Tag Archives: alcohol

Easter-themed blog entry comes early.

Last night, my wireless connection wasn’t working.  Which is fine.  I don’t pay for it.  It can come and go as it pleases. 

So that left me to read in bed, then toss and turn in bed, and then type notes into my phone that would make little sense in the morning.  For example:

Easter die.  Greenpuddles.  Chicken bones.  Wafts of bacon.  Not great with children.  Fried dumplings.

From these disjointed notes, I can only deduce that in my half asleep state I was thinking about the year I worked in a kindergarten classroom.  I used to walk about a mile and a half each way through Chinatown to this school.  There were always green puddles and chicken bones in the street, and there was one intersection that always smelled of bacon.  I used to look forward to getting there (it meant my walk was nearly over). 

I didn’t have too many responsibilities at school–hand out worksheets, collect homework, design creative bulletin boards.  But the most important part of my job, by far, was typing up letters to go home with the kids.  It was typing up a letter about an upcoming Easter activity that I made a dire mistake.  I had to tell the parents to hard boil an egg at home for their kids that we would then be dyeing.  Only, silly English major me, I wrote “dying.” 

Which really isn’t a big deal.  No one’s going to read “egg dying” and send their children to school with machetes or semi-automatics instead of tiny containers of dye.  But I did not hear the end of it.  The teacher and the teacher’s assistant (who spoke very little English and had typed “dying” into her English-Chinese electronic translator) basically told me that I had brought terrible luck to the classroom, that it would be an Easter miracle if everyone came out of the egg dyeing alive and well. 

As for the fried dumplings, the teacher’s father made the most amazing ones.  They were greasy and like nothing I’ve ever tasted. 

Lastly, when you’re an English major, people always ask, “Oh, are you going to teach?”  Which is a really frustrating question when you have absolutely no desire to teach and most of your childhood memories from the classroom are painful, traumatic ones.  From now on I think I’ll just tell people the truth: “I’m incredibly awkward with large groups of children and tend to drink more alcohol than usual when I’m around them.”  I used to tell people that I was considering teaching on the college level after I got my Master’s and my Ph.D, but now that I’m about two skips and a jump from becoming a vagrant living off of the chicken bones and questionable puddles of Chinatown…we’ll see.

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For Lack of a Better Title…Happy New Year!

To dream that you are late, denotes your fear of change and your ambivalence about seizing an opportunity. You may feel unready, unworthy, or unsupported in your current circumstances. Additionally, you may be overwhelmed or conflicted with decisions about your future. You feel time is running out and that you do not have time to accomplish all the things you want.

Apparently that’s what’s going on with me. I dreamt that I was ridiculously late for work, but I was doing nothing to rectify the situation. I was watching television. I was going out to dinner. I kept saying to my companions, “I really have to call work.” But I didn’t. I received a text message from a coworker telling me I was a horrible person. Something to contemplate as 2009 rolls in (while I’m at work).

Today was momentous. I went to the post office and submitted my passport application!! I think I’ll be able to survive without the $101.05 it cost. We’ll see. My rent check for January might bounce, but I don’t care. In approximately 1 month I will have a passport. AHHHHH!



I promised my Bulgarian neighbor (who I met this week when I locked myself out of my apartment and went knocking on doors looking for the superintendent) that I would get my passport, but he wasn’t around this afternoon for me to tell him the good news. He made me instant coffee and claimed to have met the Dalai Lama and Salvador Dali. He’s pretty much my new best friend.

After work I’m thinking about heading back to my neighborhood to this bar that has a 24-hour license. Which is obviously a terrible idea, but I’m feeling celebratory! We’re alive. It’s a new year! Venus is shining brightly under the crescent moon.  As if I need excuses to be an irresponsible drunk chick…

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!!!!!!

Six Decades of Bedding Starlets and Wardrobe Girls and Counting!

Here’s a gift idea for anyone on your list who recently wrote a blog post that referred to Captain Von Trapp: Christopher Plummer wrote a memoir!  I thought I read about it in the AV Club section of The Onion, but when I googled “Christopher Plummer The Onion” all that came up was an old review of that Keanu Reeves/Sandra Bullock movie The Lake House.  Yeah, I rented it.  No, I didn’t realize that Christopher Plummer played Keanu’s architectural genius father.

Publisher’s Weekly says of In Spite of Myself:

Plummer drinks and parties his way through a six-decade career; beds starlets, prompters and wardrobe girls; and endures countless mid-performance indignities and pratfalls. (Lesson repeatedly learned: actors and stagehands should not get drunk right before the show.)

Sounds like a good read for the holidays.  Take a break from James Stewart lassoing the moon for Mary and Bing Crosby making out with George Clooney’s aunt for a dose of drunken thespian reality

New celebrity-related tangent: I walked into Rite Aid a few days ago.  I had to use my debit card to get cash back for the laundry machine across the street.  I usually end up buying a candy bar in situations like this because they’re cheap, but I still wander around the store for 30 minutes just in case I spot something that is equally cheap that I actually need. 

Long story short: Diana Ross and The Supremes’ “I Hear a Symphony” was playing.  After walking around for 30 minutes I resigned myself to the check-out line and the candy bars and decided upon a Hershey’s Symphony bar because my mom really likes them.

It wasn’t until I was crossing the street, humming “I Hear a Symphony” and opening up my Symphony bar that I even realized what had happened and I began to wonder if I bought it because I like them and they remind me of my mom or because Diana Ross sung a song about a symphony in 1965…

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Tight T-Shirts, Celine Dion, and Chinatown

There’s a job on Craigslist for men that involves wearing tight t-shirts and handing out free Bon Bons to women.  I have the link if anyone is interested. 

Today a strange thing happened that was unexpected and awesome.  I’m not going to say what it was because that’s how wonderful it was.  But I will compare it to other things and maybe you’ll be able to guess.  For instance, this thing that happened was more beautiful than this:

More ripped than these:

Less Canadian than this:

And almost as exciting and homoerotic as this:

More action than Ive gotten in awhile.  Just sayin.

More action than I've gotten in awhile. Just sayin.

If you guess correctly I’ll give you free Bon Bons.  Probably while wearing a t-shirt of some kind.