Pop Quiz

May 15, 2008 | Filed under: Humdrum

“If you get to thinking you’re a person of some influence, try ordering somebody else’s dog around.”  ~Will Rogers

Hypothetically speaking, let’s say you arrive home rather late at night all prepared to settle in with a large glass of wine and Lost. Upon entering into the doorway of your home you are greeted by not one but two dogs. Nothing new as you’ve already had two dogs - including a rambunctious puppy - in your home before, so you casually saunter in and just as you step past the entry way, one of the dogs, a dog that you have never before seen in your life greets you with barking. Loud barking. And growling. A large black dog that you have never before laid eyes on so for all that dog knows you could be a large, black, female burglar (again, HYPOTHETICAL). The dog barks and growls while the other lovely springer spaniel that actually lives in your home stands back in abject fear.

All of the above occurs and so you decide to find the owner of the dog who says “Oh, she won’t hurt you”.

Now, pop quiz. Would you:

A) Say, “Alrighty then” and just be on your way past the possibly vicious dog who might bite your arm off so you can see Sawyer topless. Who needs an arm when you’ve got hot naked man.

B) Remain in your entry way using the antique mirror as a shield.

C) Run away from your home as fast as possible, locking the door behind you because you are positive that a dog so large and probably evil will open the door with its non-existent opposable thumbs.

D) Call your roommate and tell her to get the fucking dog out the fucking house but pepper your statement with a little attitude and then pour yourself a giant glass of Riesling while thinking of ways to be passive aggressive in your office meeting the next morning.

La Madre

May 13, 2008 | Filed under: Familia, La Madre, You've Got Guests

“Youth fades; love droops; the leaves of friendship fall; A mother’s secret hope outlives them all.” ~Oliver Wendell Holmes

My mother has written a lovely post for you all. You’ll notice the way she writes an entire sentence using proper grammar and without throwing in a casual ‘F’ word for emphasis. She even deals with problems without drinking. And yet I’m 110% sure that we’re related. I get my meager writing ability from my her and my ability to sip wine and swear at the same time from my father. If the latter ever wrote a blog post you’d be like “OOOOOOOH I get it”. Crazy genetics. Enjoy:

It’s the story of my life:  opportunity knocks and I’m too busy to answer the door.  Not this time.  I consider it a gift to be asked to guest post on No Pasa Nada, and I’ve only been on the blog once.  But I’ve heard good things about it, and I am fascinated by the conecept of blogging.  First, why haven’t I been on Heather’s blog?  Because our mother-daughter connection is such that we need our private spaces-even when those spaces are quite public to others.  Second, why the fascination with blogging? I’ve longed to write for a woman’s magazine since Rosie Acevedo’s big sister, Isabel, shows us Glamour magazine when we were in 6ht grade.  Until then, the only magazines I was aware of were My Weekly Reader and Scholastic. My mother occasionally brought home Family Circle from the A&P. If it interested her, it was of little interest to me.  But, Glamour and its do’s and don’ts and makeup tips and fashion photos and ad spreads had Isabel’s approval and my undivided attention.  Blogging has that same effect today. I’m fixated on the possibility of wiring for women without editors or query letters getting in the way.

Enough about that. I’m one of those people who is in constant conversation with myself–perpetually writing and rewriting any given conversation.  Rehearsing for whatever’s next.  I’m convinved that people who talk to themselves are just giving voice to the internal conversation–oblivious to anyone and anything but the dialog playing in their head.  Lately, I’ve been replyaing a conversation about dying.  My middle sister is living with terminal cancer.  On a recent Sunday afternoon, she called to just check in. In the middle of talk about weather and plans for the coming week, she casually dropped that she had recently named me her health care proxy and she was told she should share with me what medical procedures she would and wouldn’t want toward the end of her life.  On a sunny afternoon, in front of a picture window, I listend to her as she, with the same matter-of-factness that my son give me his weekly grocery list, told me how she wanted to die.  And just as casually as the conversation had begun, it was over and we were on to talking about who was coming in for my son’s upcoming graduation.  I put down the phone and immediately began replaying that conversation.  Shouldn’t a conversation of such siginificance have come with warning?  Shouldn’t there have been tears? Shouldn’t we have been in the same room? Shouldn’t I have said something more profound than “I’m listening,” “I hear you,” “I understand.”? Or, is this really how such conversations are meant to happen? Casually, naturally, mater-of-factly. Life does go on.

This is why blogging fascinates me. I sat down to write about stolen kisses. What’s come out is totally unexpected. Thank you, Heather. This is the greatest gift. Love you the moon and the stars.

Everything’s Coming Up Tulips

May 11, 2008 | Filed under: Fotografias, This side of the Hudson

“Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.” ~Rainer Maria Rilke

Y’all, I stepped outside my house the other day and was promptly greeted by an angry mob. An angry mob stuffed with festival food and cheap beer ready to breathe my air and brush past me and trip me with their humvee sized Maclarens. Then I died a very sad death due to acute social anxiety. My tombstone read: “Heather B. was such a lovely person until she found herself around other people. Then she turned into a hot mess.”

Anyway, this is what I figure Hell will look like. But I bet there’s gonna be beer!

Ok so I didn’t die. More like I was stationary for 48 entire hours during which I had exactly two goals: 1) Find the funnel cake. Imbibe the funnel cake. Get the powdered sugar in my hair. Remove powdered sugar from my person by licking. 2) Use tulips for hypnosis. Rinse and repeat. I’d say this weekend was a rousing success. AIM LOW, kids!

And then all things went to shit when I discovered Lightroom. Better yet, I say “Simon!” in a sing-song voice and he’s at attention. Now I get to take 765 photos of my cat, then over expose the shit out of them and make them look all mind-bending and bright and ‘antiqued’. It’ll be like being high all the time but without the severe paranoia. No Pasa Nada: Like tripping on acid. The good stuff.

More like No Pasa Nada: Just a touch of class and crazy.

Guess who wants Typepad for Mother’s Day

May 8, 2008 | Filed under: Blogology, La Madre

And my friend Susan from Oklahoma is no longer my friend Susan from Oklahoma. She’s now that woman who dared to remotely think about reading the blog my mother will never ever start so long as I live. So help me God. Amen.

Warning: Car buying makes me loopy, incoherent and more annoying than usual

May 6, 2008 | Filed under: Humdrum

“Be careful of your thoughts, they may become words at any moment.” ~Iara Gassen

My brain has been a constant loop of Subaru, Subaru, Subaru, Subaru, Toyota, Volvo, Subaru, Subaru, Subaru ooooh MERCURY. Which means that my level of interesting is on par with a shady, balding, car salesman with visible hair plugs and a polyester plaid jacket, who says shit like “Just call me Chuck” while running his hands through his greasy, faux hair and kicking the tires of the Mariners to prove that yes indeed! They are sturdy!

Meanwhile my car is on par with your average POS vehicle yet not nearly as horrific as my very first car; a 1993 Plymouth Voyager (ooooh BABY!). The Mom Mobile is currently residing on Martha’s Vineyard where it’s about to be given away. I’ve been contemplating a trip out to the Cape to give the minivan one last hug and kiss and to remember the good times. Like the time I went to Las Vegas and entrusted it to LB (Hi LB! I love you!). Only to return to find the transmission was shot and the hood was busted, LB was on her way to Namibia and I was livid. Heed my words, when I am livid and you are in my direct line of fire, the best idea ever would be to run away very, very quickly to southwest Africa. In fact I’d buy you a ticket to allow you to have a head start. You’re welcome.

The last expensive thing I purchased was my camera and since I sleep with it every night while touching it lovingly and whispering sweet nothings into its ear, I’m just a little on the nervous side about buying something so very big that I cannot keep my eye on at all times. Like I’m supposed to spend a very large amount of money on something and just leave it outside. In the elements. Where people can breathe on it and birds can shit on it. Are you fucking kidding me? Not to mention that camera choosing took about 367 days of eyeing and visiting and critiquing. Of course doing this only to change my mind about 300 days in and continuing with the process. So! Car purchasing has been about as thrilling as a jackhammer to the torso. From now on I’m thinking about walking everywhere.

What else…oh yes, I’m doing a little borough hopping tomorrow, which means being very strategic while walking through midtown Manhattan and trying to avoid tripping tourists. This will be my second to last trip to the city and after that I have no intentions of going back until Saks has sparkly, cherubic angels singing Carol of the Bells in the windows and the streets are covered in snow. That would be about December. At this point December 2010. Unless of course someone offers up free vodka, dresses with pockets and pedicures. Then I’ll go back.

This was like 567 words more than I ever intended it to be and I will now I apologize for my loquacious ways. It’s never nice to talk and talk and talk while someone else is thinking, “Shut the hell up already”. But oh! Speaking of test-driving (like seven paragraphs back), remind me to tell you the story about the car salesman and the 20-year-old college student who was just looking for a Nissan. She was not looking for a Sunday afternoon booty call or marriage. Just in case she needed to make that clear in the terms of her auto loan.