Month: November 2010

The Future of Meatloaf

This email, from my sister, Wa, talking about my niece and  nephew, nearly made me pee myself.

R said, as she often does, that we should open a cupcake shop.  I asked what other muffin/cupcake-shaped things we could make so we could serve lunch, too.  She and I came up with meatloaf muffins, quiche, pb&j, etc.  N, not quite getting the game, kept suggesting meatloaf in various forms:  “meatloaf pies…meatloaf Christmas trees…meatloaf roll ups!”   Later, R came running into the kitchen and waving an arm in her best Broadway “your name oughta be in lights, kid” style, said, “Mommy, I’ve got it.  It will be ‘N—‘s Meatloaf World:  The Future of Meatloaf!'”

A Dog-Shaped Space

Remember my old roommate, Dan? In April 2004, he took one look at the twin bed I was about to move into the spare bedroom of his apartment and said, “Um. No. If you don’t have room in your bed for a man, you don’t have room in your life for a man. You want a man? Go get a real bed.” I understood what he was saying. Create a metaphysical space in your life for the things you want.

Here’s the thing about that puppy I found last week. (Stay with me, these two things are related.) I feel like the man I’m going to end up with will probably be a dog person and will probably have a dog. I’m trying to leave a dog-shaped space in my house in case Mr. Wonderful and his Mastiff walk in.

Now, chances are he won’t have a Mastiff, which is good because the one I know from the dog park weighs 180 pounds. But let’s say I find a chihuahua running around the neighborhood, well, he’s only going to take up 9 pounds worth of my dog-shaped space. There would totally be room for a pit bull up in there. Or a lab, or a shepherd.

Whatever, my point is, that puppy was under 20 pounds, and he wasn’t going to grow up to be a huge dog, but he wasn’t going to grow up to be small dog, and what if he took up too much of my dog-shaped metaphysical space and Mr. Wonderful and his Rottweiler couldn’t fit?

Why, Universe, Why?

I’ve been suffering some seasonal allergies lately—stuffy nose, scratchy throat. Two days ago, I started shooting saline up my nose, which has helped, but at 3:30 this morning, when my ibuprofen wore off, my throat was undeniably sore, and I couldn’t get warm, I had to admit to myself I had developed a cold.

I called in sick to work, which I never do, and turned my alarm off. I would spend this day resting, no stress please and thank you.

At about 9:00, I roused myself and fed the dogs. They went outside and started arfing their heads off, so I took a peek, and

look what I found.

Again. Really?

He was running across the street. Collar, but no tags. I headed towards him, at which point he darted under a car and started woofing at me. His distrust was no match for his hunger, though—he was nothing but ribs!—and I distracted him long enough with treats to grab him. He bucked and barked, but I wrestled him back to my yard and fed him. He was sitting in my lap in under five minutes. Redford and Violet were pretty excited. Violet took on a reluctantly mothering demeanor, while

Redford tried to show the little guy who was boss.

Little dude was so hungry. I gave him wet food, dry food, and more treats. Even after that,

he sensed there was one more biscuit on the picnic table.
He was right. The biscuit made him thirsty, so then he drank my tea.

I had called Animal Control the moment I got him into my yard, but an hour went by and nobody showed. At that point, everybody was getting along great.

Redford and Violet even started showing off their WWE moves for him.

And he just got

cuter
and cuter
and cuter. (Put your lipstick away, Little Man!)

And I started to think maybe he’d be mine.

And then Animal Control showed up.

I cried.

A Turducken of a Date

About a year ago, a guy from OKCupid asked me out. His profile seemed promising, something along the lines of:

I’m unsatisfied in my current job, and I want to go back to school to become a writer.

I said, since he was a huge football fan, we should go to a sports bar and watch a football game. He could teach me all about the sport, see. I don’t mind football—I’ve always found it barbarically balletic—but I don’t understand all the rules, and there are so many rules, so I thought, “Hey, I’ll learn something, and he’ll feel like an expert. Win win.”

Remember my friend Cat and her ducks?

The dude was really caught up in the game so there was many a silence where I stirred my drink and arranged the salt-and-pepper shakers. (OK, my fault for assuming he could split his focus, but duck.)

I asked him about his writing, who his influences were. He said that guy who wrote Kiss the Girls. (Duck.)

He started revealing things about himself. Remember that line from his profile? I’ll translate:

I’m unsatisfied in my current job [at McDonald’s], and I want to go back to school [because I dropped out of UNC-Charlotte during my sophomore year] to become a writer [and even though I’m 30, I still live with my dad]. (Goose.)

I waited until the end of the game and said a polite goodbye. He contacted me again over OKCupid, and I told him gently that I didn’t think we were a match. And then he friended me on Facebook. (Turkey.)

I felt guilty—why did I feel guilty?!—so I accepted his friend request. Every so often he would post notes on his profile. He would do the Bill Maher thing and call them “New Rules”. And they were things like:

New Rule: Flat-chested girls should not wear strapless dresses. (Emu.)

I deleted him as a friend. He friended me again. (Ostrich.) I’m an idiot and accepted.

He emailed me the first chapter of a book he was writing, warning me that it was “pretty erotic”. Here’s the opening paragraph:

Jamie Crawford sat alone in Qdoba on Franklin Street in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.  She ate a taco while reading her 20th Century History book.  She wished someone would join her, especially a young man because she had so much to offer.

I’m hooked! Not only that, here’s some dialogue:

“So, what are you doing later?”

“Just going back to my room.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah, until around midnight or so.”

“Would you like some company?”

“Are you offering?”

“I am, actually.”

“I’d love some company.”

“Need me to drive you over?”

“Yes, that would be good.”

Move over, Mamet. Ready for some erotica?:

Once Jamie closed the door, Mark stood behind Jamie and grabbed her large breasts.  The five-six, portly, busty young woman had shoulder blade-length brown hair and green eyes.  She smiled at the six-foot-tall young man who had brown hair and blue eyes.  He began to squeeze her large, soft breasts…Mark unzipped and unbuttoned his pants, then pulled his pants and boxer briefs down, revealing his penis.

Revealing his penis?! I think I just came. Wait, there’s more.

She looked up at her appealing partner whom she’d brought back to the dorm room.  As she sucked, she used no hands.  After three more minutes of oral sex, Jamie stood up.

Get ready—then he mounts her…

The two of them began to breathe deeper as Mark increased the rate of his stroking of their private regions.  Jamie began to moan as Mark put more force behind his strokes.

“I’m coming!” she cried as she felt herself climax as Mark increased the force of his strokes again.  He then began to climax, making strange vocalizations.

That’s right: private regions and strange vocalizations. (PTERO-FUCKING-DACTYL.)

Did you know there’s a Block button on Facebook that will completely wipe out your connection with a person and make it as if you don’t exist to them? Whew.

Whoster?

On a phone call the other day, the guy I was talking to mentioned a couple he knew…they had met on Friendster…and the woman was—

Wait, what?

Friendster? Who even remembers Friendster?

And, in a weird coincidence, my friend Sean posted on Facebook that day that he gone back to Friendster and found—remarkable!—we were all still there! Just five years younger than last time he looked.

Well, of course I had to take a peek at my 2005 self. Nothing crazy different, except that I had pictures up from when I was still blond. And Friendster itself is pretty dumb; it’s no wonder it tanked. Back in the day, there was no dynamic aspect to it—no “walls” to write on, nowhere to post links, no games, no reason to log in every day. But those Friendster folks had one cool idea: they had a section where people could put up testimonials. Come along with me on my Ego Trip!

My friend from college, Anthony: Amy is one of the good guys. If you walk in a room that she is in, you will be happier than you were before you walked into that room. And I assure you – it’s not because of her choice of rooms.

Another friend from college, Ehren: The first thing you notice about Amy is her voluptuous, no –sumptuous– hotness. She is built for speed. But beneath all that sugar and spice, she is savvy and sweet, and on top of all that, she’s actually a conscientious human being who is actually giving of herself to make the world a better place. I just wish she would invite me over more. *Sigh*

My old roomie, Dan: There is no one in the world like Amy – I couldn’t adore her more. Bright, compassionate, charming and witty, and does she have an ass on her? DAMN. I’m talking bout a ghetto onion to make a brother cry…[Ed. note: Dan is a Jew.] Sweet, smart, and beautiful. Amy has it all in one amazingly-assed package. She may also be one of the prettiest women in the world – though I couldn’t tell you for sure cause I’m still looking at her butt…

Patricia, a gringa friend I met during my study-abroad semester: I met Amy at a World Boggle Tournament in Mexico [Ed. note: WBT took place in her living room.] and she blew me away with her smarts, her salsa, and her use of diagonal tiles. And then I lost track of her and I thought- Anyone who gets to live near Amy is lucky and should never complain about anything. She is outrageously beautiful, funny, generous, real, and has really good vocab. Those third graders are the luckiest of all.

A New York friend, Caroline: Amy has, quite possibly, the very best laugh in the history of the universe.

Yet another UNC friend, also named Amy and probably the funniest woman I know: amy’s heart is as big as her laugh. she is beautiful and thoughtful, she makes lethal baked goods, and she’ll never tell you, but she’s a damn good actress.

And last but not least, TWO from my sister-in-law, Melissa. The first from 2003: amy is one of the most genuinely caring people i have ever known. she is beautiful in every way a person can be beautiful. and her laugh is contagious. and her ass is worshipful. i actually worship at the altar of her ass.

And the second from 2005: amy makes the world a better place, on purpose and with meaning. amy constantly challenges herself. she inspires awe. she climbs mountains, solves puzzles, makes pronouncements and never settles. amy is wicked smaht but will never make you feel small. amy decided i should marry her brother and i decided to go along with it. she just knows what’s best.

What did I learn from this experience?

  1. Back then, I used to laugh a lot. Sad, but I don’t think I do anymore.
  2. My ass was huge. That’s still true.
  3. It’s really fun when people say nice things about you. Let’s say nice things about each other more often!