Beefcake – It’s What’s for Dinner

Leah Update:  I spoke with Leah on Sunday, and she said she was resting comfortably, glad to be home.  However, she was readmitted to the hospital yesterday with high fever, elevated blood pressure, vomiting, and (as Jeannie put it) “green junk coming from her wound.”  She is on an antibiotic IV.  Let’s hope that does the trick and there are no further problems.  Just another example of hospitals kicking patients out too soon, like 2½ days after having a kidney removed.  I hope Leah is feeling better.  It seems so unfair that she should have to suffer as a result of her selflessness.

* * * * *

On a far less important note, I bowled like crap last night (89-102-88).  We lost all three games.  Lisa was off, too, so I don’t have to shoulder all the guilt, although I did point out that our pinfall would have been about 30 higher had I stayed home, forcing my team to use my average.  We decided to blame Lauren (heh), our cheerleader, for not being there.

And why wasn’t Lauren there?  Well, it seems that my friend is a bit of a klutz.  Sunday night, en route to the bathroom for a middle of the night pee, Lauren tripped over a beach bag she had left in the hallway, banging her head against the wall and somehow ending up with a black eye.  And she just didn’t feel like making any public appearances with said shiner.  I told her she should tell people her husband did it, though this would be funny only to those who know Nick.  Nick is a gentle lamb.  He grew up with four sisters (no brothers), so he knows too well not to mess with women.

Anyway, I suppose one reason for my sucky bowling could be that I was, er, distracted.

Distracted by a handsome face, broad shoulders, and a nice butt.  Yes, amid all the bowling geeks, there’s this one guy who, if I were younger and sluttier….  Well, you know.  But he’s TOO young, as in probably born the year I graduated from high school young.  Still, a person can look, dream, and lick her lips…

He’s tall, lean, and muscular – but not too tall, too lean, or too muscular.  On occasion, he has shown up (and bowled) wearing his softball uniform.  Let’s just say he wears it well.

Oddly, I was getting a good vibe from him last night.  Odd, because he tends to keep to himself and his teammates.  Oh, I hope to hell that Lauren didn’t say anything to him last week.  Lauren knows I would love to climb all over him and, unlike me, doesn’t see a problem with that whole born the year I graduated from high school thing.  (Then again, if Mr. Hunky doesn’t have a problem with older chicks, well, I certainly wouldn’t want to deny him.)

Alas, his father (who bowls with him) would be a more socially suitable match for me.  Maybe that’s it.  Maybe dad is divorced, and son is looking to fix him up and thinks I might be a good candidate.  Yeah, my luck.  I’m lusting after a guy, and he sees me as a potential STEPMOTHER.  Yikes.  Doesn’t that just suck out loud?

For what it’s worth, dad is an attractive man (though I see no father-son resemblance), but too old for my liking.  It’s tough trying to hang with a guy more than a couple of years older than myself (or even my own age, oftentimes) when I’m digging Tool and he’s digging Tull.  They end up thinking I’m some carefree, bizarro freak and ignoring how grounded I truly am.

Whoa.  I’m digressing and getting way ahead of myself.  I’ve just needed to vent about that for some time now.

So that’s it.  A guy who’s damned easy on the eyes who can have a lovely older woman if he wants but who (I hope) doesn’t know it.  I’ll kill Lauren if she said anything to him.

Get well soon, Leah!

Stuck in my head:  “All the Love in the World” – Nine Inch Nails

Comments:

It’s Friday, People!

Tickets for Tool went on sale at 10:00 today, and by 10:06 I had purchased mine.  Pricey little fuckers, too.  There were only two price levels — $45 and $55.  No separate pricing for lawn seats.  To the $45 per, add $9 each for a “convenience fee.”  Someone please tell me how slapping a $9 surcharge on each ticket is convenient.

Church Lady (SNL):  “Isn’t that conveeeenient?”
Andy Dufresne (The Shawshank Redemption):  “I find it decidedly INconvenient…”

There was also a $4.50 delivery fee for choosing standard (“no charge”) delivery to have the tickets mailed to me via U.S. mail (standard letter envelope, 39¢ postage).

So, two $45 tickets equals $112.50.  Some things suck worse than math.

Once again, brother Tim will be accompanying me.  He just doesn’t know it yet.  Or maybe Suzanne, though I don’t think she’s familiar with Tool’s material… .  We’ll see.  Why do I have to be a musical freak of nature? I don’t feel like a freak, but my friends go to see Lynyrd Skynyrd or Kenny Chesney or Billy Joel, so I guess that makes me … inappropriate (?).  Not in a bad way, just in a me way.  Tim and I got handed some kind of outré music gene.  To each, his own, I suppose.

* * * * *

Leah Update:  Leah and her one remaining kidney are coming home today.  The surgery went smoothly.  Leah is feeling blah from the anesthesia that is still in her system and is sorer than she expected to be, but all is normal and well.  She will be out of work for about a month.  Ex’s brother is feeling fine.  He says he’s peeing up a storm, no problem, and should be discharged tomorrow.  This is typical for an organ donation – the donee recovers quicker than the donor.  Makes sense, when you think about it.

* * * * *

Finally, an email from Sandy:

What Would You Do in This Scenario?

You are driving in a car at a constant speed.
On your left side is a valley, and on your right side is a fire engine traveling at the same speed as you.

In front of you is a galloping pig which is the same size as your car, and you cannot overtake it.
Behind you is a helicopter flying at ground level.
Both the giant pig and the helicopter are also traveling at the same speed as you.

What must you do to safely get out of this highly dangerous situation?

Answer:

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Get off the merry-go-round – you’re shit-faced.

Happy Weekend!

67 Days

Life becomes dull and barely worth living.

As of Monday, I gave up the following:

Chips
Pizza
Pasta
Ice cream (the toughest one of all!)

– until my birthday.  There will be no substituting with fast food or baked goodies.  I know I can do this because I will not be defeated by food.  (Also, I’ve done it before, for a longer period of time.)

My summer goal (initially May through August, now through September 22) is to lose twenty pounds.  So far, I have lost eight, so I need to step it up a little.

My birthday is on the last day of summer and likely will be celebrated with Häagen-Dazs coffee ice cream (replacing Starbucks as my favorite) and mushroom and olive pizza from Caserta’s.  Yum.  And it will taste all the better for having forgone them.

Comments:

Donor

Leah is in surgery today.  She is donating a kidney to her ex’s brother.  Yes, she is an awesomely generous person, even though she said she wouldn’t have donated her kidney if it were intended for her ex.  After everything he put her through, I can’t say I blame her, not one bit.  However, she remains on good terms with ex’s family, especially the mom.  They all know that ex is a loser and Leah is good people.

I just wanted to mention it because I am thinking of her and hoping that all goes well.

On a much less benevolent note, shouldn’t anyone who says, “Hot enough for ya?” on a sweltering, hot, humid day be put to death?  Or at least be forced to seal my driveway with hot tar on said sweltering, hot, humid day?  Isn’t this commonly acknowledged as the most annoyingly asinine thing a person can say when the heat index nears 100 un-fucking-bearable degrees?

I thought so.  R.I.P. Mary the Pest, 9:31 a.m., July 18, 2006.

Jeordie Is Love

Hahahahaha…

Look what I found.

Jeordie White is loveI think it’s pretty funny, though I’m not sure that was the creator’s intent.  (No.  I am not the creator.)

I’m going to have to use it as a banner, though, even if it does include a thumbnail of the Twiggy Ramirez persona.  This banner can’t do any worse than my last one — 6 measly clicks out of 2,000 hits.  Did anyone even see it? The waterskiing squirrel?  Wearing the cute little lifejacket?

Yeah, let’s see how Jeordie does versus the squirrel.

Final scores forthcoming.

* * * * *

Good Things Come To Those Who Wait:  Tool is coming to Mansfield!  My venue of choice!  September 29.  Tickets are not yet on sale.

Soooooo glad I didn’t see them in Boston.  Let’s hope they’re as good as Nine Inch Nails were.  I was on a high for a week following that concert.

*Happy Crazy Dance*

Radiohead, please take note:  Complete my concert trifecta!

I Fought the Lawn

You know your lawn is looking bad when landscapers are stalking you.  Well, one landscaper, but it was enough to give me a major COMPLEX on top of my twinges of guilt.

Tuesday evening, walking from my mailbox to my house (across the street and down one), a truck drove slowly behind me  (Lost?  Waiting for me to cross?  Hit man hired by some mortal enemy?), and just as I stepped onto my walkway, the driver pulled aside me and lowered the window.  Ah, lost.

Wrong.

He introduced himself and told me where he lived (the street parallel to my mailbox).  He had a landscaping service, and he offered his services.  He wasn’t pushy and quoted me a reasonable fee.

Color me ashamed.

“Yeah, I know.  It’s looking pretty bad.  I’ve been waiting for a dip in the humidity.”

He was politely nonjudgmental.  I asked for his card.

The last time the lawn had been mown was three (3½?) weeks ago.  I don’t mind the physical activity.  It’s not strenuous, thanks to my self-propelled, mulching mower – no heavy pushing, no raking or bagging.  It’s the heat and humidity I loathe.

(Is it any wonder that my sporting activities of choice have been ice skating, swimming, skiing, kayaking, and bowling?  Sure, I can work up a sweat at any of them but never uncomfortably so.  I can’t run or play tennis to save myself, and it’s just as well.  Way too sweaty.)

So, mowing the lawn when the heat index climbs and I end up completed sweat-soaked to the skin is no picnic.  Sweaty underwear and a ponytail that I can wring out?  No, thanks.

Take one such too-warm weekend, add a too busy with other commitments weekend, and you get an overgrown lawn.  To be honest, it’s not so much the grass that’s overgrown as it is the weeds.  Sun or shade, drought resistant little motherfuckers, standing tall above the grass.

I should point out, though, that my yard does not look like an abandoned vacant lot.  Just about everything is in bloom:  impatiens, pink geranium, black-eyed susans, blanketflower, balloon flower, coneflower, coreopsis, shasta daisies, hosta, lambs’ ears, daylilies, hydrangea.  Lots of color from every angle.

Still, something needed to be done.  Soon.

I could have engaged a neighbor’s son or even Ken the Local Stalker Landscaper, but I would have felt bad hiring someone to tackle my neglected mess.  Going forward, I know Cody and Chris are up for the job (according to dads Greg and Carlos), but I must admit that I’m fearful they will run over my daylily border or take out my herb garden or some other similar mowing mishap.

I checked the weather forecast.  After Wednesday, it was several days of 90-degree humidity sandwiched between possible thunderstorms days.  Wednesday, despite being humid, would be mid-80’s and overcast.

I called in sick on Wednesday.  Does an overgrown lawn complex qualify as an illness?  I fired up the mower around 9:15 and was done by 10:30. (Usually, it takes just under an hour, but I was slightly hindered by the density of growth.)

There.  Done.  T-shirt wet but not completely soaked; ponytail not saturated.

The forecasted highs:  89-93-96-99.  Good timing.

Whew!

Comments:

White Noise

Totally amazing fireworks.

Heading back home from Cambridge following the 2006 Somnambulist vs. Autumn Bowl-Off, I realized I could probably make it in time to see the fireworks by the water.  (More about the Bowl-Off another time; this one’s about the fireworks.  Briefly, Steve won – again.)

Technically, I made it in time to see the fireworks.  If I had been about 30 or 40 minutes earlier, it would have been perfect.  I got stuck in fireworks traffic and ultimately met up with a closed street.  Normally, I would have left my house early enough to drive straight through.  I’ve never even seen closed streets before.  I parked who-knows-where and walked the remaining half mile plus.

Within ten minutes of arriving at the waterfront, I started looking around and thought I must have missed the “This Section Reserved for White Trash Only” signs and the velvet rope rusted chain link fence cordoning off the area, because I clearly was standing in the middle of White Trash World – undisciplined children and their foul parents, all behaving with no consideration for anyone else in the vicinity.  I had to get away from the too-loud squawking, muscle shirts, and extinguishing of cigarettes on the ground.

I moved away, but just a little bit, because I knew the fireworks would begin at any minute.  It was no better, really, and I could feel myself starting to seethe from bitter annoyance.  White trash morons as far as the eyes could see, as far as the ears could hear.  How did this happen?  How did I get stuck here?  I considered giving up and leaving, fearful that my demeanor would not improve.

The first firework went off, and at least four dogs started barking.  Yeah, great idea.  Let’s bring the barking, pooping animals to the fireworks.

And then

the people sitting near me

committed the most offensive,

horrific

act of all:

They cranked up LIONEL RICHIE on their boombox.

Are you kidding me?  Who on Earth blasts Lionel Richie during fireworks?!

I was in Hell.

But didn’t this entry start with “Totally amazing fireworks?”

Yes.  Enter Stephen Jobs and Maynard James Keenan to save the day.

For no sensible reason, I had my iPod with me.  The intent was to bring it for my personal amusement while waiting for the display to start.  After getting stuck in traffic and parking my car on Whatever Street, I knew that there would be little to no waiting time, and yet I brought the iPod.  For no sensible reason.

I tuned in and adjusted the volume to drown out the surrounding trash.  My ears were filled only with Tool’s latest, 10,000 Days (purchased two days earlier), and the exploding fireworks.

Perfection.

Maynard totally kicked Lionel Richie’s sorry ass clear out of my aura.

The music was so well suited to the fireworks.  Absolutely ethereal.  I suppose the only thing that could have made it better was if I were a stoned Stoner Chick.  Pass the bong, dude!

I kept skipping back to the first two songs, “Vicarious” and “Jambi;” the next couple weren’t as fitting.

Then, at about the 5:30 mark in “Vicarious” (the start of the crescendo/climax), the fireworks finale commenced.  I still can’t believe the timing on that one.  Orgasmic.

Coolest fireworks experience ever.  Thank you, my iPod – Now with White Trash Noise Eliminator.

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