Monthly Archives: October 2005

Sunday, Silly Sunday

So here’s how I spent my yesterday:

9:00 – 9:30 Attempt to get out of bed without disturbing my mother of a hangover.

9:30 – 9:40 Successfully dump all the contents of my nightstand drawer on the floor while looking for Advil.

9:40 – 9:45 Find sleeping pills. Consider declaring the day “a bust” and going back to bed.

9:45 – 10:00 Locate Advil. Attempt to swallow while lying down. Avoid choking.

10:00 – 12:00 Watch 2 episodes of “I Love The 80’s 3D” (1980-1981). Revel a little too much in the nostalgic musings of Michael Ian Black and Hal Sparks. Simultaneously laugh and groan on repeated occasions.

12:00 – 12:15 Kix. Steffy tested and Steffy approved.

12:15 – 12:20 Glance at clock. Feel pathetic for wasting day watching VH1. Remember Daylight Savings Time. Laugh heartily about the phrase “that’s one hour I’ll never get back”.

12:20 – 11:25 Reset clocks.

11:25 – 11:30 Pause to fondly recall the Daylight Savings Time episode of “The Adventures of Pete and Pete”, which made an extremely valid point: you can do anything you want during that extra hour, and it won’t matter because, technically, it will be ERASED FROM TIME FOREVER.

11:30 – 11:35 Change into jeans and hoodie. Appreciate “new hoodie feel” of green hoodie. Wonder what I would do for an hour if I could erase it (besides watching “I Love The 80’s”). Wish that the Jersey boys were here to discuss it with me.

11:35 – 11:45 Smoke while appreciating “The Adventures of Pete and Pete”, Greatness Of.

11:45 – 12:00 Play on MySpace. Inform Tony of mutual friend’s Bun in the Oven. Ponder Friend Request from this guy:

12:00 – 1:00 Watch “I Love The 80’s 3D – 1983”.

1:00 – 1:10 Play on elliptical trainer.

1:10 – 1:15 Elliptical trainer squeaks One Time Too Many. Rummage through closets for allen wrenches and WD-40.

1:15 – 2:00 Dismantle, desqueak, and reassemble elliptical trainer. Watch “I Love The 80’s 3D – 1984”.

2:00 – 2:30 Play on elliptical trainer. Listen to “Appetite for Destruction”.

2:30 – 2:55 Shower. Sing preferred selections from “Appetite for Destruction”.

2:55 – 3:00 Open experimental box of Egg Matzo crackers. Appreciate taste, texture, etc. Determine that Egg Matzo crackers are indeed superior to Thin Salted Matzo crackers.

3:00 – 3:30 Receive call from Tony. Describe last night’s party. Make Tony jealous for missing the reemergence of Drunk Adam. “OMG” with Tony about latest pregnant friend. Debate who won the “honeymoon baby” pool.

3:30 – 4:00 Blow aimlessly into harmonica.

4:00 – 4:15 Drive to Guitar Center for harmonica “sheet music”. Secretly enjoy new Black Eyed Peas song. Miss Salt ‘n Peppa.

4:15 – 4:40 Discuss with Guitar Center employees, at length, the lost art of the harmonica. Leave out the part about the Black Eyed Peas, for cred sake. Score phone number from “smooth” Guitar Center employee.

4:40 – 4:55 Drive home. Ponder age and legality of said Guitar Center employee.

4:55 – 5:00 Dig on Deep Purple’s “Hush”. Drive extra lap around the block to finish rocking out.

5:00 Leave for walk. Call Las Vegas.

5:00 – 5:30 Talk to sister-in-law about Las Vegas, Greatness Of, while marveling at fall colors, perfect weather, and pretty Kirkwood.

5:30 – 6:00 Talk to brother about kids in his neighborhood. Listen as brother threatens to yell at kids. Remind brother about the Cranky Neighbors of Fourth of July Past, as well as the Crazy Old Man on the Hill who threatened trespassers with a shotgun. Admonish him to not be “that guy”. Finish walk.

6:00 – 6:30 Master “Jingle Bells” and “Row Row Row Your Boat” on the harmonica. Probably piss off a neighbor or two. Flip page to find music for “Oh, Susanna”. Skip to the next chapter because, really.

6:30 – 6:40 Attempt to blow single notes as opposed to chords. Try “tonguing method”. Produce musical raspberries. Laugh. Catch self in mirror while attempting “tonguing method”. Laugh some more.

6:40 – 7:00 Skip ahead to “Talking into Harp” chapter, a la Stevie Wonder. Commence Happy Dance, because Talking into Harp = Fun!

7:00 – 7:30 Call Tim. Take requests. Impress Tim and Joe with rousing rendition of “Hot Cross Buns”.

7:30 – 8:00 Make fruit salad. Ponder arguments for Intelligent Design while peeling an orange because, let’s face it, oranges are effing genius.

8:00 – 9:00 Watch “Family Guy” and “American Dad” with Warren. Argue about what time it really is. Call Time and Temperature to verify.

9:00 – 9:15 Marvel at the international beer selection in Warren and Mike’s fridge. Demand that Warren let me join his band.

9:15 – 9:30 Greet roommate and company. Give roommate good news and bad news. “Good news – I fixed the squeaky elliptical trainer. Bad news – from now on, I eat, sleep and breathe this harmonica.”

9:30 – 9:40 Miss Kevin. Sob uncontrollably and count the days til he gets back.

9:40 – 10:10 Start watching half of episode 2 of “Freaks and Geeks” just to hear “Hush” again. Wish that I still had a locker so I could coat it with posters of James Franco and Jason Segal. Wonder if I can get away with making an “I heart James and Jason” collage for my office.

10:10 – 10:15 Think about Karl, because Jason Segal looks and acts just like him. Text Karl to wish him Sweet Dreams, even though his crazy DJ ass will probably be up all night. Get text back. Blush.

10:15 – 10:45 Read Tom Wolfe’s “I Am Charlotte Simmons”. Decide that it’s “eh”. Wish I had picked a better book. Pity Mark, who is about to find out who dies in the latest Harry Potter. Get mad about Harry Potter. Remember the good times… Quidich, Butterbeer, etc. Go to sleep.

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Like It’s Melrose Place

I used to work at a non-profit thrift store with a lot of senior citizen women. The majority of these women were absolutely fabulous – they looked no older than fifty and lived like they were twenty five.

I spent a lot of time flipping through racks of designer clothes and listening to them rap about women’s lib, reminisce about past relationships, gossip about the local high society, or secretly fight about who was the coolest (my vote will always, always go to Enid, the former trapeze artist, or to the two Ruths, one of which – I swear to god – has gills behind her ears).

I worked there for five years, so they were around when I was going through a lot of relationship turmoil – Hippy Ex, Lying Ex, The Boy Formerly Known As Cute Boy, etc. They gave me a million fabulous years worth of advice, whether I was seeking it out or not.

The most important thing that they ever told me was that if a man says he isn‘t good for you or if he tells you he isn’t good enough for you, the smartest thing to do is believe him.

I spend a lot of time forgiving people. I try to look for the best in those around me and I like trying to bring that out.

I used to think that their advice lacked compassion, that it was just a way of cementing other people’s insecurities. Because of that, I dealt with a lot of crap and spent a lot of time trying to convince myself that the good outweighed the bad.

Hippy Ex told me that he was too much of a mess for me. It took two years to figure out that I couldn’t be the one to clean it up. He had to figure out how to do it by himself, and he did, and I’m proud of him. TBFKACB told me that he was “dangerous”, which cracked me up at the time, but it turns out that he was right about that, too.

When Lying Ex and I were hanging out in London, he told me that he’d probably end up as one of those guys who sleeps with his secretary. I laughed because I was so sure that he wasn’t capable of that. He asked me what I’d do if he turned into that guy, and I jokingly told him that I’d spend a couple of years short-sheeting the bed, spitting in his soup, and just plain irritating the shit out of him. I mean, what was I supposed to say? I really wanted to believe he was better than that.

And what did he do? He went to work and slept with the girl who sat behind him.

“She was just… there,” he told me later.

And that’s exactly what he did this time around, too. He didn’t want anything that required effort, he wanted someone who was just… there. Convenient and, most importantly, easy. He uses people for selfish reasons and warned me about that from the beginning, and I suppose I’m partly to blame because I really wanted to believe that he was above that.

I spend a lot of time looking back at that conversation in London, and all the like conversations I’ve had before, and the advice from my Silver Foxes. Maybe this time, it’ll kick in.

I don’t think I have to worry about the guy I’m focused on now, because I’m not wearing the blinders that I used to need for a relationship. He’s too blunt for the BS, anyway. Europeans have a different way of looking at life and loving people and handling problems, and the more I become accustomed to it, the more convinced I am that it’s the way to go. I don’t try to believe anything about him. I just take him for who he is.

Speaking of wise advice, I learned more from TSGoC’s father in one day than I did in a year with the ladies at the Shop.

He gave me a big lecture on what “partnership” really means. He tried to convince me to go to law school instead of getting a PhD. He told me about raising each of his five children. And he told me that when I get married, I need to let my husband go to strip clubs. If I don’t, he advised, then the guy will go to strip clubs anyway. Then he’ll keep going and he’ll stop feeling bad about lying, and this will open the gateway for secrecy and deception and the relationship will ultimately be Doomed.

When I got home, TSGoC asked me how the day went with his dad.

“He told me I should let my husband go to the strip club.” I said, punctuating it with my best “The Fuck?” face.

“Oh, yeah. He tells everyone that.”

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Break Ups, “I Love You”s, and Tony’s Mandarin Orange Chicken

It’s the best feeling in the world when a man says “I love you” for the first time. Especially when you know that he’s sincere, and you feel the exact same way.

Granted, there’s nothing I can do about it at the moment. I’m over that retarded fairy tale feeling of being “in love”. I try to be realistic about things like that. So all I can really do is think about it and smile, and that’s totally okay with me.

I had to do something kind of mean to someone else last week, and I felt like a jerk about it. I’d much rather be the person who’s hurting than the person who hurts someone else. But the biggest lesson I’ve learned in the past few months is to just be honest – both with yourself and with the people that you care about. Dishonesty burns bridges. So hopefully, we’ll stay friends.

And speaking of friends and love, Tony came to town this weekend!!! If there’s anyone in my life that I truly appreciate right now, it’s him. Last week, he told me that he might be moving to Memphis. He’s already far away from me, and I was really looking forward to him moving back here. So even though Memphis is a perfect road trip away, I was really bummed.

I remember years ago, when Ra and I went to Ian’s funeral, she wouldn’t get out of the car at all. She sat in the parking lot, sighed, and kept repeating, “I wish Tony was here.”

That’s how I’ve consistently felt for the past couple of weeks. It’s not like I really NEED Tony around, I just want him here. He just makes everything better. He makes me feel safe when life is kind of scary, and he turns good times into legendary stories. I love him to pieces, and I guess he feels the same way because he’s moving back here!! Yay!

On a side note, on the way home from that funeral, Ra asked me what Ian looked like. Ian was, respectfully, a pretty boy – always perfectly dressed, perfectly toned and always, always, perfectly tanned.

“He looked really… pale?” I said.

“Oh,” Ra said, and after a beat she whispered, “I bet he’s really pissed about that.” Then she turned away from the window and looked at me with this hilariously guilty face, and we cracked up. Then somehow everything felt okay, we could talk about Ian without crying or freaking out. And then we went to Tony’s and he cooked for us.

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Nothin’ Like A Beer Straight From The Tree

This weekend was amazing, as usual. I’ll say this about St. Louis weather: it may be unpredictable and unnecessarily mercurial, but it always seems to pull through (and even when it doesn’t, we still have the best sunsets in the world). Lately we’ve had nonstop sunshine and the temperature has been goldilocksably just right – it was the perfect weather for camping. So that’s exactly what we did.

We usually hike to the St. Francis Dam when we camp, but this time around we went to Elephant Rock, which has giant pink granite boulders and one massive rock named Dumbo that will blow you away when you get to the top.

I highly recommend it to anyone who’s never been, especially anyone who’s into rock climbing. NEXT TIME, however, we have to go to Johnson’s Shut-Ins . Just don’t do a cannonball off the cliffs – especially not twice in a row. Trust me. Your ass will thank you. I also highly recommend camping with hunters and former Eagle Scouts. Your fires will be mighty.

AND! Always bring Pershing. Always. I mean, just look at him:

He’ll shake lake water all over you and try to follow you into the outhouse, but he checks up on everybody and he won’t let you walk alone at night.

I feel much safer, though, ever since Bonus taught me how to shoot his musket. Hee! It takes a long time to load (insert mandatory “ram rod” joke here) but hot damn, that thing is powerful. It almost blew me off the top of the stockade, and I still have a bruise on my shoulder.

I just told my dad about the musket, and he highly recommended shooting off a cannon. “It’s… it’s just a great time, Stephie. It really is.” I love my dad.

And to Albert Pujols: You are The Man. I don’t even care if we win the series any more. Holy balls. That game was amazing. I’m not a big fan of getting my hopes up, but St. Louis sports always remind me that anything can happen, even in the last pitch or the final 10 seconds.

Last night at the bar, when we were losing 4-2 in the possible last game of the season, with 2 men on bases and 2 outs in the 9th inning and Pujols was up to bat with 2 strikes… my boy Oldham screamed “If he hits a home run, I’m eating all the salt in this salt shaker!”

St. Louis sports has also taught me to never scream out shit like that in bars. At least not loud enough for the other tables (and me) to call your bluff, because Pujols is The Man. I wonder what THAT hangover feels like. Yikes.

And today at work, Christina brought in a cake. A cake made out of Ding Dongs. OMG. This rivals the S’mores Wedding Cake for sure, and I actually got to eat this one. This has been the best week ever. HAPPY (belated) BIRTHDAY, NIKI!! And HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, JEN & RON!!

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Warm fuzzies, German ancestry, and Hemingway

One thing I really miss about keeping a journal is that whenever someone said or did something unbelievably sweet, I could write it down and keep it forever. Unfortunately, sometimes you find out that the motives behind those sweet nothings are really malicious and shitty, and it sucks to have a whole book full of that horseshit. However, sometimes it’s really pure, and it’s nice to keep around for those days when the shitty people get to you.

This is what someone wrote to me today. And screw you guys, I’m keeping it.

“You need to write a script, Steph. It would be so full of warmth and wit and dark humor and unabashed romance. Your blog writing alone pulses and aches with a bittersweet humanity that forces your readers to simultaneously love everything they’re involved in and long for more and never settle. It’s like your heart is so full of joy for your friends, family, life, and every possibility in the world that it’s become addicted to feeling that fullness and constantly looks for more. It’s a wonderful thing and we’d be incredibly lucky for you to share it in script form.”

Right before he said that, he was talking about how he had said something kind of creepy (which it wasn’t, it was actually really funny) and he would have to write a poem to make up for it. Sweetheart, the poem is not necessary. You just gave me a warm fuzzy to last a lifetime.

This guy is one to talk, though, because he writes blogs that are so insightful and hilarious that they make me laugh out loud and almost get me busted at work. And any guy who has his own comic strip character is tops in my book. I can’t wait to hang out with him. And read HIS scripts.

And at the very least, no one ever wrote THIS about MY blog:

“Somewhere in the sky, Ernest Hemingway is figuring out how to piece his face back together, so he can blow it off again.” – R.S.

It’s so wrong, but it had me crying laughing. It makes me laugh every time I think about it. Ya feelin’ me, TeeTee?

This weekend was pretty good. Heebs invited me to his cousin’s Oktoberfest party. It was huge, with an amazing vibe and even a couple of local/national celebs. However, lots of the boys were going to come with us, but had to bail for one reason or another. Heebs kept taking me around, introducing me to people, and by the time I met his cousin’s husband’s mother, I realized that I had just met his family. His ENTIRE family.

Later that night, we hung out at Imo’s with Jen, Ron, and Pat, and the whole time they were like, “Hey, you want to go to a sweet party? PSYCH! Meet my family! My whole family! Haaaa!”

Lucky for Heebs, there are about 800 babies/toddlers in his family, and they were all wearing lederhosen. So I was too overwhelmed by the preciousness to be freaked out. I don’t think I would have been anyway, though, cuz they were all really great.

And really, it was nice to celebrate my Germantude. I’m Irish, French, German, and Dutch, but I’m adopted so I’ve never really celebrated any heritage of any sort. When I was in Europe, I visited Holland, France and (unfortunately) Ireland, but I never made it to Germany. I never really thought about it before. But Ich liebe es.

That reminds me of one of the first conversations I ever had with TSGoC, who’s originally from Amsterdam:

TSGoC: You look like you have some Dutch in you.

Me: Yeah, I do…

TSGoC: Haha, would you like some? Wait, I mean…

Somehow, coming from TSGoC, it was endearing. God, I miss him. Haha.

Speaking of MISSING, Kevin left this morning. Sob. He had a going away party on Sunday, and even though it was sad, it was a lot of fun. There were lots of kids there who had just gotten back from Regents, and it’s always fun to talk to people who just got back because I remember what that feels like, to be so excited and homesick for that school and you just want to tell your stories to someone who will get it. It was nice to listen. I still kind of hate talking about it. If those kids stayed away from Süchtige Lügner while they were there, though, then they should be fine. Also: the party included a rare cameo from Milo, and Milo cameos are always hysterical, if only for Ron’s reaction.

Kevie Kev, I love you and I will see you in a year. Oh my god.

I suppose I should get used to talking about London, though, because the JERSEY BOYS ARE COMING!! AGH! Yay! This is going to be the best New Years ever.

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Mid-Sentence And Everything!

The other day, my roommate and I were talking about the Meyer’s Briggs test, and she asked me about my personality type. I told her that I’ve taken it dozens of times, including the “official” version, and I always came up as an INFP (introversion, intuition, feeling and perception). She started laughing at the idea of me being an introvert. I took it again recently, and it turns out that she’s right. I’m officially an extrovert. Finally.

It kind of blew my mind when I found that out. I’ve changed a lot in the past couple of years, and now that I don’t keep a journal, it’s a lot harder to reexamine the recent past and see how I’ve grown. I know people who are obsessed with changing and growing, and I figure the more you dwell on it, the longer the process will take. You surprise yourself a lot more when you just let things happen. And I like surprises.

This weekend I was snuggled up on the World’s Greatest Couch with The Secretary General of Cool, waxing philosophic about something otherworldly and… I fell asleep.

I’ve been getting better at falling asleep lately, and I’ve even taken a few naps, but that shit usually takes planning and mental preparation for people like me. Heebs has the ability to fall asleep instantly, even sitting up, and it makes me insanely jealous because I’ve never been able to do that.

But one second, I’m looking up at TSGoC and talking and laughing, and the next thing I know, it’s dusk outside and he’s just staring at me, half smiling and half shocked. “Wow,” he said, “I didn’t think you could do that.”

I didn’t think I could do that, either. I mean, you guys, I completely konked out. It’s really nice to know that I can.


So yeah, The Secretary General of Cool came to town this weekend, and it was mind-blowing, as usual. It felt like old times wandering around the Loop with him, exploring the city, and learning about meditation from the Great Reverend Josh. We talked and laughed and drank too much tequila and ate too much takeout and it was fabulous. Y’all, TSGoC rocks my world. A road trip to Mishy-gan is in the near future, for sure.

But not before CAMPING!!! Yay! This is going to be so much fun. Tons of people are going, but there’s always room for more. Does anyone else want to go?

And speaking of GOING, Kevin is going to Korea for a year. *sob* I mean, I’m really happy for him and Monica, but man, that came up so quick. Kevie-Kev, I love you and I will miss you muchly, but I know you’ll have a great time. I have friends there to show you around if you need it.

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To Boys Who Lie (Or At Least One)

“Personally, I hold that a man, who deliberately and intelligently takes a pledge and then breaks it, forfeits his manhood.” – M.G.

See? Even Gandhi thinks you’re a little bitch.

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