Only Two More Days Until I Stuff My Face With My Aunt's Sweet Potatoes AKA Another Reason Why I'm Special

Andrew from UB IMed me the other day regarding my marathon entry and asked me how I manage to find all the crazy people. Andrew? I think the more appropriate question is, how do the crazies find ME? And no, I don't make this stuff up. I couldn't. Let's face it, I'm not that smart. So, I was about 1/2 way through another entry about my trip to a free medical clinic on the lower lower east side and about all the crazy people I met there but it just started veering towards that Too Personal Line. I also sounded racist. And it wasn't even that funny. Except the part where I approached the podiatry desk instead of the gynecology desk and really, you would've been easily confused too.

Suffice it to say, it was a free check up of sorts but it didn't end particularly well and I'm really not ready to share. Also, my mother would tell me that the polite thing to do is really spare the internet stories that are titled "My Gynocologist, My Friend" and also, don't type out the last names of people you know who do drugs. It's really her universal rule. And I'm adhering to it because she is a God-fearing woman who pays my car insurance.

Instead, I would like to take a moment to ask New York City what the hell they think they're doing wearing knee-high boots OVER their jeans. HONESTLY? It makes your thighs and butt look enormous and your jeans get all scrunched up and it's just stupid. If you want me to see your pretty boots (because sometimes they really are pretty!) you can wear a skirt. NO, this does not mean you can wear a pair of these. Gaucho pants are probably the worst fashion trend to hit NYC since stirrup pants perhaps. But let's face it, I was barely alive when THAT happened.

I just don't think these flatter your figure at all. And the logic that you can wear shorter pants and higher boots? is stupid. Plain stupid. Lindsay tried to buy a pair this summer and I made fun of her to high holy heaven. I thought it was a passing summer fad, wearing big floppy pants over your bikini bottoms or something. I DID NOT THINK THIS WOULD CARRY OVER INTO FALL AND PEOPLE WOULD WEAR HOOKER BOOTS UNDERNEATH THEM. This is awful, people, awful. You all look stupid.

I went away this weekend with the twins to their country house in New Paltz. I didn't get very much sleep but I was able to relax as best I could at a five acre home in the mountains. I also was able to leave for a little bit on Sunday and take my sister out to brunch (because she attends SUNY New Paltz! Woo!). I went for a long walk on Saturday afternoon, up and down these gorgeous roads with a full view of the Catskills. It was peaceful and lovely and I galloped like a gazelle through the countryside. Okay, no. But it'd be so cool if I did that, no?

I also got to sleep in a guest room and it was very exciting. The twins are hilarious and require so so much work. They are officially walking now and the house proved to be a big thrill for them, particularly things they weren't supposed to do like climb stairs, eat dead ladybugs off the floor and play with pointy objects. I was 85% successful at preventing these things. But despite my careful eye and the fact that there are TWO of them, falling off steps and eating bugs off the floor tended to happen anyway. Oh well. Protein is good for you and falling down just builds endurance. Or something. SUCK IT UP, KIDS.

I also did the speed limit all the way home and NO speeding tickets were issued. Well. Not to me. The cops WERE pulling over quite a number of SUV's. But you just deserve it for owning an SUV. Because those are obnoxious. And if you drive something that big AND speed? I am not your friend.

Also. Can I just say, what the hell is the hype around Desperate Housewives? I didn't watch the entire first season, which Adam says is my problem. But I do remember all the craziness and Troy going nuts and everyone flipping out. I didn't have cable at the time, so I couldn't view it. Well. I watch it now and can I say that it's probably one of the worst shows on television right now? Why do I not understand this show or enjoy it at all? Teri Hatcher needs to eat a cheeseburger. Scene.

Grey's Anatomy? Now here we have probably one of the BEST shows on television. And I'm not a TV watcher but I'm downright obsessed. Okay? Fine. I am. Sandra Oh is a goddess and it's just a good time all around. Desperate Housewives? Spare me. And then Adam is like well it's a SATIRE, like a night time soap opera. If it's a satire, then why isn't it funny? Let it go, people. It kind of sucks.

The Spectrum has reached a new low when I have nothing to talk about except SUV's and Sunday night ABC TV. Really, I'm so sorry. I will try to do something interesting with my life, like take Japanese lessons, and tell you all about it. OH! I did find the cactus picture and when I find out how to post it, I will and we can all hold hands and have a good chuckle. Ta Da!

Peace.

It's Mid November and I Can Still Walk Around In A Tank Top

It's that time of year again folks. Holiday cheer is abundant in Astoria where the gawdy Greeks have already hung up those lovely Christmas decorations on the lamp posts. (Is lamppost one word? Two? Three?) I have to admit, it's really cute. I took it as a cue and went home and filled my ipod with Christmas songs including Diana Krall's new Christmas album (BRILLIANT!). However, I can't get into it because, let's face it, it's just too warm.

What I really mean to say with all of this is: Los Angeles sucks because it's this warm for Christmas all the time and Tom, you shouldn't move there after graduation...because it's WARM for Christmas. And you can't play your holiday jams without feeling "off". Okay? Don't go. Also? You could get shot.

Stay in the Big Apple with me. It's safe. Very safe. Especially a little area of town I like to call "East New York". Actually, Evy at work lives in East New York and tells me that she doesn't bother nobody and nobody bothers her. Evy also told me that if I bought those really big silver hoop earrings I want, the kind that touch my shoulders, she wouldn't talk to me because then I would look ghetto.

Hmmm. East New York also baffles me because if you live there, you live in East New York, New York. It's almost like how there's an Eastchester in Westchester County. You live in Eastchester, Westchester? Am I really wasting precious blogging minutes on this crap? Seriously.

My father definitely e-mailed me to let me know that it's about that time of year to send him my Christmas list. UM. I'm 22 and I STILL GET TO MAKE A CHRISTMAS LIST!?!?!!? THIS IS FREAKING AMAZING. HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?! He also asked if I needed anything from a few specific stores because he "has coupons!" Also? He signed the email "Dad(SANTA)". Can we just pause for the cause and bask in the love I have for that man? It's out of control. Not only is he open about the fact that he uses an extravagant amount of coupons for Christmas shopping but he also signs his e-mails "Santa". So...

Pause.

I'm thinking of sending out Christmas cards this year. But I will only do this if it's funny. I think Tom and I need to really do something utterly stupid and take a picture of it. Like that time we dressed up my grandmother's cactus with vegetables. (Who's digital camera is that picture on!? SEND IT TO ME SO I CAN HAVE A CHRISTMAS CARD!) I swear, it was really funny.

I'm not sure what started it. I'm also not sure why my grandmother had a cactus to begin with. But there it was. And there were the vegetables on the table and before you knew it, the logical thing to do was arrange the vegetables ONTO the cactus. We also put a cigarette in the cactus' "mouth" for effect but that was short-lived as all the tiny needles of the plant were ignited and we SET THE CACTUS ON FIRE. The whole thing was in flames.

Grandma didn't mind because really, how could you be mad when a cactus decorated with vegetables gets set on fire?! This is quality Christmas card creativity people. Quality.

Also, is it possible for me to photoshop myself INTO the picture of the cactus? Hmmm.

Where is that picture?

I ask you.

Peace.

The NYC Marathon or Why People Who Live Outside The City Should Be Screened/Heavily Sedated Before Entering

Ashley called me up and wanted to know if I would like to go watch part of the New York City Marathon. She told me you cheer a lot and everyone gets into it and it's so inspiring and she lives right nearby the eighteen mile mark, so really, why not?! Well why not could be that I had to miss out on some sleep on a beautiful Sunday morning but let's face it, Ashley is worth it. So around noon I met her on 77th and Lexington and we walked over to First Avenue.

Holy.Crap.Madness.

I know it should've been obvious to me but PEOPLE ARE RUNNING! EVERYWHERE! SO MANY RUNNERS! Most of them soaked with sweat because, um, eighteen miles? and the fact that it was 70 degrees+. Ashley immediately starts clapping and cheering and finding the runners who have their names written on their shirts or bodies.

"GO DANNY! WORK IT RACHEL! YOU GOT IT!"

I'm so impressed. She is obviously a marathon-spectator extraordinaire. I join right in. We try to squeeze our way forward and we are past the curb in a group of people standing on the side of the street when out of nowhere a woman with Bangs Gone Wrong approaches (attacks?) Ashley and screams in her face at the top of her lungs, "GET OUT OF THE STREEEEEEEET! YOU ARE BLOCKING THE RUNNERS! WE'VE BEEN HERE SINCE 9 AM!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Ashley and I exchange a very confused look. "Woah woah I'm sorry. Okay okay. Calm down," mutters Ashley, hoping that the woman with a terrible hairdo does not have a gun. As far as we know, she is definitely not an authority figure and even worse, we are standing in a group of at least a gazillion people with cops around us and they aren't telling us to move anywhere.

We give in and move further down the street and find a great spot in front of a little dogs-pee-on-it-all-the-time tree. There are some people right in front of us standing against the barricade but other than that, we have a wonderful view. We're clapping, Ashley is screaming her head off.

"ROCK ON STEPHANIE! YOU CAN DO IT BIG PETE! KEEP ON GOING AMY! YEAHHHHHHH!"

The opposite side of the street, I should mention, is going crazy with claps and cheers. Our side for some reason? Not as excited. Ashley and I have to be some of the rowdiest people on our side. Ashley is disappointed.

"The people at the Boston Marathon were ten times more into this...GO BILLY YOU CAN DO IT!!!! Holy crap look who's coming toward us..."

Sure enough, The Marathon Nazi is headed straight for us. We are confused/pissed at life. We aren't doing anything wrong now, we know it. We're standing behind the barricade. She comes right up to us and sneaks in behind the barricade. The two ladies in front of us say, "Oh yeah girl! You told them! This is so awful, people cutting in when we've been here since 9! Those cops are doing NOTHING."

So. Evil Bangs Lady's posse is actually directly in front of us. UM. Ashley suggests moving. It won't be the first time she offers this. I say no, we're in a good spot. I take the time to notice that not only are her bangs awful but she is wearing the top half of a red white and blue jumpsuit circa 1992. Niiiiice.

Throughout the next 10 or 15 minutes, the ladies in front of us, who are waiting for their friend John to run by, take turns running out into the middle of the street screaming at the top of their lungs at people to get out of the way. They also take it upon themselves to flag down cops and tell them they're doing a terrible job. Most of the NYPD we saw had a trace of a smirk on their face the entire time.

"THAT MAN IN THE RED SHIRT! HE KEEPS SNEAKING UP! IT ISN'T FAIR! HE'S BLOCKING THE WAY!"

Ashley and I begin to mutter under our breaths in between claps and cheers. We utter the occasional, "You are being crazy" and "Let it go, just calm yourselves." Finally the Evil Lady in Early 90's Garb turns around and says, "You know what? We're NOT going to let it go. We've been here since 9 AM!!!!!"

Ashley says, "You're ruining it for the rest of us." I add that I've never seen such negativity in my entire life. She gives dirty looks. We continue to cheer, "LET'S HEAR IT FOR LISA!! YEAHHHHHHH MIGUEL!" and then overhear her saying, "GOD those girls have loudmouths."

Um. Ashley and I say loudly, "We're cheering for the RUNNERS." It must also be noted that Satan In A Jumpsuit is not clapping or cheering. She is slumped against the barricade with the physical energy of a cold dead fish. She turns around and tells us we're screaming in her ears.

"It's a marathon?" we say, "You're SUPPOSED to cheer them on. They've run 18 miles."

Wench says accusingly, "Have *you* ever run a marathon!?"

Let's make one thing clear. I have not run a marathon. Nor has Ashley. But for the record, Ashley was so inspired that she got up for a morning jog. And let it be known, that I'm making marathon-training strides by getting my butt out of bed for a run at least 4 times a week. (Okay 2, fine, it's 2.) I'm not sure what this lady meant by asking that? It was clear that she herself had never run a marathon. Well. Unless she had some kind of glory day way back when and then gained lots of weight after. I don't know.

I say, "No we haven't?" with a question mark because I wanted her to see just how idiotic and useless that question was.

"Well then YOU don't know what it's like. We are WAITING FOR OUR FRIEND."

Ashley brings it home by saying, "It's a MARATHON? It's not about YOU. It's about THEM. We're here to cheer for THEM."

I try to join in but only manage a heartfelt, "YEAH" or something.

The Devil Wears 1990 Attire looks me in the eye and says, "Why don't you just SHUT UP."

Ashley is nearly in tears, as am I because let's face it, I'm afraid of confrontation. But this? Is juicy. Ashley asks if we can move. I say that we should hold our ground and not let this lady win. We both agree she has ruined this entire experience for us. So we cheer. Ashley is a rockstar.

"YOU GOT IT, SAMIR, YOU GOT IT! WORK IT PAM! YEAH PAM! YOU CAN DO IT MAN DRESSED UP LIKE A FAIRY! YEAH YOU!!!"

At some point earlier, I had whispered to Ashley that Satan's Posse could NOT be from NYC and act the way they were acting. We could find no proof that they were out of towners except for the fact that they had no clue how to dress and no accent. However, proof came around this time when someone in the marathon ran by that they recognized. They yelled for her and she came over to talk and then ran on by.

Satan's Friend #1: Oh, how do we know her??

Satan's Friend #2: Ohhhhhhhhhh she's from town!

Um. From town? I poked Ashley. Out of towners for shizzle. FROM TOWN!?!?!?!? There is nothing I can say that will reiterate just how geniusly hick that is. Nothing.

Eventually, Satan's Marathon Runner, John, ran by and he was very nice. We even clapped and cheered for him. Her two friends thanked us for cheering and ended up being really decent people. But The Wench With The Bangs and the White Keds refused to crack a smile the entire time. Once John (who was probably also From Town!) ran by, they were off to the end of the race to meet him. Ashley and I breathed a sigh of relief and gave it one last round of cheers before I had to go to work.

The cheering was fun. The marathon was inspiring. (I told everyone I know that I'm going to do it next year and was met by snickers from all. Okay fine. I have to work up to it. Maybe a 5K first...) I just don't know how someone can be yelling in my face while a man runs by me with two prosthetic legs or how someone can not clap and cheer when a woman hits the 18 mile mark and she's missing an arm.

How? Can you be so out of touch with joy?

I don't know about y'all but I blame it on the red-white-and-blue-I-probably-voted-for-Bush jumpsuit top. Let's just say that she didn't have the matching bottom, just tight black stretch pants. Maybe this was the source of her anger. Maybe she woke up the morning of the marathon in her hotel room and realized she left the bottom half of her jogging outfit in Town. I'm going to try to understand her plight. I definitely feel "off" when I don't match.

Oh wait. I always match. And usually when I cheer people on who are running 26.2 miles on quite possibly the most lovely autumn New York day, I try to have a HEART and be happy and not tell people to get out of my way. But that's just me. Can I get a heck yeah?

And some pudding? All this talk of running makes me hungry.

Peace.