Levedy

Lunchy, Crafty, Catty Saturday

Yesterday, my grandmother hosted a luncheon for Kat and the women in Dimitri's and my family. It was a lovely afternoon, and my grandmother went to a lot of trouble to cook a nice meal and to have a bunch of ladies over.

Cute pictures: 1 2 3 4

We had pork loin in a dill cream sauce, which I didn't eat because the pork was still pink. *shudder* I likes my meat dead and brown. None of this sissy "medium" stuff. Kat ate it, which surprised me until she later admitted that she thought it was ham, and turned a bit green when I told her that it wasn't.

We also had orzo (yum) and a wild green salad. For dessert, Nana made a pistachio bunt cake, which was yummy, and the leftovers of which will not last in my kitchen for too much longer.

Saturday night I put together a present for my girlfriend's shower next Saturday. I felt quite ljc about the whole affair, and consequently made a craft page for interested parties to peruse.

And finally, I caught Ruby on camera sneaking into a box filled with air-packing sacs. I have finally crossed over into crazy cat lady territory. I have a scarf for my cat, about a bazillion pictures of her, and several snippets of home movies of me saying "Ruby, look over here, Ruby, Ruby..."

(If, like me, you see no control bars, I believe double clicking this once it's loaded will start the video.)

There are worse fates, I suppose. I could have twenty cats and do the same thing...

My Weekend

I still haven't come to a decision about the Amish. I suppose I should let it rest.

Friday was Greek school, where I gave a pretty good imitation of my teacher saying "The Greeks invented everything. Greeks invented Oxygen" Luckily, he laughed.

He shared a funny saying that the Turks say about the Greeks: "After you shake hands with a Greek, count your fingers." Hah!

Saturday was working, and training, and making the almond favors for the wedding. Mediterranean weddings feature Jordan Almonds (which taste just like, and are likely composed of, sugar and blackboard chalk) wrapped in netting. The symbolism is cool: The candied almonds are bitter and sweet, like a marriage, and come in odd numbers so as to be indivisible, like a marriage should be.

However, stuffing, wrapping, tagging, and counting 160 sets of the buggers with your future mother-in-law would try the patience of Job. It was at times funny and most of the time exhausting. We started at 8 and were done by 12. I'm tired just remembering it.

The finished product looks like moss on the desk (note the Union Supervisor below the desk):

The highlight of the evening was when Sophie made Dim try on his tux from college. It looks a little dated, but I think he's just the cutest son of a gun wearing it.

The (hopefully) last shift of invitations goes out Monday.

That is all.

I still don't get it

I've been mulling over my Amish sighting from the weekend, and I still can't figure it out: what the devil were they doing in Las Vegas?

Kat suggested that it was their right-of-passage-freak-out, but I don't think so. They were dressed with their bonnets and aprons and eyebrows-occurring-only-in-odd-numbers. If they were sowing thine wild oates they would be dressed like us normies.

Best theory: they got traded to a polygamist family that lives out in the desert. Even fundamentalist Mormons needs goods at low, low prices.

Problem with theory: Mormon fundamentalists don't seem to have a problem churning out new wives for themselves - why send away for what you've got - ahem - in your own backyard?

Next Best Theory: They weren't Amish but Mormon fundamentalists. I think that they can dress like something out of Little House on the Prairie if they feel like it.

Support for theory: The group was comprised of three young women and a female toddler. Could be a group of sister-wives and their newest addition to the cult - er - family.

Problem With Theory: These gals were clearly NOT speaking English. And I've been to Temple Square in Salt Lake City. Even the most devout Mormons still speak a variant of English (known as the June and Ward Dialect, but English nonetheless.)

Least Likely theory: It was performance art.

Problem with theory: It takes time and effort to develop the sour I-haven't-washed-in-a-week-but-still-manage-to-work-up-a-sweat-daily odor. And unibrows like that don't show up overnight, you know.

Any other theories?

My weekend

My weekend was not the hotbed of activity that normally is the tenor of my fast-paced life.

Kat came over Friday to help me stuff wedding invitations (I can STILL taste the gum from the envelopes in my mouth) and to have a look at the books I want to donate and took several handfuls to take with her.

Saturday morning I drove an hour to damn-near the Arizona border to teach an SAT class. Unfortunately, the office never thought to give the kids a schedule of subjects, so they had no idea that Saturday was a math day, and consequently had done none of their homework. When I told the office that was not kosher behavior, the director played dumb rather than admit she made a mistake. That’s a pisser.

After class, I hauled butt from the border back into town to lead an SAT training for new teachers. One of the trainees went to high school with me. He was Mr. Popular, Mr. Student Council, and Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes. He turned out to be a very nice man. It was fun training with him and with his two fellow trainees. Everyone got certified, which is cool.

I came home to a quiet house since Dimitri had gone skiing in Brianhead with friends. He invited me to go, but I make it a rule not to participate in sports a) with fast-moving projectiles or b) without brakes. (I realize that limits me to Badminton and Shuffleboard, and I’m just fine with that.) I spent the evening bored without Dim, but lacking the energy to take myself out to a movie.

Sunday morning I went to church, and Sophie managed to come with me. I have become a little tired of her regular check-ups to see if we are in church. She calls at 10:45 on Sundays, and if we answer, she demands to know why we’re not in church. On those Sundays when we aren’t in church, I make it a point to be the one to answer the phone to ask her “Why aren’t you in church either, Sophie?” Admittedly, that’s not very diplomatic of me; so my new tactic is to IM her on Saturdays and invite her to church with me. She almost never takes me up on it, but it does stop the Sunday morning calls.

Sophie showed up about 45 minutes into the service and managed to make it up into my pew half of an hour later. It was nice to have company, though.

The funniest part of the service (who thought an Orthodox Christian service could be funny?) came right before Communion, when Father John broke the liturgy to give his typical “quit being late to church, you lazy Greeks” schpiel, but this time he said something to the effect of:

Preparation for Communion is more than just fasting on Sunday mornings. The major part of preparation for Communion is praying the liturgy with us, being here to witness the transformation with your fellow congregants. This is not a show-up-in-a-rush, grab-it-and-go situation. Leave that for McDonald’s. The body and blood of Christ is not fast food, people, and I’m not the drive thru.

It was funny.

After church, I went to fellowship hour to buy baked goods from the Sunday school kids. The money was going to Tsunami relief, so I didn’t feel bad scarfing homemade Greek pastries and not-so-Greek brownies. Hey, it was for a good cause, right?

Then I hauled butt to Green Valley to tutor an LSAT student.

Monday was reserved for assembling/moving the new home office furniture Dimitri got for the loft. I did, though, during a run to Wal-Mart for furniture moving pads see a gaggle of amish girls. (No, really! They were even speaking that dutch-german stuff I hear on the history channel specials about them. I slowed down walking by them to hear them talk, but had to speed up, because they stank. I kept thinking to myself: Amish in Vegas? How the hell'd they get here? I checked for buggies in the tire shop and the parking lot: no luck.)

The old furniture had to be moved to another room, too. The rooms look like a tornado came through them, but the furniture is cool. It will take a few days to get everything back in order.

*sniff* Goodbye Friends

I just finished paring down my book collection to the absolute essentials. I'm donating anywhere from 1/2 to 3/4 of a ton of books to my local library. *

On the one hand, I feel like I'm letting old friends go. I'm a bibliophile at heart, and my books feel like nest featherings to me. On the other hand, going from six bulging bookshelves to a scant two feels liberating. My Norton Shakespeare made the cut (I want to be BURIED with that book) and Harry Potter did too, but my stolen collection of Gideon Bibles** did not. I kept Dimitri's Computer Science Textbooks but am ridding myself of my Faulkner collection. My leather-bound books stay, but my coffee table art books go.

Why? I need to make room in the second bedroom for my desk so that the loft can accommodate the new office furniture Dimitri bought. And, too, I guess because I am ready to get rid of them. I'm keeping the possible internment-worthy books, but I don't see much need in keeping books I haven't cracked in years. If I want to visit them, I can go to the library. They'll come to better use there, anyway.

The sucky part is that the Library does not offer a pickup service, and so I have to haul my library to the Library one truckful at a time. I shake my fist in the air at you, Library

*sniff*

---

*No, I'm not exaggerating.

**Quiet, you.

She ain’t lesbo, she’s my teacher

One of the students complimented my hairdo. That can be interpreted one of two ways:
1) My hair isn’t as bad as I previously thought; or
2) I just found the Melissa Etheridge Fan Club Vice President, if you know what I’m saying…

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease

Two days ago I went back to my hair lady and told her that I didn’t like my haircut and that I would like her to re-cut it for me. I’ve come to the conclusion that I do not get to choose my own hair styles. I have five words for my new cut:

Melissa Etheridge fan club president.

In lieu of flowers, the deceased wishes that you donate hair to worthy charities.

Nooooooooooooo

oooooooooo!

A Post that is NOT related to Erik Estrada

It’s snowing in Las Vegas! Huzzah!

Dreams Redux

I have no idea where Eric Estrada came from. If I could choose my steamy dream subject, it would be…ahem…Dimitri. Barring him, my subjects of choice would be:

1. Laurence Fishburn
2. Brad Pitt
3. Orlando Bloom

My girlfriend Luisa is dropping off excess baby stuff for me to have. No pressure, Dim. Hey dad, when do you want to become a grandpa?

Last night my dream was NOT about Ponzie. I did, however, dream about a game of chess with my sister that featured a LIVE PISSED OFF SNAKE as one of the knight pieces. I got it to chase Ruby’s cat toys to divert it away from me, but Ruby started chasing after the toys too and fighting with the snake. Scary.

John, you are not allowed to make a joke about Eric Estrada’s snake.

Air, Hair, and Knotted Underwear

So the holidays are over, and I look forward to a very busy January. It looks as if, starting next week, I will be teaching every night of the week with the exception of Fridays (when I have Greek School) and Saturday nights (but I do have to work Saturday mornings). Some of my classes are in the extreme north and south end of the valley. One of the schools I will teach at is near the Arizona border. *sigh.* I’ll have to make an appointment for a date night with Dimitri.

Best Holiday Gift: Dimitri asking me not to get him anything. I really don’t have the money to anyway.

Worst Holiday Gift: An “automatic” hard boiled egg peeling machine. It’s basically a bellows on a pedestal. Worst. Gift. Ever.

Cat’s Least Favorite Holiday Gift: An airzooka that shoots powerful puffs of air and makes a big boom sound.

I got my hair cut last week, and I don’t like it. On a good day, I look like Hillary Clinton. On a bad day…well…I still look like Hillary Clinton. I called the lady and asked to reschedule a haircutting appointment. We’re going to have to redo this one, boys. Even Jenny Smith, who always compliments my hair (warranted or no), would not approve of this ‘do.

The wedding planning continues on apace. Holy crap, it’s in 2 months! My only source of stress is my mother-in-law, who continues to add scads of guests whom I have never met but am still expected to pay to feed and quench. (Scads is a bit of an exaggeration, but still) She is trying to plan an overly complicated rehearsal dinner and is driving me nuts about wanting to hire a Greek band so she and her seven Greek friends can dance (while the rest of us whities stand by and watch) She demands that I have Jordan almonds at the ceremony even though I hate them. She hasn’t offered to chip in to pay for any of this (even the rehearsal dinner, which traditionally falls squarely on the groom’s family’s shoulders). I know, I’m ranting, it’s just frustrating.