A Close Look at a Full Moon

In high school, I ran with a group of friends that did everything together. After school or football games, we would crash at my house and hang out. Being the teenage boys that they were, my guy friends found "mooning" simply hilarious (which I can agree with...). One of the boys, however, took more pride in showing his butt than a BBQ joint owner does in his ribs. D. would drop his pants given any opportunity or inopportunity- including the time he mooned the entire B-building because he saw us looking out of the window at him. He didn't consider that a teacher might look out of their window and not be too thrilled and storm onto the baseball team's bus and give him a detention. It's hard to have foresight when you're eagerly showing off your rear end to half of a high school.

D also took pride in mooning small groups of people, or two people, or maybe just a person. He did not discriminate when it came to how many people should see his butt.

He really took advantage of the small group situation one day at my house. There were a few of us hanging out in the den, which has two glass doors that lead to the patio. D went out the other door and surprised us by jumping in front of one of the glass doors and pushing his cheeks as hard as he could to the glass. Nothing better than a smooshed moon.... We all got a chuckle out of it (I think he did more than everyone else) and moved onto the next stupid thing or conversation or whatever it is that we did when we were in high school.

A few hours later, after my friends left, my mom got home from work. I was in the other room watching TV when I heard her call my name. "Leilaaaaaaa- what is this?" Not wanting to get off of the couch, I hoped a quick 'what' would make her move on. It didn't. "This- come see." Groaning, I walked into the room with the glass doors. "What????" "This!!" she said and pointed to one of the doors. I immediately saw it but pretended I didn't. "What are you talking about?" "Whose ass cheeks are on my door?" There were two round, slightly greasy spots that were the unmistakable imprint of butt. I couldn't help but laugh as I answered her. She couldn't help but laugh as she handed me the Windex and paper towels. "Have fun cleaning ass off of my door," she said as she walked out of the room.

What a cruel trick

This doesn't taste like bean dip....

Watch your step...

My roommate junior and senior year of college was one of my best friends, KTO. We have known each other since Kindergarten and made pretty good roommates. (Or at least I think we did, she might say "that bitch never rinsed her dishes before she put them in the dishwasher," which would be true.) Katie is an overall happy, sweet person. She is very smart (very smart- I won't quote her SAT score, but it was realllly high) but sometimes lacks common sense or just doesn't pay attention to things.

A prime example of her being an amazing but goofy roommate occurred Junior year. Our buddy, Mikey, was over and he and I were watching TV. Katie came out to let us know that she was changing the A/C filter in the hall (great roommate) and that we should watch our step when walking to the bathroom (considerate friend). Mikey and I nodded and immediately turned back to the TV.

A few minutes later the TV was drowned out by a large thump and a loud groan from the hall. Katie did not heed her own advice and had fallen into the A/C pit of despair in the hall (a la Indiana Jones without the whole making it across the pit thing). I have to admit that I laughed before I knew she was OK or not- but immediately stifled it realizing that she could be seriously injured. Once we pulled her out of the pit and realized she was OK and she went to work pulling the fiber glass insulation out of her leg, I laughed so hard I cried. I always blame my insensitivity with situations like that on being raised on the Three Stooges. Injuries (not serious ones) are hilarious. Especially when they involve A/C pits of doom and despair.

Screw the food pyramid

The ladies that work at the small cafeteria style restaurant next door always make me feel insecure about my orders. While the entree always looks delicious, I tend to opt for "just the veggies" to avoid the inevitable 2:00 P.M. lunch hangover. Today the passive shame was incredibly clear when I skipped on the entree (barbeque burger with swiss, onions, and bacon) and asked for the sides:

My "well rounded" lunch.

While they still load up my plate with veggies*, I usually get an indifferent response to my order. I guess the disappointed "Ohs" are fair from people that clearly know how to enjoy life and respond to orders like 'Dark meat with extra gravy' with a few "mmmmm hmmmms" and "Alright now, baby."

Let it be known that I do enjoy life- just not when I have five more hours of work to do.


*Veggies here used loosely. Can be interchanged with french fries, macaroni and cheese, or baked potato with more stuff in the middle than the potato.

I have massive sneezes, part 2

This morning, as I was walking out of my house, I had my sunglasses on my head. When I got outside- the sunlight made me sneeze.

My humongous sneeze forced my glasses to fall across my face (but remain on my ears) and magically transform from sunglasses to sneeze catcher. I guess they needed to be cleaned anyway.

Another Irrational Fear Revealed

In public. With people that I had just met.

Lighting gas anything has always made me a little uncomfortable. After Katrina our water heater, which had sat in Katrina water for god knows how long after the storm, needed to be relit on a regular basis. By the time the landlord installed a new water heater (about a month before our lease expired... thanks), my roommates and I had become pros at relighting it. We also stopped caring about actually getting dressed to do it and would often slam out of the backdoor in our towel, shoes, and a box of matches cursing the cold shower we almost took.

Despite my experience with this, I still flinch whenever I have to hold a lit match to a barbeque pit, stove, or anything else that is attached to a large canister of natural gas that could catch on fire. I am pretty sure there is a moment of uneasiness for a lot of people in this situation, but apparently these things make me more uncomfortable than most.

I realized this when I was out with a group of people enjoying a few drinks on a patio that was kept warm with those outdoor heaters that look like a large column with a convex fire disc (official name that I just made up) at the top, and a large space at the bottom which houses a Blue Rhino type gas tank. My chair was next to one of the heaters which ran out of gas and went out. One of my friends immediately started messing with it, trying to get it to restart. I found myself stammering like Milton in Office Space (stapler guy): "Ummm.... I don't think that is such a good idea... maybe we should just let the heater be.... I'm not cold... Is anyone cold?... It's not that cold.... Maybe we should just let it be... I don't know if you should push that button again..." She realized it was out of a gas and soon there was an employee out there to reload. Oh shit, I thought- I am about to die.

I sat there while the guy rolled out a new gas tank and pulled out the old one and then put in the new one. I felt my heart start racing and I tried to focus on the conversation going on next to me, but all I could think of was body parts and lime slices being thrown onto the street when the heater exploded.

My friend sitting next to me realized I was uncomfortable (I think it was my rigid body position, my lack of motion, my face screwed up into a tight manic smile, and my eyes looking anywhere BUT the heater and the employee relighting it). She offered to switch chairs with me so I could be further away from the scene- to which I responded "That's OK- when it blows, were all going to die. It really doesn't matter where I sit." She encouraged me to finish my Tequila and try to relax.

I did. Well at least I finished my drink. I didn't relax until the heater was back on and the Blue Rhino tank magically disappeared into the base of the column. Until then, I sat there- my eyes getting a little more glazed over, and my palms sweating a little more, and thought "now I understand what they mean that you feel calm right before you die." (I think that was the tequila talking).

Overall, I had a wonderful night but I am not sure I made the best first impression on my friend's friends. Oh well. I am sure there will be other nights. I am just hoping they don't involve relighting outdoor heaters.

A Rude Awakening

The other night I woke up to a strange noise coming from the corner of my room. I turned on the light and sat up to find Sophie managed to open the top drawer of my dresser and was vigorously digging through my bras with the apparent goal of getting everything out of the drawer and onto the floor.

I yelled her name to which she suspended her rooting long enough to twitch her ears (her way of saying "stop annoying me").

Determined not to lose the battle and get out of bed to stop this nonsense, I yelled her name again.

Sophie!

*Ear twitch.... more digging.... fling two more undergarments onto the floor.*

I finally got out of bed, grabbed her from the top of my dresser and put her on the bed, despite her loud protests and the two bras she had her claws in, which she carried with her.

The next day, I told my Dad this story. Given his new relationship with Sophie (from the month long cat sitting), his response was adequate.

"I'm surprised you didn't find her trying them on, smoking a cigarette, putting on lipstick, and looking at you when you told her to stop, saying in a raspy voice 'turn the lights off, bitch.'"

Quite a puzzling conundrum

Recently at work, a few of my coworkers were discussing their love for jigsaw puzzles. The only time I remember doing puzzles was when I was really little and my family was at the beach trying to entertain themselves during a rainy day. Therefore, I associated puzzles with horribleness since we were on vacation but had nothing to do. However, my coworkers passionate discussion piqued my interest so I asked one of them to borrow a puzzle.

I got to work on a puzzle of the "School of Athens," which I immediately renamed "Jesus and his merry men."

Was Jesus actually in the puzzle? Turns out- no (who knew?). Were the other men merry? Who's to really say? Did I have a lot of fun having a few glasses of wine and then texting my friends that I was doing a puzzle of Jesus on a Saturday night? Absolutely.

A few days into the puzzle, I realized why I had never done puzzles growing up- we always owned cats. Cats and puzzles don't mix. Sophie took pleasure in knocking pieces to the ground, laying in the box top, and her favorite- laying on the puzzle as I was working on it. While all of these were annoying, my puzzling career did not come to a skidding halt until she pulled one of her best tricks and vomited on it.

I ran over to the puzzle table and tried to clean the vomit up until I realized that puzzle pieces were cardboard, and it was not coming out of them, it was soaking into them. In between audible gags and mounds of paper towels, I got on the computer and ordered my coworker a new puzzle. So much for a new pastime.