Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Wall On the Fly


I admit it, I'm overextended...so what else is new right? Problem is, being overextended when flying solo is much easier than being overextended as part of a duo - a team- a partnership. The Wild Boar is wonderful about coping with my stress, doing things like offerring to have dinner there when I finally wander home in my exhausted delerium, but its frustrating for me nevertheless. It also means blog absences and excruciatingly boring posts talking about nothing but stress. No one is exempt [insert ominous sounding music here].

This past weekend I escaped real life in pursuit of re-living the college years; yes, that's right, I went to my best friend's bachelorette party. While I can never hope to regain those brain cells, the entire weekend was super sloshy fun; exactly what a bachelorette party should be. Think good 'ol fashioned slumber party meets mass quantities of alcohol and you've hit the nail on the head. Now add in the fact that it was at a resort in Wisconsin that is the old Playboy Mansion, insert even more alcohol just to be true to events, and for the garnd finale...a swimming pool.

Which brings me to my next point...

Do not, dear readers, under any circumstances delude yourselves into thinking that it is a good idea to go swimming while highly intoxicated. I don't care how accomplished a swimmer you are, and whether or not you may have swum on the Unites States Swimming League from the ages of 10-12 and a half; it is still not a good idea.

I have a fabulous souvenir from my weekend of debauchery. Its colorful, wearable, and unique - the new bindi for unmarried gals.


I will never trust a swimming pool floor again.

Friday, May 05, 2006

Mooshy Gooshy Sink-oh de Mayo(naise)

Happy Cinco de Mayo- that's Mexican for "lame excuse for Americans to get sloppy drunk on copious amounts of margaritas and other assorted tequila drinks to celebrate a holiday that has absolutely nothing to o with them." Tonight the Wild Boar (WB) and I are meeting SL2000 and her boyfriend, Two Fingers of Breakfast and his boyfriend, and whoever else shows up for margaritas in my favorite outside place in this little concrete park near my apartment. Im excited...in fact I'm like a giddy 7 year old, which is odd because I've never made a big deal out of Cinco de Mayo before. But this year I was dying to do something. WB says its all subconsciously because I have a hispanic boyfriend. Whatever it is, I got all dolled up in my cute little 1940's-ish dress with my only mildly painful adorable sneaker wedge heels and the plunging neckline who's effect I have dubbed "boobs on a platter". I'm so ready I can taste the tequila now.

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I got an odd phone call the other day from some long waspy sounding law firm wanting to hire me as an actor to play a witness for some continuing legal education courtroom drama interactive extravaganza thingie. I've actually done this before for a friend's sdj, and they passed my name along. The last time I was wholly unprepared, and had barely read through the huge fucking 3 ring binder of information they had given the actors - all of which were pretty much in the same boat. We all dealt with it in different ways...mine was to become the hostile witness who just kept entrapping the lawyers with the exact phrasing of their questions, thereby making them flustered and never having to answer the questions. Oddly enough, they absolutely fucking loved it and thought I was brilliant! No, just full of shit, but thanks for the compliment. This offer, however, is infinitely more exciting, because in one day I will make almost as much as I make in a week at the sdj. Yay! Suddenly I don't care if its cheesy crime reenactments for court tv...I'm all about the moolah. So sure, I'll work for the man...I'll play their little witness game, and I'll eat their free food and probably even shove a bunch in my purse...and at the end of the day I'll rest assured that I can now afford to purchase a bus ticket to Chanteuse's wedding (which I'm in, so knowing I can get there is pretty important). Yay for stupid corporate law firms who hire actors!

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So, ummm....(copious blushing)......WB said the words. And I said them back. And best of all, there was no text messaging involved whatsoever! Though he did say it in Spanish a few times before he said it for real. This I found out the third time or so that he mumbled something in Spanish that I didn't understand and was evasive when asked for the translation; I caught one of the words, quiero, and asked my multi-lingual father for the translation.
It means like, love. Te quiero means I love you. Why?
Umm, well, WB said something this morning, and it had that word in it.
Oh, that's nice. So I've started a lot of the planning for the Thailand trip.
I spent the day basking in the glow of secretly knowing what he had said, but I didn't call him out on it. I figured he'd say it when he was ready, and I was in no position to say anything given the fact that I had been mouthing it while he was asleep and writing it on his back in very circular unidentifiable letters whose meaning only I could divine.

That night, we stayed in, cooking dinner at home with fresh produce we bought together at the farmer's market on the way home from the sdj. Chopping veggies, siping wine, singing Simon and Garfunkel (off key on my end, of course), decked out in a comfy worn tshirt and little shorts with Hawaii written across the butt and my hair in two childlike pigtails....it was anything but a romantic scene of seduction. We danced to "Sound of Silence" and I looked up into his eyes with my insides screaming "Oh my God! I love you! Ahhhh! Shit!! I love you!! AHHHH!!" and clearly my insides were louder than I thought, because he said "I know, baby. I know. Remember this morning when you were in the shower, and I said something to you in Spanish? Well..."
I know. I called my Dad and asked him to translate.
What? You asked your Dad to translate? I thought you didn't hear me!
Well, I didn't exactly. I heard one word...quiero...and I called my Dad as soon as yuo left for work and asked him what it meant.
I can't believe you heard me, and asked your DAD!
I shouldn't have told you that. I wasn't going to tell you. But here I am telling you. Oops.
So you knew. You know....that I love you. I love you.
[I go in for the kiss, and whisper barely audibly] I love you too.
[*kiss*]
I heard that.
Heard what?
I heard what you whispered.
Me? I didn't whisper anything!
Yes you did, you whispered I love you....in English...and I heard it.
Damn you and your supersonic hearing.
I love you, and your whisper that I totally heard.

Then I said it out loud, for real, and proceeded to cry and say stupid things like "What if you wake up tomorrow and you don't love me anymore and none of it was for real?" He held me through my ridiculous tear laden freak-out and said really sweet spot on things like "I'm not trying to steal your heart, I just want you to share it with me." It was all really sweet and kind of comical, really, which I actually find to be quite fitting. We're an odd pair, both of us, but he speaks Synge-speak fluently, and says really cute things like "Do you want to go steady with me?"

So, ummm, yeah. In love. Aww, ain't it cute? Ain't I mooshy gooshy make you want to vomit profusely?


Just wait...I haven't even begun to gush.