Cherri-Oys

Last night I was visiting my mother, Jude. While bantering about the remains of the day, she went to the cabinet to fix herself a bowl of cereal.

Oh my goodness! I forgot to tell you! I bought Jewish Cheerios. They didn't have the smaller boxes of Cheerios so I bought these instead.



Now please understand that according to my mother, this is ethnic cuisine. I don't think an event like this has happened in my family since my father was alive and discovered a Jewish bakery a mile from the house. And they are even open on Christmas! he beamed. And so a tradition was born, every Christmas morn (after church of course) he would go to the bakery and buy bagels, mostly because he could.

She sat across from me with her bowl of Crispy-O's and eyed them suspiciously. I suspect she was wondering if by eating the cereal she was somehow denouncing Christ and therefore losing her special place in heaven with all of the other saints and martyrs. As she lowered her spoon I giggled a bit because I thought of the old Life cereal commercials - but instead of Mikey sitting across from me it, of course, was my 65 year old mother.

A smile came across her face. She likes it, she likes it!!

These are the best things since....

Moses parted the red sea? I asked.

No, no, I mean. Best thing since regular cheerios.

I'm so glad I am witness to these moments.

So today at work, I warned my friend Amy, who is Jewish, that my mother will likely bring up the subject of Crispy O's next time she sees her and to please not indulge her .

Amy immediately gets worked up and exclaims:

It's a conspiracy! Scotch, do you know what Kosher for Passover means???? All it means is that a Rabbi blessed it. That's it! Nothing more. Seriously, a Rabbi probably went to the cereal factory....no, wait, he probably flew over it or called it in, and now that cereal is kosher.

I reply: How do you know? Maybe they put him in a golf cart and drove him around the factory. We should really investigate this. Do an undercover operation of some sort.

Now let's go smoke and gossip about people at work and put all this thinking behind us.

And that is just what we did.

In Love with My Disgruntled Bus Driver

As Charlie as my witness....I will never be on time for work again... if of course it means I catch the later bus and will always and forever get the same bus driver in the morning.

No, this isn't going to be another blog where I bitch about the bus. The beauty of this is I do not have to...because the bus driver was ranting and raving and said it better than I could ever have…(note that these quotes are from what I remember transpiring).

Lady getting on bus with child: Wow, the first bus was so packed I had to let it pass me.

Bus driver: Yeah, they should really have a bus on this route every ten minutes. You see, they put buses where they are really not needed because there is a politician on that route who is causing a ruckus.

Same lady about ten minutes later: Can I put five dollars on my card using that machine?

Bus Driver: I really wouldn't trust this machine. It has been replace 14 (14!!) times since it was installed. See, that is why we need to have almost 100 union electricians on the payroll.

He goes on: And the craziest thing about these machines, you cannot buy spare parts for them. Meaning, a small part of it breaks down we have to install a brand new one. Typical T thinking, buy now, think later.

Okay, so he is totally coming off like a grump, but he was absolutely hilarious. Everyone who was sitting in earshot was enthralled and laughing hysterically. It was great, I think I'm in love.

Tour de Panic

The other day I left work in the early afternoon so I could go to the Cambridge Side Galleria and buy something to wear to my Aunt's wake and funeral.

I did something that I haven't done in a long time - I took a wrong turn, panicked, and got totally lost.

After driving around for almost two hours I finally made my way home to Brighton, by that time I didn't have time to go to the mall.

I created the below map by googling stores (such as ODB liquors) and landmarks I remembered passing trying to figure out exactly where I was.

Note that A is my work parking lot in Harvard Square, and the final destination is my home, being I. It makes you wonder why I even bother leaving the house at all, doesn't it?



Really, how does this happen?

Just Realized....

Regina is on her way to pick me up so we can go to trivia night (yeah you heard me, we do have hobbies people, even if they are conducted at bars) and I'm already a little drunk-a-doddle-doo. I broke into some fancy liquor that was given to me as a Christmas gift from some guy at the office the minute I got home from the wake and I forgot that I haven't eaten at all today.

So Reg, if you are reading this, and I'm too embarrassed to admit it to you when I get in the car (but you know it'll be the first thing I say), I've got a huge buzz on. Therefore, let this be an explantion of me falling asleep at the table or, more likely, getting up to go to the bathroom never to return because I'm all paranoid and ran home.

I also just realized that this is the first drink I've had in a long time. God damn pesky work and life getting in the way of my drinking...again!!!

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

In honor of the holiday, I thought I would educate you, as an Irish-American women, on derogatory terms associated with those of Irish decent that some of you may not be familiar with. So, if you currently refer to me or ANY person of Irish decent by these names consider yourself shamed.

So without further ado, taken from the racial slur database (one does exist, google it because a) I'm too lazy to create a link and b) This is meant to be tounge in cheek but there are some REALLY unfunny terms on that site), please stop calling me:

• Bog-Jumper
• Fire Bush
• Mackerel Snapper
• Mucker
• Potato Breath
• Potato Head (this one would doubly hurt because not only am I Irish my head is shaped like a potato)
• Shillelagh-Hugger

Thanks in advance.

Stalking Myself

Earlier in the week, I began to notice that everytime I started to get my shit together in the morning to leave the house - coat, where the hell is my charlie card, ear phones that don't work - my cat Jerry would make a mad dash to one of my living room windows to peer out. By Tuesday I was certain he was doing this so he could see me walk by the house on my way to the bus, so when I passed I tried to see if I could catch a glimpse of him - no luck, my eyesight sucks and I couldn't see that far up.

On Wednesday morning I had a nonesensical brilliant idea to get to the bottom of this sad cat lady inquiry - I grabbed my binoculars (of origin I do not know - I have absolutely no reason to own binoculars, I swear they just appeared one day - maybe I was hammered and won them at a carnival, who knows, I don't like to sweat the small stuff, folks).

So I am in front of my house, peering up at my second story living room window with a pair of binoculars when I hear...

"Hello? Hello can I help you? May I ask what you are doing?"

Busted by a little old lady.

"Um, I'm a little embarassed to tell you what I am up to..." I said.

"That's private property* you know...."

"Oh, no, no - it's not what you think. I actually live here...I'm just trying to check on my cat." Because I'm a fucking freak.

"Oh, okay then" she says and walks away.

There truly is no moral to this story - however, I do sleep better at night knowing that if someone, somewhere, somehow is stalking me (one can dream!), there is a fiesty old broad out there who has my back. Even if she probably dialed 911 as soon as she found a pay phone and figured out how to use it.

*Sidenote: By that statement has me wondering if is okay to peer into windows of public properties with binoculars - you'll find me in front of the big window of the Mt. Auburn Street post office at noon tomorrow putting this to the test.

profanity penance

It never fails that I am trying to do something that takes concentration when I hear a knock on my door followed by a "HELLO AUNTIE I'M HERE TO VISIT!"

Last Saturday I was in the midst of hanging up curtains in my office when my niece Kay made her way up from Nana's house (Nana lives downstairs from me). Being four years old, one of her favorite games is play-acting. She pretends to be so and so and I in turn have to pretend to be whoever she tells me to. The cats sometimes get involved, for example last Christmas Nickels was up for the part of baby Jesus but then got booted when she hissed and scratched when we tried to wrap her in a blanket. No divas allowed on the set - the role eventually went to a teddy bear, which turned out to be a blessing since we could pay him scale.

Anyhow, on Saturday I talked her into pretending to be an office worker while I pretended to also be an office worker but one who got sucked into being chair of the volunteer beautification committee and therefore had to put up curtains.

While she typed away on the computer and took phone calls I tried to balance myself on my desk when suddenly I lost my footing and went crashing into the window.

"FU&K!!" I yell.

Kay got up from her office work and helped me up. When I got back onto my feet she says:

"Now Auntie, when you say the word fu&k, that means I am going to hear you. Then I am going to repeat it, and kids aren't suppose to say the word fu&k. So that means we will both get in trouble."

I apologized and told her I would never use that word again and told her even if she hears an adult say it she cannot say that word until she gets into college. I tried to explain that sometimes adults let that word slip without thinking about it when they get frustrated.

That said, I promise never to use that word in this blog again. Unless of course it is a direct quote or absolutely necessary to get my point across.

Ah fuck it, I've got some time before she can read full sentences. Just be thankful that I am most likely barren due to all the recreational drugs I did in the 90's.

Frightening Local Boston Commercial

There was a blogger highlighted on The Universal Hub today that commented on possible permits being required to advertise in Boston.

Much more intelligent blogging than the crap you will find within these four walls, but he did mention Ernie Boch Jr. and of course,

It made me think of this gem.



I am a huge fan of the Phantom, but it made me feel dirty, and not in a good way. I would have loved to been a fly on the wall when this concept was thought up.

PS: If you are not Bostonian - you have no idea what I am talking about, and you probably don't find the commercial as unsettling as I do because you don't have an unhealthy obsession with all things Andleman.

In fact, you may not even know what a Boch or an Andleman is and therefore we can never, ever be friends. But don't be sad, we can still have anonymous sex.

Did someone say hump-day? Boo ya.

Disappointments

Below, in random order, are the three biggest disappointments of my life (to date, check back tomorrow):

1. My Lack of success in the relationship department,

2. Being kicked out of the drama club in high school - which resulted in me losing the part of Daddy Warbucks in an all girl cast of “Annie” - because I was failing math, and

3. The buffalo chicken sandwich.

Ah, the buffalo chicken sandwich. I just don’t get it. It has all the components of everything I love and stand for. Buffalo chicken, bread, blue cheese….alone or combined into two parts these ingredients are a beautiful thing. But for some reason, when all three come together, it always, always, always leaves me wondering why I ordered it in the first place. But I can’t let it go, just pass it by on the menu. Every now and again I will give it another chance, but the end result is always the same. Disappointment. Utterly horrific dream-shattering disappointment.

One reason this is on my mind right now is that someone in my office is eating this concoction and I am tempted to seek them out to discuss the subject at length. At best I could make a new friend, at worst I could end up in HR for creeping people out. Again.

Another reason is that I am so hungry right now I would cut off my pinky finger for a triscut. I’ve been avoiding food though because either a) I’ve got a stomach bug, or b) I poisoned myself by binge eating two-week-old office birthday cake, or going away cake, or whatever the hell was in the fridge that said “HELP YOURSELF!” yesterday.

Until today I was totally convinced I was suffering from a hangover from me and Regina’s attempt at becoming cultured on Sunday afternoon. We went to see a play at local theater and then followed it up with a “ladies lunch.” The lunch consisted of a bread basket and round after round of cocktails. Fast forward a few hours, Reg and I are at the second bar having an in depth conversation about the origin of popular appetizers with a gentleman who looks like Squiggy of Laverne and Shirley - if of course Squiggy was 87 years old.

It turns out Old Squiggy was not so much interested in the exact year nachos made their way onto menus across the United States, but more so how he could make his way into Regina’s….errr….heart.

Reg, being the great friend that she is, said there was no way she would go on a date with him unless he was able to provide me with an 87 year old counterpart of Lenny so we could double. He said he would try but couldn’t make any promises. Cross your fingers for me, folks.

Happy Tuesday!

Book Group

In line with the "Auntie Scotch Great Effort of 2007 to Try New Things", last night was my first meeting of the monthly book group that I recently joined. It was held at Borders bookstore on School Street downtown.

The assigned book was "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time" by Mark Haddon.

When asked, I described the book as "being narrated by a 15 year old autistic boy who tries to solve the mystery of his neighbor's murdered dog but ends up uncovering mysteries of his own life and those closest to him." Then I look around all suspicious like and sing "DUM DUM DUM" in a baritone voice leaving the person who asked me wondering why they even attempted a serious conversation with me in the first place.

In any case, I had never been to a book group before and frankly had no idea what to expect. I figured it could go two ways:

1. I would make witty and intellectual commentary on the novel, everyone would love me, and I would be invited to speak at one of the other book group members child’s school the following day.

2. I would blank out due to the effects of book group pressure and make such remarks as:

"I found the scene where he freaked out at the airport quite ironic."

Um, no.... you may be thinking of the movie Rain Man.

"Oooohhh...right right right - well, a turning point was when he climbed the water tower and his brother had to talk him down...."

That’s Arnie from "What’s Eating Gilbert Grape".

"Gotcha....hmm...let’s see....At the end when he got drunk on vacation and ran to the pool naked thinking no one would see him but in fact there were at least a dozen people who witnessed it...."

That was you, summer 2005.

But the truth is everything went really well. The other women were very nice, I contributed easily and even threw in some humor (appropriate humor even!), and I’m looking forward to next month’s group meeting. I’m really turning into quite the young lady after all. Yeah, right.

Happy Friday! Happy Ice Rainy Shitty Friday (it’s 6AM and sleeting here in Boston)!