Oct. 1st, 2007 09:07 am
squirrella: (Default)
Weird dream this morning, as I drifted awake. I was at my old-old work (Roger and the gang), but my old-old work was housed in my new work, minus all the furniture. Anyway, I was wearing some sort of bizarre undergarment--a bra that came up to my chin--and running around in my undies trying to find my keys. Roger stopped me and said, "I've got to go home. I left one of my watches at home and I can't go on without having it here..." So, I started to cry as I told him, "My plumbing is leaking, I can't find my keys or my ID, my husband is leaving me, my car is somewhere in West Philly and I have to bike there to get it, but then I have no place to carry my bike, I've got no sink, and....." I went on and on with all my woes. Meanwhile, Roger went home, got his watch, returned, and looked at me disdainfully before taking off his shoes.

Then, the doorbell buzzed and I let in Watler (intentional misspelling; you'd understand if you'd been there), repeated my woe to him, and then begged him to give me a ride to West Philly so I could get the car (which, incidentally, wasn't the Ghia but rather some sort of atrocious Mini-limo, if that makes ANY sense). Watler said, "I don't drive, so I'm sorry," then fixed the broken laptop on my lap (because now I'm sitting? I don't know...).

I'm still in my undies when Seneca walks by (not this guy--an ex-coworker), and I collapse into a ball, trying to hide my undied-self. Then, I wake up.
squirrella: (neener)
Best graffiti seen from the train to Boston: Suck my stump. We used it liberally for the rest of that day.

Best singing in the park: when some dude from NPR with a NitroJoe recorder and microphone asked the three of us to sing the theme from Cheers. Right across the street from the "original" Cheers bar. And near the statue that Mike and I posed under a few years ago:


Best non-road rage phrase used on the way up: Shut your trapezoid. My mother. Don't ask.

Best place to spend money: LUSH. OMG, I smell like a ROCKSTAR today. Also, Ocean Salt scrub is made with vodka...

Best way to assemble Ikea furniture: with never-ending margaritas followed by vodka tonics (because the margaritas *did* end...). We three assembled two end tables, an entertainment center, a shelving unit, a Poang and footstool all within 3 hours. Holy cam lock!

Best stitch learned in class: FRENCH FUCKING KNOTS! These little fuckers are now my bitch. I've seriously mastered the French knot and it only took two tries and about 30 seconds. I now cannot believe that I ever had a problem with this petty and pretty little stitch before.

Many photos to upload: Thai lunch, NPR guy, flowers, mom, sis, and more.

Oh, and my garage is EMPTY. Who let the car out? Why, Mike did!!! The Ghia is at the body shop and we should be getting an estimate this week. I'm scared and hopeful and nervous. BUT, I've had two Very Good fortunes in the last two weeks plus, I've picked up several lucky pennies, and I have a good feeling.

Five oh

Jan. 11th, 2007 11:34 pm
squirrella: (Default)
Dear Miss Angela,

The cookies were good. I ate them all at the Snyder Station. I walked past a German Shepherd at SPHigh and couldn't figure out why he was barking and whining at me through the fence. It wasn't until I saw the cop at the station that I got a little paranoid.

Anyways, I only ate one. They're awfully chocolate-y!

Diva Sqrl.

(this message was typed in Word to facilitate editing)
squirrella: (Default)
On the way up, a man in his mid-30s passes us on the right. He's full-leather motorcycling it, his HD Sportster crammed between his thighs. He gives us a look to the left, a look that is leering and ogling, a look that says, "Helllllloooooo Ladies". My mom, punchy since we're nearly HALF WAY THERE, looks back at the man and says, "Oh, baby. Wait, too young... Do you have a father?" Laughter ensues as the heathen takes the exit and rides off into the distance.

Later, we talk about the movers. At this point, on Friday early afternoon, the movers are still god-like for us. They moved Amy's shit! At least, to their truck. But, none of the movers were native-speaking Americans. I imagined the ethnicity of each: one was Croatian (he had the Luka look), one was of Iranian descent, and the leader of the pack was Armenian. The Armenian had the thickest accent, and as pack-leader, did the most talking. He spoke in odd sentences, leaving out articles, nouns, and verbs at whim. Pointing to the TV, he asked, "You take in car? We load, no?" Pointing to the stack of boxes in one corner, "Need tape? Have tape! We tape!" It was Maisy meets Dr. Suess: simple, yet everything sounded so complicated. After our near-rendezvous with the motorcycle man, "Do you have a father?" became our answer to any and everything. In a stroke of genius, I proposed that once we got to Amy's place, we drink drink drink, and as the moving men move her in, we, in our drunken state, would say to the Armenian, "Do you have tape? Do you have father?" It was so ridiculously stupid, and yet it had us laughing the entire weekend. And, for the record, our fantasies were not to be realized: the Armenian got off the moving caravan somewhere in Bayonne, NJ, leaving us girls with the slim, silent Croatian and a strange Buckwheat-lookalike man.

What would a road trip be without a sprinkling or so of road construction? We saw one of these things on the side of the road and my mother made the universal sign for penis-in-vagina and said, "That thing's going to have sex with the ground!"

Another construction zone, this one guarded by a patrol car. As the patrol car was backing up along the left shoulder, my mom yelled out to him, "You need a back-up booper beeper!" No sooner had she said that (windows up, thankfully) then the next construction vehicle started backing up, complete with it's "Beee-oop, beee-oop, beee-oop"-ing. When I looked at her in disbelief, she said, "YOU KNOW, the beep-up backer booper--I mean the boop-beep backer-upper--I MEAN... NEVERMIND!" Laughing, again. HA HA HA HA HA.

ETA: Some people have to pay extra for blinkers. This was something mom said SEVERAL times on the trip. Most of the time, it went like this, "Oh, blinkers were extra, weren't they, DICK BREATH." Dick breath. My mom. Breath of dick.

Also, my mom has a theory about driving and it goes like this: stay the course. Don't change lanes, unless absolutely necessary. And every time she'd jockey for position, she'd yell at herself, "STAY THE COURSE, ROBIN. STAY THE COURSE. If you'd just stay the course!" And the same would be yelled at people that tried to weve in and out of traffic, thinking a car length or two would get them to their destination faster. As we'd inch closer and then pass the fidgety car, she'd just say in that mom-voice, "People, just stay the course. It's my theory and it works!" A few times, when impatient drivers tried to finagle their way into the other lanes in an effort to pass everyone that was stuck in traffic because OBVIOUSLY we all had a mental problem if we were just going to sit there when there was CLEARLY squeezing room, she said, "Blinkers an add-on option you couldn't afford on the Lexus, sweetie? STAY THE FUCKING COURSE, DICK BREATH!"

My mom and I together are never in dry pants for long.
squirrella: (OMFG)
I just received an email with this link. You're a swell pal if you can spot the stalker-connection.

My neighbor's away for the next few days. I predict Swedish fish rainstorms.
squirrella: (1974)

Unrelated, I had a fabulous time at Fiber Night in South Philly last night. I'm sorry I had to leave early-ish, as I'm sure you were all just gettin' started.

Even more unrelated, if we get a dog, I'd like to name him Maurice. I'm not a fan of the Steve Miller Band, but I think it would be annoyingly funny to introduce the wonder mutt as, "Some people call him Maurice..." Of course, we're not getting a dog, the number one reason being Chico. That cat.


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