Falling for You

Yes, I'm aware that I was negligent in posting yesterday, so to make up for it I'm gonna post something on Friday. It's really surprising that I'd forget, because I actually have a few good topics I wanted to cover this week.

First up, for this Tuesday, is my idea of the funniest thing ever. Some like the pie in the face, others like a well-paced walk-into-the-door. To me, the idea of slapstick is at it's best when it involves humans and slipping. I mean really, is there anything more humorous when you see someone have complete control one minute and then suddenly land square on their butt? Hell, whenever I've done it, I can never seem to stop laughing. I remember one of our childhood traditions was to sit around and watch "America's Funniest Home Videos" with the charmingly goofy (and surprisingly dirty) Bob Saget. For us, nothing was better than when it looked like the camera was all framed for a nice heartwarming shot, and then the bride slips in the middle of her reception. Hilarious

Whenever I'm in need of a good laugh my mind always seems to drift to scenes from television or movies where people trip or are falling. You ever watch any of that reality show, "The Osbournes"? There was an episode I used to watch over and over again just so I could see the montage scene of all the times Kelly tripped and fell.

Or how about in that movie, "Honeymoon in Vegas" when James Caan is trying to keep up with Sarah Jessica Parker on their hike, and as she cross the camera you see Caan not really paying attention and then suddenly just drops out of the scene via a ditch in the ground? Crap, that stuff still makes me smile.

I guess I really noticed this comedic inclination lately, since I bought these damn flip flops that are completely smooth on the bottom. I have lost count how many times I have fallen while wearing these shoes (and I'm not exactly helped by all the wood floors in the townhouse). I'm seriously waiting for the day I completely fall down the stairs, in which I will be crying with tears of laughter in between tears of pain.

The other day I was in the yard playing with Georgia, trying to chase after her, when my foot slipped briefly on wet grass and I surprised myself with a near split (of the pants as well...yikes). And then later on Joe and I were walking out of Target (the scene of tomorrow's topic, too) I was talking to him about something when my foot slipped off the curve of the curb and had to fling my arms behind me to regain balance.

I'd like to say I laugh only at myself or characters on television, but chances are, if you slip or trip around me, I'll 1.) make sure you are ok, and if you are 2.) begin to, hopefully, laugh with you, but if you are not 2.) help you to a chair and then excuse myself to laugh in the bathroom.

I remember a story my sister Linds told me years ago back in high school about how she was at a party and as she was making her way into the basement where her friends were her giant shoe (this was when Frankenstein-sized platform shoes were the rage) slipped and caused her to slide down the stairs on her butt. I remember even then bawling my eyes laughing, split between imagining her with those huge shoes and the scene from "Clueless" where Ty falls down the stairs. Even as I'm typing this I'm trying to suppress a laugh.

Hell, I even laugh at my DOG, as if I wasn't evil enough. The other day Georgia surprised me by trying to jump onto our bed. I had just made it, smoothing out the ends, when I see this little brown body fling itself at the bed, her grip slipping and her head and front paws pop up before crashing back down. Haha, aww I made sure she was ok, but God, I almost couldn't breathe.

I dunno, I could be just me, but it's an oldie and goodie in my opinion. I never laugh at intentional slips, they have to be completely spontaneous and unexpected. And also, causing no physical damage, cuz then I just feel bad. Well, unless of course I don't make it to someplace private and I start laughing right in front of you. But just know, even as I'm wiping away tears and gasping for breath, I really DO want to know, "are you ok?"

Camp Wanna-whine

"It was amazing. We hiked to our site, set up the tent and then kayaked up the river. Then at night we drank beer and roasted marshmallows, telling stories all throughout the night. Oh, and there were so many stars, it was like being in a planetarium."

Whenever we get together with friends of Joe's and they mention their love of camping, he can't help but cast a sideways glance my way, as I try to avert my eyes by taking a sip of my drink. I feel bad for the guy, I really do. After all, I don't mean to keep him from doing something he loves. But I'm not really what you'd call "outdoors-y".

Now, I will defend myself and say that I'm not a total princess; the hiking, kayaking, drinking and roasting are all activities I'm actually fond of, even enjoy. I think where I draw the line are the whole, non-showering and sleeping-on-the-ground things. I'm also a bit of a sissy who screams at the mere sight of a big bug and is terrified to be in the woods at night, thinking an ax wielding psychopath is on the loose or a rabid hungry bear. Oh sure, I can hear you say, 'well, what are the odds of something like that happened?' I can guarantee you, those are the same words that came out the mouths of the people who, hours later, ended up in their sleeping bags looking like meat in a burrito.

Ok, so maybe that's a tad irrational, but truthfully, I can say at least that I've given the camping thing a good college try. And while it started off good, when the night came it became a bit...disastrous?

The first time was back in middle school, when I was completing my journey as a Girl Scout by attending the graduation ceremony that was to be held at the conclusion of an overnight camping trip. Never having gone camping I didn't really know what to expect, however all my friends and fellow Girl Scouts were pumped so I tried to adopt their enthusiasm.

I remember hauling all kinds of food items and plastic ware to our campsite, which was set enough in the woods to make us girls think we were really facing the wilderness, yet conveniently close enough to the highway should anything arise.

We arrived early and I was happy to partake of the nature trails with the group and play games with my friends. I even managed to get through whatever food we had. Finally it was time for bed and we all finally collected into our group's tent. There were actually at least 4 or 5 tents to accommodate the whole troop, and before the grown-ups got REALLY serious about our bedtime we spent some part of the night making the small trek through the dirt path and brush to arrive at our neighbors' tents. But after the last threat, which our troop leader promised to act on, we actually settled into our own tent.

I tried to make myself as comfortable as possible, or at least as much as I could using a small throw pillow, a blanket, and a sleeping bag over a solid wood platform that kept us off the forest floor. I found myself tossing and turning every 2 minutes, waiting for my shoulder to wake-up so I could go to sleep. I didn't seem to be the only one having a hard time, since before I knew it we all became painfully aware of a big mosquito that had somehow gotten past the flimsy flap and not buzzed annoyingly in our ears. Some of us screamed and begged the others, the brave ones I'll call them, to get rid of it. Finally, after hours or swirling around my sleeping bag trying to find a spot that wouldn't feel like my body was crushing itself, I passed out simply from exhaustion.

The next morning I heard someone saying, "Ohh Grooooss!" Though I never liked to be out of the loop, especially when it was something so remarkable as to elicit such a response, I could barely lift my head off my tiny stiff pillow. Then I heard someone whisper my name, at which point I gave up and looked to see what embarrassing thing I had done. Happily, it wasn't my doing. Unhappily, one of the girls had gotten sick and had vomited on my sleeping bag.

I was about to show my frustration when I looked over and the poor girl still looked a bit green, so I simply carefully slid out of the bag and carefully folded it up, reassuring her apologetic face that it was fine, and not to worry about it.

The rest of the trip went much smoother, however I never forgot that night. I guess I'd be willing to give camping a try, at least until night fell, at which point I'd bid my goodnights and check into the nearest Red Roof Inn.

Staycation

Ok, I'm not gonna lie, I'm still sorta feeling that massive glass of Pinot Grigio I had with dinner...my third Restaurant Week restaurant, I might add. And to answer your question, I had this crap and artichoke stuffed filo for an appetizer, a seafood bouillabaisse for dinner and a trio of Mediterranean desserts. Oh, and I had a small break through- not sure if it was because of the wine, but I tried my friend Ash's appetizer (which was CHILLED shrimp in a citrus sauce) and actually liked it! I ATE A COLD DISH! What is becoming of the world??

Anyway, that's really not what this post is supposed to be about. It's about the fact that EVERYONE and their mother has been/is going on vacation, while Joe and I putter around the house for the 10th weekend in a row. Now, I hear you say, 'But Kris, didn't you guys JUST move in to your new place? Isn't it still new and exciting?' Well, let me tell you loyal reader, it is NOT! Well, it is a little bit, but I can't help feeling the drag of not having an actual vacation in over 3 or 4 years.

Granted, Joe and I did take two beach trips; one to Ocean City and then to Virginia Beach. I honestly can't remember which one we did first..do you see what I mean about it being a long time? And though both were fun, they were also way too short, in my humble opinion.

Also, I must admit that this summer the move really ate away our money and time (the two basic essentials for a vacation). Still, as aware as I am about these facts, I can't help noticing all the trips and time off people around me seem to be getting. Hell, even my radio personalities have taken numerous vacations. Mickey, of the morning show I listen to on 98 Rock, was interviewing the major of Ocean City, and described how he went down for a few weeks! He even said he was going to try to make another weekend trip soon! And it doesn't stop there. I noticed on my favorite NPR shows that the co hosts there seem to be taking turns taking their vacations.

Even as I look around my office I notice people missing here and there, only to discover THEY had unused vacation time. Though it's terrible to think, I keep wishing them sunburns and rainy days, just out of spite.

Did you know that in many countries in Europe, they actually require you to take a few weeks off? Without any penalty or anything. My friend Dave told me this once, when he explained all the various trips he intended to take. It was further confirmed on a segment on Sunday Morning (one of my ritual shows that I do miss terribly).

Maybe I'm being obsessed. It's just that back when I was a kid, I guess I was pretty spoiled, at least where vacations were concerned. In fact, my cousin Beck and I were just texting about those trips tonite, which we often did with both families, offering up little tidbits of memories...

"Remember the drive down to Captiva and the dolphins?", she texted.

"Remember the raccoon stuck on the roof?", I texted back.

"Remember when your brother threw up hot pink stuff in the hot tub?", she replied.

"Remember that kid, Chip, who was kinda weird but we liked boys so we wanted him to hang out with us?", I responded.

So many memories. So many trips. But as we got older, and schedules became more rigid, the vacations seemed to drift away. By the time I got to college I was usually unable to go for trips with my family, and before I knew it years had passed since my foot stepped inside a crowded airplane to touch down in a new place. I swear, last week's trip to pick up Ashley was the closest I had been to an airport in ages. *Sigh*

And though I should count myself fortunate (having family still up by the Jersey shore allotted me at least some quality beach time, though not as much as I would've liked), I feel sympathy for Joe, who has been trying to get away to Myrtle Beach (HIS family's old vacation spot) for ages now.

We keep trying to tell ourselves that once the paychecks are not being used up for other things, like security deposits and mattresses, we will have a proper vacation. But still, I think Europe has got it right. I could think of some things to do with 6 weeks of vacation time. Even if it was just to Ocean City.

Sunday, freaking, Sunday

Has anyone ever used that deodorant called "Tom's All Natural"? I think it's based in Maine or something? Holy crap, that shit irritates the HELL outta my skin. Today at work I looked like a god damn orangutan scratching their armpits trying to get a banana from a zookeeper. Gross. Anyway, onto the thrilling (I think) conclusion to my weekend.

So like I said Saturday mostly consisted of me recovering from a hangover, a trip to the Home Depot, and not much else. Let's move on to Sunday.

Sunday- I woke up feeling much better, and made it a point to start cleaning the townhouse while Joe played handyman and put up the new fence. When he went downstairs I came out, just to check up on Georgia and take some trash out. I noticed a 7 or 8 year old boy with his father, looking and smiling at Georgia. Being the overly/annoyingly polite person, I walked over, wearing a crappy small tank top and stained workout pants, hoping they were just curious as to her breed (as everyone in their mother seems to be).

I couldn't totally understand what the father was saying the whole time, but he was smiling alot. The kid asked questions about her and wondered if he could pet her. I managed to get my hands on her and let him pet her. Then he said he'd like to throw the ball for her. I grabbed the ball and let it toss it to her a few times. Now I probably should've just stopped it there because the next thing I knew the kid was climbing over the fence because he wanted to play with her.

Now, Georgia is NOT a vicious dog. Her one problem that we have to train out of her is that she sometimes plays a little rough with us humans. She has a hard time discerning play from pain, unless we yelp loudly to indicate the difference. The kid start trying to mess with her and she began nipping at his heels and when he started flailing his arms, tried to bite those as well. It wasn't as if she was trying to attack him, but still the kid started to look petrified and clutched his arm. I tried to grab Georgia to keep her away but she thought it was all part of the game. When I finally managed to get a hold, the kid suddenly said he wanted to play some more. Finally coming to my senses, with this strange kid in my yard, I apologized and said that I thought it was time for Georgia to go in now. He looked at me wide-eyed, as if that was ridiculous and unfair.

"Yeah, you know, she's just getting really excited...she sorta nips when she's playing," I stammered. Still the look was blank. Finally the father helped me out by saying it was time for them to go, still smiling. He made it seem like he was just going to pull the kid back over the fence the way he came, so I walked back inside with Georgia in tow.

When Joe came back upstairs, he noticed the father and son in our backyard.

"Ummm why are there people in our yard?" I glanced back and noticed they were trying to actually go through the back gate. Not really wanting to make friends, I closed the door and hightailed it upstairs to continue with my cleaning, and hoped for the best.

Hours later I was due to pick up Ashley at BWI at around 7:40. Also, quick side note- since doing this Living Year thing I HAVE noticed I'm on time for more things. In fact, sometimes I'm even early...yet somehow I still get bitten in the ass...

So I make my way up there over a half hour early. I find a nice spot right near her airline exit, and, since my car has no a/c, step out to suck in whatever stifled air I can. I keep glancing at my watch, and when I realize it's almost time, I finger my phone waiting for her call and look around for a sign of her.

Suddenly, at around 7:36, an airport cop begins walking to all the cars, including mine, and telling the owners they need to move. I immediately comply, asking if I should just go around the terminal again. She says yes, but as I move forward I get the call. I tell Ash to meet me at the Air Jamaica section and pull over. I'm not there for more than 2 minutes before the same cop rolls over.

"This is the second time, right?" She said, leaning into my car.

"Yes, I'm sorry, but my friend JUST called me. She's coming out right now," I said.

"Ok, well, you know how they say third times a charm? Third times a ticket," and she starts to move on. I'm left thinking she meant if I stay there too long and she tells me to move again, she'll give me a ticket so I wait a few more seconds. I then see her in my rearview, making her way back to me, and suddenly get the message. I pull out and drive all the way around the terminal.

Ashley calls me again, asking what happened. I explain that this freakin cop told me to move so I had to circle the terminal. When I finally get back around the quiet airport is now packed and tense. I pull over where I can, holding my phone to my ear and trying to move up a bit, as requested by some guy in a giant lime-colored shirt. Still I see no sign of Ash; instead, I see the same damn cop, and this time she is just signaling me to move AGAIN.

After going through the terminal a third time, at long last, I spot Ashley and practically yank her into my car before the cop can see me. As I explained the whole thing, Ash suddenly made me realize it wasn't just me. Apparently, while she was craning her neck to find me she stepped a little too close to the curb. The same cop came up to her and barked at her to move back. When she explained she's looking for her friend (who's had to circle the terminal three times, she pointed out), the cop ignored her after she told her to move again.

*Whew*, so yeah, that was my weekend in a nutshell. A very colorful and long-winded nutshell. Don't worry, tomorrow's will be shorter. G'nite gang!

Female-Fists-of-Fury Friday

Holy hell, what a freaking weekend. Here's what happened...

Friday- Since we got Georgia I'm on the mailing list for the SPCA so I occasionally get emails about fundraising events. One that I really wanted to attend was called "Wine & Wag" in which people bring their dogs and while they nosh on biscuits and treats, we humans get to sample beer, wine, and little hors d'ouerves (sp?).

However, due to the crap-tastic weather we've been having it was rescheduled. They also mentioned that another event called "The Yappy Hour" was taking place at a wine shop in historic Ellicott City, where it would the same sort of thing. Because I was unable to make it to the Wine & Wag (b/c of conflicting schedules) I figured I'd head out for the Yappy Hour.

Things were going pretty smoothly. Though Georgia was still pretty hesitant around all the other dogs, she WAS showing interest. But one dog was paying a little bit too much attention to her, at least in Georgia's mind. It was this little puggle (ironically, the same dog we had originally been looking for) that, when it realized Georgia wasn't going to play with him began loudly barking at her. Georgia, usually timid and shy about barkers, tried to maneuver away from it but when she couldn't she started barking back. (And not only barking, but showing her teeth) I was trying to casually sip my latest wine taste and suddenly had to scoop her up to calm her down.

When things settled I plopped her back down and she rewarded my efforts by taking a nice big dump right by the micro brews. I suddenly panicked, realizing we hadn't remember to bring any plastic bags. Thankfully someone took pity on us, the amateur dog-owners, and handed over a bag to pick up her poop. It was a little hard to regain the moment of sophistication when one hand is holding a dry red and the other a wet brown...

After that we were due to meet up with our friends back at our place, where the drinking continued. This went from destination to destination, till finally, at the end of the night, we came back to the house to finish out the night. The two other girls decided to go for a cigarette run and suggested I come along, with the dog.

As we made our way to the nearest 7-11, I waited outside with Georgia, trying like hell not to stumble and give away my current state. The girls came back out and muttered something about getting in a fight. Before I had the chance to ask them what they meant, this group of young 20-somethings poked their heads, one of them shouting insults at us. One of the girls with us reciprocated, while me and the other tried to pull her along. They explained that one of the 20-something college girls was being disrespectful to the cashier and our friend, acknowledging this, rightfully decided to stand up for the guy. When the college girl made it known she didn't appreciate the comment to her, words were exchanged. After retelling the story, they realized they forgot the cigarettes and went back in, where the other girls finally emerged and began apologizing to me about their friend. Being drunk, and terrified of confrontation, I excused them and told them to just go. As they made their way to the corner I was rejoined by MY girls, who couldn't resist messing with these little girls one more time, smacking the one biotch's butt and then tore off, leaving the other group to hold back their friend who wanted nothing more than to get her hands on our friend.

As we walked back, we started started falling apart laughing, while I kept muttering "oh my God, oh my God,". It was the closest I have ever been to a girl-girl fight since I was a little kid. I was amazed at the gumption of my companions, and slightly jealous as well. I tried to convince myself it was because of the dog that I didn't join their cause, but I think we all knew the truth. When we got back to the boys and we began explaining the story, the girls high-fived proudly.

The truth is, I've always wondered, if the shit REALLY hit the fan, would I do anything? If words were no longer an option, and someone was trying to attack a friend, would I have the balls to drop everything (including *gasp*, manners!) and join in for a good ol' fight? I'm a bit disappointed in myself. I mean, I could have at least been like, "that's right bitches! You're gonna take your medicine!" Guys always talk about getting and giving ass whoopings...maybe that's not a terrible thing for a girl to experience either (from another girl). Oh well, guess I'll have to test my female fists of fury another time...unless I happen to have the dog with me again..

Ok, so that was part one of my weird-ass weekend. Tomorrow- we skip hungover Saturday conclude with Sunday...

Thoughtful Thursday

I didn't have a particular subject in mind today, however, as I was going about my day there were certain things I noticed and would like to comment on.

1. There is nothing scarier than making a left hand turn into a busy intersection and you have to sneeze. I was making one such turn this morning, onto York Road, which anyone can tell you, is plenty busy during rush hour. I was making the left, and suddenly felt the comings-on of a sneeze. Helpless, I hoped it would pass but of course it didn't. Luckily, I've been doing this same drive for a few weeks now so I can make the turn...even with my eyes closed. Still, though it's just for a brief second, I (and others who fear for their lives on the road) have a mini panic-attack thinking that in that time someone will come whizzing by and smash into me. I know it's pretty far-fetched but wouldn't you hate to be the one who died because you took your eyes off the road for a split second just to sneeze? I think that would be horribly sad and tragic. And is there any truth to that myth that you can't sneeze with your eyes open? I think I once heard someone say your eyes could explode, but that's all here say. And given the two options I guess I'd rather take my chances with a quick sneeze than forever blindness.

2. I think we might have reached a new milestone for laziness and stupidity in this country. Again, while on my commute today I was listening to a radio ad from Subway, and they were talking about their new breakfast menu. As I recall, the ad went something like, "We know you hate talking in the morning. So just point to what you'd like and we'll make it for you!" Wow. Now, I want to really believe this was for that grumpy demographic that hate getting up in the morning, but who also apparently hate even MORE having to physically move their lips and vocal chords in order to get food made for them. But I have to assume that it might also be for those who are illiterate and who, rather than read off a menu are now able to simply grunt and point to what they'd like to eat. I don't mean to be critical to those that simply were never able to learn to read, but instead for those that didn't bother to. I have little sympathy for those who choose not to help themselves, and speaking as a former English teacher, feel that kids today need all the encouragement to read and write they can get, and we should be helping that, and not catering to the problem as an advertising gimmick.

3. Nothing has shown me the effect of inflation more than the price of Wrigley's gum. Remember when a pack of Big Red was 25 cents? It was such a wonderful thing that they even printed it on the wrapper. But today, as I was purchasing a snack from the vending machines I bent down to pick up my selection and noticed the gum at the bottom row. I noticed the price for Double Mint gum was 65 cents! I know I am a cheap asshole, and granted the prices in vending machines are crock (a whole dollar for Ramen Cup-a-Noodles?!), but that really showed me how much prices have changed since I was a kid. Hell, I remember our local pharmacy selling candy bars for 50 cents, and now it's considered a sale item if it's 85 cents. Oh well, guess I'm already starting to sound like an old lady, who'll shake her finger and say, "I remember when Ramen noodles were only 10 cents a pack!"

Jeez, am I being too "deep thought-esque" and lecturing? I'll try to tone it down next week. I might have a good light story for tomorrow too, (unless I'm too hung over...)

Johns Hope-kins

For those of you not in the area, it is currently Restaurant Week here in Baltimore. What is that, you may ask? Basically for us poor assholes who enjoy expensive food but don't want to part with alot of cash, we can, for a week, visit a number of restaurants that offer a set menu of three or four courses for only $35. In some cases, they even throw in a free glass of wine or beer (woohoo).

Last night I was driving downtown to meet up with some friends at one such restaurant. I sat at the light by Johns Hopkins and while I waited I started perusing the people walking to, from, and around the campus. I noticed a beefy girl in a red tank and blue long boys shorts jogging along the path outside the school. Then a guy smoking a cigarette and hauling a book bag passed her and was walking towards a bus stop. The light changed and as I swerved into the side lane for cars to use I continued my inspection of the students. Two girls, who appeared like such kids to me (a sure sign I'm both old AND out of touch) were walking and chatting gaily. Another girl passed them wearing what looked like a going-out outfit and clutched a cell phone to her ear.

You may think I was being ultra-weird, even stalkerish. The truth is I kept looking at these kids with an aura of wonder and respect. Back in high school, when we had all talked about what colleges would accept us, it was usually involving schools with names like Rhode Island University or Flagler. We had all heard of schools like Harvard, Yale, and our very own Jersey school, Princeton. Yet the idea of one of us actually making into one of these prestigious schools seemed so out of the possibility, it as if you were going to be chosen for a space mission. When one or two DID actually gain acceptance to these more notable schools, we all, I suspect, acknowledged them with due congratulations but on the inside felt pangs of jealousy, followed by relief.

The people that get into these schools have almost a preordained destiny for them, I feel, much like a royal family member preparing for the crown. Though you may wish it for yourself, you know that it is not within your reach and so you become settled and comfortable for your own chosen lot in life. Those people were the ones that seemed unstoppable in at least two or three subjects in school, and I would always shirk away from them, fearful of infecting their perfect brains with my own odd observations or even worse, that somehow they saw something in me that I wasn't smart enough to see for myself.

I began feeling all those same emotions as I watched the plethora of students walk about Johns Hopkins. Although instead of tight jealousy in my stomach, I tried to instead think of the accomplishments they'd one day claim for themselves. Each one of them had been selected to be members of an elite society of scholars, and with that came the responsibility to do something with their hefty brains: a cure for diabetes, solving outrageous mathematical equations, supplying a cost-effective treatment for people suffering in third world countries, etc..

Rather than feel that internal greed for their intelligence, I tried instead to think of each one of them carrying some precious material with them, something that you couldn't tell they had until they let it out once in a while, and you were suddenly able to recognize their possibility for greatness.

I finally made it to my destination, and as I pulled out the chair and joined my friends in conversation, I once again felt the relief filter in. Sure, I was no doctor, I would never be an engineer or solve the world's mysteries. But I was secure in the little life I was carving out for myself. And as I sipped my crab soup and discussed the latest book club entry we were reading, offering the odd observations I always seemed to have no exhaustion of, I felt I was beginning to make my own way. Hopefully, anyway.

Ok, so not my funniest entry. Must be this introspective weather...oh well, humor shall ensue tomorrow...

Death by Stupidity

Back when I was watching television, there was two shows that I would watch occasionally but then never want to watch again. Which shows? One was called "1000 Ways to Die" and the other was "CSI" (the original, and in my opinion, the only one that really matters). Both entertaining in completely different ways. But where they differed was the fact that in one, you could be amazed at where the story goes, while the other merely freaked you out in the end.

For me, I enjoyed watching CSI because of the interesting plot lines and characters. They gave you the benefit of never really knowing where the story was going to go, and who/what the culprit of the murder would be. Getting there was half the fun.

On 1000 Ways to Die, you were more waiting for the punchline at the end. And if you aren't aware of this show, it's basically about all the horrible and inventive ways people have either died or killed themselves (usually by accident). However, they would tell the story through humorous reenactments and then conclude the story with a funny one-liner.

Both appearing to be highly entertaining shows right? The difference is that, although CSI based alot of its stories on actual events, you could still talk yourself into remembering that it is a scripted show. 1000 Ways, on the other hand, basically completely retells these horrible and ironic ways people DID actually die, and if that weren't enough, they bring on experts to talk in depth about the specific science behind how they died. And that used to FREAK me out, because there really ARE alot of dumb ways you can die, and I should know, because I almost died from my own stupidity recently.

I was pulling out of the garage of my office and turned left. I was about to cross the Light Rail train tracks when I suddenly saw the red lights flashing, indicating an incoming train. I was about to just back up to get on the outside of the guard rails that were coming down when I realized they had already come down. Panic-stricken, I quickly made a U-turn and drove back to the garage to turn around all over again. It wasn't till I was safely behind a couple of the cars waiting for the train did I realize that I probably should've just kept going straight (since the rails didn't go down from the side I would've come out on). I just kept thinking it was going to be like a cartoon where you look one way for a second and then BAM a freaking steamroller shows up and flattens you. It's the Light Rail, for god's sake, the damn thing screeches like a strangled sea gull, which tells you it's not exactly running smooth anyway.

Still, I kept thinking the scenario over and over in my head, thinking about being plowed over by a hulking speeding mass of metal, and it took away my better judgment and logic. I should probably be worried about that. The fact that if the shit hit the fan I wouldn't really know what to do kinda bothers me.

And then I'd just end up being another one of those stories on those shows. Maybe they would find my lifeless body and be able to tell by the large amounts of adrenaline (and by the fact my hands would just be covering my face still) that I hadn't really thought about trying to save my life. Or they'd give me the punch line, "Train-in Wheels". Sad sad.

Was this a bleak post? Don't worry, tomorrow's will be about Baltimore's Restaurant week and I'll review my meal tonight at Gertude's. Savor this!

Girls I Don't Get

Maybe it's just me, but there are alot of actresses out there that I don't get why everyone, especially guys, think are so great. Granted, I'm not a lesbian (despite what people might assume), nor a guy so my understanding of what makes a girl hot is sorta limited. However, I've compiled a short list of actresses that guys swoon over, but I don't see the attraction.

1.) Megan Fox-- Ok, so she looked nice and slutty in Transformers, but when I see this girl in anything else I see total bitch-face (and girls, you know what I'm talking about). There was a girl in high school I knew that also suffered from B.F., but then again she was kinda bitchy anyway so it didn't matter. Plus she is a crappy actress anyway, so yeah.

2.) Scarlett Johanss0n-- I'll give you that she's got a curvy body, but her face looks only so-so. What's with that chin/nose? Plus, I kinda think she sucks as an actress, anyway. Doesn't she seem to play the same character in every movie? I dunno, again, could be just me.

3.) Kristen Stewart-- I figure her for one of those "indie" actor chicks (excluding the "Twilight" series), and sometimes I think she's an ok actress so therefore maybe looks aren't supposed to be the major thing. But for the most part she looks like one of those girls who only looks pretty with a ton of make-up on. Have you seen those freakin "Twilight" posters? The freakin Mona Lisa doesn't get touched up as much (and don't get me started on that wad Taylor Lautner. I don't get girls attraction to him, but we'll save that for another post).

4.) Paris Hilton-- Now, I know she's not really considered an actress (although from what I hear she did provide truly stunning and thought provoking performances in "A Night in Paris" and "House of Wax"...) but she is still a celebrity (for being rich, I guess) and so I can also lay into her as well (as if I was the only one, the girl's been laid more than sod on a football field..OH!). But seriously, the way too thin body coupled with that forever pouty face is a losing combo. I truly don't get the attraction here. Please, guys, educate me on this one.

Yes, I AM being petty, and yes, I realize I'm no prize either. I am one of the many "normal" people out there, and if you want to be a celebrity you are going to get assholes like me who will be critical as hell. But as I said before, this is pretty much the short list. I'm sure as soon as I hit the "Post" button I'm going to think of more. But thankfully I have people who aren't afraid to leave comments about their own feelings. So let the forum begin!

A Fool in the Rain

Just thought I'd share my morning today and leave you with a sad pathetic image.

So as I've been mentioning, we've been having frequent accidents with Georgia. Often it is because of our own faults; the door to the backyard was shut or I made the mistake of running upstairs for a brief moment when I knew she had to go (only to come back and find a nice big Tootsie Roll on the hardwood floor). Since then Joe and I have been trying to be like hawks whenever she's alone with us and she starts sniffing.

Luckily, we're starting to get her morning routine down. She wakes us up around 6:30, Joe attempts to get her to go downstairs with him but the damn dog only wants ME to do it (when all I want is to sleep until my g.d. alarm goes off at 7:10), I escort her to the door, she trots out and pees, comes back for the food I put in her bowl, and not more than 10 mins. later she goes #2. This morning was to be no exception.

The crack of lightning this morning woke us all up. Joe, once again tried to encourage her out but that little brown thing kept hopping up near our bed to see me. Terrified she was going to piss all over the floor I finally hopped out of bed in my summer pjs (consisting of a small tank top and short shorts) and hurried her to the door. It took a little coaxing but she finally got the urge and went outside to pee. Meanwhile, I'm standing by the door in my skimpy pjs trying to avoid the gaze of my neighbors.

She jumps back inside and eats. I wait until she is done and then, again, gesture her out the door. She sits and stares at me. I keep waving my arm out the door, even tossing a treat out to get her to go, but still that butt stays on the kitchen floor.

I should mention too, at this point it is starting to drizzle, but I don't care. I keep standing there trying to get her to go out.

When she still doesn't get it, I tell Joe to watch her so I can put on actual shorts and walk her around the backyard.

As soon as my flip-flops hit the grass, the skies open up. Georgia finally follows me, and thinking its playtime, starts giddily dashing to and fro around the yard.

There I was, getting pissed on by big gobs of rain, wearing a little tank top and shorts, thunder and lightning drama occurring right over my head, and a dog leaping and bounding away without a care in the world.

I stood alone in my yard, arms crossed over me, waiting for my damn dog to crap so I could get the hell back inside.

When it finally looked like it wasn't going to happen, I said "eff it" and I stomped back inside. Thankfully Joe took her for a walk (bundled up in a hooded sweatshirt) and she finally did her business.

But as I was standing out there I noticed a guy jog right by our house. I kept thinking, who the hell else would be out here in the rain at god damn 6:45 in the morning? It made me think about a woman Ashley and I met once at a Starbucks who, upon hearing us talk about our fears of losing our bodies when we got older, said, "My trick is to go to the gym everyday before work. And don't give yourself the option to skip."

She walked out and we noticed she did have a great figure for a woman who had four kids, but still. I give alot of credit to people who have that kind of discipline to force themselves up at the crack of dawn to work out, but I think it's not terribly practical for most working people. But who knows? That guy could just be the really smart one and have it so ingrained in his schedule that he doesn't mind it. He's getting the health benefits and good body that goes along with such rigid discipline.

Meanwhile, I'm just the half-naked chick standing in her yard, looking like she's waiting for the mother ship to land. Who's really got it right here?

Freak Out

My friend said something funny about me the other night that I can't seem to get out of my head. We were out at a bar when I had the idea to try and film a Stop n' Shot with them, so I started placing them where I wanted them, explaining what I wanted them to say, and what precisely to do. As I had them at the bar and I was playing with angles, I heard one lean over to the other saying, "It's funny to hear Kris like this. She's usually so, 'whatever you wanna do is fine by me.'"

It's true, too. It made me think about all the times I wanted SO much to just have a good ol' meltdown and tell someone off. But usually, even if I'm that wound up I just end up unloading to some other poor innocent bystander...like Joe.

It's really not in my personality to be confrontational. In fact, for the longest time I didn't like to answer my own phone because I feared whoever was calling was going to yell at me for something I did. I think that probably began back in middle school when a "friend" called me to bitch me out about something, and I was so taken aback that it freaked me out.

I did have one once...sort of. Last year at the school, I was so frustrated that I just started laughing like a madman right in the middle of class. It had felt like trying to hold wet bars of soap in your hand...one kid was sleeping, another was trying to talk, someone had a question, someone had a comment. I broke the teacher rule and just started physically pulling my hair out and talking in gibberish. Thankfully the kids thought it was funny and didn't hold it against me too much. In fact, I recall one of my favorite students speaking up and saying, "Ok guys, let's get serious, before Ms. Bott totally loses it".

It seems that whenever I get annoyed in a place I HAVE to be in, I always try to take it internally. I do that whole passive-aggressive thing where I get very quiet, my lips get stiff, and my eyes look like someone just murdered my dog in front of me. I had that same sullen attitude the last few weeks--nah, more like months--at the school. I began coming to school later, slacking on giving the kids difficult assignments and forgetting to pass some back. It wasn't an excuse but I couldn't help shutting down. As valuable and grateful I was for the experience the teaching job gave me, as far as learning to be a leader and organized, it was even more valuable to me for showing me what I didn't want to do for the rest of my life.

But still, I admire people when I hear their stories about telling their boss or someone else deserving off. Since I don't seem to have the guts, I can live vicariously through others. Like that jetBlue guy in the news? Man, what a way to go out. And I always get such a kick out of anyone in the service industry I know who tells me about how they finally get some revenge on bitchy-ass customers, either through their manager or in the delicate realm of sarcasm. It makes me joyous...it's the best word to describe it.

Maybe someday I'll find myself in another job where I hate the people and just simply throw in the towel and do a "Half-Baked: 'F you, f you, f you, you're cool, f you, I'm out". But in the meantime, I'll just be content to say if you annoy me, I'm gonna tell you right to the back of your face...and several yards away....under my breath.

A Visit with the Griswolds

I love my family, don't get me wrong. My dad's got a great smart-ass sense of humor (which I hope I inherited) and my mother is loving and nurturing (another trait I think I have). My sisters are cool and wise, my brother is fun and good-intentioned.

They also drive me bat-effing crazy sometimes, even now living on my own. The problem is that I have my own neuroses to contend with, so I feel fairly comfortable calling us all 'The Griswolds" at times. And last night only furthered my observation, as my parents and brother came for a visit.

It started out sane enough, as how any adventure with the Griswolds usually begins. I frantically tried to escape work early to run to the store for a few last items, then stop by the fruit truck, and then finally get home to do some final cleaning. Of course, since one of my problems is perpetual tardiness, I didn't get out until they were already on their way over to the townhouse. So I passed on the store and just grabbed some fruit from the truck and headed back. I didn't see their car yet (whew) so as I was pulling up to a parking space, thinking I could at least do my cleaning --BEEP, they pulled up right next to me.

We said our hellos and started bringing their things in. Having never been there before we decided to walk them around for a tour. As I stepped first down into the basement, somehow my foot twisted and I crashed to the floor, missing the wash basin by a hair. I was fine, except for my foot...and dignity.

When we arrived at the guest bedroom my parents starting putting things down and Georgia wandered in. Now, all I can say is that I just wanted her to be an angel for them so they could see how well we had trained her. I let her come into the room, and while I turned my back for a second I hear my dad say, "Uhh, someone's takin a dump..." I spun back but it was too late. I ushered her out, scolding her all the way while my parents escaped the emanating smell.

As I cleaned up I could not BELIEVE this horrible luck. It was bad enough tripping and landing on my ass down the basement so that my parents think I'm totally inept or that the house is unsafe, why did the dog have to crap in THAT room! All I kept thinking before their visit was, if she craps in the house PLEASE let it be in our room where we can clean it up without anyone being the wiser. No, that kinda luck never happened for the Griswolds, so it would never happen for me...

Finally, we go out to dinner to a place I had never been before. Part of my anxiety about my parents visiting is that I want to ensure they have a great time, so they can pass the word on to the extended family about how well I'm doing. Even down to the restaurants we have down here, so I was nervous how the place would be. Luckily I got a great tip from my friend Heather about a place for crabs, and I'm happy to report the night went off without a hitch. Well, except for a small one.

While we were ordering, we noticed that the waitress's attention appeared to be elsewhere. She was looking off in the direction of the televisions. My mother was still deciding and trying to ask her questions. Finally, my dad noticing her intent gaze, followed it with his own. I don't know why but it made me bust out laughing. My dad caught my eye and smiled, knowingly. When the waitress finally left my mother asked us what was so funny. So it wasn't really a hitch, just a funny odd moment.

After I got up the morning (and my mom rearranged my kitchen to her liking) I said my goodbyes to the Griswolds, promising them I'd visit soon. Even though their visit was brief, I still drove to work smiling (and with a few less hairs since the had been pulled out). I know that I'm just part of my funny family, and even though they drive me crazy sometimes, they make for some good storytelling.

Gullible's Travels

Ok, I have to relay this quick story. You know how people falling down or tripping is funny? Well, since today's post is kinda about embarrassment, I figured I'd share... I was at work listening to my head phones when someone came over to talk to me about something so I slid then down to my neck. After a while they left and when I got up to get something, BAM! My head pulled back and I was yanked right back to my seat. I then did the thing where you do something dumb and you look around to make sure no one else saw. Oh, well. Speaking of feeling bad...

You know that saying, "There's a fool born every minute"? That might've been coined in honor of me, one of THE most gullible people alive. I think it stems from my fear of doubting someone who might be insulted if I didn't believe them. Imagine this scenario...

Person 1: "My great grandmother had a wooden leg."

Me (thinking they're joking: "Hahah, that's awesome."

Person 1 (pauses): "No, she really did. She lost it in a car accident."

Me (trying to recover by making it sound like the most fascinating thing ever): "Oh WOW, how tragic..."

Now granted, that is a bit of an unusual case, but trust me, it's happened. Enough times in fact that now I figure it's safer to play the dumb, believable-type instead of the skeptic. The problem is when it backfires, which it occasionally does.

Case in point, back when we were kids my cousin informed me that we were so Irish we had an uncle who was a leprechaun. Unbelievable, right? Apparently not to me, as I became wide-eyed and mesmerized until my cousin told me later that she had been kidding. Even now she gets a kick out of retelling the story to me whenever we get together, and while I still die a little of embarrassment I have to simply own it...I'm a believer. And I continue to be one.

This past weekend was no exception. While out celebrating my friend Erica's departure to Boston, I listened to stories people told, and nodded my head knowingly or voiced my amazement-- not realizing when someone was just being dramatic or kidding. I tried to play it off cool, but I think I still ended up looking somewhat like an idiot.

Thankfully, though, I was amongst friends who either 1.) already knew how foolish I could be and 2.) didn't judge me for it. The worst is when I am around strangers and the words pop out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop and examine them. This embarrassing incident also happened this weekend.

Yesterday I noticed Georgia licking her front paw and saw that she had a split nail. Wanting to rid her of the pain as soon as possible I made an appointment for the pet clinic I always take her to. While she was on the examination table the nurse gently lifted her paw to get a better look, and said cheerfully, "Oh my, you are a magical dog, you have a horn growing out of your paw." Now, let me explain that I thought she meant a calcium/protein thing, not like an ACTUAL horn. But still I said in a nice high voice, "Reeally?" She paused and said, "No, I was just saying that to make the dog feel better..." "...Ohhhhh". Jesus, I wanted to grab the anesthesia myself and inhale until I passed out and then just be carried out of the office so I wouldn't have to look anyone in the eye.

Like I said, I can't help being a bit naive. I'm a person you could probably get to sign up or join anything (provided it was free, because I am ALSO a giant cheapskate). I try to be more critical but then THAT seems to bite me on the ass. All I can do I try to pass it off like I knew better, slap my palm to my forehead later when I'm alone, and of course, write about it for all the world to know...

...Two Steps Back

Just a quick caveat before I begin-- I really loved that title I used yesterday ("Writers on the Storm'), I think it's been one of my better puns. However I really worry that I'm going to use the same pun twice, so if I do please call me out on it. If there's anything worse than a pun, it's an overused pun. In any case, onto other forms of pun-ishment.

You ever feel like you are finally passed a certain issue only to have it come hollering back to you? It's that whole, two steps forward, one step back deal. (Or is it one step forward, two steps back? Whatever, either way, it's annoying.) Let me explain...

So back when we went to pick Georgia up from the SPCA we came bright and early to make sure no one else adopted her. We walked into the small office and told the guy working there we wanted to adopt "Coco". He barely glimpses away from the papers he's scanning and says, "Well, I hope you did your research already. She's a dachshund, and dachshunds don't housebreak, so be prepared."

Both his attitude and statement surprised us. Didn't they WANT people to adopt the dogs? Why the hell would you immediately throw out a big negative like that to two eager people? It's like going to a car dealership and the salesmen says, "Yeah, it's a Hummer, so be prepared to waste half your paycheck every week just to fill 'er up."

We didn't let him scare us off and in fact, for a while now when Joe and I would return home from work and find not only everything still intact, but not a drop of poo or pee anywhere. We'd open the door to our yard and she'd sprint right outside to do her business. We'd exchange glances, and with all the pride in the world in our chests, say, "And they said she couldn't be housebroken!"

Well, we were having a good streak anyway.

About a week ago I went up to take a shower while Joe went down to the basement. Georgia, after realizing she wasn't coming into the bathroom with me, finally wandered away. I figured she had found her toys and was playing happily when I finally got out and came downstairs. There, on our new rug was a fresh wet pee spot. I called down to Joe to let him know, but we chalked it up to the fact that we had the back door closed so she wasn't able to get outside in time.

Then about a day or two later, the same thing happened, only it was Joe this time (and poop). The odd thing was THIS time not only had the door been open, but she had just been outside for a while a few moments before. We were frustrated, but again, we just figured it was her odd puppy system.

Finally, this morning was the last straw. She woke us up as usual to let her outside to pee and for me to give her breakfast. Joe let her out and then wandered up to the bathroom. As I was walking back to the bedroom to sleep for a few precious more minutes, I noticed the door to the guest bedroom had been nudged open. And then I saw two nice little puppy presents on the floor. Annoyed, I let Joe know and while we both cleaned it up, we wondered what was going on with our once perfect angel.

It's not even just the accidents. Another one of Georgia's delightful traits is her ability to escape. Now granted, she only did this once before, but with the putting up of chicken wire and my spraying the crap out of it with dog repellent, we somewhat washed our hands of the problem. She seemed to get it; when we were walking back and forth along the chicken wire she knowingly kept her distance. Again, until this morning.

After we cleaned up the guest bedroom and started to get ready for work, one of us let her out to enjoy the backyard before we kept her in for the day. As I was getting ready to leave Joe suggested we get her in then, before she tried to follow me. Too late.

As I was waiting for him to give me the ok, I realized it was taking a while. I looked out the window and realized she was OUTSIDE the fence. I dropped my bag, grabbed some treats to lure her back, and ran out the back door. Luckily she saw me and came forward and while she nibbled on the treats, Joe snagged her up and dropped her back inside the confines of the fence.

It's been one of those days, and I can only hope we haven't completely lost all the training she had been taught. I want to think that maybe she's just still testing her boundaries with us. But who knows...and who knows what's waiting for us at home....

Writers on the Storm

Jeez, I think I just about jumped out of my skin just now. I had just gotten in the shower when I noticed some flashes of light outside my bathroom window. I had heard a storm was coming but had no idea when. Of course it figures it would come on just as I'm stepping into the shower. Plus, bonus fun- Joe left for rehearsal so I'd be there alone scrambling to keep the dog (and myself) calm while fumbling for the fuse box in a towel if the power went out. Thankfully, I managed to get in and out before such a thing happened.

Then I came downstairs to see if Georgia needed to run out really quick, since the storm didn't seem too threatening just yet. All of a sudden, we both see a bright snap of light followed immediately by the loudest crack of thunder. Both me and the dog took a giant jump back, looking at each other. Georgia barked back at the thunder and I tried to keep the towel on my head from slipping while calming her down.

Truthfully, I do love storms, yet I am also somewhat afraid. I remember as a kid whenever one would come on I would always listen but as soon as it got a few decibels too high for me, I'd run right into my parents room. I realize even now as an adult I tend towards the same behaviors. Back at our old apartment we had a balcony that usually had a pretty good view of any storms that were approaching. One day as I was driving home I looked up and noticed the dark clouds making their way overhead. It had been an oddly warm day for a week of mostly chilly days, so I knew it was going to be a doozie. I decided to drop my stuff inside and grabbed one of our lawn chairs that we used as outdoor furniture and settled in for a good show. It was pretty uneventful at first, just a flash here and rumble there. Suddenly, with little warning, the flashes got brighter and the cracks got louder. Before I knew it I was surrounded by the drama of Mother Nature. I tried to keep my fears down, telling myself it was a bit unlikely I'd be struck or anything bad would happen to me sitting out there. But eventually, as the wind picked up and the rain began whipping around me, I figured I'd see all the show I was going to. Up close and personal, anyway.

I'm the same way with the ocean. I love going to the beach, even occasionally dipping my toes in. But I very very rarely actually go in. Probably because I've been tumbled and toppled by the ocean enough times to know it can be scary and intimidating. You so easily lose what little control you already have. I recall another time playing in the ocean with my siblings and cousins. They began riding the waves with their bodies into the beach. Wanting to be included, and not wanting to appear like a wuss, I joined them. It was going fine until I paused to catch my foot beneath a wave and then BAM! A wave came from no where and swallowed me up for a good 2 seconds. I remember that burning feeling as salt water rushed into my mouth and scalded my nose and throat, leaving me to wheeze and cough for the next 20 mins. To this day, I will only venture into the water if it's flat as a lake and with a gentle current. And since that rarely is the case on the Jersey Shore, I'm usually content for the sporadic ocean spray or dipped toes.

Like I said, I think it's the absolute loss of control that is both fascinating and terrifying about nature. You can only do so much to prepare but in the end the only certainty is the uncertainty...maybe that's why the meteorologists call them "predictions" as opposed to "facts". Many of them dodge the bullet when people get pissed off at their incorrect reports. They must think, "I know I said that we would have sun, but we got rain instead. What do you want from me, it's not like the weather and I are in cahoots."

Oh well, anyway, judging by Georgia's sleeping on the couch, I'm guessing the storm is passing. Good thing too. I got some ice cream waiting for me. Goodnight for now beloved readers!