Pretty is as pretty does

Disturbing conversations with my mother

All right. Two weeks ago in belly dance class, I was having trouble with this flippy Matrix-esque turn move. The teach said I should hold my shoulders back because my arms were going floppy. Being unable to do anything involving good posture such as that or sitting up straight, I kept messing up. She finally said she was going to tie my shoulders back. I thought she was kidding, but she actually got a veil, wound it around my shoulders and tied it in a knot. (It worked, btw: Now every time I try that move I hold those damn shoulders back).

Then...

Teach: Yay! OK, now for the next move, you go like thiiiiiiiiis!
Me: Um, hi. Can you untie me now?
Teach: Oh, dear, I forgot about you. [unties me]
Me: I don't think I've ever said that to anyone before.
Teach: Ha ha. I'm going to use that as your quote for my website.
Me: You might get a whole other crowd in here if you do...

Last night my mother called, and as usual on Wednesday nights I was in belly dance-talking mode, so I told her how I was still having trouble with the flippy Matrix turn, whilst perfect-stomach girl was doing it no problem.

Me: At least she didn't tie me up this time.
Mom: Do what now?
Me: Oh. I didn't tell you about that. [repeats story]
Mom: Oh, my.
Me: Yeah, I told her I didn't think I'd ever said that to anyone before.
Mom: Except maybe your brother.

I suppose that was a reference to some instance in our childhoods when we played "Hostage." Which we played. A lot.

Silver lining in conversation turned ewwwww: Bondage references are utterly lost on my mother.

I freely admit to being a YouTube addict

This one's funny too. What is up with her hair?

OK, I've posted. Now quit sending me snotty emails.

More creepy Kirk Cameron doings

Because the Internet is currently devoid of obnoxious fundamentalists getting all up in your business.

Seriously, what's with that pic. Is he stoned? On Jesus, I guess.

Yes, yes you are.

Yay for anonymous gay Republican bathroom sex! Who knew? Oh right, everybody. I would like to personally thank Senator Craig for his kind support of the Democratic party in 2008. Seriously. THANK YOU.

In unrelated news, I am working on what may be the most finely crafted mix CD the world has ever known. It's taken me a solid week to get it where I've got it, and I'm sure tonight I'll take half the songs out and stick new ones in. It's iTunes' little joke on me.

Hello Mrs. Robinson

Well, she did it. Puppy class graduate! Doesn't she look proud of herself?

I'm not sure what our final grade was.  Maybe a C-. We weren't the best in the class, but we certainly weren't the worst.  Which is good, considering  Minnie is almost 3 and everybody else isn't even 1 yet. It's ok. We had to start from scratch. We have issues.

Our teacher said we can start in an adult doggy obedience class now. I'm sort of intrigued by this "flyball" class, where they learn to do little retrieving stunts and doggy relays. We need to work on "come" first, though. A lot lot lot. But something like that would be good for Minnie. I think she's one of those dogs that needs something to focus on in order to behave. I know we need to go ahead and sign up for the next class, but I'm not looking forward to it because unlike in puppy class, they don't have play time in the beginning, and we NEED play time or we can't do our lesson. As you can see.

That woman's legs were in almost every picture I took. Her doggy is the brown one (Allie), and she was constantly fretting that she was going to hurt Minnie. I kept telling her Minnie can more than handle the roughhousing, but I guess she didn't want me to sue her if Allie chewed her ears off or something. That wouldn't happen, though. Minnie and Allie are BFFs now. Seriously.

I'll tell you what. Every Thursday I would leave work growling that I didn't feel like dealing with puppy class (handling Minnie around other dogs and people can be very exhausting), but I'm actually going to miss it. It is the most hilarious thing I've done in a while. Puppy class. I'm very proud of my little graduate.  And myself for making us go to class each week.

Yip!

Boring, boring, boring

Something's been bothering me lately, people. And today I was pushed over the edge, justifying a blog entry. You know.

Yes, something's been bothering me all right. Something called Boring People. This town's lousy with them. Perfectly attractive, nice, social people with no interests and nothing whatever to say about anything, ever. Is it just me, trying too hard to be interesting, or is vanilla now everybody's  favorite color? No wonder the rest of the world hates us. We're not arrogant. We're not gluttons. We're just boring.

Today at lunch one of the coworkergirls was bemoaning her lack of Knowing People Outside the Office. She moved here a year ago, roughly six months before I did, and I guess she's getting sick of hanging out with our coworkers (shocker). She wanted us to give her some ideas for how to meet people. So we asked her a series of questions, the transcript of which appears below:

"Do you go/want to go to church?"

"No."

"Do you play/want to play a sport?"

"No."

"Are you interested in taking art classes?"

"No."

"Joining a book club?"

"Ugh, no."

"Learning to dance? Swing, ballroom, even hip hop?"

"Those all sound horrible."

"Volunteering?"

"Anh."

"Okay, how about hiking or kayaking?"

"God, no."

Other things were suggested, like leading a Girl Scout troop or auditioning for a play, but each was rejected with a more extreme eye roll than the last. I started to wonder. What does this person DO in her spare time, and why does she expect any reasonable human to do it with her? We kind of gave up after about 15 minutes and started suggesting places where she could meet men. The wine bar, the Fresh Market, the gym...which she dismissed en masse, saying, "Lord, I wouldn't be caught dead in any of those places." When told that pretty boys often frequent places like that, she answered that she didn't like pretty boys. She likes "sporty boys, and a little fluffy."

"What?"

"Fluffy. You know."

"Metrosexual?"

"Ugh, hell no."

I never figured out what she meant by that. We were all confused, and a little disturbed by her complete lack of interest in anything whatsoever and her judgmental dismissal of everything that might jump start her social life. As we were paying our bills, one of the guys who works here offered to set her up with one of his guy friends (God help him) this Saturday night. She answered that she was going to  throw a girls' night for some of the other coworkergirls that night. So far I have not been invited, and I figure if I sit at my desk very quietly tomorrow it will stay that way.

Can you say score?

I don't have a problem. I can stop any time I want. Any time! And I'll have you know that I made two separate trips to the antique mall to look at this desk, so that, friend, makes me a savvy shopper.

I like antique malls (and thrift stores) better than regular Old Furniture Places because things tend to be cheaper, often discounted pretty nice because the vendor needs more room in their booth. And things often haven't been refinished, so the history of the piece hasn't been sanded and varnished into oblivion. Oh yeah, and the staff tend not to be snooty Junior League wanna-bes on crack. They cool. They're fine with you being in their store in your workout clothes. Hell do they care?

Though this is technically a desk, it will actually function as my little girlie vanity table thingy. You know. Now all I gotta do is let go of my Rubbermaid "dresser" that I keep in the closet and I can start making fun of college students full time.

Don't fuck

This made me laugh out loud, and as I'm too brain cell-deprived to come up with my own material this week, I'm lazily recycling someone else's creativity. Except that this is an eerie echo of my own You're A Woman Now talk. And my mother does actually say brassiere. You think I'm kidding?

Ah, sex talks.

marriedtothesea.com

Feeling up Emily Dickinson (and the death of Ben Jonson)

This weekend I got together with some of the Converse girls, and much silliness happened. I think we are starting to realize though that we are not 22 anymore and can't stay up drinking till 3am and expect to go on with life as usual. Ugh. We're old. But it was nice to spend time with them and take a stroll around the Converse campus...We always have to do that when we're in town together. When I'm off living my life, I forget how much fun it was to live there and what a generally happy time my college years were. The older I get, the more I realize how lucky I was to go to a small women's college where your professors care about you and have you over to their houses to get drunk and read Othello aloud.

Stephanie, not at all drunk but looking like it. She actually needs no alcohol to be silly and inappropriate.

Kim, not liking the turn that the UNO drinking game has taken. You will notice she has no drink in front of her, so this may be the problem.

The whole "which base is which" question finally gets settled:

 

On Sunday, freshman year roomie Emily's husband Robert drove our hung-over asses over to Converse so I could take pictures of the new "girl power statues" on campus. Yes, this is Emily with her hand on Emily Dickinson's breast. It seemed appropriate.  This is an extremely cool statue, actually. I love her face.

Things took a decidedly creepy turn when we walked down to the art building to look at the Mary Cassatt statue. She has no eyeballs. Now that I think about it, she kind of looks the way I pictured "Bloody Mary" from the urban legend, the one that scared me shitless as a child.

(OMG! You said her name in the mirror! She's gonna rip your soul from your mutilated body!!)

Emily "slides down" a metal sculpture very coolly titled "Magneto."

Converse has been doing this thing for a while where you pay a bunch of money and they put your name on a brick on the walkway outside one of the new buildings. Then you get all excited and go there and find your brick and get all pissed because it's next to the brick of a prissy girl you hated  or something. Sometimes people pay to have random things put on bricks, like this one:

And possibly the best brick anybody ever paid money for anywhere ever...

 

Of course there are several male professors I would gladly shell out to buy a brick for, but damn.

PS: Today is the anniversary of the death of Ben Jonson, who according to my dorky little calendar is buried in a vertical grave in Westminster Abbey. 

Today's Google traffic report

Innernet, you are killing me. You are finding my site in the most randomest ways imaginable, and I love you.