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.
Why We Don’t Have Kids: They Are Not Hands-Free
Posted on February 23, 2010
Filed Under Daily, Life With The Boss, Life in L.A. | 3 Comments
Since the beginning of this year, I’ve made a conscious effort to limit my purse carrying, though at times it seems impossible to do. The Boss leaves the house with his cell phone, wallet, and car keys tucked into his pockets, but my clothes are smaller than his (and sometimes I don’t have pockets) making this goal of mine often seem unattainable. Since informing The Boss about my decision to go hands-free in Twenty Ten, he’s always encouraging me to leave my handbag at home, and he helps me consolidate the things I’ll need before leaving the house to ensure a hands-free day.
Over the weekend, The Boss and I went to West Hollywood, and before we left the house I asked him if I should take my purse. He told me to leave it behind, reassuring me that he had money, I didn’t need my driver’s license, and he’d hold the camera and my cell phone because I was in a dress sans pockets. I ended up carrying my notebook, which wasn’t really hands-free, but we were off to a pretty good start. Even though the whole hands-free thing was my idea, I was still all, Are you sure? like eight more times before we left the house. I just needed validation, and also maybe someone to blame later in case going hands-free backfired, you know, like, THIS IS YOUR FAULT. YOU SAID YOU WERE SURE!
As we were about to leave the house I go, “What about my chapstick, WHAT ABOUT THE PURELL!” and The Boss goes, “You don’t need your chapstick, and you’re not going to get dirty” and I was like, “THE WORLD IS DIRTY!” and then I smothered three coats of Lip Smackers all over my mouth, and left the stick on the table.
We ended up eating lunch at one of our favorite pizza spots on Melrose, and sometime during our meal, I saw The Boss fidgeting with his shorts, so I go, “What’s wrong?” and he’s like, “I spilled pizza sauce on myself, and I was going to ask you for your Tide pen, but…” and I’m like, “Oh, you want my Tide pen? Sure, here is is. RIGHT NEXT TO MY CHAPSTICK AND THE PURELL.”
And by the way…
“THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT. YOU SAID YOU WERE SURE!“
Me vs. Newbie vs. Yugoslavia
Posted on February 22, 2010
Filed Under Daily, Life With The Boss, Life in L.A. | 14 Comments
Does everyone know what this is?
If you said, “a roll of quarters,” you are SO wrong. And you will not be advancing to the next round. If you said, “the lifeline of apartment living,” you just got 10 million points, and I will put a star next to your name in my book. It’s a special book full of special things. You’re welcome.
Each one of these rolls is worth $10. That’s like EIGHT LOADS OF LAUNDRY. Doing the laundry is my domestic responsibility, which I happily accepted after The Boss and I got married because he traded me that for cleaning the bathroom. Our entire marriage is a series of intricate and methodical systems, which we put lots of thought into. Want to resolve a conflict? Play Rock, Paper, Scissors. BAM! PROBLEM.SOLVED.
So each week, I go to the bank with a $20 bill, and exchange it for two rolls of quarters. I simply walk to the teller window, hand over my $20, teller slips two rolls of quarters under the glass, and I’m on my way. Of course there’s always that one newbie that pops in from time to time and attempts to challenge my VIP status with his ignorance. One day I went to the bank, slipped my $20 under the glass, and Newbie goes, “Do you want to make a deposit?” The soundtrack to my life came to a screeching halt, and the teller plugged his ears obviously unaware that his NOT KNOWING ANYTHING caused the magical deejay that follows me around to stop the music suddenly and without warning.
“No, I need quarters,” I said.
“Do you need two rolls?”
Are you kidding me?
“Yes,” I said. “I need two rolls.”
I held the tiny treasures close to my body, and the deejay restarted the track as I left the bank.
When I got home, The Boss called to say he was swinging in to have lunch with me, and when he arrived, I emptied some quarters on the table in an attempt to show off, and that’s when we both saw this.
Notice anything out of place? Anything that doesn’t belong?
Oh Newbie, you really messed up this time.
As The Boss and I examined the coin, he goes, “Is that the new nickel?” and I was all, “THAT is NOT American!” and he’s like, “What does it say, Yugoslavia?” And I’m all, “I don’t know, it’s not written in English” and he goes, “Does Yugoslavia even exist anymore?”
So not only did Newbie give me a foreign coin, he gave me a foreign coin to a place that doesn’t even exist. So basically, if I happened to be traveling overseas, got lost, and somehow ended up in the FORMER Yugoslavia and needed to make a collect call, I wouldn’t be able to.
Nice move, Newbie.
“He gave me a fake quarter, AND he owes my deejay overtime!” I shouted.
“Your deejay?”
“Yeah. He was still on the clock when Newbie stopped the music!”
“Okay, Wow.”
That’s usually what The Boss says when he wishes he were me.
“If the machines at a bank thought it was a quarter,” he said. “Then anything else you put it in will think it’s a quarter, too.”
Naturally, I was all, “GUMBALL MACHINE!” but The Boss goes, “Or we could use it for laundry.”
A gumball would have been SUCH a better idea.
