I'm not ready for winter yet when this is what fall looks like.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Have you met my housekeeper Maria?
On Saturday while Tara and I were at the snooty mall in Natick, we stopped to grab a quick bite at the food court before we bought the rest of our stuff off of the registry from Crate and Barrel. While we were there, we flirted for several minutes with a cute two year old and his disengaged father, who spent most of the time he was supposed to be having lunch with his son talking on the phone making stock trades and talking about basketball.
The little one and I shot glances back and forth as he shoved pieces of meatball and hunks of saucey pizza into his mouth, both of us having a great time. Once his father got off the phone, he was still interested in flirting with me, much to his father's frustration. Finally I turned around to leave them be so that Dad wouldn't get mad at the crazy woman tempting his son to stray from the task at hand.
Once both I and the boy had finished our lunches, I resumed my conversation with them, and he just grinned, silly as can be, back in my direction. His father commented, "Oh he's such a flirt! But I know why he really likes you -- you look just like his nanny!"
Blink. Blink blink.
I turned around and told Tara we needed to leave and she asked why I was so pissed. Clearly she had not heard what he said.
While I understand that he really didn't mean anything by it, what it did accomplish was knocking me down several pegs, and putting me beneath this guy and his son. It's not short of telling a hispanic woman she looks like your housekeeper or the woman who cleans your hotel room, and while it may not be inaccurate the Asians raise the best children, it is insensitive to put it so plainly, and blankly into this Asian's face.
The little one and I shot glances back and forth as he shoved pieces of meatball and hunks of saucey pizza into his mouth, both of us having a great time. Once his father got off the phone, he was still interested in flirting with me, much to his father's frustration. Finally I turned around to leave them be so that Dad wouldn't get mad at the crazy woman tempting his son to stray from the task at hand.
Once both I and the boy had finished our lunches, I resumed my conversation with them, and he just grinned, silly as can be, back in my direction. His father commented, "Oh he's such a flirt! But I know why he really likes you -- you look just like his nanny!"
Blink. Blink blink.
I turned around and told Tara we needed to leave and she asked why I was so pissed. Clearly she had not heard what he said.
While I understand that he really didn't mean anything by it, what it did accomplish was knocking me down several pegs, and putting me beneath this guy and his son. It's not short of telling a hispanic woman she looks like your housekeeper or the woman who cleans your hotel room, and while it may not be inaccurate the Asians raise the best children, it is insensitive to put it so plainly, and blankly into this Asian's face.
Monday, November 07, 2005
Is this thing on?
Call me a miscreant. A slacker. A loser -- anything you want. I have not blogged and I know it, so don't complain to me! The dog ate my homework, Mrs. Jackson!
Let's start with Friday, October 14 and something you already know: I was in a car accident. That day started a nearly three week long saga of phone calls, police reports, doctor's reports, insurance companies, auto body shops, written reports, agency findings, and headaches (literal and figurative). Now, almost four weeks and $2100 of some other lady's money later, the car is repaired, sans pride sticker, and on the road. Whew.
Then, let's move to Tuesday, October 18th. With the veil of concussive headaches and narcotic hangovers lifting, I caught Tara's cold. My last day at work before Weddingtravaganza2005 began was supposed to be Wednesday, but I called out* that day and went in the evening to finish up some must-do-before-I-leave stuff. On Thursday, feeling better but still crappy, I cleaned the house and ran MANY errands in preparation for Sarah and Jenna's arrival Thursday evening. On Friday Tara and I hosted our rehearsal dinner for 25 people, and on Saturday we had the long-awaited wedding reception. It was perfect, but more on that later.
On Sunday, the crash came. I was so exhausted from the last week that I slept all day and all night. All day and all night, just like how Max sailed in Where the Wild Things Are. I returned the work that Thursday to a PILEOFCRAP, and then on Saturday went to my co-worker's wedding which went from 1 pm until after 11. In case you're bad at math, that's a long-ass day. It also was a Catholic wedding, so most of the church portion of the day was spent talking about having babies and breeding, and be a good father and mother, and having babies, and if you're not too busy right now maybe you could go make babies and why is this ceremony so long when you could be elsewhere making babies?! It affirmed my choice to leave the Catholic church, particularly after the guy behind Tara and I refused to shake our dirty lesbo hands during passing of the peace. Hey, DUDE?! It's PASSING OF THE PEACE. Think about Jesus. I don't think you get to decide that we're going to hell and you don't want to touch us! After all, Jesus touched leopards. (Only Tara will get that joke so if you want a clue ask her.)
Then Sunday, oh to be original, cruel fate, I got someone else's cold. I don't know whose, but if I did I'd send a hit out on them. I was out this week Wednesday as well, then had to work all day Saturday...and what do you know, I've just explained the reason I haven't blogged. Suck it.
The last remaining vestige of what needs to be cleaned up from all of the above is sending out thank you cards, which is sort of a warped description of what really needs to be done and that is that they need to be written first...In truth, I'm looking forward to writing them and reconnecting with all of those who held Tara and I in their thoughts and prayers during our marriage blessing. I may write a whole blog about that experience, but if you're really curious and reading this and want to know, send me an email. I'll post pictures here soon, as long as no one else rear ends me first!
*QuickPoll: Do you say "call out" sick or "call off" sick?
Let's start with Friday, October 14 and something you already know: I was in a car accident. That day started a nearly three week long saga of phone calls, police reports, doctor's reports, insurance companies, auto body shops, written reports, agency findings, and headaches (literal and figurative). Now, almost four weeks and $2100 of some other lady's money later, the car is repaired, sans pride sticker, and on the road. Whew.
Then, let's move to Tuesday, October 18th. With the veil of concussive headaches and narcotic hangovers lifting, I caught Tara's cold. My last day at work before Weddingtravaganza2005 began was supposed to be Wednesday, but I called out* that day and went in the evening to finish up some must-do-before-I-leave stuff. On Thursday, feeling better but still crappy, I cleaned the house and ran MANY errands in preparation for Sarah and Jenna's arrival Thursday evening. On Friday Tara and I hosted our rehearsal dinner for 25 people, and on Saturday we had the long-awaited wedding reception. It was perfect, but more on that later.
On Sunday, the crash came. I was so exhausted from the last week that I slept all day and all night. All day and all night, just like how Max sailed in Where the Wild Things Are. I returned the work that Thursday to a PILEOFCRAP, and then on Saturday went to my co-worker's wedding which went from 1 pm until after 11. In case you're bad at math, that's a long-ass day. It also was a Catholic wedding, so most of the church portion of the day was spent talking about having babies and breeding, and be a good father and mother, and having babies, and if you're not too busy right now maybe you could go make babies and why is this ceremony so long when you could be elsewhere making babies?! It affirmed my choice to leave the Catholic church, particularly after the guy behind Tara and I refused to shake our dirty lesbo hands during passing of the peace. Hey, DUDE?! It's PASSING OF THE PEACE. Think about Jesus. I don't think you get to decide that we're going to hell and you don't want to touch us! After all, Jesus touched leopards. (Only Tara will get that joke so if you want a clue ask her.)
Then Sunday, oh to be original, cruel fate, I got someone else's cold. I don't know whose, but if I did I'd send a hit out on them. I was out this week Wednesday as well, then had to work all day Saturday...and what do you know, I've just explained the reason I haven't blogged. Suck it.
The last remaining vestige of what needs to be cleaned up from all of the above is sending out thank you cards, which is sort of a warped description of what really needs to be done and that is that they need to be written first...In truth, I'm looking forward to writing them and reconnecting with all of those who held Tara and I in their thoughts and prayers during our marriage blessing. I may write a whole blog about that experience, but if you're really curious and reading this and want to know, send me an email. I'll post pictures here soon, as long as no one else rear ends me first!
*QuickPoll: Do you say "call out" sick or "call off" sick?
Image: Gaylen likes big butts and she cannot lie!
Despite this being an absolutely terrible picture by all photographic standards, it makes me laugh outloud every time I look at it.
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