PotD: Almost Empty Nest

I know this photo is less than great, but I was so excited to see "my babies" AND an adult this morning when I left for work that I had to snap a picture. This is the first time I've seen any of them in over a week, and I wouldn't be surprised if it's the last time.

All grown up and flying away...sigh...
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Repressed

A quick read through the updates on my favorite blogs last night brought up a long-repressed memory.  The blog post in question was about the world's most awkward date, college dorm style.  And I'd like to share my own awkward date with you, but first two caveats:

* Yes, I was young and stupid.  Not all young and stupid girls end up on the business end of a bloody scimitar. Some of us were also lucky.
* I acknowledge that this might not be funny to you.  I was drifting off to sleep last night when my eyes popped open and I started laughing out loud.  I told Scott the story, more of the story than I'm going to include here, through laughter-induced tears.  He wasn't laughing along.  Maybe it's just not funny?

The story takes place very early in my Freshman fall semester at Penn State.  I know that because it wasn't yet jacket weather, and because the story starts in the dining hall at breakfast time and I was alone.  Breakfast quickly became a social-or-skipped event for me.  So anyway, there I am alone eating my breakfast when I am approached by a pair of guys who want to share my table.  One is a generic fleshy white guy (picture the guy next to me in this picture.  for example only. it wasn't actually him. I can't stress that enough as the story goes on!) and the other is a scrawny Indian guy.  They're friends or roommates or something, computer science or math geeks, and the white guy is incredibly chatty.

Somehow, in some details I continue to repress, I end up accepting an invitation to a concert from the generic fleshy guy.  And to be clear, when I say "concert," I actually mean Glee Club concert.  The Penn State Glee Club, as I'd discover my sophomore year, is an incredibly talented, and mostly gay, group of guys who throw a really fun party.  That night, however, I was simply impressed with their talent.

There was rain.  I don't know if it was raining the whole time, or if it started to rain as we left the concert.  All I know is that "Guy" and I were soaked to the skin.  The logical thing to do, apparently, was for us to go to his dorm, because it was closer than mine.  And he decided to get changed.

He got changed right in front of me.

And didn't do the gym class shuffle either.

He got completely naked, in all his white fleshy glory.

And so I did what any Jamie in this situation would do: pretend it wasn't happening.  Keep talking and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, don't look! Naked guy? What naked guy? No naked guy here!  And so, while he's all naked in front of me (you couldn't open the closet and use the door as a shield???), he's talking about being naked.  He's talking about nature and how nudity is normal and natural and I'm all "uh huh...mm hmm...HOLY SHIT DO ALL GUYS IN COLLEGE JUST GET NAKED AT THE DROP OF A HAT?"  I'm descended from actual Quakers, guys.  The good, decent people of my heritage do not think that there is anything normal about stripping in front of strangers.  We have a healthy dose of prude, and we think full-body covering is completely natural.

Obviously, there was no reciprocal nakedness from me.  Though the remaining details of the evening have been blissfully removed from my memory, I can assure you of that.  "Sweet Seventeen and never been naked in front of a stranger," as the song goes.

I do remember him implying, either that night or some time after, that we were dating.  (perhaps he didn't just drop his drawers for just any Glee Club groupie after all?)  I kindly set the record straight, telling him that I wasn't ready to commit to just one person, that I was young and still finding my way around school and blah blah blah...

About a month later (maybe less?), I was in the company of Guy - please don't ask me to recall the remaining details - and the subject of my boyfriend Evan came up.  Guy looked completely heart-broken. "I guess you're ready to commit now?"  Umm...well...you see...when a girl isn't interested in a boy, she says she's not ready to be in a relationship. She doesn't just come out and tell him that his nakedness traumatized her to an extent that she won't fully realize until she's in her 30's.

I guess all boys don't know this?

Fact

I am funny, y'all.

That is all.

PotD: Sword Not Included

Sometimes the jokes just write themselves...which is a good thing, because mine aren't very witty! 

Above is an actual vending machine from an actual women's room I visited today.  I decided to file this image on the blog, since yesterday I shared a picture of a weird ad on a tampon box (plus my own stellar commentary) on Facebook and didn't get one single "like."  Anyway, on to the bad jokes:

• For the unprepared knight
• "They were all out of scabbards...I hope this will work"
• (Sword not included)
• Now made with 0% absorbent steel!
• Won't clash with your chastity belt!
• Probably won't prevent stabbing, but at least no one will see you bleed!

These have gone from bad to worse.  It might be time for me to stop.  Got any others?

Driving Queen

How long does a ride in the car have to be to qualify as a road trip?  For me and Scott, I believe the answer is the distance between Orlando and Tampa.  Including the stop & go traffic at 'malfunction junction,' (if you've been there, you know where I mean) we're in the car for well over an hour.  That's plenty of time to sing along with the radio, drive fast, and get silly.  On a recent trip to Tampa we learned the following:

* I still know every word to Debbie Gibson's "Only in my Dreams," yet can't remember what I wore three days ago.
* "The Music and the Mirror" from A Chorus Line is a car-dance-a-palooza!  I was driving down I-4 when the song came on, and during the lyric-less portions of the song I launched into some crazy one-handed dancing (the other hand on the wheel of course).  There were jazz hands, Vogue poses, and all sorts of ridiculousness.  Scott says the guy in front of us probably thought I was waving at him.  I think I looked more like I was having a rhythmic seizure!
* Scott knows most of the words to "The Humpty Dance."  I know two lines, besides the chorus: "my name is Humpty, pronounced with an umpty," and "my nose is big, big like a pickle."
* Thanks to my free trial of XM radio, we had plenty of commercial-free radio to choose from.  Since I made Scott my "music navigator," I also let him program the last 12 pre-set buttons.  I can almost completely skip the second page of pre-sets, since they include Bollywood, Greatful Dead, and Margaritaville (where, by the way, I have yet to hear a Buffett song).

We were down in Tampa to see Shrek the Musical at the Straz Center.  It was pretty good.  The caliber of the performers was top-notch, as were the staging and sets/effects.  The show was amusing, and didn't rely on the jokes from the movie as much as I'd expected (but still included the "Welcome to Duloc" song, which cracked me up).  It got long-winded in Act Two though, and I found myself wondering how much longer it would be.  And of course, I should mention that children who are too young to sit through the 90-minute movie without talking probably shouldn't be going to the two-hour live show.  Especially when tickets in the cheap seats are $50 or more.  I had a small child directly behind me, and two - including one who couldn't have been 3 - to my left.  The whining and talking was almost too much to bear.

For the Birds

Here's a bit of randomness for you on a Sunday morning:
(and if the video doesn't embed, which the preview suggests it won't, here's the link)

Where Were You When...

The bathroom.

Both times.

September 11, 2001: I was in the bathtub shaving my legs (yes, two momentous events at once. shut up!) when my dad knocked on the bathroom door and said he thought something big was happening, and that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. “Was it an accident?” “I don’t think so.” He had that tone of voice that said “I’m remaining calm on the outside but freaking the f--- out on the inside.” I don’t for sure remember the words – or even whether he mentioned the Pentagon or the second plane in New York – but I’ll always remember the voice.

May 1, 2011 May 2, 2011: I was on the toilet reading my e-mails. It’s my morning ritual – I stagger out of our bedroom and down the hall to “my” bathroom and pet Elphie while I pee. Then I sit there and read my e-mails and sometimes Facebook on my phone before I get in the shower. Scott had sent me two e-mails, and I got the second one first – “no French toast, up late watching the news” or something like that. And then the first e-mail actually explained what was going on. Most of my Facebook stream was updates from ABC News, with a few friends’ reactions scattered through. I’m still not quite sure why Scott sent the two e-mails (while laying in bed right next to me) rather than wake me up, but there you have it.

Anyone else have a bare-bottom story involving bin Laden? On second thought, never mind. I’d rather not know!

Statutory

This is one of those stories Scott just won't see the charm/humor in. Below is a conversation between me and one of the guys who work in my building. He's probably 20 years older than me and is one of those people who do a tight-rope walk on the line between friendly/flirty and harassment.

Him: you *really* look great in that! 20 years ago you'd be in trouble.
Me: 20 years ago you'd be in jail. I was 12!
Him: oh...huh!

I'll take my flattery with a side of dirty old man, please!
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Not to be a Buzz Kill...

I awoke this morning to the news that Osama bin Laden is dead.

Kind of shocking, no?

Even more shocking is that he was living in a mansion, and not in a mountainous cave.  I guess we lost that bet!

I also awoke to the news of the American reaction: partying at Ground Zero and the White House.  They don't think this is over, do they?  I'm pretty sure bin Laden wasn't controlling his people with a Jafar-like magical staff, hypnotizing them to do his evil bidding.  This isn't the end, and in the short-term I worry that there's going to be a lot of hatred and violent intentions pointed straight at us.  I'm betting they had a contingency plan for an event like this.



Not actually Osama bin Laden

 ...I just hope that we know what's coming before it actually hits us.

So congratulations Navy Seals on your awesome job yesterday.  Let's all keep our eyes on the ball and hope they got some good intel out of that "cave" in "Afghanistan" and that this really does mean the end of this war is significantly closer than it was this time yesterday.  But remember, we're not there yet.

Thought for Food

The oven timer has about 45 minutes left on it, though dinner certainly isn't going to be before 5, since that's when Scott gets home from work.  I'm trying my hand at making Sunday pork ragout (a.k.a. my attempt at being an Italian grandmother, which is difficult, since I'm neither Italian nor have a grandmother to teach me how to make recipes from the old country!) again.  The last time I tried it, the pork was tasty, but not tender enough to shred, and the vegetables hadn't turned mushy enough even after a whirr with the stick blender. 

Flavor: B+, texture: C-, from-scratch potato gnocchi: D-

The recipe calls for a slow cooker, which I don't have.  So I found out what temperature "low" is on a slow cooker and cooked dinner in the oven in a heavy pot with a lid.  I read that "low" is 150-175, so last time I cooked the meat on 150, and then raised the temperature at the end to get it to safe eating temperature.  This time, I'm cooking it on 175 and not even thinking about testing for done-ness until 7 hours in.  I also cut my vegetables into smaller pieces - not quite a dice, but closer to that that the stew-worthy chunks I did last time.

It's a strange feeling for me, setting my alarm for 8 am on a Sunday to get up and chop veggies, brown an enormous chunk of meat, and stick dinner in the oven...and then to do morning things like shower and have breakfast.  I doubt I'd ever do this stuff regularly, but I do enjoy it occasionally.

When the timer goes off, I'm going to check the temperature of my meat and check the tenderness of my veggies.  And unlike last time, I'm not going to rush this.  If the stuff in the pot isn't ready, I'll stick it back in for another 45 minutes and not check again until then. 

...but I hope it's ready, because it smells really good and I'm already getting sort of hungry!