Guys Don't Make Passes at Girls Who Wear Glasses

Monday, August 9, 2010

Things that happen in the 'burbs...

1. When you go for a run people say hi to you.

Which is always awkward, because you have to put on a forced smile. And it's forced not because you don't mean it, but because you are running and you don't want to acknowledge that people can actually see you. Because then you know that they can see your sweaty discolored face and the shorts that have rode up causing what my sister has lovingly coined "chub rub."

2. When you go grocery shopping people are wearing the same shirt as you.

In my case it was a green top I had just purchased at the Banana Republic Outlet in Hilton Head, South Carolina. The woman who was wearing it was a good 30 my elder. A very versatile shirt, I suppose. I tried avoiding her, but the shirt was bright green and Trader Joe's aisles are so gloriously wide open...So every time I saw her I would quietly chant "twinsie, twinsie, twinsie."

3. You fix things around the house.

My mom asked me to help fix our garbage disposal. Me! I am Ms. Fix-It. First I took off my beautiful, bright, One-Of-A-Kind shirt, replaced it with a Tom Clancy black t-shirt that could fit a small gorilla (very hip) and then placed a dish rag down for my head to rest on under the sink. My mom said "look for a red or black button on the garbage disposal." I found a red one. Then my mom said "Push it." So I did. I asked her how long I should push it. She said "Let go." I did. And thus the garbage disposal was fixed.

4. You bring in the mail. And the garbage cans. And recycling bins.

There is always mail. Every day. There is usually a can or bin to bring in. If there isn't one to bring in, there is one to bring out.

5. People drive you places, drop you off, and then pick you up...ALL THE TIME.

Today Becky's mom dropped her off at my place. Then my mom dropped us off at the Grosvner Metro station. Then we took the Metro into DC, to Dupont. Then we took the Metro to New Carrolton train station. Where my mom met us with her car to deliver Becky's baggage, and then Becky took the Amtrak train and I got in my mom's car and went home with her. TO AND FRO. TO AND FRO.

6. You deal with with wild animals.

YES! WILD ANIMALS!

This morning as my friend, Becky, was being dropped off at my house by her mother, I noticed a new statue in my front yard amidst the shrubbery and flowers. "Mom!" I called, "When did you get a snake statue?" It was a snake who was biting onto a rock, a snake that looked long and it was spotted with gold and black and was thick like the kind you see at the zoo. I walked in. Becky stayed outside. We were getting ready to be dropped off at the metro.

"The snake statue moved. It just moved!" Becky shrieked. She came in.

I went out, she followed me.

"GAHHHHHHHHHHHH." We screamed in unison. "Oh, my god. That snake is eating a mouse." I yelled, jumping up and down and waving my hands like someone who has lost complete control of their limbs, or like they have something icky on them.

"It is eating something, RIGHT NOW!" Becky ran into the house. I ran into the house. "THE SNAKE IS EATING SOMETHING RIGHT NOW OUT THERE." My mom, more annoyed than nervous goes out. And comes running back in, jumping up and down "Oh, OH, Oh, Snake!"

That's what I had said. Snake. No one ever believes me.

We try to call for help. And by call for help. I mean run inside and use the telephone. Calling for help is useless in the suburbs. It is like hailing a cab by whistling in New York. (Don't do it, it looks stupid and doesn't work.)

The humane society tells us to call the animal shelter who tells us to call the cops. The cops tell us to call the exterminator.

My mom told me to watch my step.

SUBURBS ARE INTENSE

Thursday, August 5, 2010

KNEES

Are there classes for shaving your knees?

This morning I took special care to do a good job at shaving my knees. I am going to South Carolina, and I won't be able to bring a razor, because of the whole no blade on planes thing. So I thought I would be prepared and do a REALLY GOOD JOB.

This shouldn't be a problem. I have been shaving for a little less than 15 years. I could consider myself a professional shaver. But in my life, IN MY WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE, I have never done a perfect knee shaving job.

Knee shaving is incredibly challenging.

1. It is the curviest part of the leg, so there is the highest potential for nicks.

2. Hair grows in different directions, and on my knee I feel like there are at least seven directions in which my hair grows.

3. Some of the hair on my knee is blond, so while this may make me a lucky lady, I am still irritated by not being able to spot them in the shower. Because then see them, taunting me, glistening in the sun later in the day.

4. I shower without contacts or glasses so my work is more feel based than visual. (When I am really dedicated to the task at hand, I will raise my leg up to my eye to double check my work. This is usually not particularly helpful, and is incredibly dangerous, but I have caught a few strays here or there from this technique).

5. The knee is composed of the front, the back, and the sides. The back should be mostly hairless. But the sides and the front are like labyrinths. Every move creates another obstacle to get rid of.

6. Not being able to shave my knee properly makes me feel like an eleven year old.

Why knees, why is something so visible so hard to maintain?

Perhaps it is just my knee, perhaps I have unusually challenging knee hairs, or knee skin?

Am I the only one?

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

A League of Their Own

I will always cry at this movie. From the second that the movie starts I am crying. It's a sports movie about sisters. I don't stand a chance.

Today I tuned in in the middle of the movie, and found a new fantastic moment to tear up at.

My moments are and not limited to:

- The beginning of the movie, the opening song.

- When Marla gets allowed to try out and when she meets Nelson . (Marla the ugly one)

- When the girl who can't read tries to see if she's made it.

- When the woman finds out her husband died in the war.

- When Kit gets traded to the Racine Belles.

- Every time they sing the song "We're the members of The All American League, We come from cities near and far."

- When Kit slides home and Dottie drops the ball. (I am crying thinking about that moment.)

- I BAWL when they are older playing ball, and then go to the museum and the sisters see each other.

My new moment is during this montage when they are showing the women in the news, and there is this African American woman who is on the sidelines who throws a ball to Dottie, way farther than she thought this woman could throw, and they give each other a knowing glance.

This movie is amazing on all fronts. If I could meet Penny Marshall I would give her a hug and then cry in her arms like I cried in my Grandmother's lap when I saw this movie in the theaters. She would be just as confused as my Grandmother was. But it would be worth it.

Monday, August 2, 2010

Housewifery.

Today I did all the things that housewives do as I now live

in suburbia.

I worked out a little on the Eliptical machine. Which is a low impact work-out machine, which doesn't hurt my knees, and wouldn't be too intense if I was pregnant (and I am so far from being pregnant, but just wanted to further explain why the Eliptical is essential for every family home).
I did laundry. Whites and colors. And towels.
I made an egg-white omelet. With tomato's and avocados. And had some challah. Because I am Jewish.
Then I brought in the garbage cans from outside. Which would generally be a man's job, but as I am the only one home right now (as in both my parents are on vacation in Nova Scotia, yes my life just got a little sadder) I took on the responsibility.
I listened to NPR as I perused the Internet for interesting things to do today, and to get caught up on the weekend's gossip.
I folded laundry while watching an afternoon movie. Today I watched "10 Things I Hate About You," and mourned the death of Heath Ledger and celebrated the comeback of Joseph Gordon Levitt.
I ran the dishwasher. (Using the verb "ran" is very important when referring to your dishwasher, instead of "turning on". It is imperative that you take on the vocabulary once you are taking on the position of a housewife.)
I went for a sentimental car ride to look at my old house. (This can only be done if you are currently living in the same area as your first home that you grew up in. It can be very cathartic. I enjoy turning up cheesy 90's music, singing to it very loudly, while uncontrollably weeping. Of course that is all optional.)
I sat comatose in front of the television.
Talked to my old college roommate on the phone. (We actually just stopped being roommates less than a week ago, but it is more effective if I say "my old college" then just saying my roommate.)
Then I decided to bake a cake. The cake I decided to make was dictated by the fruit that was about to die on the counter. I made an "Upside Down Plum and Blackberry Cake." (http://chefinyou.com/2010/07/plum-berry-cake-recipe/) Here is what I had to substitute because I didn't have all the ingredients. The recipe also outlined things I could substitute. I went overboard.

A. Blueberries for Blackberries. (Not a huge deal)

B. Yogurt and water for Buttermilk. (I used

Greek Yogurt, it's all I had. I think it was a mistake.)

C. Matzo Meal for Cornmeal. (This is where I feel like my biggest mistake was made. I had no cornmeal, which I realized moments before I had to use it. I could not give up. I could not back down. I could not go to the grocery store. I figured it's meant to be similar to corn meal during Passover why not now.)

I put it in tupperware in the back of the fridge.

I am now officially a housewife.

Friday, July 30, 2010

I'm Living At Home

I wouldn't call me a "hoarder".

"Hoarder" is a term that

refers to people who have such a debilitating disease that they cannot throw anything away, and end up living in their own filth. I don't even like baths. I love throwing things away. What I would call myself is a "sentimentalist." Things that have meaning and tell a story cannot be discarded. They hold a moment, an experience, an event and without the object maybe that special time will be lost.

Last night I started to cleanse. I started to cleanse the life I will lead as I live in the bedroom that I grew up in. And truly grew up in. Because we moved there in the 4th grade. The moments before 4th grade you are an androgynous character. Full of emotions and opinions but mostly shaped by those around you. So truly this house was where I started to mold myself, who I wanted to be. And what I wanted to be involved a lot of half started journals, incredibly ugly jewelry, and pictures, receipts, and programs from every place I went.

Throwing out some things were

easy. But I can't throw away letters. Any letters that people wrote to me, and I don't mean

greeting cards that just say "Happy Birthday, Love Mom and Dad." I'm talking about letters to camp, to school, apology letters (which I have IN ABUNDANCE).

Can I still be an adult if I treasure this

mementos?

No. I can't be.

And so I have chosen to never pass into adulthood. Consider it illegal to have relations with me. I will always be a child. And I will spend hours, countless hours, touching and reading these meaningless pieces of paper.

And I will not feel bad about it.