it all wrong. Three stores, one afternoon, one friend to pick the dress off the rack, and one down-to-business Iranian woman to shove me into the dress. I’m going to look just like Audrey Hepburn. I know it. If you want a picture of the dress, email me and I’ll send you a picture. Sorry, Dimitri. You can’t see it.
Martha went to prison, which I think is a crock. She should serve probation and have a lot of community service, but prison? Feh. I think that justice would be served if she had to live for five months without her black SUV and forced to weave her own clothes out of her dogs’ fur. She says she can do it on her show, let’s see if she can put her money where her Chow is.
I have taken to playing Starcraft again. It’s a computer game where you get to be an alien race who tries to kill other alien races. I like to use the cheat codes, build hundreds of the weakest little alien fighter guys, and watch them swarm over the computer’s army and mop them off the face of the monitor. I call it “The Scourge of the Underdog.” It gets me to giggle in that maniacal “I’m causing the destruction of hundreds of people. And I don’t even have a little mustache and Priapic salute to go with it” kind of way.
In my time off, I’ve been reading stuff I wouldn’t normally read. I finished Under the Banner of Heaven, a weird but well-written expose of freak-ass Fundamentalist Mormon culture; Fast Food Nation, a sort of “Supersize Me” behind-the scenes look into how your Big Mac came to that little unwashed plastic tray; and The Life of Pi, a story that won a Booker Prize, but I think that you could have started at page 100 or so and not really missed anything. In fact, the back cover of the book tells the entire plotline, and the filler in the book isn’t all that deep or filling. It’s the literary equivalent of a hostess cupcake, really.
Last night I went to The Melting Pot for Athena’s birthday. In short: too much money and too much hassle for froofy-poofy food that you have to cook yourself. Give me Paymon’s Gyro Salad any time.
So lay off about the not blogging thing. I’ll see you guys in another month.
So I traipse downstairs to take a powder as my grandmother would call it, and chilling on the sand-colored carpet next to the toilet is Mr. Stingy's bigger, meaner, stingier brother. (Kat, don't start with me. It was a scorpion, plain and simple.) Dimitri and I sprayed enough bug spray on him to leave a scorpion-shaped outline on the carpet (like a chalk outline for the bodies on Law & Order?) and flushed him down the toilet.
Eeew. I'll probably have nightmares about bugs tonight. *shudder*
Why? Why!
Why is it that I know the subject Father John and I are supposed to discuss, but when he questions me on it I sound like such a dork?
Why why why?
Let's all list the things that peeve us:
1. Women who hover when they pee in public restrooms: They spray on the seat like overexcited Schnauzers. Ladies, most of us have relatively clean hindquarters. If you were to actually TOUCH the seat with your buttocks, your chances of catching some strange disease are relatively low. Even so, most restrooms have ass gaskets that cover the seat. By peeing on the seat, you make things gross for the rest of us.
2. Homeowner’s Association lawn Nazis: I have a desert landscaped front yard. The plants are freeform, not malleable into fun circus animal shapes. They grows how they likes. My yard will never look like a trimmed poodle. Get over it.
3. Large SUVs that are capable of fitting into one parking space, but pull in at a precarious angle so the rear fender sticks into the next space, making it impossible for my little Passat the fit next to it.
4. In the express grocery checkout line, 12 items or less means just that. 14 items I can let squeak by. 25 items will get you flogged. Oh, and by the way, splitting your 48 items across four family members doesn’t count, either.
5. Please don’t talk on your cell phone while in a stall in a public restroom. You give me the willies. Are you talking to your boyfriend, or are you involved in a one-way conversation with your poopies? And why do I feel awkward peeing, thinking that your conversant may be disturbed by my noise?
Okay, let’s see if we can get the list to #20 or so…
