One of the things that sucks the most about blogging is being away from it. It's like coming back to work with a piled-up inbox. Only eleven hours of my very first vacation day to go (stamps foot.) Some odds and ends: The Rental Car I took Julie, her husband Britton, and the Taufling to a fairly huge tourist destination for their first dinner in town (in this sense, "took" means, "I told them to turn the wrong way on I-4 and we were lost for half an hour and then they paid for my meal") and when we got back to the parking garage, their rental car was gone. I mean, gone. It had vanished from the Earth. We wandered up and down the rows, we knew we were on the correct level (you don't hear roaring dinosaurs over the PA system as you exit the garage and wonder, "Is this the Jurassic Park level, or the Spider Man level?") and the damn thing had just plain disappeared.
Julie kept walking around muttering, "Who would steal a Dodge Stratus?" Britton stalked from car to car with a steadily increasing Male Frown of Concentration and Anger, and I had an opportunity to put my mad aunting skeelz to the test. Julie began to get upset since I'd left Britton's birthday present and Taulfing's baby gifts in the car, and I put my arms around her and said, "It's okay. It's nothing that can't be replaced. Everything's going to be fine" while thinking "YOU SOBs I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU TOOK TAUFLING'S BOOTIES WITH THE LITTLE HORSIES ON THE TOES." We had the Cell Phones of Defeat out and ready to call security when Britton said, "Let's just look in the other sections, see what happens." So we started walking, and the further we got away from the section we'd been searching in, the more confident I felt, all of which was confirmed when Britton unlocked the car, which was three lots away from where we'd been wandering around calling its name. The situation then officially became Amusing, and we all agreed that as far as everyone we know is concerned, this never happened.
The Bengals They beat somebody! They beat the Chiefs! You cannot believe the tizzy this brought to Cincinnati. A hometown tizzy is always a nice thing to see. I enjoy a good tizzy. They celebrated the Bengals' stellar five and five record by hoisting a banner on the stadium reading, "Welcome Back To The Jungle." Oh, those straws, they are fun to grasp at. Josh Josh was one of my waiters over the weekend. Josh was fully and completely hot. Josh has a girlfriend. Josh sucks. My sister and her family and I met Josh at EPCOT's Canadian restaurant (yes, I was at EPCOT again, and no, I'm not forgetting that I left you dangling in the chocolate-covered chicken of last week. We'll get back to it. Promise.) He recommended an excellent Riesling to me after I very nearly conked out when I saw the prices on the ice wine, and entertained us greatly with his general Canadianess. We got one "eh?" and about fourteen "ouuuuuuuuuuuts." It was like having our own personal Canadian minstrel. We kept ordering things just so he would say "All right, I'll have that right ouuuuuuuuut for you." Britton knocked about four percent off Josh's tip, however, the second he draped himself over our table and said, "So, what do you think-- should I go to Africa, or what?" I was like, "Are you going before or after you bring us our steaks?" Otherwise I couldn't give a moose's ass. I mean, he was hot and all, but: seriously. Does he run his travel plans past all his tables, or just the German-filled ones? The true highlight of the evening, however, arrived after Julie and I polished off our sorbet served with a maple leaf cookie ("Ooooooout, eh?") and I passed around my patented Birth Control Gum. This stuff is great. It's that teeth-whitening gum by Trident or somebody, and it comes in these flat foil packages, and you have to push the gum through a little foil window to get at it, just like a nice dose of Orthotricyclen. Julie and I, as women, obtained our gum without incident, but Britton somehow shot his gum across the restaurant, very nearly picking off Josh in the process, the prospect of which I was a big fan. After I found out about the girlfriend, anyway. My Rollerblades Julie and Britton didn't want me to have to haul birthday and Christmas presents back and forth (I will be 27 on the fifteenth of January-- more, oh much more, on the extreme suckedness of this later on) so they bought me Rollerblades, which I have been desperately needing. I just got new ones, but you know, you can't just get quality skates for eleven bucks anymore. I was so excited that I bladed around my kitchen, all two square inches of it. Julie and Britton were sitting next to the kitchen counter watching football, so I broke out the Woman Going Down An Escalator routine during one of the commercials, which they frankly couldn't get enough of. My family: Nothing if not easily entertained. Anyway, I now have really quality blades for the first time ever, and I tried them out this morning, and I think I have to take them back. They're too good. I did four laps today and I wasn't even blowing. There's no friction there! No challenge! I feel no cheap plastic slicing my ankles to ribbons! That's not a workout! That's just life!
November 17, 2003