is it just me?

so that last post reminded me of another story. A while ago a friend of mine and I went out for some drinks. As often happens with us, we ended up sitting at the bar drinking wine for about 5 hours. There was a bartender who had been serving us. He made some good wine suggestions, and was friendly without being annoying. We had gone to a fancy bar where we can't afford the food but at least we can sit at the swank bar and pretend to be rich. So, after way too much wine, we are getting ready to leave. As we're signing the check the bartender leans in very conspiratorially and says "This is the first time I've (blank) since my wife left me."

Okay, that seems important. But neither of us heard what he said. I think we asked him to repeat it, but we still couldn't hear (there was live music) and with something that is clearly a confession, there are only so many times (probably zero) that you can politely say, "huh?" On the way home we're playing a frantic game of MadLibs trying to figure out what he said. We finally decide on "flirted". It has the right number of syllables, it makes sense. I didn't really feel like he was flirting but maybe he's out of practice.

Fast forward a month or so. I'm at a different wine bar with my husband and another couple. The waiter comes out and says to me "You've been here before" which I had not. But then my husband recognizes him from the other place where I had been with my friend (he met up with us towards the end of the evening). Turns out he doesn't work there anymore. He goes off to get us some menus, and when he comes back he says "I remember who you are. In fact, I remember EXACTLY who you are." And I think "Shit, the fact that I don't know what he confessed is actually going to come back to haunt me." So, he waits on us all night, and we don't really talk to him too much. As he brings me the check he leans in and says "I was quite taken with your friend, so if you wanted to tell her I work here I wouldn't mind." I say that I'll tell her, which is true, but what I won't say is that she's married. I mean, I can just tell my friend never to go there, and the guy will never know. I feel bad about it, sure, but hey. It's really not my problem. So I am actually thinking that it's kind of movie-like that he likes this girl and then her friend comes into his new place, but of course in the movies my friend and I would show up the next night and they'd fall in love. Just as I am feeling a touch romantic, the waiter comes back and says "Oh - I was taken with you, too, until he (pointing at my husband) showed up." And now you've ruined it. I don't feel bad that you are taken with my friend and not me. Most guys would be. And we actually look nothing alike, so it is not too likely that you are genuinely taken with both of us. So I called my friend and told her the story and made fun of the guy. the end.

the other day I was entering the parking garage in front of my office (hey, everybody needs a day off from the bus now and again). I got to chatting with the parking lot attendant who I have a very casual "hello, nice weather, eh?" type relationship with. As part of this recent encounter he said " you must love your job". (I cannot possibly imagine what I said that had made that the obvious reply.) But then I asked him if he loved his job. First of all, what a mean thing to ask a parking lot attendant. But you know, he does seem to like it. So then he says "Not anymore. I am very very sick." Crap. Why did he have to tell me that? I have absolutely no idea how to reply. I honestly think I said "Well, have a nice day!" I am really that bad at sympathy. Someone tells me they're very very sick, and instead of inquiring further, or at least wishing them well, I drive off.

Now, I wish I was a little better in these situations. Recently a few people at work have had their fathers die. My solution? Avoid them like the plague until they forget that you never told them how sorry you were. These sorts of encounters paralyze me. And since I have enough trouble dealing with it with people I know and like, the last thing I need is to feel bad for the parking lot guy. I would never tell him if I was sick. I would never want him to worry about me. So why do people tell me these things? Can't they understand that I am not good at this sort of stuff? The funny part is, he never told anyone else here that he was sick. I think I am a friendly sort of person. I remember coming home from the grocery store one night when I still lived in Boston. I was telling my roommates the sad story of how the bagger lady's granddaughter wasn't coming for Christmas. They had absolutely no idea how I had gotten in to this sort of conversation with the bagger lady. But hey - I'm friendly. And people like to talk. Even in Boston where most people are not especially friendly. Probably even more there, because they don't have as many chances to get it out of their system. But this complete inability to respond appropriately to bad news is not a good combination with being someone who inspires people to open up. No sir, not a good combination at all.

I drove in to work again today. I tried not to get to talking with the guy. We stuck to the weather. I sort of wonder if he's upset that I pretend that he never told me he was sick. But hey, that's the best I can do. I can't get in to some involved thing where (god forbid) he actually tells me what's wrong with him. The last thing I want is more details. Does that make me a bad person?

Here are some other things that might make me a bad person:
1. When crossing a busy street, I often view people who are crossing between me and traffic as my 'blocker'. I will consciously think "If the cars hit the people, at least they'll hit that guy first."
2. I really hate eating with fat people. It totally grosses me out.
3. When I am waiting for the bus when it has just snowed (meaning that the bus will be at least 15 minutes late unless you come out late in which case it will be right on time) I hope that someone driving will get stuck in the snow. It's fun to watch them try to get out.

you know what's off the hizzle? two posts in two days, that's what.

I entered the gym today just behind a young woman and two guys. they show their id's, and just as they head their separate ways, the girl looks back and says "peace out" while flashing a peace sign over her shoulder. for some reason I found this absolutely hilarious. I mean, who really says peace out? this is the campus gym, not the vibe awards. and isn't peace out really really old? now, I'll admit - things come slowly to wisconsin. we're just now hearing about something called "low-rise jeans". (just kidding. we've known about those for at least two months.) and this is where all co-opted urban slang goes to die. I knew things were bad when my mother-in-law mentioned bling bling. if they're saying it in Minnesota and Wisconsin, it's so far beyond over it's not even funny. but peace out? that's even over here. and she didn't say it like it was funny. nope, she said it like she says it all the time. no one wearing a delta gamma t-shirt and shorts with Wisconsin written across the ass should ever say "peace out" with a straight face. seacrest out, maybe, but not peace out.


this is your brain on drugs

so, all you potsmokers, I just want to warn you about something. if you smoke way too much pot, at some point you will seem stoned all the time. this was the case with my yoga teacher today. whether or not she was actually stoned I cannot say, but she definitely seemed high. if you want to have a job, you should be careful about getting to the point where you seem perennially stoned. I mean, yoga teacher is actually kind of the perfect job, since you seem super relaxed. but if you actually want to make money I recommend not smoking so much that it sticks. I'm only telling you all this because I love you.

live the dream

as I was walking home from yoga today I say an older guy driving a big ol conversion van with the words "Geno's Dream" airbrushed across the front. Live that dream, Geno, live that dream. Just after the dream, I saw a balled up pair of women's underwear on the sidewalk. of course I was immediately obsessed with how they got there. was someone wearing wearing them and took them off there? did they fall out of their bag? did they fake their own abduction (as if we didn't have enough problems with our reputation)? do they have anything to do with Geno and his dream? alas, we'll never know.

field trip

also on my way back today (it was a full day) I came across a field trip of kids. they're probably going the on-campus barn (shut up) or the ice cream place, or some other educational activity. but as this is my fourth job that is located on the field trip circuit, I wonder if I will ever have a job where I don't see groups of bratty kids all summer. I also wonder if I'll ever get too old (or organized) to eat breakfast on the way to the bus stop. It's been 25 years.

commentary

the last thing is that I was looking at my site and I saw that I had two comments on yesterday's post. I freaked out because my fear when I was writing yesterday was that some diehard pro-lifer would find this site and yell at me. this would be bad. but fortunately it was just my friend bee who told me she loves my blog and she misses me. bee rocks. I miss her too.

and we're gonna get freaked out.

I went to a wedding this weekend. I have seen quite a few folks get married at this point, but the truth is we're all in it for the reception. but we have to go to the wedding part so we don't feel bad about eating all the food and drinking all the booze. So anyway, this particular wedding was a catholic wedding. Now, I do not have a close personal relationship with organized religion, but I say to each their own. Though, I always leave Catholic services feeling sort of inadequate since I don't know the songs and I don't know when to say "and also with you" or "praise be to God". And it's funny because I don't really even know if my friends are religious or not. I always assumed not but then I found out that the groom's dad is a Presbyterian minister, and I already knew that the bride's family were pretty devout Catholics so maybe I'm wrong. It seems like something I should have known about them before, but I didn't. I still don't, really.

So, this church is newly constructed and quite beautiful. But in the lobby (where they have some announcements and such) there is a picture of a baby in the womb with a caption that says "At six weeks it can suck its thumb." Of course what they're not saying is "and you definitely can't kill something that can suck it's thumb." So immediately there's a little pro-life right in your face. Which is of course allowed, since the church is very clear on that issue and we are, in fact, in a church. But it was a little weird since I felt that I was there to celebrate a happy day, but then felt a little unwelcome because the church and I do not exactly see eye to eye on the who life/choice thing. And then I walk in, and just behind where they are getting married there is a GIANT crucifix. Like life-size. I find the crucifix very troubling. Crosses are nice. Aesthetic. Meaningful. But crucifixes freak me out. I mean, I already feel like a sinner in there. The priest kept saying we were there to celebrate people who seek god and love so clearly this party was not being thrown for me. And then there's a giant, wooden dead Jesus looking down on us. Not really what I want to look at when I am swearing to love someone forever.

I had a flashback to when I lived in Bolivia and my host mother was desperately trying to convert me (yes missionaries, we really have come full circle). So I went to church with her. This was an error. Catholic mass in Bolivia is like three hours long, and we were late so we had to stand, and there was this crucifix. Not just any crucifix, this one had a giant glowing red heart implanted in the chest of Jesus. No kidding. I guarantee every child who has ever set foot in that church has, at one time or another, had a nightmare about that glowing heart.

***************
On another note about this wedding, there was a guy there who I had met at the groom's birthday party a couple of years ago. Before he arrived I was told that he had gotten married. I think I must have looked surprised, because someone quickly explained that it was an arranged marriage. Not that he couldn't have gotten a wife on his own, but last I saw him he didn't even have a semblance of a girlfriend. So I met his new wife, and I have to say - he totally scored. She's nice, cute, smart, friendly, seems to like him, sense of humor. I mean, I guess I don't really know what you hope for in an arranged marriage. Someone that doesn't drive you crazy? Someone that is nice to you and doesn't beat you up? But honestly, I think this girl was about as good as he could have hoped. I think the idea is you get married and learn to love each other, which is a completely foreign concept to those of us who like to pick things (like fresh produce and husbands). But overall this seemed like a good match. So to them I say congratulations. I have no idea what the point of that was. I guess I just find arranged marriage fascinating.

new york frame of mind

So this wedding was in Wisconsin. I know how people in New York feel about wisconsin. They think it's weird and far and full of farms and just one more thing standing between them and LA. They don't want to come here. It's not a place for vacation. The people are fat, the food is bad and the fashion is worse.

You can spot people from New York from miles away. We first ran in to the New York couple at the tux rental place. They are both casually dressed in the uber hip way that only New Yorkers can do. They look bored even though they've only been here for a couple of hours. I hate them already (though I couldn't tell you why). What I hate even more is people keep saying "Not quite like New York here, is it. Heh heh."

I was at breakfast the next morning with a group of women, Miss New York included. People are making all sorts of dumb remarks about New York. They are talking about how everyone in New York is mean. How it's so busy. "Wow...New York. I don't know how you live there." And this just feeds in to their superiority complex. All us little country bumpkins are scared of the big city. The thing is, although I have no desire to live in New York, I could. I am capable of it. But the truth is if you don't live in New York you don't get it. You're not in the club and you never will be. You'll always feel underdressed, outclassed, and unsophisticated. But only because we think they are all better dressed, classier and more sophisticated than we are. But they're not. They just like to pay a shit ton more for their apartments and eat out every day of the week.

I really have nothing against new yorkers. My sister lives there and she and all her friends are very nice. In fact, I really liked Miss New York by the end of the weekend. But the truth is, she didn't let me like her until she was done impressing me. By the end of the wedding, her boyfriend (Mr. New York) was singing a song called "Let's Dance" to which he did not know the words in a duet with the large, female lead singer of the wedding band. It was one of the funniest things I have ever seen. He seemed eminently likeable. Just like New York.

One last thing about the wedding. Overall it was a truly fabulous affair. But the last song that the band played (for their encore, and the end of the evening) was Ozzy Osbourne's "Crazy Train". One of the all-time worst wedding band decisions ever.

I went to see Bob Schneider at a small club this weekend. If you have never heard Bob Schneider, I recommend him. He sings good songs, and it was a very entertaining live show. But this post is about the opener, someone named Steve Poltz. Have you heard of him? Well, he's kind of funny. In a super stoned kind of way. He plays with a guy that I am pretty sure he calls Stinky. Stinky plays the cardboard box. I am not kidding. It's a box standing on one end, which he plays with whisks and sticks and other things. My question is: how stoned were you when you figured out that a cardboard box could be an instrument? To give credit where due, the result is not bad. Some of their songs are very funny, but some they make up as they go along which makes you feel like they should be playing at your cousin's bar mitzvah (though the content is clearly not appropriate for young men), not opening at a bonafide club. The other thing was that they looked a little old for their act. But they were having a great time, so perhaps you really are as young as you feel.

They had one song which was called Handjob on a Church Bus. It was a singalong. "I got a handjob (handjob) on a church bus (church bus)." Probably the catchiest tune ever written about being molested by a priest.

My one complaint about the show was that there were a lot of people talking. Now, I am not saying you can't talk at all during the show. But these were people having loud conversations that had nothing to do with the music. This woman sitting at a table near us talked to her friends basically the entire time. I felt like saying: you do not need to pay $15 each to talk to each other with good music in the background. You can talk to each other for free at any bar in town. So, if all you want to do is talk to your friends, don't go to shows and be noisy. The end.

For anyone who ended up here because I used the word handjob, boy do I have the site for you! There is a blog found at everythingiswrongwithme.blogspot.com (which is a mirror of www.jasonmulgrew.com) which has more talk of handjobs than a person could ever want. Now, the recent posts are not so great. There are several posts about how often he's going to post. But there are some gems on there. You should go look at choice cuts which is only one jasonmulgrew.com. Now he's trying to get famous and wants a lot of people to read his stuff. Getting famous is notorious for ruining quality (see any college band that makes it big), and it is possible that the whole thing will get too self conscious and lame, but he's a funny guy. His blog made me want to have my own. Check it out.

Over the weekend I volunteered at the public radio phone drive. I know, I am a huge nerd. Does it make it any better if I told you that I do it because my neighbor is the volunteer coordinator? Though, when I say neighbor I mean person who stands at my bus stop. BUT her husband is a musician, which is cool. Though, when I say musician what I mean is bagpiper. (He has a band, but he is also a professional highland bagpiper which is too funny to leave out.)

Anyway, you know how on public radio (okay, maybe you don't but bear with me) they ask for money. Well, then people call in and give money and so they need people to answer the phones. It's not so bad. A lot of the people who do it are older, though on Sunday afternoon when I was working it was sort of a mixed bag. Mostly it was typical Madisonians - nice, liberal, friendly, aging hippies. But there was this one guy there who didn't fit the mold. His name was Daniel. He was young, chubby, and he liked to talk. A lot. Personally, I just sit there and play computer solitaire while waiting for the phone to ring. And fortunately, there was someone else sitting between me and Daniel. Eventually he figured out that neither of us were really interested, so he turned to the other side of the room. He talked about his job as a cable contractor (exciting), his girlfriend who he never sees because she works nights at the Oscar Mayer (awesome), blah blah blah. But then he starts talking about riding his motorcycle through the Chunnel. What?

Okay, I guess it's possible that he rode his motorcycle through the chunnel. But I really really doubt it. It just didn't quite ring true. Partly because he just mentioned it briefly, and then moved on. It seems like it would be worthy of a bit more discussion. And then he says he hates France. Apparently he and his friend were there and the cops pulled some lady over and beat her up with a nightstick. And according to Daniel (who is now basically holding court with all this gullible public radio volunteers) they do this ALL the time. Right. Now, at this point it would seem to me that any sane person would know he's not telling the truth. But this guy says "Really? I didn't know that. I thought France was a nice place." Oh no, Daniel assures them, France is basically the new Rwanda. (Okay, he didn't go that far, but he made it clear that he hated France and thinks it's dangerous.) And people are just accepting it as truth. This is slowly driving me crazy. I feel like yelling "Am I the only one who realizes this guy is completely full of it?" There was a story about mistaken identity and a concealed weapon (apparently he carries a handgun, a fact which was not all that enthusiastically received at the radio station.) Has this ever happened to you? People say things that you are more or less positive are false, yet other people just accept them as fact. And what's worse, they encourage the people to keep talking. As they go on the stories just get more ridiculous. For example, a friend's sister was recently telling us the story of being at USC during the 1993 riots. This part is true. Then she's telling us some stories about driving home when the riots had already started. Possibly true. Then she tells us that sorority girls were looting nail salons for the polish. Almost certainly false. Now, I was not there but from what I understand the riots were kinda scary. And sorority girls are not know for their bravery. Am I really supposed to believe that they wanted free Candy Apple Red that badly?

I am not quite sure why this bothers me so much. I mean, storytelling is about keeping people entertained, right? But if you are trying to pass it off as a true story, stick to the facts. Embellish. Use a lot of adjectives. Exaggerate. But don't just make things up. And for all you suckers out there who believe things like routine nightstick beatings in Paris, have I got a story for you.

Yesterday I was on the bus (of course). A young woman gets on and in her hand she has a partially eaten bagel on a plate. The bus driver informs her that she can bring it on, but she can't eat it on the bus. The logic behind this is not immediately clear to me. So, I guess she either wasn't listening OR didn't remember, but she took a bite. The bus driver catches her in the rearview mirror (call me crazy, but shouldn't he be watching the road?) and says "Miss, now I let you bring that on here, but I told you NOT to eat it. Okay? So don't eat it." Um, okay. Now, the rule about coffee on the bus is that you can bring it on only if it has a secure top. This makes sense. But being able to bring food and not eat it? It makes no sense. And I hate rules that make no sense.

Last week I flew to Boston. Flying these days involves a lot of rules that make no sense. Like having to put your seat up. This time they actually woke me up to ask me to put my seat up. I was sitting in the last row where your seat reclines a grand total of about 1.5 inches, yet for my safety they had to interrupt my nap. And there's all the security rules. Some poor sap forgot to take his laptop out of his bag (he was a non-native English speaker so I guess those forty signs and announcements were lost on him). So the security guy says "Since you forgot to take this out of the bag, I am going to have to do some additional tests." Who knows what that means, but he is adamant that the guy canNOT touch his bad. No sir. And you'd better take off your shoes, even if you told them they won't set off the thing. But my favorite was the new display at our local airport of all the things you can't bring on board. What I find interesting is that instead of just pictures of knives, tools, etc, they have a display case filled with actual knives. Right there in the airport. So just in case you want to attack someone, but didn't think to bring your own contraband, don't worry! It's all there for the taking from a flimsy display case. Genius I tell you.