We went to Portland last weekend. We left Jay around 10:30 a.m. Saturday, in order to get to the Portland Public Library by noon (they were having their book sale, and noon was when prices were slashed - ten cents per paperback, fifty cents per hardcover). We, as always, were late, but Emily S., who met us there, knew this was likely going to be the case. She herself had just gotten there when we arrived at ten past. We talked, mocked, browsed and made purchases. I think we were at the religion table when I was sharing my UMF tale, about not being accepted, about hearing that they weren't necessarily a non-traditional campus, feeling weird about it, etc., when a strange gal (late twenties, early thirties?) came up to me. I will abridge the encounter.
"Hi, did you just say University of Maine in Farmington? I just applied there. I have a 3.0, what was your GPA? (my answer: "Actually, I don't know.") I've been told I'm inspirational, I survived cancer you know. Then there was the abuse. I just submitted my essay. I think I'll get in. So you didn't get in? I think I have a good shot. Do you think I'll get in? I've been told I'm an inspiration."
There were also questions about how Emily and I knew each other. Jeremy had long since defected to a far corner of the auditorium. Emily eventually followed. I did my best to maintain politeness while this girl followed me around the book sale. I later managed a subtle, natural escape. Not that I didn't feel sorry for this girl. I don't imagine she has many friends to talk to if she can walk up to strangers and unload like that. But it's hard to sympathize when your sad tale so perfectly highlights my general feeling of inferiority. I threw lots of "that DOES sound inspirational! I'm sure, despite the university's tendency not to admit non-traditional students, that you will be the exception to the rule." and "yeah, my GPA was nowhere near 3.0, so that'll help."
From there, we went to the public market for coffee. We caught up (we hadn't seen each other in who knows how long, and had been trying to make plans to get together for the last ten months), reminisced, and went to browse at Material Objects. We didn't last long there, and parted ways shortly thereafter. We stopped in at Clay City to make plans with the other Emily, and popped into Videoport to visit and get movies. Jeremy and I had a late lunch at the Oriental Table (the best food on the eastern seaboard).
We went to Michelle and David's from there, where we met their new cat, and watched The Adventures of Pete and Pete on DVD. Emily came over after work, and she, me and Michelle went to Target. There was lots of almost-purchasing, and Michelle inadvertently asked a stockboy we had just deemed excessively bootylicious about where we might find contact paper. We had Target Dogs, and an enlightening debate over natural cures for yeast infections (garlic vs yogurt). I think it was the first time we all hung out together, without the men. It was the highlight of my weekend.
Once we were back, we watched three Garfield specials, and prepared ourselves for Ruskis. We went at 11:00, and were the first ones there. A few people later tricked in, and it was a nice, calm evening. Emily S. showed up, as she's dating one of Jeremy's Videoport pals, so I spent a large portion of the evening chatting with her. From there we went back to Dennis's, watched some Robot Chicken (not a funny show, but not unfunny either), and went to bed. The next morning we woke up entirely too early, and went to breakfast with Jackie. We stopped in to see if Em and the Joes were around, but alas, they were out. Which worked fine for us, because we were ready to go home.
___
Every Wednesday, the following week's new releases are sent to us via Fed Ex. Our Fed Ex guy is exceptionally nice-looking. Tami and I are the only ones who ever have to deal with him, so we will talk about his hair cut, how he shaved his beard, etc. At one point he was a quiet and shy delivery guy. Last week, however, the movies came on Tuesday, and Tami was there alone. She's a tell-it-like-it-is type, and I think she told it. Right to him. Because yesterday, Mr. Fex Ex Ground came in, and was perky and chatty... I commented on the exceptional temperatures outside, and he told me that he was going to have to pull out the Fex Ex shorts soon, because he was getting sweaty and people were complaining! And he said it with the shamelessness of a guy who's suddenly found his confidence. Naughty Fex Ex guy! I laughed about his shorts for the rest of the afternoon. Shameless, I tell you. I love this town.
30 March 2006
23 March 2006
pu pu for who?
I had coffee for the first (...and second...and third) time this morning since last week. My addiction was being fueled by something else completely. FULL THROTTLE FURY! It's the Coca Cola energy drink that Movie Gallery bigwigs decided to stock our cooler with. I tried it out of curiosity (because its arrival instigated the creepiest, most insane conversation with Camper Man I've ever had to endure), and was immediately hooked. To taste, it's kind of like tangerine and pomegranate, plus carbonation. One 16-ounce can will jack you up beyond acceptable levels of crazy. Needless to say, we all got hooked. They originally sent twenty-four. Between five of us, it was gone within the week. I'm desperate for more to be delivered. There's no guarantee of that happening. Some poor hack in Alabama ultimately decides whether I ever get to enjoy the sweet caffeinated nectar again. To make matters worse, no one else in the area stocks this liquid gold! It's cruel, really.
I'm increasingly conflicted about MySpace. I'm being found by people I haven't spoken to in years. My high school is simultaneously discovering the site, and suddenly it's like Classmates.com, but without having to pay money. But there's something flawed in addressing everyone you know at the same time. I can't really write blogs there, because not everyone gets the funny! Many people aren't privvy to what's in Fannie's head. I'm constantly editing and censoring myself. Not that that's a bad thing...thinking about what I'm saying tends to be good for me...but there are limits. Still, it's interesting. *sigh*
Things are pretty calm. Life's been living itself for the most part. March has flown by. Oh, the ladybugs are back. A sign that spring has sprung? Sure! But we're still sleeping on the floor. It seems like too-easy access. We seriously need to buy a bed.
April Walsh is going to be ridiculously famous. Why? Because I said so. And she could totally play 16, ask anyone.
Jeremy and I are going to Portland this weekend. It's been awhile since we've seen anyone, and our schedules worked themselves out enough to allow a trip. Almost everyone we know lives in Portland, which means that by the time Sunday rolls around, we'll be back to never again wanting to associate with people.
We're officially thinking about moving. Sometime between May and September, preferably to the Brunswick area. It's close enough to places we like to be while also being a comfortable 30-minutes from everything we sometimes like to avoid. And they just built a Target in Topsham! Is that a sign or what?!
And as abruptly as it began, it ends.
I'm increasingly conflicted about MySpace. I'm being found by people I haven't spoken to in years. My high school is simultaneously discovering the site, and suddenly it's like Classmates.com, but without having to pay money. But there's something flawed in addressing everyone you know at the same time. I can't really write blogs there, because not everyone gets the funny! Many people aren't privvy to what's in Fannie's head. I'm constantly editing and censoring myself. Not that that's a bad thing...thinking about what I'm saying tends to be good for me...but there are limits. Still, it's interesting. *sigh*
Things are pretty calm. Life's been living itself for the most part. March has flown by. Oh, the ladybugs are back. A sign that spring has sprung? Sure! But we're still sleeping on the floor. It seems like too-easy access. We seriously need to buy a bed.
April Walsh is going to be ridiculously famous. Why? Because I said so. And she could totally play 16, ask anyone.
Jeremy and I are going to Portland this weekend. It's been awhile since we've seen anyone, and our schedules worked themselves out enough to allow a trip. Almost everyone we know lives in Portland, which means that by the time Sunday rolls around, we'll be back to never again wanting to associate with people.
We're officially thinking about moving. Sometime between May and September, preferably to the Brunswick area. It's close enough to places we like to be while also being a comfortable 30-minutes from everything we sometimes like to avoid. And they just built a Target in Topsham! Is that a sign or what?!
And as abruptly as it began, it ends.
14 March 2006
thank heavens for little girls selling overpriced cookies
I found a girl scout!
Penny, aunt of Tami (and co-Movie Gallery worker from another store), has a daughter who's a scout. I overheard cookie talk yesterday, and managed to make it known that I was more than willing to make the acquisition of cookies worthwhile for everyone involved. I got a box each of what used to be Samoas and Tagalongs, and a box of Thin Mints (everyone likes Thin Mints!) Much to my surprise, they were delivered today. (Tami bought roughly a case of each cookie, so she's selling off her wares. The girl scouts generally make their rounds in January, I'm told). So I made a pot of coffee, and limiting myself to two of each cookie today. I pounded the "Peanut Butter Patties" (sounds stupid, doesn't it? Maybe a letter-writing campaign might convince Girl Scouts of America to change the names back?) before changing out of my work clothes, and am currently savoring my Samoas (I forget the new name...it's not worth remembering). Thin Mints, however, are an after-dinner cookie. They're for later.
After work I decided to change into a shirt I don't often wear. I spend almost all my time in a red polo shirt and khaki pants. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I'll come home and change into one of two hooded sweatshirts (the green or the brown stripey) and pajama pants. Most of my clothing never gets worn. Between not fitting as well as it used to, and not being warm enough (we heat as little as possible), most of my wardrobe gets no face time. I opted for a tan and black striped turtleneck that I bought from a thrift store in Washington, and I hate it. It's a great shirt...but it doesn't silence the voice telling me that the green sweatshirt has yet to reach it's filth maximum, and is still entirely wearable.
Huh, what other girly and uninteresting things can I talk about? My hair! It's long now. Not long long, but longer than any other time in my life. I've always been a short-hair person. But right now I have a pony tail on top of my head, and most of it is still in the elastic! It's bizarre. I finally learned how to break through the awkward-length desperation trim:
Step 1: Spend the better part of the year unemployed, allowing bills to pile up. Poverty plays a key role in hair growth.
Step 2: Move to the foothills of western Maine, where you could sooner find four wheeler outfitters than hairdressers.
Step 3: Date someone who refuses to cut the back of your hair, even if you're only asking them to cut a straight line, and you'd set the length by cutting the sides in advance.
It's as easy as that, ladies (and gents...though you should know, your hair looks better short). Within six months, your hair will cease to spike when you put it up (you'll miss the spikes, as they were kind of funny, but you'll eventually move on). I might eventually cut it, but probably not before we move. The effort isn't worth the hassle, and it doesn't look awkward anymore. Not that I ever wear it down. I'm not a long-hair person. Pony tail, 24-7.
Penny, aunt of Tami (and co-Movie Gallery worker from another store), has a daughter who's a scout. I overheard cookie talk yesterday, and managed to make it known that I was more than willing to make the acquisition of cookies worthwhile for everyone involved. I got a box each of what used to be Samoas and Tagalongs, and a box of Thin Mints (everyone likes Thin Mints!) Much to my surprise, they were delivered today. (Tami bought roughly a case of each cookie, so she's selling off her wares. The girl scouts generally make their rounds in January, I'm told). So I made a pot of coffee, and limiting myself to two of each cookie today. I pounded the "Peanut Butter Patties" (sounds stupid, doesn't it? Maybe a letter-writing campaign might convince Girl Scouts of America to change the names back?) before changing out of my work clothes, and am currently savoring my Samoas (I forget the new name...it's not worth remembering). Thin Mints, however, are an after-dinner cookie. They're for later.
After work I decided to change into a shirt I don't often wear. I spend almost all my time in a red polo shirt and khaki pants. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I'll come home and change into one of two hooded sweatshirts (the green or the brown stripey) and pajama pants. Most of my clothing never gets worn. Between not fitting as well as it used to, and not being warm enough (we heat as little as possible), most of my wardrobe gets no face time. I opted for a tan and black striped turtleneck that I bought from a thrift store in Washington, and I hate it. It's a great shirt...but it doesn't silence the voice telling me that the green sweatshirt has yet to reach it's filth maximum, and is still entirely wearable.
Huh, what other girly and uninteresting things can I talk about? My hair! It's long now. Not long long, but longer than any other time in my life. I've always been a short-hair person. But right now I have a pony tail on top of my head, and most of it is still in the elastic! It's bizarre. I finally learned how to break through the awkward-length desperation trim:
Step 1: Spend the better part of the year unemployed, allowing bills to pile up. Poverty plays a key role in hair growth.
Step 2: Move to the foothills of western Maine, where you could sooner find four wheeler outfitters than hairdressers.
Step 3: Date someone who refuses to cut the back of your hair, even if you're only asking them to cut a straight line, and you'd set the length by cutting the sides in advance.
It's as easy as that, ladies (and gents...though you should know, your hair looks better short). Within six months, your hair will cease to spike when you put it up (you'll miss the spikes, as they were kind of funny, but you'll eventually move on). I might eventually cut it, but probably not before we move. The effort isn't worth the hassle, and it doesn't look awkward anymore. Not that I ever wear it down. I'm not a long-hair person. Pony tail, 24-7.
10 March 2006
on my general health
One morning last week, as I prepared myself for work, I noticed that I looked...different. I couldn't pinpoint what had changed. "Have I aged?" "Am I tan?" I asked Jeremy. He wasn't sure. Were my eyebrows plucked into a shape foreign to my face? Not as far as I could tell. I finished getting ready with little thought on the matter, and went about my day as any other. Last night, I figured it out. Expansion.
My face is larger.
Not behemoth large, but let's say I were to trip and land on my head. The fall would be cushioned. I clearly remember the resolution to make an effort to stand and wave my arms around every once in awhile. So far, the standing more closely resembles sitting, and the waving of arms has been replaced with general motionlessness. And it's not just my face. It's also my upper arms, thighs and abdomen. My neck, god bless it, still looks sleek as ever. But at the rate of expansion going on just to the north, my head mass will inevitably crush vertebras C1 thru 7 faster than the decision to wait another ten minutes to get up to pee.
So I'm snapping into action! I'm starting small...crunches and sitbacks (the opposite of the sit-up; I throw my torso face-first over the arm of the couch, and use my back to pull myself up). Fifteen of each today, because I'm not in good shape. Tomorrow I'm pulling out the dumbbells to do arm stuff. Also, after some chatting with Emily, I've decided to attempt jogging. The recent snowfall influenced the delay in setting a start date. I'm thinking maybe April 1st (which is appropriate, since jogging will be a huge practical joke on my cardiovascular system). In the meantime I'll be physically preparing. I remembered the existence of the "Couch to 5K", and will follow it. I'm pretty jazzed about it. My stomach is a worthless lump of flesh right now, but my back is fitter than I anticipated.
That's all on the subject for now. I have other things to talk about. Namely, Good Night, and Good Luck. I contemplated expounding at length about how much I love this movie, and why. But I don't want to overhype it. I will say that if you don't plan to watch it, you will be missing out. I liked the way it was approached, the way it was shot...I ADORED the cast (even Patricia Clarkson, who I'm still not sure why she keeps showing up in movies). The commentary was great, the featurette is entirely watchable...I'm saying too much. Forget my fawning. Instead, I'll say "it's a good movie". If you happen to love it, tell me. I could talk about this movie all day. It comes out Tuesday.
My face is larger.
Not behemoth large, but let's say I were to trip and land on my head. The fall would be cushioned. I clearly remember the resolution to make an effort to stand and wave my arms around every once in awhile. So far, the standing more closely resembles sitting, and the waving of arms has been replaced with general motionlessness. And it's not just my face. It's also my upper arms, thighs and abdomen. My neck, god bless it, still looks sleek as ever. But at the rate of expansion going on just to the north, my head mass will inevitably crush vertebras C1 thru 7 faster than the decision to wait another ten minutes to get up to pee.
So I'm snapping into action! I'm starting small...crunches and sitbacks (the opposite of the sit-up; I throw my torso face-first over the arm of the couch, and use my back to pull myself up). Fifteen of each today, because I'm not in good shape. Tomorrow I'm pulling out the dumbbells to do arm stuff. Also, after some chatting with Emily, I've decided to attempt jogging. The recent snowfall influenced the delay in setting a start date. I'm thinking maybe April 1st (which is appropriate, since jogging will be a huge practical joke on my cardiovascular system). In the meantime I'll be physically preparing. I remembered the existence of the "Couch to 5K", and will follow it. I'm pretty jazzed about it. My stomach is a worthless lump of flesh right now, but my back is fitter than I anticipated.
That's all on the subject for now. I have other things to talk about. Namely, Good Night, and Good Luck. I contemplated expounding at length about how much I love this movie, and why. But I don't want to overhype it. I will say that if you don't plan to watch it, you will be missing out. I liked the way it was approached, the way it was shot...I ADORED the cast (even Patricia Clarkson, who I'm still not sure why she keeps showing up in movies). The commentary was great, the featurette is entirely watchable...I'm saying too much. Forget my fawning. Instead, I'll say "it's a good movie". If you happen to love it, tell me. I could talk about this movie all day. It comes out Tuesday.
08 March 2006
because it looked fun.
Ten Top Trivia Tips about Fannie!
- The fannie-fighting market in the Philippines is huge - several thousand fannie-fights take place there every day!
- Fannie can fly at an average speed of fifteen kilometres an hour.
- Without fannie, we would have to pollinate apple trees by hand!
- Fannie has a memory span of three seconds.
- Fannie can sleep with one eye open.
- The military salute is a motion that evolved from medieval times, when knights in armour raised their visors to reveal fannie.
- If you cut fannie in half and count the number of seeds inside, you will know how many children you are going to have.
- Fannie was banned from Finland because of not wearing pants.
- Thirty-five percent of the people who use personal ads for dating are fannie.
- Influenza got its name because people believed the disease was caused by the evil "influence" of fannie.
06 March 2006
i hate the oscars
Crash was NOT the best motion picture of 2005.
If you're asking me (let's pretend, shall we?), Crash was manipulative. I'm not going to pity characters who haven't earned my sympathy. Just because your life is hard doesn't mean you get to be an asshole. There were moments that weren't terrbile, but on the whole I felt like my feelings for the characters were being dictated to me. The script was mostly weak, and yeah. Me no likey the Crash.
But at least it was a surprise. Did you notice that, for the most part, the category favorites were the eventual winners? How boring.
Reese Witherspoon was good in Walk the Line, but she wasn't Academy Award-winning good. But Joaquin Phoenix was. I'm surprised to be be saying it, because reading about the movie and seeing previews didn't prepare me for how truly excellent a Johnny Cash he was. I managed to forget that he was Joaquin. And that, to me, is good acting. Not that Phillip Seymour Hoffman wasn't worthy. I haven't seen Capote yet (due out on DVD March 14th! Same day, might I add, as Good Night, And Good Luck). I'm just saying that if Walk the Line was going to win awards for acting, the wrong person was recognized.
John Stewart didn't wow me. Maybe it's because I wanted him to. He's no Billy Crystal. To make it better, I'm making him responsible for everyone receiving their awards on stage again. Good job, John! Thanks for setting the suits at the Academy straight!!!
And you know what? George Clooney is really sexy. Whether he's technically my type or not, the man will not be denied!
That's about all the commentary I've got. We attempted to make viewing the Oscars a special celebration of sorts, and bought several movie-appropriate snacks from Hannaford shortly before showtime. Kettle popcorn, pull & peel Twizzlers, Jimmy Dean breakfast sandwiches (which made my morning coffee even more enjoyable), IBC cream soda, and the most disgusting flavor of Skittles known to man. Take my advice: Smoothie Skittles are not worth the money or the heartache. Jeremy has taken to calling them "candle bites".
It occured to me yesterday that the Oscars are aired on television, and then are eligible for an Emmy...shouldn't, in turn, the Emmys be a movie, and eligible to win an Oscar? Is this a sign, perhaps, that television is the more powerful medium? I'm just saying... don't step to the TV, friends.
If you're asking me (let's pretend, shall we?), Crash was manipulative. I'm not going to pity characters who haven't earned my sympathy. Just because your life is hard doesn't mean you get to be an asshole. There were moments that weren't terrbile, but on the whole I felt like my feelings for the characters were being dictated to me. The script was mostly weak, and yeah. Me no likey the Crash.
But at least it was a surprise. Did you notice that, for the most part, the category favorites were the eventual winners? How boring.
Reese Witherspoon was good in Walk the Line, but she wasn't Academy Award-winning good. But Joaquin Phoenix was. I'm surprised to be be saying it, because reading about the movie and seeing previews didn't prepare me for how truly excellent a Johnny Cash he was. I managed to forget that he was Joaquin. And that, to me, is good acting. Not that Phillip Seymour Hoffman wasn't worthy. I haven't seen Capote yet (due out on DVD March 14th! Same day, might I add, as Good Night, And Good Luck). I'm just saying that if Walk the Line was going to win awards for acting, the wrong person was recognized.
John Stewart didn't wow me. Maybe it's because I wanted him to. He's no Billy Crystal. To make it better, I'm making him responsible for everyone receiving their awards on stage again. Good job, John! Thanks for setting the suits at the Academy straight!!!
And you know what? George Clooney is really sexy. Whether he's technically my type or not, the man will not be denied!
That's about all the commentary I've got. We attempted to make viewing the Oscars a special celebration of sorts, and bought several movie-appropriate snacks from Hannaford shortly before showtime. Kettle popcorn, pull & peel Twizzlers, Jimmy Dean breakfast sandwiches (which made my morning coffee even more enjoyable), IBC cream soda, and the most disgusting flavor of Skittles known to man. Take my advice: Smoothie Skittles are not worth the money or the heartache. Jeremy has taken to calling them "candle bites".
It occured to me yesterday that the Oscars are aired on television, and then are eligible for an Emmy...shouldn't, in turn, the Emmys be a movie, and eligible to win an Oscar? Is this a sign, perhaps, that television is the more powerful medium? I'm just saying... don't step to the TV, friends.
02 March 2006
pleasant valley tuesday
Tuesday was perfect.
I had the day off, which generally makes waking up more joyous. Jeremy mentioned he was considering taking the day off. I said nothing, because if I've learned anything in the last several years, it's that my opinion doesn't always help particular matters, particularly when "badness" is involved. I settled on saying "I'm pro- whatever...work is good, but so is a day off together." That way, I'm not saying "well, you should probably go to work," thus killing the excitement of the suggestion, while at the same time I'm mildly encouraging him to play hookey. Because Tuesday morning I could think of nothing I wanted more than for Jeremy to take a sick day and tool around town with me.
I had to unlock the store for one of the new girls, so I ran across the street at 9:00 a.m. to do so. By the time I got back, Jeremy had made the necessary call. So we took showers, and prepped for a day out. Having received his paycheck the previous day, we went to the bank so Jeremy could cash and deposit his check. We paid off our last outstanding bill from Seattle, not to mention the furniture credit, and a utility (not sure which one. we stagger them). From there we stopped at "A Touch of Class", a thrift store in Farmington. EXTREMELY disappointing. They had a wide selection of unique cologne bottles, most still full of (what we assumed was) their original cologne. Bitter, stinging, old-man scents. One of them was in a glass turkey bottle. I can't remember the others, but they were equally bizarre and seemingly inapprorpiate.
Next stop: Wal*Mart! Because for us, there's no other reason to go to Farmington. Our most recent trips have all resulted in successful DVD purchases. Tuesday was no exception. Jeremy bought the special edition of Jaws for $13, and he got me the two-disk The Parent Trap/The Parent Trap 2 set...two of the only movies my mother deemed worthy when I was seven and eight years old. We toyed with buying a Nintendo DS, the system that supports the newest version of Animal Crossing. But the enjoyment of meals eventually beat it out, as we've not done a proper grocery shop in several weeks.
We went to Wilton from there, in hopes of finding a good place to get lunch. We stopped at the New Great Wall, a small Chinese establishment. It felt a little creaky inside, but not altogether terrible. Jeremy didn't agree, and loudly told me he forgot his wallet in the car in order to get us out. We walked to The Boiler Room from there, which is supposedly a nice place, but they were closed. No lunch in the winter! So we went back to Farmington - to Fortune Fountain (I think?), the Chinese restaurant next to Wal*Mart. They had a fountain inside - go figure! The food was pretty much what we expected, with the exception of the grainy crab rangoon, which tasted vaguely as if someone had chewed it for us, then spit the concoction, blended with sand, back into the rangoon. We took most of our food with us. We stopped on the way back to return overdue library books, then headed to the apartment.
We rented three games from Movie Gallery, and took them home. They all sucked. So we took turns playing Animal Crossing and using the computer. From here, I have to thank Beth, because her blog effected the rest of the night. I noticed that she was playing the new Animal Crossing game. Weird, I thought. Seeing that we came so close to buying it, it almost felt like a sign. Of course, Beth confirmed its general awesomeness, and we were convinced. We got back in the car, drove BACK to Farmington, and bought the system and the game. The night was spent playing new Animal Crossing and watching Gilmore Girls.
The end.
I had the day off, which generally makes waking up more joyous. Jeremy mentioned he was considering taking the day off. I said nothing, because if I've learned anything in the last several years, it's that my opinion doesn't always help particular matters, particularly when "badness" is involved. I settled on saying "I'm pro- whatever...work is good, but so is a day off together." That way, I'm not saying "well, you should probably go to work," thus killing the excitement of the suggestion, while at the same time I'm mildly encouraging him to play hookey. Because Tuesday morning I could think of nothing I wanted more than for Jeremy to take a sick day and tool around town with me.
I had to unlock the store for one of the new girls, so I ran across the street at 9:00 a.m. to do so. By the time I got back, Jeremy had made the necessary call. So we took showers, and prepped for a day out. Having received his paycheck the previous day, we went to the bank so Jeremy could cash and deposit his check. We paid off our last outstanding bill from Seattle, not to mention the furniture credit, and a utility (not sure which one. we stagger them). From there we stopped at "A Touch of Class", a thrift store in Farmington. EXTREMELY disappointing. They had a wide selection of unique cologne bottles, most still full of (what we assumed was) their original cologne. Bitter, stinging, old-man scents. One of them was in a glass turkey bottle. I can't remember the others, but they were equally bizarre and seemingly inapprorpiate.
Next stop: Wal*Mart! Because for us, there's no other reason to go to Farmington. Our most recent trips have all resulted in successful DVD purchases. Tuesday was no exception. Jeremy bought the special edition of Jaws for $13, and he got me the two-disk The Parent Trap/The Parent Trap 2 set...two of the only movies my mother deemed worthy when I was seven and eight years old. We toyed with buying a Nintendo DS, the system that supports the newest version of Animal Crossing. But the enjoyment of meals eventually beat it out, as we've not done a proper grocery shop in several weeks.
We went to Wilton from there, in hopes of finding a good place to get lunch. We stopped at the New Great Wall, a small Chinese establishment. It felt a little creaky inside, but not altogether terrible. Jeremy didn't agree, and loudly told me he forgot his wallet in the car in order to get us out. We walked to The Boiler Room from there, which is supposedly a nice place, but they were closed. No lunch in the winter! So we went back to Farmington - to Fortune Fountain (I think?), the Chinese restaurant next to Wal*Mart. They had a fountain inside - go figure! The food was pretty much what we expected, with the exception of the grainy crab rangoon, which tasted vaguely as if someone had chewed it for us, then spit the concoction, blended with sand, back into the rangoon. We took most of our food with us. We stopped on the way back to return overdue library books, then headed to the apartment.
We rented three games from Movie Gallery, and took them home. They all sucked. So we took turns playing Animal Crossing and using the computer. From here, I have to thank Beth, because her blog effected the rest of the night. I noticed that she was playing the new Animal Crossing game. Weird, I thought. Seeing that we came so close to buying it, it almost felt like a sign. Of course, Beth confirmed its general awesomeness, and we were convinced. We got back in the car, drove BACK to Farmington, and bought the system and the game. The night was spent playing new Animal Crossing and watching Gilmore Girls.
The end.
01 March 2006
the curse of peter vella
It feels only fair to warn you, the reader, that this entry is pretty gross. It's graphic for the sake of posterity, and not everyone will be able to stomach the contents (I swear, this sentence is rife with puns! Why can't I be this clever when I'm trying??) of this entry.
Finally, I have the energy to write something!
We went to Portland on Saturday. The plan was to pop into Clay City to see the divine Ms. Em, then to spend the evening attacking a box of wine with Esteban* and his wife Selsun*. Attack it we did! Jeremy and I supplied the box of Peter Vella's Chardonnay (the white grenache was gone, and it was the least horrifying alternative). Esteban also had another bottle of white, easy-to-consume wine. We watched movies, chatted, visited...and twenty minutes later, I was drunk. We primarily watched a selection of $1 films that Jeremy and I found at Wal*Mart the previous evening: specifically, Concrete Cowboys, starring Tom Selleck and Jerry Reed; and The Curious Adventures of Mr. Wonderbird, an old cartoon, allegedly based on a story by Hans Christian Anderson. Neither film make an ounce of sense. And that's not the alcohol's fault. (we toyed with watching a third, Panda and the Magic Serpent, but we just couldn't do it. We did watch Stroker Ace again, though.)
I don't think I had more than six glasses (though Jeremy tells me they more closely resembled "goblets") of wine. Nevertheless, when we finally went to bed several hours later, I wasn't horizontal for long before the Vella needed to make its violent exit. I managed to get to the bathroom before accidentally throwing up all over the door. Jeremy came into help me clean it up, since I was still in the process of being physically ill. All we could find was toilet paper, so we used huge clumps to wipe up what we could find before throwing it all into the toilet.
Did that make you stop, allowing you to intuit what happened next? Because if your guess was that the next flush caused the toilet to overflow, then you would be right! So the toilet was leaking water all over the floor, all over us, all over everything. We used more toilet paper and the only two towels we could find to soak the water up (and this time, we disposed of the mess in the garbage can). Jeremy plunged the toilet a bit, and we got the water level down. But we weren't sure if we had actually unplugged the toilet or not! Meanwhile, I was still actively sick, and being disallowed to flush. Having to stick my face in the can was reason enough to be sick after a few more hacks. After awhile, I could take no more, and flushed again. Thankfully, the blockage was gone.
That was the first hour.
Any time I attempted to stand up or lie down (vertical and horizontal were not happening), I'd start yakking again. I hadn't had that much to eat that day (which is my own fault, but not the point), so somewhere around the beginning of hour two I ran out of things to throw up. I had tried drinking water, but any time I sipped I puked it right back out. A yellow substance, tasting much like aspirin, started replacing it. That was interspersed with dry heaves, which for some reason were uncontrollably loud and desperate-sounding. Jeremy, my loving man-hunk, sat with me. His attempts at physical comforting resulted in further retching. But it was nice not to be alone.
Anyway, this went on for hours. During that time, Jeremy spent some time reading Dianetics in the hallway, and eventually went to bed. Around 5:00 a.m. we went back to the living room. I sat in a chair for awhile, hoping to fall asleep upright. That went well for about twenty minutes, at which point I attepted to lie down with Jeremy. Literally two seconds after putting my head down, I started getting sick again. I ran to the bathroom for another hour of fun. This time, I sought the company of tabloids. At 6:30 I went back to the living room, and managed to fall asleep in the chair. A little after 7:00, Esteban woke us up by pretending he wasn't waking us up. Apparently he and Selsun slept like babies. They heard none of the commotion, and were, in fact, about to comment on how "apparently no one got THAT drunk last night". If only.
We got back to Jay just after noontime on Sunday. We napped and watched television.
The amazing this is, I didn't think I was that drunk. Seriously. Only after the fact was I informed that Peter Vella Chardonnay is 11% alcohol. Not 11 proof. A huge difference. Eleven proof doesn't result in almost six hours of puking. It was good wine though. It's too bad I'm never never never drinking again. Oh well. More for everyone else!
*names changed for my own personal amusement
Finally, I have the energy to write something!
We went to Portland on Saturday. The plan was to pop into Clay City to see the divine Ms. Em, then to spend the evening attacking a box of wine with Esteban* and his wife Selsun*. Attack it we did! Jeremy and I supplied the box of Peter Vella's Chardonnay (the white grenache was gone, and it was the least horrifying alternative). Esteban also had another bottle of white, easy-to-consume wine. We watched movies, chatted, visited...and twenty minutes later, I was drunk. We primarily watched a selection of $1 films that Jeremy and I found at Wal*Mart the previous evening: specifically, Concrete Cowboys, starring Tom Selleck and Jerry Reed; and The Curious Adventures of Mr. Wonderbird, an old cartoon, allegedly based on a story by Hans Christian Anderson. Neither film make an ounce of sense. And that's not the alcohol's fault. (we toyed with watching a third, Panda and the Magic Serpent, but we just couldn't do it. We did watch Stroker Ace again, though.)
I don't think I had more than six glasses (though Jeremy tells me they more closely resembled "goblets") of wine. Nevertheless, when we finally went to bed several hours later, I wasn't horizontal for long before the Vella needed to make its violent exit. I managed to get to the bathroom before accidentally throwing up all over the door. Jeremy came into help me clean it up, since I was still in the process of being physically ill. All we could find was toilet paper, so we used huge clumps to wipe up what we could find before throwing it all into the toilet.
Did that make you stop, allowing you to intuit what happened next? Because if your guess was that the next flush caused the toilet to overflow, then you would be right! So the toilet was leaking water all over the floor, all over us, all over everything. We used more toilet paper and the only two towels we could find to soak the water up (and this time, we disposed of the mess in the garbage can). Jeremy plunged the toilet a bit, and we got the water level down. But we weren't sure if we had actually unplugged the toilet or not! Meanwhile, I was still actively sick, and being disallowed to flush. Having to stick my face in the can was reason enough to be sick after a few more hacks. After awhile, I could take no more, and flushed again. Thankfully, the blockage was gone.
That was the first hour.
Any time I attempted to stand up or lie down (vertical and horizontal were not happening), I'd start yakking again. I hadn't had that much to eat that day (which is my own fault, but not the point), so somewhere around the beginning of hour two I ran out of things to throw up. I had tried drinking water, but any time I sipped I puked it right back out. A yellow substance, tasting much like aspirin, started replacing it. That was interspersed with dry heaves, which for some reason were uncontrollably loud and desperate-sounding. Jeremy, my loving man-hunk, sat with me. His attempts at physical comforting resulted in further retching. But it was nice not to be alone.
Anyway, this went on for hours. During that time, Jeremy spent some time reading Dianetics in the hallway, and eventually went to bed. Around 5:00 a.m. we went back to the living room. I sat in a chair for awhile, hoping to fall asleep upright. That went well for about twenty minutes, at which point I attepted to lie down with Jeremy. Literally two seconds after putting my head down, I started getting sick again. I ran to the bathroom for another hour of fun. This time, I sought the company of tabloids. At 6:30 I went back to the living room, and managed to fall asleep in the chair. A little after 7:00, Esteban woke us up by pretending he wasn't waking us up. Apparently he and Selsun slept like babies. They heard none of the commotion, and were, in fact, about to comment on how "apparently no one got THAT drunk last night". If only.
We got back to Jay just after noontime on Sunday. We napped and watched television.
The amazing this is, I didn't think I was that drunk. Seriously. Only after the fact was I informed that Peter Vella Chardonnay is 11% alcohol. Not 11 proof. A huge difference. Eleven proof doesn't result in almost six hours of puking. It was good wine though. It's too bad I'm never never never drinking again. Oh well. More for everyone else!
*names changed for my own personal amusement
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