On my way home, my last walk home to the Hill, I saw two Uma Thurman character costumes. Poison Ivy and that chick from Pulp Fiction, with the syringe sticking out. Ha! Ivy and syringe! Then someone dressed as the teen wolf waved at me from across the street, as if we were friends. I couldn't tell who it was because they were wearing a mask.
I decided to stay in, battle a cold, and prepare for the big Move. At the video rental place, I felt as though I should've gotten Psycho, or something. But then remembered the last time I attempted to watch a scary movie on Halloween. It was the reissue of the Exorcist in the theater, and I'd never seen it before. I drove about 90 miles an hour home, went to bed with the light on, but was completely convinced that my bed was shaking. I slept maybe two hours that night, and for the next two months I'd be falling asleep then bolted awake by the moving bed. There were no earthquakes in Lewiston, so it had to have been an evil demon trying to possess me.
I left the store with When Harry Met Sally. Very Safe.
October 31, 2008
October 27, 2008
October 23, 2008
Pringles Come in a Can
It just occured to me that Pringles taste a lot like cold Burger King french fries, just crunchier.
That's right. I'm eating Pringles. I made sure to NOT accidentally get the fat-free kind made with Olestra, which causes anal leakage. It didn't actually happen, even though there is a WARNING LABEL, but it was a very stressful 24 hours of my life.
That's right. I'm eating Pringles. I made sure to NOT accidentally get the fat-free kind made with Olestra, which causes anal leakage. It didn't actually happen, even though there is a WARNING LABEL, but it was a very stressful 24 hours of my life.
October 10, 2008
Chocolate Dipping
This afternoon I had a bit of a renactment of this episode of I Love Lucy when I was posting about 900 peices of mail. I thought I'd post it... the humor really stands the test of time, I think.
October 9, 2008
October 6, 2008
Lewiston High School, Class of '02
The girls and I decided to eat massive Rosie's cheeseburgers this weekend before going out to karaoke. I'm sitting there, burger juice dripping down my arm, and I see a man who I'd met a few weeks before. Since he was new in town, I prayed there was no cheeseburger on my face, turned around and said hello to the Carhart overall-wearing man on my left, Matt. We exchanged pleasantries, but it was brief, since it's not exactly polite to carry on a conversation while holding a giant cheeseburger.
A few minutes goes by, and a man comes over to our table, and crouches next to me and introduces himself.
"Hey, so how do you know Matt?"
"Matt??" I did not see the people Matt with the Carharts came in with.
"You know, my friend Matt," he gestures.
"Ohhh. That Matt." I explain that he's a friend of a friend, who I'd met only once before, meanwhile I'm thinking, what the hell is this guy doing over here, where could this possibly be going. You see, this man, who for the purpose of this story shall remain nameless, taught at my high school. It escapes me what exactly he taught, Jobs for Maine Graduates or something along those lines in the vocational wing. His classroom might have even been attached to the school store. Anyhow, I knew of this man for two reasons- the first was that my locker was right outside his class, and he was a young, handsome new teacher; the second was that he had to leave his job because he slept with student. That's right. He's Mrs. Robinson. From what I understand, the chick was 18, not that it makes it okay.
So he's going on and on. "You look so familiar, where have I seen you before, do you work downtown, etc." I'm thinking, "Holy effing shit I can't believe this is happening." Two of the three other people at my table had no idea what was going on, the other watched in horror.
It was at this time that I decided to go big or go home. I looked him directly in the face and said, "I went to Lewiston High School." He shut right up. 'Caught with his pants down' as my mother would say. It looked like I had sucker punched him in the stomach, and I wish I was quicker at the draw with the camera on the iPhone. He proceeds to make some even more awkward conversation about the high school, finally asking me if I was proud of my Lewiston heritage. I blinked twice for emphasis (did he really just ask me that?) I said I didn't know how to answer his question, because really, nine o'clock at Rosie's was neither the time nor the place for me to explain my complex feelings of being born and raised in Lewiston, let alone in front of two Bates graduates (humble, but proud and very defensive.) Finally acknowledging his defeat, he stood up and left with a meek, "Go Blue Devils."
A few minutes goes by, and a man comes over to our table, and crouches next to me and introduces himself.
"Hey, so how do you know Matt?"
"Matt??" I did not see the people Matt with the Carharts came in with.
"You know, my friend Matt," he gestures.
"Ohhh. That Matt." I explain that he's a friend of a friend, who I'd met only once before, meanwhile I'm thinking, what the hell is this guy doing over here, where could this possibly be going. You see, this man, who for the purpose of this story shall remain nameless, taught at my high school. It escapes me what exactly he taught, Jobs for Maine Graduates or something along those lines in the vocational wing. His classroom might have even been attached to the school store. Anyhow, I knew of this man for two reasons- the first was that my locker was right outside his class, and he was a young, handsome new teacher; the second was that he had to leave his job because he slept with student. That's right. He's Mrs. Robinson. From what I understand, the chick was 18, not that it makes it okay.
So he's going on and on. "You look so familiar, where have I seen you before, do you work downtown, etc." I'm thinking, "Holy effing shit I can't believe this is happening." Two of the three other people at my table had no idea what was going on, the other watched in horror.
It was at this time that I decided to go big or go home. I looked him directly in the face and said, "I went to Lewiston High School." He shut right up. 'Caught with his pants down' as my mother would say. It looked like I had sucker punched him in the stomach, and I wish I was quicker at the draw with the camera on the iPhone. He proceeds to make some even more awkward conversation about the high school, finally asking me if I was proud of my Lewiston heritage. I blinked twice for emphasis (did he really just ask me that?) I said I didn't know how to answer his question, because really, nine o'clock at Rosie's was neither the time nor the place for me to explain my complex feelings of being born and raised in Lewiston, let alone in front of two Bates graduates (humble, but proud and very defensive.) Finally acknowledging his defeat, he stood up and left with a meek, "Go Blue Devils."
The Ancient Japanese Art of Karaoke
For the past few Saturday nights in a row, a few friends of mine and I have been going out to karaoke night at a former gay bar called the Flask Lounge. And it's amazing. I don't understand the social stigma that comes with karaoke- every time I've been to this particular night it turns into one big giant dance party. Journey, "Don't Stop Believing;" Mama's and the Papas "California Dreaming;" any number of Bruce Springsteen songs; Fleetwood Mac; someone always does You're the One I Love from the Grease soundtrack... There are a few 'regulars' who are truly karaoke masters, who shine in the spotlight, tear it up, if you will. Other times the song isn't quite the right choice or the stage presence isn't there, but that's when you talk about the next song you're doing, get a drink, use the bathroom. In fact, I'd go so far as to say karaoke has been my sex substitute as of late- singing, dancing, my heart rate goes up, I start sweating... And no babies!
I've only ever sang once at karaoke, and it was... painful for everyone involved. My own boyfriend didn't even suck up and tell me that I did okay. It was Wham's Wake Me Up Before You Go Go, which sounded good in theory, but in actuality was really difficult. In my mind, the key is to pick a song that you already know some of the words to. I've been picking out the perfect song. It has to be something that everyone knows, gets excited about, and isn't too vocally challenging, because I'm rather tone-deaf. I'm thinking it's going to be a Violent Femmes song, but my ears have been open. Once, my friend Hillary tried to convince me that I should be in an all-girl band with her and Mandy- I was like but Hilla, I don't PLAY anything. She said it's okay, you can sing, you have the look! I'll try to remember that next weekend.
Oh, and there's this guy, who gets in on all the action with his inflateable guitar. He gives the term 'air guitar' a whole new meaning...
I've only ever sang once at karaoke, and it was... painful for everyone involved. My own boyfriend didn't even suck up and tell me that I did okay. It was Wham's Wake Me Up Before You Go Go, which sounded good in theory, but in actuality was really difficult. In my mind, the key is to pick a song that you already know some of the words to. I've been picking out the perfect song. It has to be something that everyone knows, gets excited about, and isn't too vocally challenging, because I'm rather tone-deaf. I'm thinking it's going to be a Violent Femmes song, but my ears have been open. Once, my friend Hillary tried to convince me that I should be in an all-girl band with her and Mandy- I was like but Hilla, I don't PLAY anything. She said it's okay, you can sing, you have the look! I'll try to remember that next weekend.
Oh, and there's this guy, who gets in on all the action with his inflateable guitar. He gives the term 'air guitar' a whole new meaning...
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