Utterly Chaotic

Last weekend was spent at home with my mom and my sisters, with occasional guest appearances by my dad. Below are some excerpts from my sister Red's recap of the weekend. Enjoy!

There is a lot of material in Beans and Cream. It's a goldmine!

Mom sees a former schoolmate's mother and yet again another grocery store visit fails to pass in anonymity.

The hot tub smells like shrimp due to the Baquacil, which puts me off shrimp for the rest of weekend.

We love an outlet store, almost as much as we love to buy matching nightgowns. [Sunday Girl: Sadly, you don't know how true this is.]

The vino does flow and it causes a minor schism which is resolved with a few drunken tears and some hugs. [Sunday Girl: Why drinking and dining with family do not mix.]

[Name of My Sister's Former High School Boyfriend, Ok, Not Boyfriend, But Close Enough]! But my hair looked so good tonight!

It's kind of like Helen's lunch stand on "Wings," but expanded. Where was Antonio? Lowell? Roy Biggins? They were all there....in spirit.

Stecky marveled over the discovery of a pizza with the perfect cheese to crust to sauce ratio (the famous pizzeria theorem p=cxcxs).

[Mom: In bed by 12:00 in order to be up at the crack of dawn to torment the children.]

[Stecky: Make no mistake, mom is a wild lady. Don't be fooled by her consumption of chardonnay.]

Beans and Cream is not a farmstead that grows green bean and milks cows. Nor is a clever name for a Mexican restaurant that uses sour cream and frijoles. It is a coffee house at the new complex in our hometown.

Thanks ladies it was a hoot!

The Voicemail Bandit

I love random voicemails from my friends. Not only do they give you a few minutes of enjoyment, but they also provide you with concrete proof that your friends are insane. The mother of all random voicemailers would have to be my friend C. In the past week she has left me four messages that I will attempt to transcribe.

Voicemail #1: (Left at around 2:30 AM) Sunday Girl, Sunday Girl, Sunday Girl! You rock! And I have to go now, because I can't get my coat off.

Voicemail #2: I just wanted to call and tell you that there is this girl outside of my apartment right now with the most hideous fake tan. I can see the brown paint dripping off of her body.

Voicemail #3: I got out some beers and furniture stain. Let's get tan!

Voicemail #4: I'm at the bar right now and I just saw [Deleted] and he got really fat! You have to come home this weekend to see how really, really fat he got.

Of course you now have to imagine C shouting into the phone regardless of being drunk or sober. Hmm, doesn't come across quite the same does it ? Well, I tried.

Tops and Jeans

I normally don't do shout outs, but this one is all for you Stecky.

In other news:

Happy Patriots Day!

Wish me luck wading through the marathon traffic. I would have stayed home today and watched the marathon from my bedroom window, but my company is the only one actually open today in Boston.

They Is?

I spotted this on a flyer for a club yesterday:

Fridays is ladies night.

Crazy Weekend

So, for the first time in a long time I've had a crazy weekend. There is too much to go into any real detail, so per usual I will be using a list to convey the events.

1. My married friends tried to set me up with one of their friends who has a girlfriend whom they do not like. Unfortunately, said friend also has a full-on lumberjack beard. I told them he needed to lose the beard and then maybe we could talk about a possible home-wrecking.

2. I temporarily travelled back to my sophomore year of college on Saturday night when I was grilled about my ID. The transcipt is as follows:

Bouncer: What's your zip code?
Me: Um, hm, it's uh... [not remembering which address is on my driver's license]. Oh, I know! It's 12345!
Bouncer: [looking down at my ID and then back at me a few times] Are you an organ donor?
Me: Heck no!
Boucncer: Alrighty then.

I never had my ID checked so hard even when I had a fake. I guess that's what happens when you go to a skeevy dance club close to a college.

3. I randomly ran into a long-lost friend whom I haven't seen in almost two years on the dance floor. See she went to a different college and we lost touch etc. There was a good five minutes spent screaming and jumping up and down on the dance floor. It was definitely the highlight of the night. Sunday was spent shopping with my friend and gossiping about mutual acquaintances. That's what friends are for.

Why can't we be friends?

Analyzing a potential friendship with Michelle on the phone last night produced these memorable quotes:

"We need to take our friendship to the friendship level."

"Would it be weird to just go up to him and say 'I think we should be friends, and I don't mean that in a romantic way.' I mean we could just hang out and go to a movie or out for drinks. I need drinking buddies." (Saying that out loud proved how creepy it would sound to the receiving party.)

"I really just want to be friends with him because I think he might have cute friends."

Clearing the Air Part Deux

Girly Crush: A crush one woman has on another that does not involve romantic feelings, but a desire to share secrets and become BFFS.

This definition is from a post back in December. I would link to it, but I'm at work and don't have the capability and my home computer is broken yada, yada, yada. I'm apparently very behind technology wise. No camera phone, no digital camera, broken computer. I don't even have a microwave. I know I live in the stone age.

Since some of you have been curious, no, I am not bi. Although I like girls, LIKE them, I do not love them with a love that dare not speak it's name. Plus I could never date anyone who was so matchy-matchy. I kind of had a crush on this guy in college who wore army green all the time, even his messenger bag was green, and after a while I couldn't stand it anymore and my crush faded. No one should own that much green, not even lepruchans.

I hope that answers your questions. Oh and before I forget, I haven't seen or heard from my blind date. I think the my friends, who are also his friends haven't seen him in a while. I'm not too broken up about it though. I don't think he was really my type anyway.

Don't Eat the Cake

Yesterday we had a chocolate cake that we ordered along with lunch (there was a big meeting), not such an unusual thing since we often have sweets in the office. Yes, we are an office of fatties in case you were wondering. I knew that there was something different about this cake however. I knew it the minute our office manager took a piece and then came crawling towards my desk clutching his throat. He managed to get out a feeble "It was the cake!" before he toppled over. Did this stop anyone else from attempting to eat what I have begun to call the most disgusting cake in the entire world? No, of course not. One by one everyone in the office lined up to get a piece of cake, like the residents of Jamestown lined up to drink Kool-Aid. It was a sad, sad sight.

The horrible cake then became the big news of the day. Everyone was talking about the cake. "Have you tried the cake yet?" "Yeah it's really terrible." "Did you know that they are going to give it to us for free?" "They are? Free cake! I'm going to get another piece!"

Help me.