Jack is here.
He is staying with us for the weekend to allow his Mother time to locate what's left of her sanity. Her husband AND her son are gone for the weekend. She is literally left with nothing but the voices in her head to keep her company!
(And two really annoying yapper dogs.......)
Jack & Gina arrived at the crack of dawn. I could hear him yammering away as he was tugging his suitcase up my steps. His suitcase is designed for a wee tot such as himself and was one of his birthday presents from Auntie M & Co. The Teletubbies are emblazoned on the front of the case. Hideous to an adult? Sure is. Totally stone-y and fresh to a 3 yr old? YES!
I opened the door and received my usual greeting: "Ine here!" The Monsters were with me so he didn't have to ask where his kids were. As he pushed past me I said: "Hey Dude. I love your suitcase." He turned back around to face me, his little face beaming with pride and said:"Thith my tubby case! Ine spending the night wifs yous!", and then he collapsed into a fit of giggles.
Seriously, there is nothing better than being your own best audience!
(And I would totally know......!)
Because Jack is three and it takes about an hour and twenty minutes to get from his house to mine, I asked him if he needed to go potty. I was told NO.
Auntie M: Are you sure? Let's try.....
J: Nope. Ine good.
A.M.: Dude. We don't want to have an accident.....let's go Big Whiz.
J: I juth went Big Whiz...........IN MY PANTS!
As I turn to my sister to inquire of the pee pants situation, she simply gives me the hand and says, "I need some coffee." To which Jack replies, "Hey Guys! Whut about thith pee in my pants?"
************************
The scene: My son's bedroom. Jack has been in the house for a total of 15 minutes and Sam's room is already littered with cars, actions figures and books. Gina is sitting on the bed, getting ready to say her goodbyes to her son when she whispers something in his ear. Jack then leaps off the bed and comes to stand directly in front of me.
Jack: Hey Auntie M? Wanna here'd my duck joke?
A.M.: Absolutely!
Jack: Oh-Kay! Auntie M? How does a duck learned to fly?
A.M.: How does a duck learn to fly? (To which Jack yells: Yeah! How dooze he?!) Ummmm....I don't know, how does he?
Jack: He juth wings it! (insert my Dude jumping up to catch some serious air while flapping his "wings"!!)
*************************************
The scene: Jack. In the tub. Surrounded by bubbles. And cars. And rubber ducks. And many, many pirate ships. After an hour and a half at the park (which included lots of running of both the wee tot and our golden retriever!); an hour of playing in the backyard with The Monsters; and the rest of the day spent running up and down (and up and down, and up and down!) Auntie M's stairs- Jack is filthy. I am attempting to multi task: clean the wee one with a bath and clean The Monster's bathroom as well.
Jack is chattering away (he hasn't stopped since he arrived!) and attempting to make 3 pointers from the middle of the tub with Sam's Nerf Basketball set.
Jack: Auntie M? What's thith? (he asks while pointing at the soap ledge that is built into the tub)
A.M.: That's for soap, Dude. You know, the kind of soap that is shaped like a rectangle.....
Jack: Oh yeah! I know weck-tangels! So what's this? (he asks while holding Sam's bottle of Bakugan shower gel)
A. M.: That's liquid soap, Dude. It smells like watermelons.....it's good.
(And then I proceed to mimic Jim Carrey & Morgan Freeman, Bruce Almighty style:)It's good. It's good. It's gooooooood!
Jack bursts out laughing and says while shaking his gigantic head: Ur weally funny, Auntie M.....weally funny!
Now it's my turn to burst into laughter; so hard my shoulders shake and I have tears in my eyes. I love this kid so much, it hurts! I turn to face him and I say through my giggles: Jack? I love you so much.
Jack: How much?
"To infinity and beyond, Dude."
Jack: Hey! Juth like Buzz!
**************************************************
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Love in a box.......
I just got a package from Kristin.
She emailed me Monday and told me to expect something. I told her I'd just weighed myself and I hoped whatever she bought me came in size Fatso!
She never responded.
The package was a styrofoam cooler. With a warning about how what was inside the cooler was packed in dry ice and how I needed to be cautious when opening the package...... Hmmmmm?
If the sender was anyone but Kristin I'd be concerned about opening said package and perhaps losing my life. Or a limb. But it's Kristin, so I commenced to rip and tear.
Gently.
Once I got the lid off, I found an invoice: Valentine Taste Pack.
If that doesn't scream FATSO, I don't know what does!
The company's logo is darling: Made by Hand, Baked with Love. And then I spied the enclosure message: Friendship is when people know all about you, but like you anyway. ~KB
And then I burst into tears.
(See I told you I was sensitive!)
Leave it to Kristin to blow my Valentine's rant.......
(Within an hour of me posting it!)
But watch how this works, People: Yes. It came from a store. BUT. It was completely unexpected. And the gesture borne from years of friendship. A friendship built on mutual affection, a few tears and a boat load of laughter (sometimes at other people's expense!). And the message was a note that was written from the heart.
That is love.
And because The Snarky Brunette's feelings on Valentine's Day just became a little softer, I'll wait until next week to KICK KRISTIN'S ASS FOR SENDING ME 24 MINIATURE CUPCAKES!
She emailed me Monday and told me to expect something. I told her I'd just weighed myself and I hoped whatever she bought me came in size Fatso!
She never responded.
The package was a styrofoam cooler. With a warning about how what was inside the cooler was packed in dry ice and how I needed to be cautious when opening the package...... Hmmmmm?
If the sender was anyone but Kristin I'd be concerned about opening said package and perhaps losing my life. Or a limb. But it's Kristin, so I commenced to rip and tear.
Gently.
Once I got the lid off, I found an invoice: Valentine Taste Pack.
If that doesn't scream FATSO, I don't know what does!
The company's logo is darling: Made by Hand, Baked with Love. And then I spied the enclosure message: Friendship is when people know all about you, but like you anyway. ~KB
And then I burst into tears.
(See I told you I was sensitive!)
Leave it to Kristin to blow my Valentine's rant.......
(Within an hour of me posting it!)
But watch how this works, People: Yes. It came from a store. BUT. It was completely unexpected. And the gesture borne from years of friendship. A friendship built on mutual affection, a few tears and a boat load of laughter (sometimes at other people's expense!). And the message was a note that was written from the heart.
That is love.
And because The Snarky Brunette's feelings on Valentine's Day just became a little softer, I'll wait until next week to KICK KRISTIN'S ASS FOR SENDING ME 24 MINIATURE CUPCAKES!
Taking a Whack at Cupid....With a Hard, Hard Stick!
Valentine's Day.
It's a mere 2 days away.
Raspberries!
Could I hate this "holiday" anymore?
(Yes would be the correct answer. And if you thought I'd hit the high mark on the Hate a Holiday Meter with Christmas......you poor bastards. You have no idea what I'm capable of!)
Valentine's Day is simply the dumbest holiday out there.
Seriously. What other holiday is designated as the one day to tell someone you love them?
Ga 'head.....take a knee and give it some thought...........
That's right. THERE IS NONE!
On account of that concept being so stupid! Valentine's Day is no longer a holiday. It's a pass (as in free pass) that basically says to everyone who subscribes to it:
You can fuck up, fuck around or just plain be a fuck head; but if you acknowledge your partner on Valentine's Day, it's ok.
WTF is up with that?!
Maybe it's just me, but shouldn't everyday be the day you tell someone you love them? Especially your significant someone? And when I say significant, I'm lumping all major someones in to the same category- married someones, engaged someones, playing house someones, dating someones.....you get the gist. If the person is significant to you, my argument would apply to your someone.
But apparently, I'm in the minority in this thinking (Which literally causes my head to spin and just furthers my belief that I really am a lost member of Mensa; destined to travel through every Forest Gumptown as I make my desperate trek back to Smartsville!). Inevitably, when the topic of Valentine's Day comes up and I begin to spout forth my all knowing beliefs on the subject (that it's STUPID!), I'm the one who is thought of as stupid.
Or a bitter shrew.
Which couldn't be farther from the truth. Not only do I love the idea of Love, I love Love. If you look up the word love you will see the following: strong affection.......arising out of kinship; affection based on sexual desire; tenderness; admiration; warm attachment; devotion. I'm all about that (when I'm not being snarky and making fun of others.....)! I love when Love is new and just the sight of this new love literally takes your breath away. Or when Love has become more cerebral; and in the midst of your verbal sparring you can't decide whether you want to glove up and smack this Love or just kiss him! Or when Love becomes your best friend; and there is a comfort in knowing that if you extended your hand, Love would take it. Always.
Shouldn't this be the Love we all inspire to?
Perhaps I'm jaded from my many years in the floral industry. I put myself through college working in various florist shops, and the two busiest days for a florist are Mother's Day and Valentine's Day. I can tell you that having served 5+ years in this industry not only solidified my hatred of Valentine's Day, it single handedly ruined me when it comes to the red rose. I've got several words for you and your red roses:
Boring.
UN-original.
Lame.
Predictable.
Juvenile.
UTTERLY LACKING IN IMAGINATION.
After the 100th Dumbass would walk through our door on Valentine's Day, EVERYONE could recite said Dummy's order: I'd like a dozen, long stemmed roses please.
I'm sorry Sir (Dumbass), we are out of red roses.
But it's Valentine's Day! Who runs out of red roses?!
At 5:55 p.m. on Valentine's Day.......everyone, Sir.
(You could always skip on down to the local Chevron......nothing says I love you, and I'm a procrastinator, like a silk flower!)
Well then I'd like a dozen pink.
Sold out. Sir.
White?
No can do. Sir.
(Dumbass!)
Well what do you have?
I have some gorgeous Lillies, in either pink or white........ or I could put together a mixed bouquet. Perhaps some Freesia, Iris, Tulips and Bear Grass? Or we could do tropical....Birds of Paradise? Orchids?
Dumbass gives me a blank stare as if he's listening to Charlie Brown's teacher: Wah wah......wah wah waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah wah. And then said Dumbass speaks:
I'll take a dozen RED carnations. And give me lots of that white stuff!
Baby's Breath, Sir?
Yeah....whatever.
Yes, Sir.
(Cuz your red carnations don't scream CHEAP on their own; let's hit them with some filler that's even cheaper than the flowers themselves!! You, are a catch. Dumbass!)
And therein lies MY rub. It's the commercialization of Valentine's Day that pisses me off. A day that was borne out of courtly love; expressed through hand written notes, passed from one lover to another, has become mass produced and spoon fed to the majority courtesy of Hallmark! And it's not just a generic card bereft of any true meaning. Said generic card must be attached to an overstated and completely UN-original bouquet of flowers; accompanied by a heart shaped box of cheap ass chocolates. And if you're really trying to outdo whatever Jones you're trying to keep up with, don't forget the bottle of predictable perfume.
And the dinner reservation.
OR. If you really want to be a Dumbass- make a weekend out of one. Stupid. Day!
It's a mere 2 days away.
Raspberries!
Could I hate this "holiday" anymore?
(Yes would be the correct answer. And if you thought I'd hit the high mark on the Hate a Holiday Meter with Christmas......you poor bastards. You have no idea what I'm capable of!)
Valentine's Day is simply the dumbest holiday out there.
Seriously. What other holiday is designated as the one day to tell someone you love them?
Ga 'head.....take a knee and give it some thought...........
That's right. THERE IS NONE!
On account of that concept being so stupid! Valentine's Day is no longer a holiday. It's a pass (as in free pass) that basically says to everyone who subscribes to it:
You can fuck up, fuck around or just plain be a fuck head; but if you acknowledge your partner on Valentine's Day, it's ok.
WTF is up with that?!
Maybe it's just me, but shouldn't everyday be the day you tell someone you love them? Especially your significant someone? And when I say significant, I'm lumping all major someones in to the same category- married someones, engaged someones, playing house someones, dating someones.....you get the gist. If the person is significant to you, my argument would apply to your someone.
But apparently, I'm in the minority in this thinking (Which literally causes my head to spin and just furthers my belief that I really am a lost member of Mensa; destined to travel through every Forest Gumptown as I make my desperate trek back to Smartsville!). Inevitably, when the topic of Valentine's Day comes up and I begin to spout forth my all knowing beliefs on the subject (that it's STUPID!), I'm the one who is thought of as stupid.
Or a bitter shrew.
Which couldn't be farther from the truth. Not only do I love the idea of Love, I love Love. If you look up the word love you will see the following: strong affection.......arising out of kinship; affection based on sexual desire; tenderness; admiration; warm attachment; devotion. I'm all about that (when I'm not being snarky and making fun of others.....)! I love when Love is new and just the sight of this new love literally takes your breath away. Or when Love has become more cerebral; and in the midst of your verbal sparring you can't decide whether you want to glove up and smack this Love or just kiss him! Or when Love becomes your best friend; and there is a comfort in knowing that if you extended your hand, Love would take it. Always.
Shouldn't this be the Love we all inspire to?
Perhaps I'm jaded from my many years in the floral industry. I put myself through college working in various florist shops, and the two busiest days for a florist are Mother's Day and Valentine's Day. I can tell you that having served 5+ years in this industry not only solidified my hatred of Valentine's Day, it single handedly ruined me when it comes to the red rose. I've got several words for you and your red roses:
Boring.
UN-original.
Lame.
Predictable.
Juvenile.
UTTERLY LACKING IN IMAGINATION.
After the 100th Dumbass would walk through our door on Valentine's Day, EVERYONE could recite said Dummy's order: I'd like a dozen, long stemmed roses please.
I'm sorry Sir (Dumbass), we are out of red roses.
But it's Valentine's Day! Who runs out of red roses?!
At 5:55 p.m. on Valentine's Day.......everyone, Sir.
(You could always skip on down to the local Chevron......nothing says I love you, and I'm a procrastinator, like a silk flower!)
Well then I'd like a dozen pink.
Sold out. Sir.
White?
No can do. Sir.
(Dumbass!)
Well what do you have?
I have some gorgeous Lillies, in either pink or white........ or I could put together a mixed bouquet. Perhaps some Freesia, Iris, Tulips and Bear Grass? Or we could do tropical....Birds of Paradise? Orchids?
Dumbass gives me a blank stare as if he's listening to Charlie Brown's teacher: Wah wah......wah wah waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah wah. And then said Dumbass speaks:
I'll take a dozen RED carnations. And give me lots of that white stuff!
Baby's Breath, Sir?
Yeah....whatever.
Yes, Sir.
(Cuz your red carnations don't scream CHEAP on their own; let's hit them with some filler that's even cheaper than the flowers themselves!! You, are a catch. Dumbass!)
And therein lies MY rub. It's the commercialization of Valentine's Day that pisses me off. A day that was borne out of courtly love; expressed through hand written notes, passed from one lover to another, has become mass produced and spoon fed to the majority courtesy of Hallmark! And it's not just a generic card bereft of any true meaning. Said generic card must be attached to an overstated and completely UN-original bouquet of flowers; accompanied by a heart shaped box of cheap ass chocolates. And if you're really trying to outdo whatever Jones you're trying to keep up with, don't forget the bottle of predictable perfume.
And the dinner reservation.
OR. If you really want to be a Dumbass- make a weekend out of one. Stupid. Day!
For me, Love shouldn't be about one day. And it most certainly shouldn't be about gifts dictated by Hallmark, See's Candies and FTD! Love should be handwritten, in your own words. And if you can put your words on pink construction paper with some sparkly glitter- it's even better (or maybe that's just me.....?)! Love should be spoken by your own lips. With words that come from your heart. And Love should be expressed everyday. With the touch of a hand. An encouraging word. A hug. A smile. A gesture (like.....doing the dishes. Or picking your clothes up off the goddamn floor!). Sometimes Love involves a few tears, but if you're really lucky, love is always accompanied by laughter.
Mark knows better than to buy me anything for Valentine's Day. Although, a few years ago he came back from a Home Depot run and as he walked past me in the kitchen, he tossed me a dirty cloth sack and said over his shoulder: Happy Valentines Day, Sister! It was a sack of tulip bulbs. I spent the next 2 hours digging in the dirt and counting the days until I could see green life sprouting from the earth. Best (stupid) Valentine EVER.
Given my hatred of this holiday, is it possible for the Snarky Brunette to enjoy Valentine's Day? Stranger things have happened (I refer you back to my New Year's confession....). My Monsters will undoubtedly create paper hearts that are heavy with glue and glitter. And I will cry when they present them to me because that's what I do (I'm sensitive and snarky.). And because the gesture is precious and meaningful and was made with their little hands.
That is Love. And that is what Valentine's Day should be about.Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Buy The Bag & Get Over It.
Say Hello to my little friend!
Given name: Large Calf Zipper Pocket Sac.
But I like to call her: My New Dooney & Burke Bag, Bitches!
It was love at first sight. I spied the Spring version of this same bag first. Butter yellow. Yum! I saw it from across the Handbag Department in Macy's, and made an immediate bee line for it (I may or may not have knocked a small Asian woman out of my way. Whatever.......I totally said I was sorry!).
The yellow bag was gorgeous; the color scrumptious. The leather was a soft grain, yet substantial; the hardware heavy. Cell pocket & large zippered pocket in the main pouch- perfect for the Snarky Brunette who can never find her (goddamn) tiny phone! Upon seeing the two, front zippered pockets I determined one could hold my work keys (and stupid ID badge we are now required to wear!) and the other my iPod.
I loved it. And needed to try it on. IMMEDIATELY.
Said scrumptious bag was unlocked and handed over to me.
(I'm pretty sure I heard angels singing......)
I put the bag over my left shoulder- a perfect fit! The strap was snug, but not so snug it was uncomfortable under my arm. And I could tell from the width of the strap on my shoulder that it wasn't going to be one of those annoying bags where the strap constantly falls off your shoulder and you end up playing the Up/Down strap game all goddamn day!
I could feel the smile begin to spread across my face.....this bag and I were in sync. I loved it and it loved me!
I headed over to the nearest full length mirror for the final test: Stand in front of the mirror while wearing gorgeous bag and slowly turn side to side while admiring your (super, pretty) self! As I turn to face the mirror, my eyes go immediately to the bag's reflection: it's like lemon chiffon pie! So scrumptious I could eat it! As I turn to the side, I conclude that while the bag could be considered big, it's not so big.
(Ladies, I give you another tip from The Snarky Brunette: You want your accessories to compliment you; not overshadow you. Nothing says "You and your handbag are worthy of a Fashion Citation" than when you carry a handbag that is the size of Texas!)
So I'm swaying side to side, admiring all of the bag's splendor, when it occurs to me I need to focus on the entire picture and view myself with the bag. I am confident that a bag this gorgeous will only enhance my loveliness, and I brace myself for what my eyes are about to see.
Imagine my horror when I hear myself scream: Sweet Jesus, I look positively ill!
What was at first a seemingly scrumptious yellow bag, had suddenly become a yellow worthy of jaundice! And the skin tone of my face, in that close a proximity to the bag, was sure to make anyone believe I was now suffering from a brutal case of Hepatitis C!
I whipped around to the Sales Clerk and shrieked: Does this yellow make me look like I belong in the sick ward?..........Don't lie to me!
Sales Clerk (wide eyed and backing away from me): Ummmmmmm............not a great color for you.
Well this was unacceptable. No way I'm dropping what amounts to a car payment for a Ford Focus on a handbag that makes me look ill! So I take the bag off my shoulder and hand it back to the Sales Clerk. She gently takes the bag and locks it back in place (so that it can toy with another unsuspecting shopper's dreams!) and casually says to me: You know, I do have that bag in brown.....and it's on sale for 30% off. Would you like to see it?
WOULD I?
Fast forward to me standing in front of the full length mirror, swaying from side to side, admiring myself and the gorgeous brown bag on my shoulder, muttering: You're so pretty...... No! You are so pretty!
It's at this point that the Sales Clerk had to have known she had me on the line. And so to reel me in she says: So this bag is 30%, but because you are wearing red, I can give you an additional 20% off.
The spell my own reflection has cast upon me is immediately broken by the phrase "additional 20% off" and my neck snaps in her direction. "Wait..... an extra 20% because my shirt is red? Is that for the Go Red Campaign?"
(Go Red for Women is the American Heart Association's campaign for prevention & awareness of heart disease in women. Get on board, People. Knowledge is power!)
The Sales Clerk confirms that it is and begins crunching numbers on her calculator, while I whip out my cell to immediately consult the Handbag Guru. I send the following text to Kristin:
In Macy's. Looking at DB bag that is akin to your beloved green Coach, only stockier. On sale for 30% off. Will give me additional 20% because I'm wearing red......that's like, fate right?
Followed immediately by: The inside lining is a tiny PINK check, for gods sake! Buy it, right?
KB's first response: Abso fkn lutely! Buy it, immediately!
Followed by her second response: Ummm, YEAH!
And so I did.
Did I need to spend $130 dollars on purse?
No.
In the light of day, do I regret making that purchase?
OH. HELL. NO.
Why?
I could hand you a line of BS about how functional the bag is because it can carry all my personal effects (read: shit), but I'll spare you the farce and just bottom line it for you:
That bag makes me look so pretty!
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Unlimited texting.....(and sarcasm)
Kristin sent me a text.
Which isn't anything new. We text one another all the time. Now.
I say "now" like that because just a little over two years ago, Sister K was not about the texting.
We were in New York together for a week of Broadway shows, shopping, and literally cramming as much sight seeing into our week as humanly possible. And by humanly I mean, Super Wonder Woman powers were involved! We were out of the hotel by 7:45a everyday, and did not return until 11p or later each night. The only time we sat down was if one of us was trying on shoes OR we were watching a Broadway show!
I am Type A with a slight case of OCD: I like it how I like it (and I like it neat & tidy!) and I plan for how I like it.
Kristin is like that........only 100 times magnified:
We flew to New York in May.
She planned the entire trip in February.
We had an itinerary.
She had three drafts before it was "finalized".
Our itinerary had an accompanying map.
The map was so fkn big it was in three different sections and had to be pieced together on the floor of our hotel room!
Get my drift about "100 times magnified"?
I probably sound like I'm complaining, which couldn't be farther from the truth. I positively adore the fact that Kristin is more Type A than myself. Why? Because whenever I'm with her, I don't have to do a goddamn thing! I get a vacation within a vacation, and it's pure bliss for me. I literally just show up and wait for the good stuff to start happening.
But back to the texting. I text, therefore I am. Seriously. I cannot explain to you just how much I loathe talking on the phone. Always have. I was not one of those teens who would spend hours talking on the phone. I had a phone in my bedroom and I rarely used it. It became more of a knick knack than a tool for communication. My sister, on the other hand, she would spend days talking on the (goddamn) phone! This was back before cordless phones became all the rage, so we had a phone in the kitchen, as it was centrally located; and a phone upstairs in the tv room that separated our bedrooms. But the phone was never there. I would literally have to follow the (fkn) phone cord in order to find the actual phone. Holding onto the phone cord and following it like a Kindergartner following the rope that will lead her to the lunchroom, I would always be led to my sister's closet. Where I would find the phone, attached to Gina's ear; and find her sitting on the floor, amongst her piles of dirty clothes, talking about:
Noooooo way! He said that? Well what did she say? Nuh-uh! Wait....where's the party.......?
Get off the phone, Geeeeeeee-nuuuuuuuuh.
Yeah.... she'd say.
Two minutes. Get off the phone.
And I'd head downstairs to the kitchen to burn two minutes. I'd grab a glass, fill it with ice, grab a straw and toss it in the glass; scoot out to the fridge in the garage and grab an icy Coke. I'd come back to the kitchen, pour my Coke and then take the three steps required of me to get from the counter to the phone, and pick it up. Each time I hoped I'd hear nothing but a dial tone....and each time I was sorely disappointed.
She's so stupid........ I hate her. Nooooooooo, I hate her more. What are you doing this weekend?
Gina. GET. OFF. THE. PHONE.
Yeah....... heard ya the first time......
OFF. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW.
More stupid girl-y talk would ensue, which left me no choice. I would take the receiver of the phone and beat it into the phone base: BAM! BAM! BAM!
And the reply was always the same: I have to go.......my sister's such a bitch!
Indeed.
No talk-y on phone-y. Hate. It.
But texting, I'm all about it. So much so that Mark finally saw the light and switched our cell plan to unlimited texting because I kept going over the text limit. By like, 1,000 texts.
Oops!
So KB & I are in NY and I kept in touch with my family & friends back home via text. I'd send updates throughout our day because I wanted to share this amazing experience that I was sharing with Kristin, with everyone else. AND, random updates throughout the day meant less time on the phone at night when I called home to say goodnight to my kids. I'd check in with Mark, then both Monsters and boom! I'm off in under 10 minutes, while Kristin is over in the corner reliving her entire day and going on 20 minutes with a phone stuck to her ear.
After about three days of this, Kristin began warming to the idea of texting. I kept telling her- practice makes perfect. The more you text, the better you'll get! By the end of our trip, Sister was becoming a texting fool! And it opened a completely new door to our most favorite game in the world: Make Fun of Others While People Watching. We'd be standing in line and I'd spy The Target and give KB the look. And 3 seconds later I'd have a text that would say: the blonde, right? And we'd be off and running and totally cracking each other up and passing the time while standing in line.
(It's a great game, People. And for the record, it's always the blonde!)
Fast forward two years later and KB is the person I text the most with. Part of that is because she's in BoHo and I'm in Oregon. But it's also because we are so much alike, and often misunderstood, and texting is our way of having instant reality checks, or an instant answer to a question, or an instant comment on an opinion by someone who gets you.
Which (finally) brings us back to the text I received from Kristin:
Is it odd that I'm shopping at thrift stores while carrying my Dior purse?
followed immediately by:
BTW- I found a white, leather luvseat.....$50! (snarky, winking, smiley emoticon)
Which isn't anything new. We text one another all the time. Now.
I say "now" like that because just a little over two years ago, Sister K was not about the texting.
We were in New York together for a week of Broadway shows, shopping, and literally cramming as much sight seeing into our week as humanly possible. And by humanly I mean, Super Wonder Woman powers were involved! We were out of the hotel by 7:45a everyday, and did not return until 11p or later each night. The only time we sat down was if one of us was trying on shoes OR we were watching a Broadway show!
I am Type A with a slight case of OCD: I like it how I like it (and I like it neat & tidy!) and I plan for how I like it.
Kristin is like that........only 100 times magnified:
We flew to New York in May.
She planned the entire trip in February.
We had an itinerary.
She had three drafts before it was "finalized".
Our itinerary had an accompanying map.
The map was so fkn big it was in three different sections and had to be pieced together on the floor of our hotel room!
Get my drift about "100 times magnified"?
I probably sound like I'm complaining, which couldn't be farther from the truth. I positively adore the fact that Kristin is more Type A than myself. Why? Because whenever I'm with her, I don't have to do a goddamn thing! I get a vacation within a vacation, and it's pure bliss for me. I literally just show up and wait for the good stuff to start happening.
But back to the texting. I text, therefore I am. Seriously. I cannot explain to you just how much I loathe talking on the phone. Always have. I was not one of those teens who would spend hours talking on the phone. I had a phone in my bedroom and I rarely used it. It became more of a knick knack than a tool for communication. My sister, on the other hand, she would spend days talking on the (goddamn) phone! This was back before cordless phones became all the rage, so we had a phone in the kitchen, as it was centrally located; and a phone upstairs in the tv room that separated our bedrooms. But the phone was never there. I would literally have to follow the (fkn) phone cord in order to find the actual phone. Holding onto the phone cord and following it like a Kindergartner following the rope that will lead her to the lunchroom, I would always be led to my sister's closet. Where I would find the phone, attached to Gina's ear; and find her sitting on the floor, amongst her piles of dirty clothes, talking about:
Noooooo way! He said that? Well what did she say? Nuh-uh! Wait....where's the party.......?
Get off the phone, Geeeeeeee-nuuuuuuuuh.
Yeah.... she'd say.
Two minutes. Get off the phone.
And I'd head downstairs to the kitchen to burn two minutes. I'd grab a glass, fill it with ice, grab a straw and toss it in the glass; scoot out to the fridge in the garage and grab an icy Coke. I'd come back to the kitchen, pour my Coke and then take the three steps required of me to get from the counter to the phone, and pick it up. Each time I hoped I'd hear nothing but a dial tone....and each time I was sorely disappointed.
She's so stupid........ I hate her. Nooooooooo, I hate her more. What are you doing this weekend?
Gina. GET. OFF. THE. PHONE.
Yeah....... heard ya the first time......
OFF. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW.
More stupid girl-y talk would ensue, which left me no choice. I would take the receiver of the phone and beat it into the phone base: BAM! BAM! BAM!
And the reply was always the same: I have to go.......my sister's such a bitch!
Indeed.
No talk-y on phone-y. Hate. It.
But texting, I'm all about it. So much so that Mark finally saw the light and switched our cell plan to unlimited texting because I kept going over the text limit. By like, 1,000 texts.
Oops!
So KB & I are in NY and I kept in touch with my family & friends back home via text. I'd send updates throughout our day because I wanted to share this amazing experience that I was sharing with Kristin, with everyone else. AND, random updates throughout the day meant less time on the phone at night when I called home to say goodnight to my kids. I'd check in with Mark, then both Monsters and boom! I'm off in under 10 minutes, while Kristin is over in the corner reliving her entire day and going on 20 minutes with a phone stuck to her ear.
After about three days of this, Kristin began warming to the idea of texting. I kept telling her- practice makes perfect. The more you text, the better you'll get! By the end of our trip, Sister was becoming a texting fool! And it opened a completely new door to our most favorite game in the world: Make Fun of Others While People Watching. We'd be standing in line and I'd spy The Target and give KB the look. And 3 seconds later I'd have a text that would say: the blonde, right? And we'd be off and running and totally cracking each other up and passing the time while standing in line.
(It's a great game, People. And for the record, it's always the blonde!)
Fast forward two years later and KB is the person I text the most with. Part of that is because she's in BoHo and I'm in Oregon. But it's also because we are so much alike, and often misunderstood, and texting is our way of having instant reality checks, or an instant answer to a question, or an instant comment on an opinion by someone who gets you.
Which (finally) brings us back to the text I received from Kristin:
Is it odd that I'm shopping at thrift stores while carrying my Dior purse?
followed immediately by:
BTW- I found a white, leather luvseat.....$50! (snarky, winking, smiley emoticon)
Friday, January 22, 2010
Coming Soon.....
The Snarky Brunette has had a full plate.
Which has left no time for fun stuff....like making fun of others and railing against my own perceived injustices of the world (Peppermint Mochas should totally be served 365 days of the year, Starbucks!).
But fear not, Snarkalicious followers!
(You like that? I do! You can thank my friend, Red, for coming up with that gem! Say it with me: Thank you, Red!)
(No, that's not her real name...but she gets really mad when I call her Jenny, so I call her Red instead!)
I've got a few works in progress.....well, in progress, so keep checking back. More to come......
Which has left no time for fun stuff....like making fun of others and railing against my own perceived injustices of the world (Peppermint Mochas should totally be served 365 days of the year, Starbucks!).
But fear not, Snarkalicious followers!
(You like that? I do! You can thank my friend, Red, for coming up with that gem! Say it with me: Thank you, Red!)
(No, that's not her real name...but she gets really mad when I call her Jenny, so I call her Red instead!)
I've got a few works in progress.....well, in progress, so keep checking back. More to come......
Monday, January 18, 2010
Quit While You're Ahead
People, I have nothing to report.
I did begin a blog on the stupidity of the phrase "glass half empty" and how, when it's applied to me, it is almost always followed up with "you're so negative", but I couldn't work it out in my head.
So I deleted it.
Anyone else see the irony in that act......?
(Insert me crackin' myself up H-E-R-E!)
I did begin a blog on the stupidity of the phrase "glass half empty" and how, when it's applied to me, it is almost always followed up with "you're so negative", but I couldn't work it out in my head.
So I deleted it.
Anyone else see the irony in that act......?
(Insert me crackin' myself up H-E-R-E!)
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