Pancakes Anyone?

Unlike some others I have heard about recently, I do not possess fabulous boobs. They are small and, apparently as I found out today, dense (densely tissued, not unintelligent). I like them just fine, but right now, they do not like me.

I just got back from my very first mammogram, or as I prefer to refer to it, my first pinch-a-gram.

Gents, you are lucky. It's really not as bad as the horrors I have heard from several women, but if y'all had to disrobe in front of a male doctor, whose first action is to put a little sticker on the end of your member, only to then have it handled, hauled and hurled in different directions only to be squashed flat, not only vertically, but diagonally too, I'm sure you boys would find a cure to cancer about as quickly as the time it takes to chew all of the flavour out of a stick of Juicy Fruit.

Plus D'answers

Oh Hulles, of course I know you weren’t serious about the WMS and the GGMD (Generally Gay Male Dancer). How could you not like at least some of the WMS? It can be great. And about the GGMD? Exaggerate away – it came through the way you intended. My problem is that I can’t convey my sarcasm as well as you do. I come off sounding preachy, but really, my tongue is also firmly planted in my cheek. A different mouthhold of sorts.

So, you’ve inspired me to get out this weekend and drown myself in dance. I went on PalmBeachCulture.com and looked up some theatres. Turns out Garth Fagan is going to be in Lake Worth (going on Saturday night by myself) and New York Theatre Ballet is going to be in Delray (going, again, by myself on Sunday for the matinée). Guess what NYDT is doing? AGNES DE MILLE CRAP!! Our favourite whats-his(well, her really)-name’s Rodeo! Ahahaha! It’ll be a glorious night of Copeland. Actually, I think I may have written this in the comment that got eaten not so long ago, but I love Copeland’s scores. Sorry! His sweeping plains, vistas, laments, tenderness. Ahh…I could dance to it forever. It’s the hoedown-ey kind of stuff that gets to be a little too much. Have you heard his score to The Tenderland? That’s the pic with my and my partner Joral (Jor-al, not Jor-al as in Superman’s father fame). Now that’s some meaningful music. Maybe just to me though. His Billy the Kid and The Tenderland were kind of breakout ballets for me in Oakland.

I love what you said about RFBCC’s mistakes and flaws. They are very noticeable in this form, not so much in WMS. Maybe that’s why I felt more comfortable in moe-dairn stuff…I felt more free to make mistakes because there was always a way pull them off if you had your artistic head about you. I liked the availability of thinking on your feet (no pun), staying on your toes (oh please stop!). There’s a wall of perfection around classical dance, and there was no room for anything – not even heavy breathing. I make it sound like I hated pure ballet – I didn’t - honest…but the neo-classical, the modern really spoke to me. I loved it when I found it. And BTW – had you seen me dance you would have loved me! I mistaked and flawed all over the place! I had a nasty habit of falling down. Mostly it was embarrassing, but sometimes it was hilarious.

Let’s see, where are we up to now? I need to refer to your message. Hmm, hmm, hmm, ah yes. The marriage thing. Uh-huh, I was related to one of them. I was married to Michael Lowe for almost ten years. That’s a saga in itself – and in looking at your Mythos page (thanks for including me! When do I leave the little known status and move on to the next level?), I notice you have had a saga or two yourself?

An aside: It’s midnight and I have the choice to watch Taxicab Confessions or Def Poetry Jam. I think I will go with the poetry, though I am always on the lookout for the Confessions episode where my ballet company coworker N______ is one of the strippers on a pole in the musical interludes…couldn’t believe it when I saw her there the first time. Bud Light please.

Late Bloomer

I'm having a bloomer thing at the mo'. I like the pink bows on these ones. Not as expressive a picture as the previous bloomers, but these will do.

That is all.

D'answers

Dear Hulles,

I’m going to start my response to your post about the ballet with this paragraph:

Basically, there are two kinds of dance: classical ballet and weird modern shit. The weird modern shit could be anything from Lucinda Child dancing in a square over and over and over again to a Philip Glass recording (yes, I saw her perform it, and no, I don't want to talk about it); to Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo, which is a bunch of fat guys dressed in tutus (really); to the breathtaking agile magic of Pilobolus.

Most of the time, I am partial to the WMS over the RFBCC (really fucking boring classical crap). In respect to watching RFBCC, I often want to creep out of my seat because it is predictable (Balanchine) and uptight (everything else). WMS can be exhilarating, fresh, wacky and usually has much cooler music. In respect to performing WMS? Way better. Let me tell you why. RFBCC has been performed over and over again for years and years by every bunhead and her dog. How individual can you truly make your Giselle? What kernel of originality can you stamp on an Esmeralda? The steps are what they are, everyone has to do them the same (basically) and you spend most of your time trying to live up to the best performance you’ve ever seen or heard about. Me? I prefer the WMS because you can make it your own. The choreographer is more often than not creating something on you directly, you are a part of the process, your mistakes and stumbles can result n the most amazing movement or mood, you live inside what comes out in the studio…not on top of it. Don’t get me wrong. There is a certain pride in doing a classical role (I was very pleased to become a part of the Sugar Plum Fairy alumni in the mid ‘90s), but to have something choreographed for you, on you, about you? Brilliant. You are the pace-setter, not the chaser.

An aside: The Trock? Hilarious fun – just don’t make it the first foray into the ballet world. It might scare one off. Must see companies? Pilobolus, Alvin Ailey, Mark Morris, ABT, PNB, NYCB, SF Ballet to mention a few. Ballets that pop into my head immediately? Twyla Tharp’s In the Upper Room, Val Caniparoli’s Bow Out, L’Homme at la Mort, Gaite Parisienne, The Moor’s Pavane, Carmina Burana, etc.

The women are really really skinny. But even if the female dancers you see are blimps compared to the way they used to be, they will still look really thin to you. Some of this has to do with simple physics: your gay male pas de deux partner (see below) can't lift you and hold you in the air with one arm if you weigh 180 pounds.

Our director used to have a saying, “Gentlemen, push-ups! Ladies? Lettuce…” I was always mistaken for an anorexic dancer, but I never was. It’s just really hard to get the fuel to energy output right. We never had enough time to get the food in – we were always working so hard. Oakland Ballet was a great place because the director liked his men to look like men and his women to look like women. Curves and muscles were totally acceptable, preferred in fact. I was the anomaly there – I had a tiny pinhead and was very thin – more like the Balanchine outline.

p.s. Hulles – not all the men are gay. Point of fact, most men go into ballet so they can be up close and personal with all the half naked, sweaty, and for the most part, liberal (meaning sexually loose) chicks. Whoo-ah! It’s basically a straight man’s heaven.

But it is very unlikely that you will attend a performance where it is all classical ballet, at least in the U.S. Whether this is pandering to imagined American taste or simply because the classical repertoire is so small is something I don't know. It might just be that an all-classical performance would be too physically taxing for most companies. I'll try to find out the answer and let you know.

I have to think that most companies don’t do all classical repertory in an evening because it is RFBCC (emphasis on the RFB). From the performing stance, classical ballet is actually easier, in my estimation, to do because it is reserved, there is a lot of restraint and it follows a certain pace, a certain breath. WMS is more taxing because of the athleticism and unconventional pacing – you can be on stage for the entire performance, or go like a bat out of hell for ten minutes only to appear back on stage after a brief breather for another ten minutes. You can also go completely apeshit on this style of the dancing - sweat is permitted, use of breath is permitted.

In the second segment I'll talk about some of the dance terminology you should know, what to watch for in a performance, how female dancers smell, what kind of shit the dancers are wearing when you see them, and what it's like to be a little girl growing up and wanting to be a ballet dancer.

Truth be told – some of us (I’m not saying who) smell like smoked chipped beef after a show. A little sweat, a little exertion, and a little drying time can conjure up all kinds of pititude.

Actually, the proper term is balletomane, but that sounds even more gay than "ballet aficionado" plus I don't know how to pronounce it, so let's just stick with the former appellation.

Balletomane? Bah-lett–oh-main.

When I left you you were just sitting down in your decent seats in the auditorium about to see American Ballet Theater perform Miscellaneous Weird Modern Shit, Intermission, then the classical ballet Giselle. You're in for a treat. This is a fantasy performance, so Martine van Hamel is dancing Giselle as well as a pas-de-deux or two in the first part's MWMS.

I preferred Martine as Myrtha – holy hamstrings that woman could jump. She leaped like a man – therefore she was another hero. Jumping was my forte…couldn’t turn for shit, the scoliosis you know (Yay Heather!)…but in my ballet days, “jumping for joy” was not just an overused phrase. Jumps elated me, literally and figuratively.) I never Myrtha-ed but I did do one of her sidekicks…Moyna? No, Zulma…Moyna? I don’t know. Whatever. We boureéd a lot. And kicked Albrecht’s ass.

Toe shoes are the funny pink shoes the female dancers wear in classical ballet. They cost $14,000 a piece at your local Capezio store and most people need two of them, so as you can see ballet is not a poor woman's avocation. Toe shoes have wooden plugs in the toe to allow the dancer to spin like a top as she's dancing, hence the name.

Hulles and I have already addressed this, but for those of you not in the know, there is no wood in pointe shoes – sometimes I wished there was because it would last longer than the burlap, canvas, satin and glue that really makes up a toe shoe. Various materials + glue + sweaty feet + two hour performance + a little blood = soggy tissue paper. You can dry out the shoe, stuff it with newspaper, pray to the capezio fairy and hope for a useable shoe in the morning, but it almost never happens. Recently, various shoe companies have been experimenting/utilizing plastic in shoe tips, but really it diminished the ability to “roll-through and in my opinion, leaves the dancer looking clunky and a bit uncoordinated. I’m a Freed snob (Freed is the largest, and oldest I think, pointe shoe company).

The corps (pronounced "core," this is important, write it on the back of your hand before you go) is short for the "corps de ballet." These are the dancers that flutter and swarm here and there during the course of the ballet, always in groups. After all, that's why she gets the big bucks, somewhere around $700 a week for a major company for a 36-week season. It works out to about $25000 a year, to save you the math. And bear in mind that this is in the Major Leagues of the dance world; these are the top pros in their field.

This is true if they are in a union company – for those poor sots (me and plenty like me) that were in non-union companies, not so much...starting salary was 350 – 400 a week. I never made 700 a week, even when I was a principal dancer and by the time I retired, we were down to a 12 week contract. This is a year y’all…12 weeks at 6 fiddy. Do the math because it depresses me too much to do it for you. When I first came to the company, we had a 42 week contract and lots of touring (extra per diem money to save!!) Whopeee!). 13 years later, attention to the arts had diminished so much that even the Principals had to hustle with extra teaching, guesting and summer jobs. I became extremely proficient at house painting. My specialty was the five-story outdoor scaffolding. Almost fell off once, but that’s another story (no pun intended…)

The last terminology you will learn is two French words, "jeté" and "plié." I can no longer recall what these words mean but they are ballet terms used to describe various stylized dance movements that occur during the course of the performance.

Jeté – to leap
Plié – to bend
I can go on and on Hulles – let me know if you remember more terms and need an interpreter.

Male dancers suck. They are never well choreographed, they have totally lame moves and don't go en pointe, and they seem to exist solely as foils for the female dancers. Fine. Who gives a shit? The female dancers are cracking good and they more than make up for the sorry-ass male dancers.

Hey, hey, hey. We couldn’t do it without them – those boys were a necessary fixture. We liked our forklifts and bike stands. They did a fine job most of the time…unless they had been out drinking the night before and were sweating Absolut all over you. Or smoking pot that day just to round out the week/month/year. Or were just plain stupid and could never remember the steps. It was like being pregnant with those types…you were definitely dancing for two! On the whole though, my guys were outstanding. I was never dropped and the sacrifices were always on their part.

If you would be lucky enough to find yourself in the dressing room after the performance, you would quickly notice that God's own deodorant and antiperspirant couldn't begin to make a dent in the, shall we say, closeness of the atmosphere. What did you expect? Dancers sweat. Men and women perspire, horses and ballet dancers sweat. Look at what they were doing out there, for crying out loud. Of course they sweat. And they don't smell like smoked chipped beef either, no matter what some would have you believe. They smell like victory.

Well then, I smelled like victorious smoked chipped beef.

I welcome specific questions and will be happy to answer them if we care to continue the ballet convo. If not, I will join you shortly with my life’s ramblings. I should really promise an account of our time in Wine Country, but I am so sick of grape juice at this point that it would probably make me feel ill.

Falling Up

It warms my heart to know that a dear, dear friend is falling in love right at this very moment. He is in a sea of people, but I'm sure he only sees her. I wonder if he is at her side, or if he is working his way through minor conversations to gain the seat next to her. Did he buy her first drink? Will he see her to her car?

Or is he watching the night take its course from a mild distance, enjoying how her spectacular smile lifts his soul...up where the colors blend into the sounds.

Nick Is Not My Name

Hulles asked recently if he could call me LL and it led me to ponder my nicknames... I was inspired to make a list of names past and present...

By family and friends alike:
Arlar
Larly
Lollie
Lol
Larly Charley
Charley
Auntie Larva

By Vincent and then the whole ballet company:
Scumpy

By Bob the lighting designer:
Slim

By Stephanie (aka Stevie, Swizzle Stick, Twurlgirl):
Pixie Stick

By Omar (in trio with Stevie and Kendra aka Kennie):
Larry

By my first husband:
Blondie
Laris von Larus

By Shandy:
Chicken

By Sherrie (aka Banana Nose):
Spock

By Joy (aka Joybee):
Larabee

By Nana:
Pet

By me:
HardNosedBitch

The Batteries That Died Today

• Ryder's bouncy seat was singing a very mournful tune...it took me a while to realize that the PMS induced weeping was not only from "my pre-time of the month" but the sad/creepy slow motion tempo of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
• E's mouse (meaning my mouse that I haven't seen in like 5 months).
• Mine. Around 3:30. Transportation Conference Proceedings data input, no chocolate to be found, no coffee creamer. It was a sad, slow, sad day.

Mountain...Meet Mohammed

I'm feeling quite pleased with myself. I have been waiting for a really long time to have a friend, or a friend's friend say to me, "You know what? We have a Book Club and I think it would be really nice if you wanted to join us."

Never happened.

So today, I decided to introduce a man to a particularly large piece of rock. I went to Barnes and Noble, bought six copies of Anita Shreve's A Wedding in December, and handed them out at my brother's Superbowl party. We ladies have a date in the beginning of March, and honestly, if it turns out to be a crap read and the gathering is 2 minutes of Book and an hour and 58 minutes of Club - I don't care. People are reading and I am getting everyone out of the house for a bit of child-free girl talk. Wanna join?

Blue Funk

I'm having a crap day. A client took to the road, my sweater is itchy and I have a new continent forming on my upper lip. Why I didn't pay attention to the budding coldsore on my face yesterday, I'll never know, but it's a little late for the pity-party now.

Meh.

Maybe tomorrow will be a better day. But I doubt it. I'm pretty sure the new continent will be forming a government and inviting illegal immigrants in. Housing will be tight, the economy will crash and I will be left to pick up the pieces of my mouth.

Eww...I'm kind of grossing myself out right now. I'm going to stop.

Hey, Sujay's Gone...

So it really was the fastest trip ever. He was here, we laughed, we ate, we drank and then, poof...he disappeared. Nothing left of him but the faintest head outline on his pillow (covered cat hair now, of course).

Speaking of the cat. We are fast friends at the 'mo. Two days ago, she threw up in Ray's underwear. I (stupidly) asked if he wanted me to wash them or chuck them out...I got the Hairy Eyeball. Into the trash they went.

Then yesterday, the feline bulimic went to town again. Ray came into the bathroom and said, "Your cat has to go. She just threw up on my PlayStation."

I swear to you, it took everything I had not to smirk and say, "So, do you want me to wash it or just chuck it out?"

I didn't ask, because the timing was dangerous... also, I knew that after getting a completely different interpretation of the Hairy Eyeball, I'd have to get out the 409 anyway.

Yay! Sujay's Here

So we're going out to The Falcon House tonight and I am not, repeat NOT going to be the designated driver. I'm going to have my Tuna Poke with a Cosmo, my Steak Diane with a glass of Cab and my Chocolate Christopher with another. Meh. Take that boys...somebody better get me home.

I'm a lightweight I know.

Nice to Meat You

I'm so tired (drunk drowsy) I can't keep my eyes open, which makes blogging difficult since I can't touch type. Again, I have been enjoying the writing of others and again I have been neglecting my own. So I'm going to at least make an attempt.

Except there is nothing in my head.

I haven't the energy for thought or comedic effort. Ray is insisting on leaving the window open tonight. The temp has dropped and he wants to milk it. The extra blanket got pulled from the closet. Whatever Northern bitches, cold is cold when you are used to warm. The little dog across the pond is yapping and I want to march over there and remove his batteries. Get a real dog neighbour!

Made a wicked pork tenderloin for dinner (stuffed it with spreadable garlic and herb cheese and sprinkled it with sesame seeds). The prep of the meat nearly turned us off eating it though. It is a very phallic cut of meat...the cheese oozing out of it when it was done didn't help either. But GD was it delicious! Provenance cabernet is good friends, enjoy it with the other white meat. How many times have I said meat so far? Meat it out. Meat me in St. Louis. Track meat. Meat and greet.

I may have to go to bed. I have jumpy legs. All these years I thought this was something only my family endured and then two years ago I learn that it is an actual syndrome, RLS. Restless Leg Syndrome. What kind of gay name is that? It's like calling a fracture BWS - Broken Wrist Syndrome or a slipped disc ESCS - Extruded Spine Cushioning Syndrome.

That's it. I'm out. I'm done with this day. I'll meat you here later.

There's No Place Like Home, There's No Place...

First off...*sigh*. It is so good to be home. I love my girl E, but traveling with her is like living in the Gong Show.

HIGHLIGHT:
Orbitz called me the morning of the flight to tell me it was on time.
LOWLIGHT:
It was at 4 am - half an hour before my alarm went off (grr).
HIGHLIGHT:
We were staying at the hotel where the Reagan assasination attempt went down - and I had a meeting in the Presidential Suite...kinda cool.
LOWLIGHT:
We arrived at the hotel and never saw the light of day or fresh air until 4 days later when we were loading the cab to go home.
LOWLIGHT:
Dehydration. I woke up every morning with a hangover - without the night of booze. Never have I had such incredibly chapped lips. Dry. Dry. Dry. Now they are healing and my mouth is like Susan Lucci's. You know the look...sort of orangy-pink lip liner drawn on the outside of my natural lip line.
HIGHLIGHT:
Playing Mommy to Ryder while E worked the conference floor.
LOWLIGHT:
Playing Mommy to Ryder while E worked the conference floor.
HIGHLIGHT:
Seeing cousin S. and her 15 week twin bump. Lovely to see her so happy and excited.
LOWLIGHT:
After dumping 4 checked bags, we hauled a diaper bag, two brief cases, a baby, two sombreros, two computers, 3 pairs of shoes (yes, they made the baby take off his shoes) a car seat and a stroller that no matter how many lessons I had and how many times I tried, I could not expand or collapse through airport security only to have E get "pulled over" for having a bottle of Perrier stuck deep down in her bag.
LOWLIGHT:
E losing her conference notebook in the bar? The bathroom? The cafe space? Chasing it down with a fussy baby, a fussy baby stroller, a rolling briefcase and a phone that kept cutting in and out.
HIGHLIGHT:
Getting said notebook back from the Hotel Security Agent Service, although I had to track down E to get the guard to give it up, because I was not E and it had money in it.
HIGHLIGHT:
Getting a call from the same guard 20 minutes later saying he had the notebook in his possession again because E had left it in a conference room, then having him come up to our room to drop it off with me because he "knew us now."
LOWLIGHT:
Had lunch with KvM. We had a reach-off for the cheque when we were done. I (reachingly) asked if I was going to have to fight him for it and he immediately said no and snatched his hand back.
LOWLIGHT:
Nearly dropping my nephew in the shower. Soaped-up babies are slippery man! Makes me think twice about the responsibility of having children. In fact, the whole four-days-with-baby has drastically changed my perspective. I was internally starting to get a little manic about the fertility time that I have left...now I'm not so sure there is a need to panic.
LOWLIGHT:
cK - this one is for you. We had to change rooms on the second day because I saw a mouse run from the foyer to the back of the TV cabinet. A mouse! In a Hilton. Paris, tell your Pops to get his shit in a pile. You're not the only family member going down the shitter.
HIGHLIGHT:
We got to stay on the Executive floor wth free breakfast and a $50 food certificate.
LOWLIGHT:
The room was smaller, considerable smaller.
HIGHLIGHT:
It had free wireless.
LOWLIGHT:
I never got to use it because I was so busy with the baby.

There's plenty more, but my guy and I are going out to Morton's for a great steak dinner in 5 minutes. Not once did I have a decent meal in D.C., so I'm getting one now dammit. And if I see a mouse there I am going to scream. Then someone is getting sued.

What ? Er... Colour

Tonight was my first watercolour class. I'm going to have difficulty with this, but it is going to be good for me dammit! I'm a control freak - there I said it. Control freak. Watercolour wanders, and it wanders mercilessly. How am I going to spend the next 5 Mondays "letting go?"

An aside: Is Warren Beatty starting to look like Bob Barker? From certain angles during his Golden Globes lifetime award acceptance speech, I say yes.

Another aside: WTF, Cameron Diaz? Where did you find the 1984 meringue prom dress? Did you go back in time with Reese Witherspoon to go ugly-dress closet raiding? Do you happen to pass Jennifer Love Hewitt and Sienna Miller when they were on their metallic-dress closet raid?

Last aside: I love you Ugly Betty. America Ferrera, you were the most beautiful one there.

The Falcon House

Anniversary dinner was terrific - good food, drink and plenty of family and friends...however. I was the designated driver for our car...how did that happen? I have to admit, I do have a wee bit of built up resentment for that one, but...whaddayagonnado?

Off to D.C. tomorrow - I have wicked timing...cramps are extraordinary this time round. Should be a smashing week of sore feet (concrete conference floors) and sore ovaries (see above). I think my duties are going to fall like this: babysitter/reporter/booth dweller/new site cheerleader. Hope I can keep my priorities in the right order.

Uh, Where Have I Been?

I've been so busy reading and commenting on other people's blogs that I have sorely neglected my own. I may have to do a bullet catch-up, because a lot has happened.

• Okay, hello? New Years? Amazing! Everything I wanted it to be and more. Perfect travel, dress didn't get smushed because I got upgraded to 1st Class (I when I say me, I mean me, not me and Ray!). Normally I wouldn't have taken it, but the dress took priority and there was soooo much room in the 1st Class closet. Sorry Sweetheart. Relaxing day watching the Food Network, HGTV and then walking the Bayer Headquarters area in Tarrytown (freezing cold wind though, my mastoid is still pouting). Got ready, had a glass of bubbly, the car arrived on time, shot through to the city in record time, had the greatest evening at the Waterclub (seriously, everyone should do this once in their lifetime - great food, service and band, whoo-hoo!). Shot home at 1:30 am and slept like wee babes. We only had to get up in the middle of the night for some Advil and a shot of water. We all woke up fresh as daisies. There was a minor toast-burning-alarm-screeching, fire-engine-showing-up trauma around 11, but it was mostly funny. Back home, both upgraded to 1st Class this time. Lovely and perfect weekend.
• Dad's cousin's daughter - not sure what that makes us - Allison came to stay for a night before she went off to Orlando to do a half marathon, followed by a full marathon the next day (don't get too excited, she and her friend said they were going to walk a lot of it and they were going to do it wearing Mickey Mouse ears). But still, a day and a half of marathoning...go Allison. Nice to meet you!
• I captured some video of Kiefer picking the Baby Jesus up out of my creche that sits under our Christmas tree and swaying with it in his palms saying, "I'm rocking the Baby Jesus, Auntie Lollie." In more ways than one kid...you are precious.
• The tree sadly came down last weekend, always a bit of a downer. The pretty smell, the lovely lights, the twinkle...all gone. All we were left with was a sticky sappy mess in the tree holder and a trail of needles and dripping water to the front door. (ps - the tree is still sitting out in the front of the house on the curb (after two garbage days) waiting to be picked up. Last year, it didn't disappear until the second week of Feb.
  
• I missed Mario's birthday (that bastard still hasn't come to visit me). Happy Cinco de Mario sweetie! Miss you!
• Mom had her spa party for the nurses at the clinic. It was great fun, we all had a very nice time. I think my resolution this year is to get more in touch with my chic side (chic as in female, not stylish - I've plenty of that...HA!). I'm going to start a Book Club for the Jupiter ladies. Any suggestions for an intro read? I know it will quickly degenerate into a boozy, no-kids, gossip night, but hey, that might be what I'm ultimately looking for in girl-time.
• Ray and I were rudely woken at 3:30am to a chirping fire alarm...let me rephrase...I was rudely woken by the alarm chirping, Ray was rudely woken by me. He was a hero and fixed it after a half an hour of dicking around with another battery from the downstairs alarm (which then started to chirp), and the battery from the ceiling fan remote. The damn thing went off again after a few hours. Ray, being the hero one more time, got out of bed, licked the battery, stuck it back in, and hoped it would hold until 7, when I had to get up and pack. It started to chirp again as I was leaving the house this morning at 9. I walked out and left the hero to deal with it. Note to self...let me rephrase...Note to hero: buy a pant-load of nine volts for the next alarming episode.
• So that was last night. Today, my tired ass drove Pops to the Mayo in Jacksonville. There was a strange moment there while I was driving past St. Augustine, where I had the sensation that the car was stationary and road was being dragged like a carpet behind the vehicle. I think I should have had a few more gulps of coffee before we left. The doc visit was a success - "You're better this time than you were last time," and the increased prescription was to walk for 10 minutes every day. I could have told him that in Ocean Ridge. And I wouldn't have charged his insurance! Off to get Liz and David from the airport so we can all have a big Prime Rib dinner, and then hit the sack in the hotel. I have the Full Caretaker bed. He gets the Queen Size with the special red outlets to plug in an oxygen tank. The day he needs an oxygen tank is the day he goes for his Special Cruise - you know...the one where he "accidentally" slips overboard.
  

Well, that's me so far in 2007. Two brushes with fire alarms...hmmm...this does not bode well for the things-come-in-threes-saying. We'll just have t go over to E's for Yorkshire Pudding. The oiled pans are always too hot in the oven; they always set the alarm off...yeah, that's what we'll do.

Nepetalactone Haze

I just watched my cat get high. It was her first time, and I don't know who was more amused, me or her.

I tried catnip on my previous cat, but she was one of the many who are immune to its effects. Moon, however, is currently chillin' next to her Santa Frog who has a velcroed belly stuffed with a large catnip tea bag.

When I set it down next to her, she imediately tried to find the source of the dope. It was like she couldn't believe the frog was the yummy smelling object of desire. She smelled everywhere around it, even my hand for a second or two. Finally she settled on the fact that the frog was riding dirty and she was all over it. She nuzzled, marked, and rubbed it, buried her face in it, and even did the Flehman thing every once in a while (mouth slightly open, as if smelling with her taste buds). This took about twenty minutes, with me lying next to her, giggling the whole time, basically getting a contact high.

Then she mellowed out and has been half-sitting half-lying on the bed upstairs with what I think is a kitty smile. I'm pretty sure I have a new role in life from this day forward. I have become the Pablo Escobar of catnip.

Adapted from the movie Blow

George: "El padrino is Lollie. And for those of you living on the moon for the last twenty years, she is it, the boss of it all, El mahico."

Why?

Why is it that the afternoon I decide to rock out and listen to some seriously bass-y music with my windows rolled down (because it is a beautifully chilly day here in Florida) I have to be followed by a cop motioning to me in my rearview mirror to turn it down?

Dude just ruined my buzz. Meh.

How annoying is this flashing gif?

Had About Enough

Oy. What moron goes to the mall the day after the day after Christmas? Oh right...that would be me. After spending countless hours, meals and drinks with my family (who I love dearly) and battling the crowds in Nordies, Bloomies, Saks, and Costco (yes, I said Costco), I'm about ready for a whole lot of nothing tonight. All I want to do is not have a heavy meal, a drink of wine, or conversation while I am vegging out in front of the tube, indulging in the Top Chef marathon on Bravo tonight.

I am partied out and I need to rest before New Year's Eve rolls around...that eating, drinking and conversing schedule is going to be heavy.

Holiday Highlights

Ooooh, where to start? Maybe the best way to convey my holiday thus far would be in the ever-loved bullet form.

• Had a hangover Friday morning (2 glasses of wine..WTF?!) so I threw up, went in late and then left early to start the holiday drinking with Ray's work crowd at 3:30.
• Rum and coked at Prime 707, rum and coked at The Cottage, rum and coked at Suite 225. The first two were with the whole gang, the last with just Di and Steve before we went out to dinner at the new Italian place on Manalapan...where we polished off the Opus One they bought for us. I had a plate filled to the edges with steak, mushrooms and bleu cheese. I was overwhelmed and had to make myself stop lest I chuck for the second time that day. We laughed our asses off in a sea of grey (we saw the Early Bird crowd come and go and we basically closed the place. Maybe it was all the drunken f-bombs we were dropping...it was awesome. ps - I didn't have a hangover the next morning - go figure.
• Saturday morning was anomalous - Ray popped out of bed ready to tackle the day and I stayed tucked under the covers reading A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. He kept asking me why I wasn't up and doing shit at 6:45, like I usually (annoyingly) do on the weekend. I said, "'Cause I don't have shit to do...you do!" He was making lasagna for our dinner with Captain Ron and the 'Rents. Then it was,"Can you get up and help me? You have to cook the sausage, I always burn it." The sheer threat of having the house smell like smoke and burned meat for the dinner party kicked my ass out of bed. Sleep-in over.
• The dinner was really fun. Haven't seen Ron in a while and he looked great - had lost 30 pounds and was looking for 20 more. We laughed and drank a great wine, Silver Oak, that Ron had brought. He must've been psychic that day as it was the same wine we had bought to start the evening out. Ray's lasagna really is outstanding and we all had seconds of it , as well as Mom's Caesar Salad. Ron may need to tack on another 5 to the 20 he wants to lose - nobody left that room lighter than they came in!
• Sunday was a lazy morning, but we did get out of bed earlyish. We both needed to do some very last minute Christmas shopping. I thought I was going to have to break out my machete for the predicted mayhem at Best Buy, but it turned out to be fairly quiet and a pretty pleasant experience. Went home and wrapped gifts and got ready for Ballet Florida's Nutcracker. Kiefer's first time. Thought the experience could have gone one of two ways...either he loved it or hated it. Turns out there was a third way. After we had lunch at the fountains with E and Tricia, we headed off to the theatre. Kiefer proceeded to be fascinated by Act I. Between enjoying the music and straining to see every little thing happening on stage, he was asking questions like, "Who is she?" when Uncle Drosselmeyer appeared. "Why is he dancing like a girl?" when Fritz started out. He thought differently of the Tin Soldier and the Nutcracker Prince as he was battling the Mouse King. Then all love was lost in Act II. He was more interested in the gummy bears in his Mom's purse than he was in the "candies" that were dancing for him on stage. The phrase of the hour was, "No, Mom, I want to go home. Right. Now."
• Cassady was sick, and the family Christmas Eve Seafood Rip 'n Tear get-together was split into two factions so that Ryder wouldn't catch it. We did Lex and Jen's from 4 to 7 (great hollandaise Mom) and then went to Sash and E's from 7:30 to 10:00 (Ray's second pan of lasagna made an appearance there). Grandpa Santa made an appearance for Coleen, but he was too hot to do it again at Kiefer's - he didn't mind, his focus was on the presents. Orielle was the wine winner of the night. Good stuff, never had it before.
• Today is Monday - Merry Christmas! Ray and I have had a lovely morning (besides his back being out). I brought up a tray with our stockings, tea, cherries, clementines and cookies. Well, if you can't have cookies for breakfast on Christmas day, when can you? We opened our stocking stuffers and then ventured downstairs. We turned on the Christmas music channel and started the party. I gave Ray a boxing timer, a shirt and the Firefly series box set. He gave me every kind of Cosabella underwear known to god and man, a watercolour set and paper, brushes and a brush carrier. For both of us he bought another docking station (small and very portable) for my iPod. Now we can workout to music without having to boot up the computer.

Mom and Dad are coming over tonight for a fondue. Emmenthaler and Gruyere with French bread and Granny Smiths, vegetable broth for the filet, chicken and shrimp, finishing with semi-sweet chocolate and sherry and assorted fruit with poundcake. The wine? Girard, Provenance or Silver Oak...or all three. What?! It's a long meal!