Thursday, April 30, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Something Meets Boy: A Love Story
“Steve’s with Leslie at the Green Mill’s poetry slam…,” Brian said, his eyebrows raised in disbelief, as he hung up the phone.
Less than a hour later, our apartment’s buzzer sounded and I quickly ran across the living room to push “door” to let Steve …and Leslie in.
I noticed Steve’s hair right off the bat. Slightly but noticeably shorter since a couple hours previous.
“I brought her back home, in time,” Steve started explaining as he walked into the living room, Leslie at his side, “Leslie took me to her former work and I got a haircut.”
Me: “Where?”
Steve: “The little Vietnamese place up on the corner.”
Me: “The one with all of the neon?”
Steve: “Yeah!”
Brian laughed, shaking his head.
We all sat in the living room, as Steve continued with the details of his date with Leslie.
Leslie sat across from us and stared straight ahead.
_______________________________________________________________________
As I’ve explained in previous entries, my husband of nearly two months, has yet to move into our apartment. Six more weeks and counting … So that leaves us with the weekends. Brian comes in Friday morning and catches an evening Metra train out of the city, Sunday so that he can make it to class Monday morning.
This past Sunday, I wasn’t scheduled for my ritual Sunday night burrito w/ my friend Danger. Brian and I had planned for him to take a later train (more time and dinner with my husband!). However, thanks to Steve (Brian’s best friend and a fast friend to me), he had plans within the city and offered to take Brian back to their suburb later that night.
Brian and I opted to walk up the grocery for a few dinner trimmings. As we walked towards the crosswalk, we passed the Salvation Army’s drop box, which is squeezed between the corner gas station and a Dunkin Donuts. I often know when it’s going to rain whenever I pass the box and see bags of donations. Without fail and for the sake of irony, it always rains.
We noticed the mannequin’s head right away.
Brian: “We’ll get that on our way back!”
…And so we did, Brian with a bag of groceries in one hand, my hand in his other and the mannequin’s head nestled into my left shoulder, we continued home in the rain.
A close crop of reddish hair, grey eyes and a failed attempt at glittered lipstick, we set our newly found mannequin’s head on the television set as the cats looked up in wonder.
Me: “What should we name it? Is it a boy or a girl?”
Brian: “We should name it something androgynous. Here honey, look at it from this light, it looks like a boy.”
Me: “I think it’s supposed to be a girl though …”
Brian: “Leslie.”
Me: “Yes, Leslie!”
Soon after our debate, the apartment’s buzzer went off. Steve took the chair by the window, Brian sat on the sofa and I sat across from them with Leslie’s head between my knees and a bottle of “sinful“ nail polish, painting her lips.
Steve explained the Chicago Improv Festival, as we finished dinner. The evening was still young and I wasn’t ready to say bye to my husband.
Steve: “I’m going to go out and give you guys some time before we have to leave.”
Brian: “Steve, where are you going to go?”
Steve: “I’m going to take Leslie out …I’m not sure but we’ll find something.”
Brian: “You’re going to take Leslie out …?”
Me: “You better have her back by curfew …And no kissing!”
As we shut the door, Brian pulled me in close.
Brian: “Honey, Steve is actually taking that head out …Where are they going to go?”
Me: “He said something about the Annoyance Theater …It’s a comedy club, honey …They’ll understand.”
_______________________________________________________________________
Brian and Steve first met in the 3rd grade. Both were the “new kids” at St. Irene's. Come recess, Brian wandered around. Being “new” meant that the soccer team had already been chosen and Brian wasn’t sure what to do. He noticed another lone kid sitting underneath a nearby tree and decided to walk over to him.
Brian: “Do you want to play tag?”
Steve: “Yeah!”
They’ve been best friends, ever since.
The first time I met Steve, Brian and I had been dating for a few weeks. Steve came over to our apartment the night before and unsuccessfully tried to get us to go out dancing. The next morning, as Brian brushed his teeth and I started coffee, the door buzzer went off. It was Steve.
He was excited and curious by the restaurants on the east side of my neighborhood and was intent on “eating the neighborhood”. I gave him a list of places and eats to try and off he went. At the top of the list was a highly recommended and rated corner spot known for their delicious pho.
As Brian and I stepped out of the shower, my phone’s text alert came from the living room.
Steve: “Is it safe to come back yet?”
Steve barreled up the stairs with a paper bag, in hand. The top list choice had been packed so he had opted to get his pho to go. I fished out a large mixing bowl from my cupboard, as Steve laid out the many accouterments to his pho, including raw beef to be cooked within the hot broth.
Since then, I often share the story of the first time I met my husband’s best friend: He cooked raw beef on my coffee table (in my vegan household).
Me: “Do you need a bigger bowl, Steve?”
______________________________________________________________________
Some highlight’s of Steve and Leslie’s date:
-Shortly after Steve left, he passed a Vietnamese hair salon. He decided to stop and see how much a haircut would cost. As the woman told him “$10,” the other ladies in the salon scrunched their noses and giggled at the sight of Leslie. “What is that? It’s scary!” on woman shrieked as Steve took a seat in a salon chair.
-As Steve continued up Broadway, he passed a popular new bar/lounge with outdoor seating. He heard snickers and patrons audibly slack-jawed at the sight of Leslie, in his arms. At one point, someone called out to him, Steve turned around and without breaking his “date” story, casually and quite normally introduced Leslie. People started snapping photos as Steve posed with Leslie. They became very popular. One woman remarked that he must be interested in what matters: the brain and eyes. Steve remarked that Leslie also gives “great head” but not that he would know …He’s a gentleman.
-Steve inquired to his newfound friends where would be a good spot to go …Everyone suggested the Green Mill. As Steve made it up to the Green Mill, the bouncer stopped him for the $6 door fee. “Don’t you mean $12?” Steve joked with the bouncers, who laughed.
-Sunday nights at the Green Mill are devoted to poetry. Open mic turns into a $12 poetry slam competition. Steve sat the bar, Leslie still at his side. “I’ll have one PBR …And a water w/ lime, for the lady.” Leslie wouldn’t drink her water but Steve tipped for two drinks, anyway. It mut have been first date nerves.
-The poetry slam, according to Steve, was fantastic …A lot of talent took the stage and Steve intends to attend and perhaps participate in the future. People were making comments here or there but most seemed to understand the humor. Steve and Leslie had a great time.
-As Steve headed back to Brian and I’s apartment, from the Green Mill, a man passed him and did a double take.
Man: “Oo shit, I thought that was a real person! What’s with that, man?”
Steve: “Oo, this is Leslie …It’s our first date.”
Man: “You a comedian or something?”
Steve: “I work at Walmart.”
Man: “I’m a construction worker.”
As Steve explained his evening out with Leslie, Brian and I shook our heads, our cheeks burning from laughter.
Steve: ‘Guys …That was the best date I’ve been on in a while!”
Less than a hour later, our apartment’s buzzer sounded and I quickly ran across the living room to push “door” to let Steve …and Leslie in.
I noticed Steve’s hair right off the bat. Slightly but noticeably shorter since a couple hours previous.
“I brought her back home, in time,” Steve started explaining as he walked into the living room, Leslie at his side, “Leslie took me to her former work and I got a haircut.”
Me: “Where?”
Steve: “The little Vietnamese place up on the corner.”
Me: “The one with all of the neon?”
Steve: “Yeah!”
Brian laughed, shaking his head.
We all sat in the living room, as Steve continued with the details of his date with Leslie.
Leslie sat across from us and stared straight ahead.
_______________________________________________________________________
As I’ve explained in previous entries, my husband of nearly two months, has yet to move into our apartment. Six more weeks and counting … So that leaves us with the weekends. Brian comes in Friday morning and catches an evening Metra train out of the city, Sunday so that he can make it to class Monday morning.
This past Sunday, I wasn’t scheduled for my ritual Sunday night burrito w/ my friend Danger. Brian and I had planned for him to take a later train (more time and dinner with my husband!). However, thanks to Steve (Brian’s best friend and a fast friend to me), he had plans within the city and offered to take Brian back to their suburb later that night.
Brian and I opted to walk up the grocery for a few dinner trimmings. As we walked towards the crosswalk, we passed the Salvation Army’s drop box, which is squeezed between the corner gas station and a Dunkin Donuts. I often know when it’s going to rain whenever I pass the box and see bags of donations. Without fail and for the sake of irony, it always rains.
We noticed the mannequin’s head right away.
Brian: “We’ll get that on our way back!”
…And so we did, Brian with a bag of groceries in one hand, my hand in his other and the mannequin’s head nestled into my left shoulder, we continued home in the rain.
A close crop of reddish hair, grey eyes and a failed attempt at glittered lipstick, we set our newly found mannequin’s head on the television set as the cats looked up in wonder.
Me: “What should we name it? Is it a boy or a girl?”
Brian: “We should name it something androgynous. Here honey, look at it from this light, it looks like a boy.”
Me: “I think it’s supposed to be a girl though …”
Brian: “Leslie.”
Me: “Yes, Leslie!”
Soon after our debate, the apartment’s buzzer went off. Steve took the chair by the window, Brian sat on the sofa and I sat across from them with Leslie’s head between my knees and a bottle of “sinful“ nail polish, painting her lips.
Steve explained the Chicago Improv Festival, as we finished dinner. The evening was still young and I wasn’t ready to say bye to my husband.
Steve: “I’m going to go out and give you guys some time before we have to leave.”
Brian: “Steve, where are you going to go?”
Steve: “I’m going to take Leslie out …I’m not sure but we’ll find something.”
Brian: “You’re going to take Leslie out …?”
Me: “You better have her back by curfew …And no kissing!”
As we shut the door, Brian pulled me in close.
Brian: “Honey, Steve is actually taking that head out …Where are they going to go?”
Me: “He said something about the Annoyance Theater …It’s a comedy club, honey …They’ll understand.”
_______________________________________________________________________
Brian and Steve first met in the 3rd grade. Both were the “new kids” at St. Irene's. Come recess, Brian wandered around. Being “new” meant that the soccer team had already been chosen and Brian wasn’t sure what to do. He noticed another lone kid sitting underneath a nearby tree and decided to walk over to him.
Brian: “Do you want to play tag?”
Steve: “Yeah!”
They’ve been best friends, ever since.
The first time I met Steve, Brian and I had been dating for a few weeks. Steve came over to our apartment the night before and unsuccessfully tried to get us to go out dancing. The next morning, as Brian brushed his teeth and I started coffee, the door buzzer went off. It was Steve.
He was excited and curious by the restaurants on the east side of my neighborhood and was intent on “eating the neighborhood”. I gave him a list of places and eats to try and off he went. At the top of the list was a highly recommended and rated corner spot known for their delicious pho.
As Brian and I stepped out of the shower, my phone’s text alert came from the living room.
Steve: “Is it safe to come back yet?”
Steve barreled up the stairs with a paper bag, in hand. The top list choice had been packed so he had opted to get his pho to go. I fished out a large mixing bowl from my cupboard, as Steve laid out the many accouterments to his pho, including raw beef to be cooked within the hot broth.
Since then, I often share the story of the first time I met my husband’s best friend: He cooked raw beef on my coffee table (in my vegan household).
Me: “Do you need a bigger bowl, Steve?”
______________________________________________________________________
Some highlight’s of Steve and Leslie’s date:
-Shortly after Steve left, he passed a Vietnamese hair salon. He decided to stop and see how much a haircut would cost. As the woman told him “$10,” the other ladies in the salon scrunched their noses and giggled at the sight of Leslie. “What is that? It’s scary!” on woman shrieked as Steve took a seat in a salon chair.
-As Steve continued up Broadway, he passed a popular new bar/lounge with outdoor seating. He heard snickers and patrons audibly slack-jawed at the sight of Leslie, in his arms. At one point, someone called out to him, Steve turned around and without breaking his “date” story, casually and quite normally introduced Leslie. People started snapping photos as Steve posed with Leslie. They became very popular. One woman remarked that he must be interested in what matters: the brain and eyes. Steve remarked that Leslie also gives “great head” but not that he would know …He’s a gentleman.
-Steve inquired to his newfound friends where would be a good spot to go …Everyone suggested the Green Mill. As Steve made it up to the Green Mill, the bouncer stopped him for the $6 door fee. “Don’t you mean $12?” Steve joked with the bouncers, who laughed.
-Sunday nights at the Green Mill are devoted to poetry. Open mic turns into a $12 poetry slam competition. Steve sat the bar, Leslie still at his side. “I’ll have one PBR …And a water w/ lime, for the lady.” Leslie wouldn’t drink her water but Steve tipped for two drinks, anyway. It mut have been first date nerves.
-The poetry slam, according to Steve, was fantastic …A lot of talent took the stage and Steve intends to attend and perhaps participate in the future. People were making comments here or there but most seemed to understand the humor. Steve and Leslie had a great time.
-As Steve headed back to Brian and I’s apartment, from the Green Mill, a man passed him and did a double take.
Man: “Oo shit, I thought that was a real person! What’s with that, man?”
Steve: “Oo, this is Leslie …It’s our first date.”
Man: “You a comedian or something?”
Steve: “I work at Walmart.”
Man: “I’m a construction worker.”
As Steve explained his evening out with Leslie, Brian and I shook our heads, our cheeks burning from laughter.
Steve: ‘Guys …That was the best date I’ve been on in a while!”
Thursday, April 23, 2009
And the Cabbie Will Rock ...
I was tired when I stepped into the cab. An understatement upon catching my reflection in the plexi-glass partition between myself and the driver. I was exhausted. Drained. Weary. My eyes burned with every blink and the tightness in my neck seemed to be welding my shoulder blades together (I briefly entertained the thought that the hunchback of Notre Dame/Quasimodo was more due to stress opposed to any physical abnormality).
The better part of my morning and the entirety of my afternoon was spent on Primo’s scheduled vet exam. Primo in tow is the only way I can sanely reason taking a cab anywhere. His insulin supply was near non-existent and I had spent the previous days of the week calling around to various vets near and far. A harrowing experience that is best left un-typed (more for me than you). A game of phone tag that left me grateful for the time I spent within the business and the knowledge I had gained. Primo and I are nearing 4 yrs since he first crashed diabetic. In cat years, we‘re ol‘ pros.
“$149 for a full panel work up? What tests that consist of? Umm hmm ….Ah umm hmm ….Umm hmm …Yeah, he’s already had this, he’s already had that, this is updated and he doesn’t need that for another two years.”
With my cellular daytime minutes already burning, I leveled out the handful of calls with my husband.
Brian: “Honey, you didn’t break Primo’s pancreas.”
Me: “It’s the recession.”
Brian: “Primo’s pancreas was the first to be laid-off!”
As Primo and I sat in the small, ill-lit vet office it was clear that I would be handling my own cat. The assistant excused herself and the vet started in on the exam. The exam that was only needed in order for her to write a script for his pre-existing condition. Much to Primo and I’s relief, she opted to wave taking his temperature and kept any cutesy talk to a minimum.
When all was said and done, Primo’s insulin was ordered and due within 2 days. I was out a quarter of my monthly rent and both Primo and I wanted to hiss at passerby. Per usual when it comes time to see the vet, I spend most of the time apologizing up and down to Primo, with his vindictive green eyes.
“I’m sorry, Prim. I’m so sorry. We’ll be home soon, I promise. I’m so sorry. Go ahead, hate the world. You’ve earned it. I love you, though. Mom is going to figure it all out.”
As the cab pulled into rush hour traffic, I sat in a daze by my own worn reflection. I blinked as I heard something from the front seat.
Me: “What? Sorry.”
Cab Driver: “Beautiful day, no?”
Me: “Oo yes …A beautiful day.”
Cab Driver: “I think it’s going to rain later, though.”
Me: “I bet that’s good for business.”
Cab Driver: “Business? What business?”
Me: “Ah, the rain. I bet it’s good for cabbies.”
Cab Driver: [laugh] “Ah not so much.”
I kept my glance fixated on his Bono-shades in the rearview mirror, trying to find his eyes.
Cab Driver: “It’s not so good business rain or shine but it is a job.”
Me: “That’s true.”
Cab Driver: “I think there is a game, today. Beautiful day for a game. That is good business.”
[we weaved throughout traffic passing Wrigley Field]
Me: “The Sox played last night …The Orioles …in Baltimore. They lost.”
Cab Driver: “Oo ok, the Sox.”
Me: “10-3”
[I stared back at my reflection: Shut up, self.]
Cab Driver: “I am from communist country. I’ve been here for 18 yrs.”
Me: “Oo? You’ve been driving a cab for 18 yrs.?”
[And now for the cabbie reveals his soul to me portion of the trip]
Cab Driver: “No. I’ve been driving a cab for 3 yrs. I’m a musician, you see? I’m a musician and I’m from Romania. In Romania, even with communism they treat their musicians and artists with respect. You can make a bit of money …But in America, it’s the other way around. No respect. No money. You are not under communism but you know …I didn’t mind the communism that much. I made money.”
Me: “Ah, yeah …So why did you move here?”
Cab Driver: “I came here 18 yrs ago to see my favorite band. I never wanted to come here but rock band Van Halen …I wanted to see them. So a friend and I came here to see them play. I’m a classical guitar player.”
Me: “Ah …Yeah, Eddie Van Halen is quite the guitarist.”
Cab Driver: “You know Eddie Van Halen! Yes! He is very good! …So I came here and I never went back …You see all of these shops and restaurants? Wine bars? People spending thousands of dollars in one night and they are all the same.”
Me: “Yeah …”
Cab Driver: “See, I spend money at places that are special. You get a special experience. But this ….It’s all the same. I never wanted to come here.”
Me: “But you wanted to see Van Halen …”
Cab Driver: “Well, yes …I’m a musician and I got all mixed up with the drugs and the drink. Coke. You know what they do? You think it’s just marijuana and you say sure, I’ll have some marijuana but do you know what they do?”
Me: “What’s that?”
Cab Driver: “They put the coke in the marijuana so you think you’re just smoking the marijuana but you get hooked to the coke. That’s what happened to me. I was with this girl. Beautiful …like you. I loved her very much but she got hooked on the coke and she wouldn’t stop.”
[We were hitting every red light]
Primo: “Meow.”
Cab Driver: “I stopped and started driving a cab for money. She didn’t and I said goodbye. It was sad. She was crying but I had to do it.”
Me: “Yeah …I can imagine.”
Cab Driver: “I never wanted to come here but I drive a cab and it’s a job. Americans don’t understand money. My country had a civil war and so did this country but nothing change. America still has the same people in power.”
Me: “Yeah …”
Cab Driver: [holds up hand] “The Jews control the money. There are 5 Jews in charge of all money and that never changes. They get control of everything. They tried in my country and they play theater to Americans and Americans don’t understand. Did we pass Carmen yet?”
Me: “Almost …Next street north.”
[I looked at my reflection …Do I play the Jew-card or not? No, I’m too tired.]
Cab Driver: “Ok, very good.”
Me: “You can pull to the side right here …Thank you very much. I’ll hope for rain, for you.”
Cab Driver: [laughs] “I thank you! Have good day!”
I pulled the strap to Primo’s carrier over my shoulder and pulled out my cell phone, as we made our way home.
“Honey! I just got out of the cab and the cab- Yeah, Primo’s ok, he’s a bit upset but we made it …But honey, the cab driver …”
The better part of my morning and the entirety of my afternoon was spent on Primo’s scheduled vet exam. Primo in tow is the only way I can sanely reason taking a cab anywhere. His insulin supply was near non-existent and I had spent the previous days of the week calling around to various vets near and far. A harrowing experience that is best left un-typed (more for me than you). A game of phone tag that left me grateful for the time I spent within the business and the knowledge I had gained. Primo and I are nearing 4 yrs since he first crashed diabetic. In cat years, we‘re ol‘ pros. “$149 for a full panel work up? What tests that consist of? Umm hmm ….Ah umm hmm ….Umm hmm …Yeah, he’s already had this, he’s already had that, this is updated and he doesn’t need that for another two years.”
With my cellular daytime minutes already burning, I leveled out the handful of calls with my husband.
Brian: “Honey, you didn’t break Primo’s pancreas.”
Me: “It’s the recession.”
Brian: “Primo’s pancreas was the first to be laid-off!”
As Primo and I sat in the small, ill-lit vet office it was clear that I would be handling my own cat. The assistant excused herself and the vet started in on the exam. The exam that was only needed in order for her to write a script for his pre-existing condition. Much to Primo and I’s relief, she opted to wave taking his temperature and kept any cutesy talk to a minimum.When all was said and done, Primo’s insulin was ordered and due within 2 days. I was out a quarter of my monthly rent and both Primo and I wanted to hiss at passerby. Per usual when it comes time to see the vet, I spend most of the time apologizing up and down to Primo, with his vindictive green eyes.
“I’m sorry, Prim. I’m so sorry. We’ll be home soon, I promise. I’m so sorry. Go ahead, hate the world. You’ve earned it. I love you, though. Mom is going to figure it all out.”
As the cab pulled into rush hour traffic, I sat in a daze by my own worn reflection. I blinked as I heard something from the front seat.
Me: “What? Sorry.”
Cab Driver: “Beautiful day, no?”
Me: “Oo yes …A beautiful day.”
Cab Driver: “I think it’s going to rain later, though.”
Me: “I bet that’s good for business.”
Cab Driver: “Business? What business?”
Me: “Ah, the rain. I bet it’s good for cabbies.”
Cab Driver: [laugh] “Ah not so much.”
I kept my glance fixated on his Bono-shades in the rearview mirror, trying to find his eyes.
Cab Driver: “It’s not so good business rain or shine but it is a job.”
Me: “That’s true.”
Cab Driver: “I think there is a game, today. Beautiful day for a game. That is good business.”
[we weaved throughout traffic passing Wrigley Field]
Me: “The Sox played last night …The Orioles …in Baltimore. They lost.”
Cab Driver: “Oo ok, the Sox.”
Me: “10-3”
[I stared back at my reflection: Shut up, self.]
Cab Driver: “I am from communist country. I’ve been here for 18 yrs.”
Me: “Oo? You’ve been driving a cab for 18 yrs.?”
[And now for the cabbie reveals his soul to me portion of the trip]
Cab Driver: “No. I’ve been driving a cab for 3 yrs. I’m a musician, you see? I’m a musician and I’m from Romania. In Romania, even with communism they treat their musicians and artists with respect. You can make a bit of money …But in America, it’s the other way around. No respect. No money. You are not under communism but you know …I didn’t mind the communism that much. I made money.”
Me: “Ah, yeah …So why did you move here?”
Cab Driver: “I came here 18 yrs ago to see my favorite band. I never wanted to come here but rock band Van Halen …I wanted to see them. So a friend and I came here to see them play. I’m a classical guitar player.”
Me: “Ah …Yeah, Eddie Van Halen is quite the guitarist.”
Cab Driver: “You know Eddie Van Halen! Yes! He is very good! …So I came here and I never went back …You see all of these shops and restaurants? Wine bars? People spending thousands of dollars in one night and they are all the same.”
Me: “Yeah …”
Cab Driver: “See, I spend money at places that are special. You get a special experience. But this ….It’s all the same. I never wanted to come here.”
Me: “But you wanted to see Van Halen …”
Cab Driver: “Well, yes …I’m a musician and I got all mixed up with the drugs and the drink. Coke. You know what they do? You think it’s just marijuana and you say sure, I’ll have some marijuana but do you know what they do?”
Me: “What’s that?”
Cab Driver: “They put the coke in the marijuana so you think you’re just smoking the marijuana but you get hooked to the coke. That’s what happened to me. I was with this girl. Beautiful …like you. I loved her very much but she got hooked on the coke and she wouldn’t stop.”
[We were hitting every red light]
Primo: “Meow.”
Cab Driver: “I stopped and started driving a cab for money. She didn’t and I said goodbye. It was sad. She was crying but I had to do it.”
Me: “Yeah …I can imagine.”
Cab Driver: “I never wanted to come here but I drive a cab and it’s a job. Americans don’t understand money. My country had a civil war and so did this country but nothing change. America still has the same people in power.”
Me: “Yeah …”
Cab Driver: [holds up hand] “The Jews control the money. There are 5 Jews in charge of all money and that never changes. They get control of everything. They tried in my country and they play theater to Americans and Americans don’t understand. Did we pass Carmen yet?”
Me: “Almost …Next street north.”
[I looked at my reflection …Do I play the Jew-card or not? No, I’m too tired.]
Cab Driver: “Ok, very good.”
Me: “You can pull to the side right here …Thank you very much. I’ll hope for rain, for you.”
Cab Driver: [laughs] “I thank you! Have good day!”
I pulled the strap to Primo’s carrier over my shoulder and pulled out my cell phone, as we made our way home.
“Honey! I just got out of the cab and the cab- Yeah, Primo’s ok, he’s a bit upset but we made it …But honey, the cab driver …”
Monday, April 6, 2009
Patience, Patience
This is what happens when:
1) I'm PMSing + retaining water.
2) Brian gets his mitts on the camera.
__________________________________________
Believe it or not, I have a handful of works in the works ...From my post-burrito drive to Milwaukee, getting lost in a forest preserve to the time I met Brian's best friend, Steve for the first time (+ he cooked raw beef on my coffee table) and the whole "she-male" incident.
Not to mention a piece about Brian + I's recent marriage ...on Friday the 13th.
__________________________________________
1) I'm PMSing + retaining water.
2) Brian gets his mitts on the camera.
__________________________________________
Believe it or not, I have a handful of works in the works ...From my post-burrito drive to Milwaukee, getting lost in a forest preserve to the time I met Brian's best friend, Steve for the first time (+ he cooked raw beef on my coffee table) and the whole "she-male" incident.
Not to mention a piece about Brian + I's recent marriage ...on Friday the 13th.
__________________________________________
To the Posting, To the Posting ...
Originally written on: March 31, 2009
March 20th (Friday) marked the one week anniversary since Brian + I said our “I dos”.
I grabbed my apartment keys that hang on a hook near the front door, gave myself one more look over + headed down the winding staircase towards my apartment’s courtyard. Brian’s train had pulled into the city nearly a half hour before + he was now on the city’s red line headed towards me. I usually make a point to be waiting in front of the stop, denying having any spare change + at times pretending to be in the midst of a very important phone call to detract passersby, when Brian arrives.
“My husband” still feels funny to say …Especially when followed up with “actually lives two hours away + has yet to move in with me.” “Yet” being the keyword. Brian finishes school, in May + has slowly (and kindly) been moving his things into my apartment. There are a handful of his shirts hanging in the closet, comic books now take residence on top of the toilet’s tank in the bathroom. There’s turkey and real cheese in the fridge + an assortment of chicken flavored rice in the cupboard. During one of our weekends, he proudly placed one of his own books on my overcrowded bookshelf. I’ve framed a few of his sketches + he recently left a pair of his shoes, which greet me every time I arrive home. Come May, he will get off of that train once more, for good and our newlywed days of commuting will be something we will laugh about in the distant future …Much like pants with stirrups or 20-sided die.
Last week, marked not only two full weeks since our marriage but our first 10 days together, spent in secession. It was his spring break and a taste of life within the Phelps-Larsen household. Both a crowning achievement + a roaring success. It could be argued that most married couples have already crossed the bridge of cohabitation by the time they exchange their “I dos” but aside from our weekends spent together + a couple “extra” days together come holiday, Brian + I reveled in the simple joy that is going to bed + waking every morning to your spouse.
As I passed through my apartment building’s mail room, towards the courtyard …I noticed a brown package on the ground. Suspecting that it was for my next door neighbors, I took a quick glance + noticed that the address tag read: AMANDA PHELPS-LARSEN.
Aside from my Mother addressing her cards to me with “Amanda Phelps (Larsen),” I had yet to receive mail with my married name so I was pleasantly surprised + equally perplexed with the package at my feet. With my mail key, I proceeded to slice the tape + pull the flaps. Inside I found an order form + a note:
“Canon PowerShot A470 7.1 MP Digital Camera w/ 3.4x Optical Zoom (Orange)
Congratulations Amanda and Brian! We hope you use this to record all your times together and then post them on Facebook! Misses and Kisses, Lexi and Gabe”
I was shocked and quickly sprang to my feet, package in hand + the order form still between my fingers. I quickly walked towards the train, excited to tell Brian, stopping every few steps to reread the note.
One of the reasons Brian + I had such a small/quiet wedding was due to the fact that it seemed slightly wrong to invite people to a wedding with the expectation of giving gifts. Most of our friends are either unemployed, underemployed, fearful of losing their jobs or in Lexi’s case giving birth to her first child three days after Brian and I’s wedding. If anyone was to be off the hook, it would be Lexi and Gabe. I’ve known Lexi since our days at Central Intermediate. One of my best friends, she moved to Albuquerque three months before I moved to Chicago, 7 yrs ago (which had a role in my jump ship of Michigan).
Brian shared in my surprised after he stepped from the train and we walked towards home.
Me: Oo my goodness! You didn’t have to! Thank you so much …Brian + I are shocked! It’s perfect! We hope that you, Gabe + Diego are doing well! I can’t stop the !!!
Lexi: I’m glad you guys like it. I thought it would be better than a toaster.
Me: I bet it could make toast. It’s just that awesome! How are you? How’s Diego doing at home? Is he in college yet?
_____________________________________________________________
March 20th (Friday) marked the one week anniversary since Brian + I said our “I dos”.
I grabbed my apartment keys that hang on a hook near the front door, gave myself one more look over + headed down the winding staircase towards my apartment’s courtyard. Brian’s train had pulled into the city nearly a half hour before + he was now on the city’s red line headed towards me. I usually make a point to be waiting in front of the stop, denying having any spare change + at times pretending to be in the midst of a very important phone call to detract passersby, when Brian arrives.
“My husband” still feels funny to say …Especially when followed up with “actually lives two hours away + has yet to move in with me.” “Yet” being the keyword. Brian finishes school, in May + has slowly (and kindly) been moving his things into my apartment. There are a handful of his shirts hanging in the closet, comic books now take residence on top of the toilet’s tank in the bathroom. There’s turkey and real cheese in the fridge + an assortment of chicken flavored rice in the cupboard. During one of our weekends, he proudly placed one of his own books on my overcrowded bookshelf. I’ve framed a few of his sketches + he recently left a pair of his shoes, which greet me every time I arrive home. Come May, he will get off of that train once more, for good and our newlywed days of commuting will be something we will laugh about in the distant future …Much like pants with stirrups or 20-sided die.
Last week, marked not only two full weeks since our marriage but our first 10 days together, spent in secession. It was his spring break and a taste of life within the Phelps-Larsen household. Both a crowning achievement + a roaring success. It could be argued that most married couples have already crossed the bridge of cohabitation by the time they exchange their “I dos” but aside from our weekends spent together + a couple “extra” days together come holiday, Brian + I reveled in the simple joy that is going to bed + waking every morning to your spouse.
As I passed through my apartment building’s mail room, towards the courtyard …I noticed a brown package on the ground. Suspecting that it was for my next door neighbors, I took a quick glance + noticed that the address tag read: AMANDA PHELPS-LARSEN.
Aside from my Mother addressing her cards to me with “Amanda Phelps (Larsen),” I had yet to receive mail with my married name so I was pleasantly surprised + equally perplexed with the package at my feet. With my mail key, I proceeded to slice the tape + pull the flaps. Inside I found an order form + a note:
“Canon PowerShot A470 7.1 MP Digital Camera w/ 3.4x Optical Zoom (Orange)
Congratulations Amanda and Brian! We hope you use this to record all your times together and then post them on Facebook! Misses and Kisses, Lexi and Gabe”
I was shocked and quickly sprang to my feet, package in hand + the order form still between my fingers. I quickly walked towards the train, excited to tell Brian, stopping every few steps to reread the note.
One of the reasons Brian + I had such a small/quiet wedding was due to the fact that it seemed slightly wrong to invite people to a wedding with the expectation of giving gifts. Most of our friends are either unemployed, underemployed, fearful of losing their jobs or in Lexi’s case giving birth to her first child three days after Brian and I’s wedding. If anyone was to be off the hook, it would be Lexi and Gabe. I’ve known Lexi since our days at Central Intermediate. One of my best friends, she moved to Albuquerque three months before I moved to Chicago, 7 yrs ago (which had a role in my jump ship of Michigan).
Brian shared in my surprised after he stepped from the train and we walked towards home.
Me: Oo my goodness! You didn’t have to! Thank you so much …Brian + I are shocked! It’s perfect! We hope that you, Gabe + Diego are doing well! I can’t stop the !!!
Lexi: I’m glad you guys like it. I thought it would be better than a toaster.
Me: I bet it could make toast. It’s just that awesome! How are you? How’s Diego doing at home? Is he in college yet?
_____________________________________________________________
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