This One's For the Children

I have that fabulous NKOTB Christmas tune This One's For the Children in my head. Drat. I have no idea where it came from. I had no idea there were still even neurons for this song in my head. No good, folks.

***

I watched Harry Potter 3 last night. All I have to say is "Wtf?" Seriously. We had no clue. D kept being like "Do you understand this?" "Not at all." "Why are they executing that thing?" "Is Gary Oldman bad?" "Why do those things keep going after Harry? This makes no sense!" "Wait - the rat betrayed Harry's parents?" "WHAT IS GOING ON!?!"

***

It's Newest Guy's last day today and The Boss didn't plan a going-away lunch. I've been telling people about the lunch that I am sort of planning by word of mouth rather than via a formal group email. We are going to eat at 1:30, because that's when I can eat. Everyone keeps saying "Why do we have to go so late?" "Because I am in charge. And you have to eat when I can eat." People aren't coming because that's too late. Fine, that's cool. But then "But I brought my lunch!" I don't know what to say. And also people from other departments crashing the lunch who don't even have a relationship with Newest Guy just so they can feel included / popular. I could throw a fit.

***

The Parents are coming this weekend. Father is on crutches. This is going to be hilarious. We have many things planned. Hopefully they brought cash for cabs.

Yes. Keep telling myself that it's funny.

***

Ummm. There's more but I am frantic and trying to finish things before the extremely late 1:30 lunch that's so very inconvenient for everyone.

The Liberty Bell

I went to Philadelphia this past weekend with D to look at D's cousin's new baby. I hadn't met D's cousin, nor am I particularly interested in babies, so I had low expectations for the weekend.

Luckily, D's cousins - I met three that I hadn't met before - are all wonderful. They also have wonderful signficant others. I looked at the baby for about three seconds and spent the remainder of the time being jealous of D's cousin's new house. This, of course, precipitated fantasies involving my former employer's going public after last week's good news, and then perusal of Craigslist for awesome lofts in Brooklyn that I will never be able to own.

On our way to the house in the morning, there was discussion of what to do about lunch. D's cousin decided that we should order pizza, and asked me what sort of pizza I liked. "Whatever," I said, "As long as there is no meat." "So you like pizza with vegetables on it?" "Yep," I said. Of course they ordered me a pizza with mushrooms on it. D said "OH NO!" because he knows about my anti-mushroom sentiments. Luckily D's cousin's husband, who is brilliant and an avid conspiracy-theorist, picked the mushrooms off for me! What a good host, and how nice of them not to say "Your vegetarian girlfriend is so high maintenance!"

We spent the afternoon touring the house and chatting about various conspiracies involving September 11th. Well, I spent the afternoon talking conspiracy while everyone else changed the baby and discussed the baby's habits and observed the baby sleeping. At one point a bunch of us were hanging out in the bathroom upstairs, and it occurred to me that more people can fit in their bathroom than can fit in my entire apartment. Seriously. There were eight of us in there plus the baby, and it felt spacious.

After looking at the baby had concluded, we headed into Philadelphia where D caved in and consented to our getting our very own hotel room! instead of staying in a room with all of the cousins, which would have involved two grown people, who have jobs and plenty of money to rent their own hotel room, sleeping on the floor.

I love hotels. I love the feeling of vacation. I love staying in a place where I am taken care of. I love space. I love the giant bed. And, most importantly these days, I love the TV!!! While D and his cousins drank cocktails in the other hotel room, I said "Umm... I think I am going to stay behind and... umm... do my hair before we go out," but in reality I watched Made on MTV! I haven't seen that show in over a year! I couldn't decide what to watch. It was sensory overload. News? Videos? Reality shows? Documentaries? The options are endless!!!

When I'd felt sufficiently guilty about watching MTV and after I'd actually tended to my hair, we walked around the city and ended up at Jones for dinner. I got an orange creamsicle martini, potato pancakes, and an awesome avocado sandwich. We then walked around the city a bit more.

We walked by The Liberty Bell. "It's smaller than I thought it would be," I said. Someone said "Has it always been cracked or is that a recent thing?" Nobody knew. It then occurred to me that I didn't know anything about The Liberty Bell other than the fact that it is in Philadelphia. I didn't know if it was commissioned to specifically represent liberty, I didn't know where it came from, when it came from, nothing. I thought for a while, and finally decided that I'd just ask. Embarassing, yes, but I had to know. I said "Does anyone know, like, what the deal is with the liberty bell?" Rather than saying "D, your ignorant girlfriend is so annoying!" they all said "Umm...."

Nobody knew.

Awesome.

(I do have an excuse, though. I have been cursed with the worst American History teachers imagineable. I have basal knowledge from 4th grade, but beyond that I've never been taught a thing about US History. I never even learned the US capitols. My 8th grade teacher, Mr. F, mumbled. Nobody could understand him. On top of being a mumbler, he was a whisperer, to the point where he'd ask a question and nobody would even know that he'd asked a question and then he'd be cross with us and we wouldn't know why. I think this frustrated him, so rather than teach, Mr. F opted to have us read from the textbook in groups. He'd then pass out questions on paper, and we'd answer them. Basically, in 8th grade, co-ed groups of kids reading textbooks is not going to encourage learning as much as early disasters in flirting. My 11th grade US History teacher, Mr. M, was equally terrible. I think he taught, in the traditional sense, 2% of the time. With the rest of the time, he'd talk about the Italian influence on US History and how Italians have been oppressed in the US and when he wasn't doing that, he'd look at girls' legs or breasts and say things like "I like tall women" and when he wasn't doing that, he'd have us watch a movie. I learned things in that class - about the world, about men, about current events, but nothing about US History. I bought "Don't Know Much About History" and started reading it a few year's back, but it was daunting since I literally know nothing about history.)

We didn't go out for drinks because people were tired, which meant more TV for me! I watched Trading Spaces, which I'd never seen before. Bliss.

I spent Sunday afternoon with NR. We ate and shopped and then went to the art museum, which was awesome. I've been to Philly many times but had never been to the art museum.

I headed back on a delayed Amtrak train, tried to watch a movie but was distracted, so ended up doing a couple projects before D showed up. We tried to put together Legos, but about five frustrating minutes and ten missing pieces later, I said "Wait. I don't think that these directions are the right directions for this TIE Fighter." We have no idea where the real directions are, but will try to improvise when we next have time, which will be never.

It was a good weekend.

And it's almost the weekend again.

Awshummmmm.

St. Someone-or-Other (aka The Parents Must Strike Back)

The Parents have been talking about moving for approximately ten years. We assumed they would never actually move because their standards are so high. They are looking for the perfect home. Basically, they will only move into the exact house they have right now but with smaller dimensions and zero stairs.

They actually found the perfect home a few months back. They put a low bid on it, and the people didn’t bite. This prompted my parents to, gasp, put their house on the market!

Allegedly there is a sign on the lawn and everything.

In order to put their house on the market, The Parents had a lot of preparation to do. They had to paint the walls and make a million trips to “the dump” and hide knick-knacks and tend to the lawn. Much to the dismay of The Evil Neighbors who love privacy, Father took down the eye sore that was The Fence from the back yard. He also, in a rare display of cuteness, painted Mother’s statue of St. Someone-or-Other that resided in the backyard.

The statue, which has been in the backyard for who knows how long (I had never noticed it), had apparently become quite grimy through the years. It is, apparently, a real statue - heavy, with a pedestal.

Father said “I have a surprise for you!” and showed Mother the beautiful white statue. She was excited, because she is quite fond of her statue since St. Someone-or-Other is her very favorite saint.

Fast forward two weeks. Father, in a further effort to beautify the lawn, found himself ready to do some work involving grass near the statue.

But there was no statue!

Father said “Mother, did you move the statue?”

“No. Why?”

“No, really, did you?”

“No, why? Isn’t she there?”

“No, she’s not.”

This precipitated the usual paranoia. Mother said “I know who did this! It was The Evil Neighbors!” We’ve grown accustomed to hearing about The Evil Neighbors. The Parents are nice people who keep to themselves. They are good neighbors. They make no noise, they maintain a tight ship, they are pleasant to interact with. The Evil Neighbors have been cross with The Parents ever since The Parents put a porch off the side of their kitchen fifteen years ago which, apparently, got too close to The Evil Neighbors’ yard.

Hence, The Fence.

“This is because we took down the fence!” she said.

The Parents thought about things and concluded that it wasn’t kids. Why would kids steal a statue? If kids were responsible, they would have vandalized it or just knocked it over. In addition, how would kids have even known about the statue? It was in the backyard and, until recently, hidden behind a fence. And what would kids want with a statue, anyway? If their goal was vandalism, why steal an obscure statue of St. Someone-or-Other when there are clearly bigger targets? And why such a heavy target? It couldn’t be the work of a small person. It would have probably required premeditation of some sort, and a mechanism of transport from the property.

Throughout the years, Father has said things like “I don’t know how he lives with her” about Mr. Evil Neighbor, who isn’t really that evil. “I say hi to her and she just ignores me! She glares at me!” he’d say.

The most recent drama with The Evil Neighbors was when Mr. Evil Neighbor walked over and said “Are you taking down The Fence?” “Yes,” replied Father. “Well, you’re putting up another one, right?” “No,” said Father. Mr. Evil Neighbor walked away without saying a word. This prompted Mrs. Evil Neighbor to start building a stone wall to protect her yard from The Parents’ yard.

“But Mother, what sort of grown person would steal a statue? That’s just too deranged!”

“I know it was her! She’s evil! She’s capable of this! She would!!!!”

Mother said “Look, I just know she took it. I just have this feeling. And I know what she would have done with it, too. She’s out there building a stone wall. She’s out there piling leaves and dirt and whatever other gardening stuff she has into her wheelbarrow. She usually goes and dumps it all in that field across from the Smith’s house – you remember that, right? – I bet she waited until she saw me leave the house, stole the statue because now its white and she can see it and can’t stand it, put it into her evil wheelbarrow, dumped it in that field and buried it.”

Right. Suburban paranoia.

Mother voiced this prediction to Father, who, also believing that The Evil Neighbors are evil enough to do something like this, said “Why don’t I just go take a look in the field, then? I’ll just look around a little.”

“No, no,” Mother said, making a million excuses about why that was not a good idea. She was tired, there were other things to do at home, etc.

“But we’re in the car,” he said, because they were in the car, “and we’re about to drive by it! I’m just going to look.”

“No, no,” she said, but Father, being the focused and unbending person that he is, pulled over anyway and just left her in the car.

Mother, most likely mortified, waited for about two minutes and then saw, about 300 feet away, Father’s arms raise in the air and noticed that, above his head, was a white object.

And the white object was, of course, the statue of St. Someone-or-Other, buried, as predicted.

The two of them picked up the statue and put it in the car. The first thing they did was put the statue of St. Someone-or-Other on a table on the porch, opened the blinds, and faced it towards The Evil Neighbors’ house so that The Evil Neighbors would know that The Parents know.

I was so proud of The Parents for doing that, until they told me that they ended up taking it off the table about five minutes later because they felt guilty. And because they were also afraid of what The Evil Neighbors could be capable of beyond this. The put St. Someone-or-Other in the garage and waited.

Now.

My question to you is: What should The Parents do?

Father said “I want to get a giant crucifix – life size – and put it in our lawn, staring right into hers. I just want to mess with that bitch.” Hah.

Mother said “I’m just afraid of doing anything because we’re not sure that it’s definitely them and because what if they did do it and they do something else?”

I said “Well, you have to call the police.” She had a million excuses for why this was a bad idea, but I was like “Dudes, seriously, on the off chance that they do indeed do something else, you have to get this on record. You don’t have to tell them you dug up the statue. You just have to say that someone stole something off your lawn.”

I am distressed, because I don’t think The Evil Neighbors should just get away with this. The Parents have to do something. The Evil Neighbors, evilness aside, broke laws. Trespassing, vandalism, theft.

It crossed my mind, as I thought about this as though it were a bad evening soap opera, that maybe Mother buried the St. Someone-or-Other herself, but what would be the motive? And, even if she had motive, there’s no way Mother could have carried St. Someone-or-Other to the field.

A friend suggested that The Parents should buy a bunch of hideous statues and put them where St. Someone-or-Other used to be, and hopefully that will annoy The Evil Neighbors. They could install hidden cameras, hoping that The Evil Neighbors would also take the ugly statues.

I said “I want them to put a bunch of ugly statues on The Evil Neighbor’s lawn!”

“I want them to spell out ‘We know what you did!’ with garden gnomes!”

“I want them to somehow find a way to guarantee that a family with six kids under age ten moves into their house and that all of those ten kids’ toys end up on the lawn!”

They must be caught! Or at least toyed with.

Does anyone have any ideas?

Anyone, anyone?

I can’t get over this. It’s like something out of a bad movie about suburbia. I can’t believe grown people behave like this. Mrs. Evil Neighbor is deranged. Seriously deranged. And what makes them think that they can get away with this? They should not get away with this!

Crazy.

Flannel Sheets....

... are magic.

City of Apple

I was in Philadelphia this weekend (more later) and spent Sunday with NR, my dear friend from high school.

We did girl things like look at bags and gush about our near identical hairstyles.

We found ourselves in one clothing store, where I instantly became obsessed with this shirt:



I Love New York, the City of Apple.

Awesome.

Much love to NR for being stealth and asking if she could try on the shirt so we could snap a quick photo. Also much love to NR for confirming that the shirt was, indeed, made in the USA.

Fucking awesome.

Life of Crime

I am wearing the only thing I've ever stolen today. I just got a compliment, and had to answer the "Where did you get those?" question.

"Well, actually, I just took them from the bowling alley. I feel like bowling shoes should be more rent-to-own than just a lifetime of renting. Right. Yeah."

It made me happy that it made other people happy to hear my story about the crime.

It also makes me happy because I've had these for like 7 years and still I adore them.

Awesome.