The Beatles are Back: Excitement Levels May Vary
Posted on March 5, 2010
Filed Under Daily, Family | 6 Comments
Before I flew home, I contacted some of my close friends and family to let them know I’d be in town, but took special precautions not to let Little BFF and Co. learn about my plans to travel east. I thought it would be fun to surprise them at Sunday Dinner, which has now become Saturday Dinner out here because of the time change, and bed times, but nonetheless, I imagined that I’d show up for dinner, and all the kids would dive toward me like an unruly group of screaming girls at a Beatles’ concert.
In case you didn’t know, I’m kind of like The Beatles around here.
I walked into my mom’s house Saturday evening, and as I waited for a red carpet to come rolling from beneath my feet, and some sort of celebratory music to play overhead (I envisioned graduation music) nothing happened.
The group stood frozen.
One of my cousins was even squinting.
It took about three full seconds until someone actually noticed me (had it been longer my self-esteem might have been mildly affected) and of course that someone was Little BFF.
“Sibby! It’s REALLY you!” she yelled as she ran into my arms.
Of course it was really me.
Little BFF is way to smart to hug an impostor.
It took another few seconds for the rest of the gang to realize that I, The Beetles, was in fact standing there — right before their very eyes, and then one by one the kids came at me running and screaming, and we hugged and kissed, and then there was more screaming, also some dancing, and I think there might have been drool involved.
What? I was excited.
With Little BFF turning 9 in May, she understands the concept of time (as in, she understands that it’s been five months since the last time I was home) but I wasn’t sure if Little Punk, and Punk Brother even knew what “time” meant. Somewhere in the midst of the little rats trying to fill me in on EVERY.SINGLE.DETAIL of their lives, from dentist appointments to their newest toy, I managed to grab Punk Brother, put him in my lap, and ask, “Do you understand the concept of time?” He shook his head ‘No’ so I go, “Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve seen me?” he thought about it and goes, “Yes. I think one year” and then he gave me a hug.
Internet, I melted.
Then I threw him off my lap gently moved him to the side, grabbed Little Punk, and go, “Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve seen me? and she goes, “Mmm…six days.”
Apparently, The Beatles didn’t have the same effect on everyone.
The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far…
Posted on March 2, 2010
Filed Under Daily, Family | 3 Comments
Mom: So anyway, then this little girl in my class comes over to me, wraps her arms around me, takes a deep breath and goes, “Mmm, you smell soo good, Mrs. E,” and I’m like, ‘I don’t really know why because I don’t wear perfume, and it’s not like I even shower that often…”
Me: Mom!
Mom: What? It’s not like I don’t wear deodorant.
P.S. I asked my mom before I posted this.
P.P.S. I didn’t get a manicure.
P.P.P.S. I took a lot of pictures, and then forgot my camera cord at my dad’s house.
P.P.P.P.S. I’m on a faux vacay. Please don’t judge me.
Oh La La NOVA
Posted on March 1, 2010
Filed Under Daily | 5 Comments
Virtual Friends, I’m home!
I’m back in the beautiful, still-a-little-snowy Northern Virginia, which is a beautiful breath of fresh air and familiar faces. I’ll be taking most of the day to settle in, while also planning a way to squeeze all the people and places I love into these next two weeks.
I’ll be back tomorrow with updates, photos, and hopefully a manicure.
Ever Wonder How ‘The Middle Finger’ Got a Bad Rap? Probably Like This.
Posted on February 26, 2010
Filed Under Daily, Life With The Boss, Life in L.A. | 12 Comments
Edit after publish: While on the phone with The Boss this afternoon, he said I called him a “Boke,” not a “Bowkah.”
Noted. Thank you, my love.
The Boss and I got into a fight. Over an imaginary word. That I made up.
But it wasn’t my fault. Well, maybe it kind of was.
He was disturbing me (read: poking, pinching, trying to measure my biceps) while I was trying to live a normal, peaceful life. I tried to take the civil route, the higher road, solve our marital conflict with the best of Islamic manners.
But then things got messy.
Me: Can you please not bother?
The Boss: No.
Me: I’m trying to sit and not be bothered.
The Boss: Okay.
Me: You are still bothering me.
The Boss: No I’m not. I’m just trying to do something.
Me: You are REALLY bothering me now.
The Boss: Okay, I’ll stop.
Me: When?
The Boss: When I’m done.
Me: Can you please leave me alone?
The Boss: No.
Me: AHHHH! NOOOO! STOP! YOU ARE BEING SUCH A BOKE!
The Boss: Don’t call me that! YOU’RE A BOKE!
Me: You are!
The Boss: YOU ARE!
And then he got up to change out of his work clothes, and shower. A few minutes later, he came out of the bathroom, looked straight at me and yells, “YOU ARE A BOKE!” and I was all, “That is SO mean. Why do you have to say hurtful things?” and he goes, “Oops…well…you said it first, and I thought we were joking around,” and I go, “You think I’d call you a BOKE as a joke?” and he’s like, “Well I called you one as a joke,” and I go, “NO ONE IS JOKING. If you act like a BOKE, I will call you a BOKE! And the LAST person in this room, and on this earth, who could ever possibly be a BOKE is ME!”
The Boss went to the closet, got changed, and then came out into the living room where our mutual silent treatments met face-to-face. A few minutes later he goes, “Maybe we shouldn’t call each other mean names anymore,” and I go, “Yeah, it was pretty mean that you called me that,” and he’s like, “But you called me it first,” and I’m like, “You called me it second, and the jury remembers closing arguments, so the last thing the Universe heard you say to me was ‘You are a BOKE!‘, and that was mean.”
It was quiet for a moment, and then The Boss goes, “What does that mean anyway?” and I go, “I don’t know, but it sounds mean.”
People Watching
Posted on February 24, 2010
Filed Under Daily, Life in L.A. | 12 Comments
Guy walks into a coffee shop, and girl stands up.
“Hey, are you…” he asks.
I don’t catch her name.
But she says yes. It’s her.
“Nice to meet you,” she says.
She gives him a hug. Pats him on the back.
Pat.
Pat.
Pat.
Uh oh. Three pats. On the back. That’s never a good sign.
She doesn’t think he’s cute.
His e-harmony picture was probably way better than the guy that showed up.
The disappointment is written all over her face.
But he thinks she’s pretty.
It’s written all over his face.
They sit down, and she turns her body to the right, away from him, crosses her legs, and slouches.
She’s not interested. At all.
His facial expression shows that he can tell.
He seems momentarily concerned, but starts up a conversation anyway.
Where he’s from, what he does.
He remains confident.
She listens, but says little. Even when he asks her a question.
30 minutes pass.
She’s laughing now.
She turns her body to face him.
She’s laughing often. At the story he’s telling. At almost everything he says.
She’s sitting upright, and her feet are planted underneath the table.
She’s interested.
He won her over with his charm and sense of humor.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” he asks.
“Sure,” she says.
They stand up, and he opens the door for her.
Charming, funny, and a gentleman.
They leave together, chatting as they stroll down the sidewalk, out of earshot and view.
