The week in review

Saturday: I sprain my ankle playing squash. It hurts, but the colors are pretty. I try to keep it in perspective by remembering that it's not liver cancer (which a friend of mine has, so i should just shut the hell up.) I am grumpy.

Sunday: I wash my face with hair conditioner. The good news is that my face is tangle free, but my hair is not. Frequent applications of ice to my ankle help reduce the swelling.

Monday: I complete my first load of laundry at the new place. Already, a sock is missing, i kid you not.

Tuesday: The Roomb@ shows up! All of us, including the cat, watch in fascination as it navigates around the house and vacuums up cat and meno hair.

Wednesday: The Mister takes the day off to relax and then spends the entire time watching worker bee dudes fuck around with the lighting and security system. The Mister is grumpy.

Thursday: Thanksgiving with the family. My brother and i fuck up the gravy, but my sister, dragged in for a consultation, manages to rescue it with the liberal addition of sherry. The Mister drinks too much and Em is sick and grumpy. She has to go to work at midnight so we leave early.

Friday: The Mister falls down the stairs whilst carrying a nightstand. We spend 3 hours in the emergency room mostly waiting. He gets his chin glued shut and three stitches in his lip. His face looks like he came in third in an axe battle. He is grumpy.

Stuff it

Boxes and hand carts and newsprint and STUFF, SO MUCH STUFF!

We are moved into our new place, without really being moved out of our old place. In the midst of so much chaos, i find that the one thing i must do every single morning, before the sheets are even cold, (Get your ass out of bed NOW, Mister!) is make the bed. It seems i need to have at least one thing in my life in order.

In our new place, we have a storage locker (Now full of The Mister's STUFF, but really, who notices things like the fact that 90% of the STUFF is his STUFF?) There are also a couple of restaurants in the building, one of which has the storage locker next to ours. It's where they keep the booze.

When we were moving some of our STUFF into the locker last week, someone made a trip to the restaurant's locker and dropped a bottle of beer whilst inside. The whole room full of lockers smelled like a frat house for three days.

Today when i went to our locker to drop off some MORE STUFF, i noticed that the restaurant's storage locker has been left unlocked.

OH THE MORAL DILEMMA!

I peeked in. Bottles and bottles of wine and Patron and Bombay Sapphire and Grey Goose and and......

Oh, how it hurt to go out through the restaurant and tell them.

Rub me the right way

I joined a massage place, kinda like joining a gym, only with massages instead. There is a pretty cheap monthly rate, for which i get one massage a month, and any other massages after that are 39 bucks! THIRTY NINE BUCKS! For an hour massage!

Score!

I have come to realize one thing about massages though, it's hard to relax while keeping your butt clenched.

She's pressing down, HARD, on my back, and it's pretty soon after lunch. Guess i shouldn't have had a burrito. But on the plus side, i did shave my legs this week.

I guess getting face farted must be an occupational hazard of being a masseuse. Not every one can have the butt clenching abilities i possess.

Oh, and that MUSIC they play. One lute accompanied by a stoned harpist. Today i asked the masseuse if she blasts Metallica in her car on the way home after a whole day of this crap. I know i would. She didn't answer yes or no, but she laughed.

It feels so good that each time after they finish with me, i ask the masseuse for her hand in marriage.

So far no luck with that.

Inappropriate

Okay, i am busy moving, but i have the best mother story ever. EVER!

A tiny bit of background:

Seattle built a new trolley in the past few years. It's called the South Lake Union Transit. Amazingly, no one thought about the acronym that would result from this.

Here's the mom part.

I went to breakfast with my sister a few days ago, she told me this story, for which she WINS for all time.

She went to visit my parents for the 16th birthday of her youngest daughter.

The present from my parents was some money, and a t-shirt that said "Ride The Slut."

Oh My God! This for a sixteen year old girl!!

My jaw dropped on my chest and bounced a few times.

The fun thing is that Em's birthday is coming up soon, and my mother often gives the same present to each grandchild. So, thanks to my sister, i am prepared to deliver a total smackdown.

THIS IS WHAT YOU WANT MY NINETEEN YEAR OLD DAUGHTER TO WEAR ACROSS HER CHEST??????????

i don't think so.

In case that's too small to read, it says, "What men see in women or women in men to admire is generally a puzzle to those who know the men and women in question intimately."

It's a quote and picture from a book that is over a hundred years old. It belonged to my grandmother and was published in 1901. the title of the book is Crankisms and the author is Lisle de Vaux Matthewman, with illustrations by Clare Victor Dwiggins.

At some weddings a part of the ceremony is to ask the audience if they will support the newly minted couple. I always enthusiastically answer this question in the affirmative, and i really mean it.

So, some of us don't understand what you see in the man you have chosen. He's not a bad man, i just don't think he's anywhere near wonderful or funny or engaging enough for you.

But you chose him. And i support you in that choice.

I do.

Gentlemen, start your grills

In the past few months i have observed some interesting behavior in regard to meat grilling.

Scene 1: At someone else's house, i watched a male guest critique, and then ultimately take over the grilling of the fish. The host, a secure and calm man, let Mr. Rude Guest take over without a fuss and went off to toss the salad.

(As an aside, the fish was slightly over done.)

Scene 2: Steak this time, also at someone else's house. Three male guests began to argue rather vehemently about the correct steak grilling technique. To sear or not to sear? How long on each side per inch of thickness? Is the grilling fork with the temperature gauge a worthwhile tool or a crutch for the incompetent? Apparently. THESE THINGS ARE VITALLY IMPORTANT!

(My steak was also overdone, but to be fair, i like it RARE.)

Scene 3: Our house this time, and back to fish. The Mister and Mr. Polite Guest were outside. When The Mister declared the fish done, Mr Polite Guest expressed concern that the fish was NOT done. The Mister's explained his theory that the fish continues cooking after being removed from the grill.

(The fish was yummy.)

I'm trying to think if any guest, other than my mother, has ever criticized me while i was cooking. To my face i mean. (When my mother did it, i told her "Great idea. Here, you do it." That shut her up!) I couldn't remember any.

My theory is, if someone else cooks, my job is to offer to help, shut up, and eat it.

Clueless

The Mister and i went to an obligatory brunch with my parents yesterday.

Those of you who have been following the adventures of meno know that my mother likes to talk, and is constitutionally unable to listen.

So all that was needed from me was the occasional "uh huh," "really?" " is that right?" and "you don't say," to keep the monologue conversation going.

As she likes to do, she began to complain about one of my brothers and his wife, who had visited them a few days before. "I never learn anything from them about their lives when they are here," she whined.

"Did you ask them any questions?" i asked.

"Oh you," she answers, "don't be that way." Which is her standard reply when i say something she isn't expecting or doesn't like.

I am not wondering why she didn't learn anything from them.