July 25, 2006 | Filed under: Uncategorized

My lifelong dream, achieved! Marrying into the Kennedy family! I can hardly believe it myself! *Swoon!*

No, I didn’t marry the ghost of JFK Jr., nor did I run off to Vegas this weekend and marry the first Kennedy I came across, but I did call the Evil Safeway and the very not-evil girl on the phone updated my customer information to reflect my new, married name. Ahem.

(Come to think of it, this is the second time this month I’ve lied to someone about my marital status. The first time went like this:

Me: Get out of car at bank, totally minding my own business, I just want to go to the ATM.
Him: Homeless black man hanging around with several friends at the bank at 7:00 on a Thursday morning.
Me: Trying to avoid eye contact, walking back to car.
Him: Hey, missus!
Me: Look up, but not for too long.
Him: Are you married?
Me: Yeah, I am. Don’t notice the complete lack of jewelry, don’t notice, don’t notice!
Him: Figures.
Me: Unlock car door.
Him: Well, you have a very pleasant way about you.
Me: Thanks. Have a good day.
Him: You too.
Me: Get in car quickly, thinking, Was it the pleasant way in which I haven’t showered yet today? The pleasant way in which I’m wearing the first clothes I found in my drawer, have no makeup on and hastily threw my hair in a ponytail? The pleasant way in which I tried to ignore you? The pleasant way in which I got in the car and immediately locked the doors and whyohwhy aren’t we home yet? No, sir, I think what you meant to say was, “You have a nice ass.”)

So, yes, I lied to the Safeway people. But it is totally justified, since they insist upon thanking me, BY NAME, every time I shop there with my damn Safeway card. And, I don’t know about you, but I have issues with them using my last name — often preceded by “Mrs.” — in public, in front of whoever is in line behind me.

For starters, it’s just not safe. I don’t want anyone I don’t know knowing my name unless I offer it. Haven’t we seen enough of those “Stranger, danger!” messages? And identity theft public service announcements? My name is a valuable piece of information, and one of the keys to my personal financial information. And, I really don’t want the guy behind me buying a case of Bud Light to overhear my name and catch up with me in the parking lot and offer to show me his newest tattoo. Hell, half the time I’m at a bar I give people a fake name because I don’t actually want to talk to them ever again.

[Sidenote: When selecting a fake name, be sure to choose one that's believable. I mean, a name like Anastasia Beaverhausen is a good conversation piece, but if the point is to not converse with someone... Also, it's taken. Keep thinking. If you're not the creative type, try this.]

Also, dearest Safeway people, it is not 1956 and you are not my friendly local grocer. You and I do not have a personal relationship whereby I expect you to greet me by name and know what vegetables are my favorite and inquire as to how my great-aunt Mildred is faring. You, Safeway, are not a quaint little corner store, you are a multi-billion dollar corporation, and I am an anonymous patron. And I like it that way. So, please, STOP PRETENDING TO BE SOMETHING YOU’RE NOT!

I thought up this little “Oh, I got married and am now updating my last name, tee hee hee” scheme several months ago, and it pops into my head every third time I go to the grocery store, but usually by the time I get home I’ve already moved on to putting away the groceries, cooking, etc and then the next time the cashier calls me by my honest-to-goodness, right-there-on-the-birth-certificate name, I cringe. Today, I finally remembered to take action. Hooray! The not-evil customer service girl warned me that it could take up to 24 hours for the change to go into effect, so if I do any shopping in the next day or so, they still might use my old last name. I think I’ll manage.

Filed under: Uncategorized

I have always been a conscientious user of energy. In part, because it’s a limited resource and I’m a hippie, tree-hugging liberal and conservation is generally the right thing to do. But mostly, because I am cheap. And while electricity is inexpensive these days (adjusted for inflation and relative to other consumer goods), I don’t relish the thought of paying my local utility more than $40 a month for the privilege of artificial lighting, the ability to re-charge my iPod and more hours with my laptop than I care to admit. As a result, I hold out as long as possible before turning on the air conditioning. But this weekend, I hit my breaking point and finally succumbed to the evil that is electricity-sucking window AC units from the Carter administration.

It was 110 in Sacramento.

Mind you, I still don’t use the AC with reckless abandon. I run it as little as possible to keep the house at a manageable temperature. Which means I can comfortably wear shorts and a tank top, so…probably 85 or so. And, a little extra AC overnight to aid with the sleeping. Invariably I wake up with stiff neck and shoulder muscles — an indication that they’re not accustomed to such polar climes.

Today was a hellish day at work. One of those days where by 7 pm I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck, and I want nothing more than to go home and relax and watch some completely not-taxing-to-the-brain TV. (This, people, is why I have cable. So I can watch strangers buy a house or sell a house or redecorate a house. Any time of day or night.)

This plan worked well for approximately eight minutes. And then the power went out. (Commence with the laughing.)

I conferred with the neighbors, dutifully called my electric utility to report the outage, then devolved into a fit of hysterics.

(Ok, not really, but if hysterics and smelling salts were still in fashion for young women, I probably would have.)

Being the resourceful type (and unable to stand the thought of having to somehow entertain myself in a half-dark, 90 degree house) I ventured out to a local coffee/sandwich/crepe shop with a modicum of air conditioning, but wonderful, glorious wireless internet access with which to pass the time. The easy access to wine helped, too.

And now, I’m getting reports that the power has been restored to the neighborhood, so I’m headed home. Again. *Sigh.* Tomorrow is another day.

July 21, 2006 | Filed under: Uncategorized

Darling, lovely Internet People, I come to you with my latest fashion conundrum: which sunglasses to invest in? Normally, this is a fairly easy decision, because Lord knows if I manage not to break or lose or scratch to all hell my $20 Target sunglasses over the course of the summer, I might still pick out a different pair the following year, just because I’m bored with the old ones.

But.

These sunglasses will be outfitted with fancy prescription lenses and will cost a might bit more than $20, so I have to give some actual thought to the question of, do I want to wear these next summer, too? (And the summer after that, and the summer after that, perhaps until I die.)

And, after a long week and far, far too long at the eyeglasses shop today, I find myself incapable of making that final decision. So, I turn to you. Please know that I value your input, even if I eschew your advice. It helps me discern what it is I really want. (Currently that answer is: Sleep!) (Also, the Gucci sunglasses that cost twice what I’m willing to spend. My word but they were pretty!)

Here are the sunglasses in question. Please try to ignore, you know, ME, behind them when making your selection.

(Also know that I used the same method for selecting these pictures as I did the sunglasses — take 40 or 50 shots, then start eliminating the bad ones. I skipped the whole editing process, so what you get are raw images. I don’t have the patience to deal with photo editing tonight. My apologies for the poor cropping, visible bra, etc. Not everything can be a masterpiece.)

(And do not even get me started on the process that is selecting a pair of frames for real glasses. I think I put on half of their inventory this evening — roughly eleventy billion pairs — and all we came up with were three “maybes.” Eventually the salesgirl would hand me a pair, I’d put them on, she’d say “ew” and put them back without me ever knowing what they looked like. By the time I left, I was ready to poke my eyes out. Which, now that I think about it, would eliminate the need for glasses entirely, so I may keep that option in mind.)

Sunglasses 1

Sunglasses 2

My many thanks. And probably many, many more from the poor salesgirl whose evening I monopolized.

July 19, 2006 | Filed under: Uncategorized

Well, it’s been more than a month and I still haven’t written a review of my class reunion. In part it’s because I’m alternately lazy, busy, and just plain don’t love you enough. And in part it’s because I haven’t thought of a coherent way in which to describe the event. Probably because there isn’t one. Instead, I present to you the following vignettes. And pictures.

(I will have you know I learned how to spell “vignettes” in preparation for the citywide spelling bee in 8th grade, at which I was not asked to spell vignette, but I still totally kicked ass. It remains one of my favorite words ever.) (Pretentious little bitch.) (Alan: I believe that’s uppity little bitch. Me: Oh, right. My mistake.)

Evidence that I Wasn’t Kidding When I Said, “If my reunion were in half an hour, I’d go, as is.”
Cocktail hour started at 5:00. Kathy and I made plans to depart around five, so we’d arrive by 5:30. At 4:25 Mom and I got home from shopping. I still needed to do everything involved with getting ready, starting with a shower. Forty-five minutes later, we were out the door. Yes, I spent far longer taking pictures of those dresses for you to choose from than I did actually dressing for the event. Such is life. (And I went with the cream one.)

And, because I know you guys like this sort of thing, the shoes:

Evidence that Miss Manners Was Not Consulted about This Event
The weather in Wisconsin is nothing, if not fickle. Thursday was beautiful, in the 80s, I felt like I was in California. Sort of. I could pretend. On Friday things cooled down a bit and by Saturday, it was downright cold — 55 degrees out and hella windy. So, the dress I brought was going to be a bit chilly, but hey I knew that going in, and besides, we’ll be in some banquet room somewhere where the temperature will be a perfectly-regulated 68 degrees.

We’ve got the name and address of the venue, but no instructions like “park in the back” or “go to the third door on the left and use the secret knock.” But, this is Janesville, so nothing’s that hard to figure out.

Kathy and I walk through the parking lot, to the front door of the clubhouse. I’m thinking, maybe there’s a downstairs party room or something. We walk in. To the right is the pro shop; to our left is the bar; directly in front of us are unoccupied chairs and tables that are part of the bar. Oooookay. Where’s the reunion?

Spanning the back of the room are windows with a view of the backyard. Through these windows we see a white party tent.

OMG, this thing is OUTSIDE!!!!!!!!!!

Knock, knock? Planning committee? That would have been REALLY GOOD information to include on the invitation. Perhaps I would not have worn an outfit that rendered me PRACTICALLY NAKED.

Best Reminder That We’re Not In Kansas Anymore. Or Rather, That We Are.
I go up to the bar to get myself a drink. The bartender looks to be 16, but I know she’s got to be at least 18 to serve alcohol.

Me: Do you have red wine back there?
Child Bartender: *looks around for red wine, including checking the refrigerator behind her*
Me: *contemplate telling her that if the wine is in the fridge, I ain’t drinkin’ it*
Child Bartender: Ummm, no, but we can bring some down from the clubhouse.
Me: Oh that’s ok, it’s not that big of a deal. Can I have a vodka tonic instead?
Child Bartender: Ummm, *looks around for tonic; locates it in a styrofoam cup* sure! What kind of vodka would you like?
Me: *glance briefly at the bottles nearest me* The Grey Goose is fine.
Child Bartender: *sets about mixing my drink, in a 16 oz plastic cup*
Me: *suddenly realize I’ve selected The Most Expensive Vodka Available and she’s making me a double and I may need several drinks before the night is over and how much is THIS gonna cost?*
Child Bartender: *finishes making the drink* $3.50
Me: What?
Child Bartender: It’s $3.50.
Me: *pick jaw up off the floor long enough to pay, tip generously, and marvel at paying a third of what I expect a drink to cost*

A wristband. Yes, really, a wristband. Because they couldn’t do the math and figure out that we’re all 28, give or take a few months.

Best Moment of the Night
“Oh my god, I can see your California tan from all the way across the room!!!”

(I ♥ you, Coppertone Endless Summer Sunless Tanning Bronzing Foam.)

Most Common Conversation
Him/Her: So did you move to California right after college?
Me: First I went to grad school, then I moved to DC for three years, and now I’m in California.
Him/Her: *head explodes*
Me: *calmly sip drink*

Like twelve bazillion times.

Also,
Him/Her: So what do you do there?
Me: Ummmmmmm *frantically sip drink while trying to think of a way to succinctly explain my job*

Moment Most Reminiscent of High School
There’s a girl (woman?) that I’ve known since sixth grade. We’ll call her Girl A. Girl A and I have never been particularly close, but cordial when we needed to, which, during high school was almost never. We hadn’t talked all night, but there was no reason to avoid talking to her, so I thought I’d say hi. (Plus I was running out of things to say to the people I was sitting with and needed a change of scenery.) Unfortunately, Girl A was standing next to Girl B — the only person from high school who falls into the “I really never need to see this person again” category. It’s not that we hate each other (hate would be far too much effort, at least on my part. Maybe she hates me; I don’t know.), just that we have a mutual “my life would be perfectly dandy if I didn’t know you exist” feeling going. I decided to be a grown up and go say hello, despite Girl B’s presence. Because, frankly, I AM a grown up.

I stepped up between Girl A and Girl B, put on a happy face and said something totally inoffensive like, “I just thought I’d come say hello!” (Meanwhile thinking, I really don’t need Girl B to know a single iota about my life, but I guess I don’t have that luxury). Girl A greeted me in return; Girl B acknowledged that I was standing in proximity to her personal space, but said nothing and then turned away. Inside, I was laughing.

Most Mind-Boggling Conversation
Sitting across from someone I’d had several classes with, looking like she stuffed a basketball under her dress.
Me: So, is this your first kid?
Her: *holds up four fingers*
Me: *nearly fall off chair*

The Denouement
By 9:00, half of the attendees had left. A bunch of us moved the party over to the bar closest to our high school, where we sat around talking and drinking beer out of bottles. But at least it was good beer.

God, I love Wisconsin.

On the whole, the reunion was…passable — I give it a C — but I am definitely glad I went. As in so much of life, people make the difference. The main disappointment of the evening (other than the complete lack of hospitality) was in who wasn’t there. Most of the guys I had classes with. Half of our Gang of Six. All my friends who didn’t graduate with me. The neighbor boy. However, I was surprised and delighted to see some of my former classmates — some of whom I hadn’t talked to since graduation, others I lost touch with during/after college. The amazing thing was to see how all of these people became who they were supposed to be. And comparing who they were in high school to who they are now, I think they, like me, have become more themselves.

To Sarah and Kathy (half of our little gang) and the entire Class of 1996, Cheers! May the next decade be as exciting and prosperous as the last. I’ll see you back at “Cow Pie High.”

July 11, 2006 | Filed under: Uncategorized

I’m really enjoying the theme we’ve got going here…people who claim to be omniscient but appear not to know the first thing about my life.

In keeping with that theme, I offer you this, my fortune from dinner this evening:

A secret admirer will soon send you a sign of affection.

Haaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

No.

My apologies for the shoddy post tonight. I have plenty of thoughts running around my head, but my gosh, those deep thoughts take a long time to make sense of and write down! And my writing time was taken over by last-minute dinner plans with a colleague in town from DC. We spent the evening catching up on each other’s lives, mutual friends’ lives, talking shop, etc. It was a wonderful reminder that there are some people in this world that I hope to never lose track of.