Umm, how did it get to be February 19th? That went fast. I suppose now that I'm twenty-five I should constantly comment on how time is flying away with my youth. Generally, I have no idea how old I am. When people ask, I still reply "21," but I can rent cars now without extra fees and my car insurance supposedly went down. What-evv.
Yeah, so I'm pretty much fumbling through school right now. Teaching is going just fine, but I awoke Sunday morning to find that my computer had died for the second time in about 2 years. Oh, you can congratulate me if you'd like 'cause it seems like quite the accomplishment. And I was just trying to make it through my latest thesis revision before I ordered a shiny new Mac. (I cannot really complain about buying shiny newness though. Except for the fact that my credit card company did not initially authorize the purchase and I had to straighten that out too.) The thesis is safe, but most of my other documents are not including a report that I need for this Wednesday. We'll see how that works out.
My weekend was long and short at the same time. Saturday, I went into the city to Mishka's birthday party. I expected it to be a lot of fun and was looking forward to seeing a bunch of bands and stuff then Sarah said she was coming to meet me which made things even better. But she took "at least two wrong trains, maybe three" (her words) and didn't make it to the show until almost midnight and only caught about 20 minutes of the last band. So I was alone and worried the whole night. Kinda sucked. And I was not publically groped by the birthday boy.
Sunday, my feet were so sore from walking in the cold that I spent most of the day on the couch. Now it's back to school for the week. Waaahwaah. Can you tell I'm looking forward to going home for a while next month?
Monday, February 19, 2007
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Lot Lizard
It may seem strange to name the story of my birthday dinner after a slang term for truck stop whores, but you'll get it, I promise. And it's funny.
My friends and family were absolutely fantastic about my birthday this year. My whole family called and my dad, my sister and Bud all called to sing my happy birthday. Lauren even composed a rap chorus that went "It's my sister's birthday. Happy Birthday...It's my sister's birthday. Happy Birthday!" and so on. So many friends emailed and messaged and I even got a call from my high school luv Ben S. (who's just the same in all the right ways). My friend W gave me the most beautiful multi-strand pearl necklace that was featured prominently in my Friday night ensemble. Brandon and Buist cooked waffles and Eggs Benedict for me on my birthday-proper, and we scheduled a dinner and nightclub extravaganza for Friday night.
Brandon, Buist, Brandon's brother Walter (Happy Birthday to You too!), Dennis, Laura, Sean, Sarah and I met up in Manhattan at the Cuba Cafe for dinner. We were all a little late getting there because of the rain, but the staff at the restaurant was gracious and didn't make a fuss. Also, hello to the Gomez's I met at the bar while I was waiting. You bought me a delicious mojito and I appreciate it. We had a great dinner and a yummy dominio cake for birthday dessert. Afterward, McSean joined us and we made our way downtown to The Duplex and two-story club with a piano bar, pub quiz bar, and live cabaret (think karaoke but mostly showtunes with a live piano player). We grabbed seats down front and quickly made ourselves known as the funny, loud, Southern crowd. The Yankees with us were guilty by association. Buist wanted the two of us to sing Dolly Parton's "Joleen" but I didn't really know all the words and thankfully, they never got to our names on the list. However, Buist somehow shouted out that we had some good stories to tell, so the MC asked what kind of stories. When we said we had one about shooting a hooker, he quickly announced that I would be onstage after the next song to tell us a story about hookers.
Oh, the stage. Fits like a glove. Or like comfy pajamas. Or whatever desireable metaphor/simile/analogy you'd like here. If I have a microphone, you might as well just get used to listening to me 'cause I'm gonna keep it until someone wrestles it away. I only wish I was talented enough to be onstage for a living. But you should probably be thankful that I'm not. Ok, back to the hooker.
For a while I was too embarassed to tell this story, but it's so bizarre and violent and country and funny that it had to come out sometime. To compound the strange circumstances of the story, it involves my Ex-Uncle Michael, former husband of my Aunt Shelia, who told this story to his high school-age children. See, he drives a truck for an egg company and travels mainly in the southeast. He's a good looking guy--tall, dark hair--and evidentally this was nearly his demise one evening at a truck stop. There he was. Minding his own business in his sleeper when a lot lizard started making her rounds. These ladies-of-the-night slither from truck to truck knocking on doors looking for prospective johns. I believe it's procedure to either open your door to the lot lizard or shout out a quick but standard refusal at which time the woman moves on. My ex-uncle did the latter but the woman had found what she was looking for and refused to leave. Eventually, she tried to break in the truck and was getting violent. She may have even had a knife--I don't really remember the details, I should ask my cousins--but Michael was disturbed enough to start up his truck and try to drive away. Still, the woman would not leave him alone, so he's driving away and she's still trying to break in while hanging on the side of the cab. Seeing that she would never stop, Michael reached for his pistol, hung it out the window, and shot her in the foot.
Problem solved. She dropped off the side of the truck and limped toward a payphone. Thankfully, Michael drove to safety. Seems that Alabama truck stop whores are a pretty good match for handguns. Let's just hope she's applying her persistence to less dangerous careers now.
As we left the club, we got thanked from the stage for teaching the crowd about lot lizards. Several people thanked me for the story and wished me happy birthday on the way out. I showed my appreciation with my Queen of England wave and was not even mad about the $115 parking ticket on my car. See what you missed. Southerners make everything fun. Even shootin's.
My friends and family were absolutely fantastic about my birthday this year. My whole family called and my dad, my sister and Bud all called to sing my happy birthday. Lauren even composed a rap chorus that went "It's my sister's birthday. Happy Birthday...It's my sister's birthday. Happy Birthday!" and so on. So many friends emailed and messaged and I even got a call from my high school luv Ben S. (who's just the same in all the right ways). My friend W gave me the most beautiful multi-strand pearl necklace that was featured prominently in my Friday night ensemble. Brandon and Buist cooked waffles and Eggs Benedict for me on my birthday-proper, and we scheduled a dinner and nightclub extravaganza for Friday night.
Brandon, Buist, Brandon's brother Walter (Happy Birthday to You too!), Dennis, Laura, Sean, Sarah and I met up in Manhattan at the Cuba Cafe for dinner. We were all a little late getting there because of the rain, but the staff at the restaurant was gracious and didn't make a fuss. Also, hello to the Gomez's I met at the bar while I was waiting. You bought me a delicious mojito and I appreciate it. We had a great dinner and a yummy dominio cake for birthday dessert. Afterward, McSean joined us and we made our way downtown to The Duplex and two-story club with a piano bar, pub quiz bar, and live cabaret (think karaoke but mostly showtunes with a live piano player). We grabbed seats down front and quickly made ourselves known as the funny, loud, Southern crowd. The Yankees with us were guilty by association. Buist wanted the two of us to sing Dolly Parton's "Joleen" but I didn't really know all the words and thankfully, they never got to our names on the list. However, Buist somehow shouted out that we had some good stories to tell, so the MC asked what kind of stories. When we said we had one about shooting a hooker, he quickly announced that I would be onstage after the next song to tell us a story about hookers.
Oh, the stage. Fits like a glove. Or like comfy pajamas. Or whatever desireable metaphor/simile/analogy you'd like here. If I have a microphone, you might as well just get used to listening to me 'cause I'm gonna keep it until someone wrestles it away. I only wish I was talented enough to be onstage for a living. But you should probably be thankful that I'm not. Ok, back to the hooker.
For a while I was too embarassed to tell this story, but it's so bizarre and violent and country and funny that it had to come out sometime. To compound the strange circumstances of the story, it involves my Ex-Uncle Michael, former husband of my Aunt Shelia, who told this story to his high school-age children. See, he drives a truck for an egg company and travels mainly in the southeast. He's a good looking guy--tall, dark hair--and evidentally this was nearly his demise one evening at a truck stop. There he was. Minding his own business in his sleeper when a lot lizard started making her rounds. These ladies-of-the-night slither from truck to truck knocking on doors looking for prospective johns. I believe it's procedure to either open your door to the lot lizard or shout out a quick but standard refusal at which time the woman moves on. My ex-uncle did the latter but the woman had found what she was looking for and refused to leave. Eventually, she tried to break in the truck and was getting violent. She may have even had a knife--I don't really remember the details, I should ask my cousins--but Michael was disturbed enough to start up his truck and try to drive away. Still, the woman would not leave him alone, so he's driving away and she's still trying to break in while hanging on the side of the cab. Seeing that she would never stop, Michael reached for his pistol, hung it out the window, and shot her in the foot.
Problem solved. She dropped off the side of the truck and limped toward a payphone. Thankfully, Michael drove to safety. Seems that Alabama truck stop whores are a pretty good match for handguns. Let's just hope she's applying her persistence to less dangerous careers now.
As we left the club, we got thanked from the stage for teaching the crowd about lot lizards. Several people thanked me for the story and wished me happy birthday on the way out. I showed my appreciation with my Queen of England wave and was not even mad about the $115 parking ticket on my car. See what you missed. Southerners make everything fun. Even shootin's.
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