Saturday, November 24, 2007

Comedy Gold

Inspired by the Slapsgiving episode of How I Met Your Mother and the fact that I can't stop reading blogs right now even as J is having conversations with me in which I just nod politely even though Cops is on and mmm the wine; ladies and gents, an original song by J:

Who is this person?

You're talking to?

You might as well just sit here and sing songs

Because no one's listening to you!

Just sit here and drink your fucking wine!

Nobody's listening to you.

Who is this person?

You're singing songs to?

You might as well drink your fucking wine and shut up

No one's listening to you!

Who is this food?

I heard so much about?

It's obviously not here and even if it was

I couldn't eat it. (Shout out to the wedding diet. Woot!)

Happy Thanksgiving (complete with histrionics)!

On Thursday morning, J booted up his laptop and urged me to read a review of the Punta Cana resort we'll be visiting in July for the W. I acquiesced, so long as he brought me a cup of decaf hazelnut already (yes, I'm off the caffeine again. More on that later.)

It was an amazingly thorough review. The couple had just gotten married there in October, and the groom provided every detail of the entire affair, all rainbows and sunshine and la la la most perfect day ever!

Then I read this gem:

You will meet with the photographer approx. two hours before the ceremony.

And then I freaked out. Ever so slightly.

"Oh no!" I whined. "No, no, no! J! This is awful!"

The horror, the trauma: wedding photos taken two hours before the ceremony? With family? And friends? And J?!?

I know we are fairly unconventional, but Christ. This is my moment; this is J's moment. Our moment. It's supposed to be beautiful and romantic and memorable. It's that second when J sees me from afar looking stunning and angelic and virginal (shut up), walking down the aisle to meet him and pledge my undying devotion to him. His eyes are supposed to well up with tears, y'all. Tears!

And so with all of my melodramatic histrionics here, you can imagine that ole HV was not too keen about having The. Moment. in the hotel lobby, before the ceremony. It's so unnatural, and mechanical, for the sake of the photos.

J assured me that we would could do it differently, and then I sniffed and wiped at my eyes and sat in the kitchen and sighed wearily.

"Happy Thanksgiving, babe," J said.


"You know, I'm really glad you and me hooked up."

And then I laughed, hard, and agreed with him.

Friday, November 16, 2007

Thrills of Life on the Open Road

I once again find myself on an Amtrak train bound for Philadelphia, eager to put the week behind me (Columbia, SC from Sunday to Monday; then Worcester, MA, Mystic, CT, to Westbrook, to New Haven). I am still smarting from my stay at the Mystic Marriott. You see, all I longed for yesterday was a simple pedicure, as the dogs are long overdue to be beautified. I meandered down to the Red Door Spa, and requested the "Express" pedicure, priced at $50.

"You know it's just a polish change. Is that okay?" Says the perfectly-coiffed receptionist.

"$50 for a polish change?" I ask.

She nods assent.

"No," I say softly, horrified. "NO! That is most certainly not okay!"

Exit HV, huffily.

So - Acela. In line for concessions (Because the hot dogs! They are still delicious!), when the man in front of me hands his money to the cashier and asks, "Did you recognize that famous actor you just waited on?"

Good night! My ears perk up.

"He seemed familiar," Oblivious Cashier admits.

I clear my throat. Friends, I can't not ask. The intrigue! Which actor - nay - famous actor has joined the commuter masses this afternoon? "Uh, who was this actor?" I inquire casually. I am nonchalant, of course.

"Mark Ruffalo."

If this were a sitcom, I would spit out a beverage theatrically at this moment. "Mark Ruffalo? Is on this train?"

"Yes," he says.

"Uh, which car?" I ask, only half kidding.

The man chuckles and tells me he does not know.

I return to my seat, carefully examining the faces of everyone I pass. I notice an attractive head of brown hair four rows back, but I shake it off and concentrate on my delicious hot dog.

Oh, but when we stop in New York and passengers begin shuffling, I turn back.

And I behold the glory that is Ruffalo (yes, that was his wavy brunette mop I spotted). He is clad in jeans and a black long sleeved tee-shirt; and ladies, he doesn't disappoint. He is fairly gorgeous, yet the fact that he is on this commuter train is perhaps most attractive. Ruffalo! A man for the people! He rose at Penn Station, retrieved one large travel back-pack from the overhead, and just like that, he walked out of my life. Fare thee well, Ruffalo. Fare thee well.

So that was my day, y'all. Tonight J and I will have drinks with friends; tomorrow I will rise at six AM to travel to Manhattan and search for a wedding dress. And possibly Mark.

(Oh, and um, this wedding dress shopping? I drew up an itinerary. Yes, yes, I did. And I called it "Wedding Gown Shopping with HV: Not For the Faint of Heart." Haha! Am crazy. Will let you know how I make out.)

Monday, November 05, 2007

Part Deux: Thank God I have had a recent tetanus shot.

Seriously, seemingl- innocent can of creamed coconut?

Newly bandaged, was just seriously startled by beeping microwave that holds Lean Cuisine dinner. Did not expect beeping.


So... Miracle Whip?

Not mayo. As it turns out.

And I was so excited to cook a meal for Grace; one that I knew how to cook.

Why, Acme, would you place Miracle Whip right next to the mayo, so as to confuse me???

Drunk now, but so?

I know that mayo should have no vinegar; that Far-Mor Stina's Curry Chicken recipe calls for MAYO! NOT MiracleWhip! What are you, Miracle Whip? You have vinegar and smell so suspicious. You are not a friend. You FOE!!

Was on phone with Koos when I discovered my grave misstep. "J!" I called, as Koos burped her adorable new baby, Four (for blog purposes) on her lap (Child is adorable and amazing. Can't explain. He is just better than your average kid.)

(God. Pinot Grigio!)

"J - I messed up? Where is pizza menu? J? How do I call Santucci Brothers?"

J: Um, how do you call Santucci Brothers? (Shakes head slowly; wonders why he proposed exactly?)

HV: I mean, like, do we have a menu?


Seriously? Probably should have eaten dinner. Would not be so drunk if could bring self to eat vinegar chicken a la curry and cream of chicken soup.



Must wATCH Mionday night foooball....

Seriously? Miracle Whip??? Why?

Luckily, salvaged delicious Thai dessert of fried bananas, toasted coconut, and coconut cream sauce. Am glorious cook. Betches.


(Shall erase this in AM.)