Ab Fab

Yesterday I had an absolutely wonderful experience. I was bringing Ginny back from the backyard, walking through the path on the side of the house, when I noticed this guy <----- about 3 inches from my right ankle.

He didn't strike, and I wasn't even sure if he was alive. I stupidly moved my ankle closer to him to see what would happen and he moved his head a fraction. So I went back into the house and got my camera.

When I got back outside he was in the same position I left him in. He looked remarkably thin, and I would guess he hadn't eaten for some time. I snapped a couple of photos and went to get Rich. When I took Rich out to him Rich insisted he must be dead because he wasn't moving, not even an inch. So I did what any self respecting fan of Steve Irwin would do. I poked him with a stick. He didn't move. I poked him again. Nothing. I poked him a third time, and he stuck his tongue out at me, which in snake probably means "knock it the fuck off."

So we watched his laid back self for a few moments, wondering where he had come from. He looked like no snake we had ever seen before. Well, that's not exactly true. To me he looked like a constrictor, like someone's pet that had escaped and wandered into our yard for some reason. 

So I left him and went inside and looked up snakes of North Carolina photos. He wasn't any of them. This leads me to believe he doesn't belong here at all. I felt like calling someone to come and get him, but who would you call? Animal control out here in the county would simply destroy him. I couldn't take him to the SPCA where I worked, because they only accept animals from the city limits, and besides, Rich wouldn't let me pick him up.

Anyway, a friend of mine decided to name him Vindaloo, which seems like a perfectly acceptable name for a snake. He needed a name anyway, as during the hour I got to know him I considered him my friend.

I WAS worried that he would die overnight, as he didn't seem to want to move at all, and as I said, he didn't appear to have eaten recently. He was quite thin. This morning I went out to see if he was there, and Vindaloo was gone. I'm sorry about that. I was hoping to see him again, because he truly was beautiful. And this time, without Rich around, I would have picked him up, moved him to a less high traffic area, and said goodbye.

Have a great Saturday everyone.

PS... I wouldn't have picked him up with my hands. There was a forked stick nearby. Probably not a good idea anyway given that he's been identified as a copperhead.

Old Friends

So yesterday I joined Facebook and reconnected with about 6 friends of mine from high school. Including an old boyfriend that I dated for 4 years. It's been awesome. I'm finding out about their lives (ex-BF has 2 kids and is married), and I'm getting to tell them about how boring my life is.

The odd thing to me is that from my class of '89 there are no girls that I was friends with. Granted, most of my girlfriends were in the class of '88, but they're nowhere to be found either. It kind of sucks. I'm talking about Stacey and Barb, 2 of my best friends ever.

Stacey was hysterical. She used to make me laugh so hard I'd get sick to my stomach. Barb used to call me Julie Bully (after Wooly Bully). We used to go to ChiChi's for the dollar drafts and the all you can eat hot wings, and that was an absolute blast. I drank a LOT of beer. Ate a LOT of wings too. Imagine that.

When I left NJ to move down here to NC I lost touch with both of them and I don't know why. I wrote to them a few times but the replies kept getting fewer and farther between. I was heartbroken. I really do miss them so much.

One good thing that came out of all of this is that I reconnected with my friend Dan. Dan also used to make me laugh so hard I would almost barf. He's just as funny as he ever was, and I really need that in my life right now. Things are just so stressful that I need some relief.

Anyway, if you want a trip down memory lane, join Facebook. You probably won't be disappointed.

Gin and Summer

Ok, when I wrote my post about my love for whiskey I totally neglected to mention my love for Gin. I buy one bottle a summer, and once again it's the biggest bottle, because it generally lasts me all summer. I stock up on limes and tonic water, and i have a special glass.

My love affair with the Gin and Tonic started one summer's day in 1995 when I went for drinks on the Moshulu. The Moshulu is a ship in Philadelphia that is supposedly haunted. They restored it and turned it into a cafe and restaurant. And bar. My ex and I met a friend of mine there and spent the day drinking gin and soaking up the sun. As of that day I was hooked.

My very next favorite Gin experience was when Nina and I went to the beach (in fact, I believe there is a photo of my beach legs on her blog). There's a restaurant there (and I'm not telling you where) where you can sit on the pier and eat oysters and drink Gin and Tonics and feed the pigeons hush puppies. The hush puppies were fabulous. We ate like savages and drank in the sun and watched the college boys run around chasing girls. It was an absolute blast. Did I ever mention how much I adore Nina? I would walk on hot coals for her simply because she drove that first time and landed us with a parking ticket.

My next happiest Gin experience doesn't even involve tonic. Nina and I took another beach trip with two other girls, and one of them brought something wonderful. She took a 2 liter bottle of ginger ale and turned it into a Tom Collins. The gals in the back seat drank out of it while I drove this time (yes, open container, shut it), and when we got to the beach we had a disallowed substance in our cooler. If I recall correctly we also had Barbara's Blue Cheese snacks and some candy. I got the recipe for a Tom Collins from the girl who brought it, and in my memory that was the only summer I bought more than one bottle of Gin. I also bought a 10 pound bag of sugar. Want the recipe?

One Jigger of Gin

One Tablespoon Sugar

One Tablespoon Lemon Juice

Fill with ice and ginger ale

Naturally while I was pregnant I couldn't drink Gin, so my summer was basically an unhappy one. I made myself "virgin" Tom Collinses, but according to everything I found on Google tonic water is not good for developing fetuses. Dammitall. So I had to wait until last summer, when I finally got to sip again the lovely, wonderful, juniper taste of Gin. And now that the weather is warming up I'm looking very forward to that day in May when I'll hit the ABC store and pick up this year's bottle.

Richard Belzer...

...was in my dream last night. NO, it was most assuredly not one of THOSE dreams. In my dream we were in Canada on a tour attempting to figure out how to stay without getting caught and booted back home. This is what you get for watching CNN right before bed. The strangest part of the dream was that we were riding in motorized buckets with hand brakes. They were about the same size as oil drums.

Now that we got that out of the way, and you know that I'm absolutely batshit, why doesn't everyone introduce themselves? You can leave comments after this post to let me know who you are, how you found my blog, what you think of it etc (and you don't even have to be nice...). Even if you have no Blogger account you can leave a comment under Anonymous or under your name or alias. My spider senses (and sitemeter) tell me that there are tons of you out there reading me every day. If you're too shy to pop in though I totally understand. I'm rather shy myself (shut up Xris).

And I also need to include a message to Ted, owner of Galileo's Mathbook... I noticed that you de-favorited me from your blog. How rude of you. After I spent the best years of my life slaving under your management, made you extra stuffing every holiday, and dragged my ass out with you when you wanted to go shopping, you go and do that. My heart is broken. It truly is.

Sorry to be a Bummer

But...Too many of my friends are having shit lives. Hell, I'm having something of a shit life, but comparatively speaking I can't complain.

I know TWO people on the verge of bankruptcy right now. Two. How does this happen to people who work hard and pay their bills and try to make a living? I can understand people who run up a ton of debt with no compunctions at all. What I can't understand is how people get to the point of having to live on credit just to survive. It's unfair that something called The Working Poor even exists. Obviously.

I know 3 people who hate their jobs so badly that they're contemplating throwing away their current lives and starting over. Perhaps even by moving away from their current homes. One is considering France. Another is considering Bumfuck USA. I'm not certain where the third wants to go, because I haven't asked. I do know that if these people moved so far away I would be heartbroken as it would mean I would probably never see them again, but that's my problem, not theirs.

Three of these people are having the worst luck that you can possibly imagine. Constant outflow of cash with none coming in, deaths, you name it, they're dealing with it. And I don't understand how all of this is happening in the space of a few months. Some of it has been going on for years. I had thought 2008 would be better, but for many of my friends it is not.

For a lot of these things problems could be solved if I could simply manage to win a $350 million dollar lottery. Everyone I know would be set for life. A lot of these problems can't be managed with money, and those are the ones that make me feel helpless.

So if I start complaining about my meds, or lack thereof, If I start wanking about something stupid like my husband buying furniture in the middle of the night, or the fact that my child only took a 50 min nap, feel free to slap me senseless. Because in the grand scheme, that ain't nothing.

I am sad

It's Valentine's Day and I am sad. Not because I don't have a Valentine, after all, I would assume Rich is a de facto Valentine being the Official Man Unit and all. And I'm not sad because we agreed on No Gifts this year (my idea, and if he shows up with a gift and a card I will be uber pissed). I am sad because back in the day my Valentine's Days were spent getting rowdy with a bunch of gals in a bar, drinking, smoking, and listening to Patsy Cline on the juke box. This tradition began in 1992, when I was 21 and legal, and ended in 1995 when I moved down here to NC.

This started of course when none of us had boyfriends, and it continued even with boyfriends. They were not invited of course. It was wonderful to sit in a smoky bar with pitchers of draft beer and hot wings or pizza, pumping dollar bills into the box to hear "Crazy" or "Walking after Midnight," which of course guaranteed that no man would approach us. Sometimes we threw k.d. Lang into the mix, which was a SUREFIRE way to avoid the male animal. We drank and laughed and had such fun that we needed to walk home. Luckily the bar (The Manor Bar, to be exact) didn't seem to mind cars being left in the parking lot overnight. And it was absolutely lovely to have a bar within walking distance of home.

I'm not reminiscing because I'm married and have a kid. I have missed these days since Valentine's Day of 1996 when I was down here with the Ex and he bought me a garlic press as a gift. Granted, I had mentioned I wanted one, and it WAS red, but something lacked that year. Is it called Sisterhood these days?

I miss girlfriends. I have one in my area these days, but our lives are utterly different now and she is busy and of course so am I. There's something about a pack of women descending upon a pile of fun that just can't be substituted by any Instant messaging, any chat room, and any message board. I know many women these days that I would give ANYTHING to get rowdy with, but they're many miles away. If I won the lottery I'd fly each and every one of them to Oaklyn, NJ, and we'd hit The Manor Bar for lousy pizza and good beer. We'd take up the entire booth in front of the projection TV, and we'd have a stack of dollar bills to shove into that juke box. We'd leer at men and then snub them if they even attempted to make contact. And we'd have a ball.

Maybe my mom could even drive us home. Or maybe we could talk her into joining the pack.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone.