Auntie Scotch Raves

New Blog

2009-07-05T14:39:00.000-07:00

Hi Everyone:

I am going to be creating a new blog. Please email me if you are interested in viewing, I don't want it out there for the world to see. auntiescotch@gmail.com

I doubt anyone even comes here anymore, it's been too long. I have missed you.

Dead Pigeons

2008-10-01T19:16:00.001-07:00

In the past week or so I have been noticing a strange amount of dead pigeons near my place of business. My office is in the west, more industrial side of South Boston. I'm not kidding, I counted five in one day (that day being last Friday).

I have beaten the subject to death on google but cannot come up with any other explanation than that these birds are being poisoned on purpose for pest control. This explanation is of course alot cheerier than my first gut reactions:

End of the world
Avian Flu (sp?)
West Nile Virus
End of the world....

What do you think this means? Not to be a total creep but I did take a few cell phone photos (mostly because this was a source of comedy for me around the office this week and everyone else thought I was losing my mind).

Ode to My Girlfriends

2008-03-31T19:00:00.000-07:00

I had the girls over on Thursday - Reg and Di. Knowing each other for almost thirty years made for some great trivia such as "who went to the Pink Floyd concert with us in '93?" (ps we are still debating because we were so screwed up on -deleted because we all have great jobs now-)...... and "where were YOU when Di had her first period?" It does strike me as strange that I met both of these women well before I was three years old and we are still friends to this day, and we will always be the first to admit that we have had our ups and downs (and sideways even), but if today is my last I will always thank god for the good friends that I have. Reg, Di, Lady, Amy. I could never ask for better sisters than you. Thanks.

Finally!!!!

2008-03-22T15:11:00.000-07:00

After what seems like ages and ages and ages, I have FINALLY gotten a new computer and better yet - my dear brother hooked it up for me today!!! So as I type this I am in the comfort of my very own beautiful home office drinking a glass of red wine.

Easter is tomorrow and I've opted out of doing absolutely anything. I know, it is terrible. Quite honestly I don't feel like visiting family, my niece Kay will be with her mom and family and for some reason the holidays are seeming less and less significant to me without the presence of children. Clock ticking, Scotch? Possibly. More likely I am just too lazy to be presentable and communicative on a Sunday. Isn't that what Monday through Friday is for? Christ, I pat myself on the back if I even muster up the energy to conceive of taking a shower. Ah the life of a singleton, so glamorous.

Last week I made my St. Patrick's Days resolutions - get in shape, get a boyfriend (or at least try to get laid), be more domestic, yada yada yada. It has become a tradition for me to make resolutions on March 17, the origin of this is unknown to me but I am guessing it started on the floor of a bathroom swearing to turn my life around. Although my bathroom floor days are over (knock on tile) there is no time like the present to set some new ground rules for myself since my eating, drinking and all around lifestyle has gotten out of control over the past six months. I truly cannot by any means blame the new gig, but I do have to say that where I used to have to twist some arms to get some company for an after work drink at my old job in Cambridge, I pretty much work with 40 replicas of myself now. Scary. Frightening. Fun. Funny. Scary.

All week I did a good job at these resolutions, I didn't even have a drink on St. Patrick's Day. I brought a salad to work every day, cooked every night and even cut down on my caffeine intake. When Thursday rolled around I felt great, but then a bad day at work followed, and then my friends kept calling me from the Junction and I just couldn't resist.

Ah, this post is boring the shit out of me..... nothing to report about the Junction, had beer, had spinach dip (good, which is rare I am finding). Di came over later that night and I just had to stay up until midnight despite the fact I had all day meetings starting at 7AM on Friday. I was so tired when I got home Friday night that I cancelled my reservations at Rialto

So that's about it folks, I am sure I will write more tonight, just have to think of a good story that took place during my absence, obviously this week didn't produce any!!

Love yas!

Day One

2008-02-22T14:43:00.000-08:00

I'm back, at least I think I am. It is pretty weird typing out my thoughts after being on hiatus for so long.

I am alive, but I am not going to bore you with the details of where I've been or why I haven't been writing because honestly, not much has changed. The biggest variance is in the backdrop of my life as well as the cast of characters. I go out more often, which isn't always a great thing, and I have become more adventurous of where I go.

I'm still single but announced after a depressing realization over Christmas that 2008 is the year I am getting married. This confused many into thinking I had gotten engaged over the holiday, in fact I think the girls at work are planning a shower for me soon. I am contemplating a registry. Do you think Crate and Barrell carries shame?

But I am back, and I promise to update and I'm sorry I ever left. I won't back-track beyond today, I am starting over.

Hello?

2008-02-22T10:29:00.000-08:00

How is everyone? Just seeing if I still exist...

To catch you up to speed - it's Friday, it's snowing, I am looking at the Pru from my office window right now (actually that is a lie, I just turned to look out the window and it's either too snowy or the Prudential Center has fallen off the face of the earth).

I am slightly hungover, I just convinced the office to order Chinese food.

So as you can see, not much has changed on the Scotch front.

The Difference Between Southie and Dorchester...

2007-09-24T15:32:00.000-07:00

According to this guy, anyhow....

My friend Di and I went out for a late lunch (i.e. early drinks) in the South Boston area last Saturday afternoon. We hit up one place to watch the beginning of the sox game and then headed to a fairly well-known dive bar to watch the end of it. The place was pretty empty. After the first round we decided to go out and have a smoke. There was a guy out there also indulging and he struck up a conversation with us.

"So, whereya's from?" he questioned in an Irish accent.

We told him and returned the question. He told us what county he was from (can't remember) but then said he was now living in Dorchester. Di said she once lived in Dorchester for a time.

He then started to tell us about how he lived in the "good part" of Dot and how it is easy to turn a corner and end up on the "wrong side of the tracks." He then went on, unprovoked, to tell us this...

"One evening I had too much to drink at Murphy's Law here in Southie," he said. "I mean, I was drunk, ya know? I left the bar and took a seat on the sidewalk, the next thing I know I woke up and it was, oh, 'bout five o'clock in the morn."

And at that Di interjected an "oops..." ....he went on...

"I was wearing a gold chain on my neck, a snazzy watch, and had two hundred dollars in my pocket. But do you know what? Can you guess what?? Not a soul bothered with me. Not a soul."

It was at that point I got confused about where this story was heading.

"In Dorchester", he continued, "I would have been robbed blind. But not in this town. In this town they wouldn't rob a bloke laying on the sidewalk." He then stubbed out his butt and headed back into the bar.

I don't really know the moral of this story, my biggest concern was that Di and I looked like the type of gals that a man would meet and immediately feel free to tell he once slept on a sidewalk.

A Few Catch-ups

2007-09-18T15:18:00.000-07:00

Things have been so busy lately, mostly due to the new job that I haven't had time to reflect. Also, my home computer shit the bed so I am typing this from Jude's house right now (and she is currently talking to me about banking woes and her dog's diabetes).

So, in no particular order, here are a few gems to re-introduce you to the Scotch you once knew.

Landmines

My job is in the Financial District (wait, Jude is now talking to me about my niece.....), before I worked in Harvard Square I worked in the financial for 4 years - I was in my early twenties. If I had to guess I would say that at least 55% of the men I have been involved with came from that job. As crazy as I am now I was much more brazen and fun-loving in my early twenties. What kills me now is that everytime I am running around the South Station area looking for the kinkos or having a meltdown on the wooden bridge that connects Congress and Summer Street I always run into one of these guys. I call them landmines. I always look out to try and avoid them but when I least expect it, there is David or Josh heading my way wanting to have the ol' howyadoin chat. I want to scream "I AM NO LONGER THAT GIRL!!" I am not the asshole who you slept with and then stood up for an Elton John concert! I am not the girl who fell down a flight of stairs at Three Cheers pub! I am not the girl in the elevator with you holding her bra when the door opened and it was CEO!! I am Scotch, I am 31, I often drink too much and get loud and funny but that aside that is where the similarities end.

Kilts

The other night after way too many beers two of my friends and I decided to hit the shittiest last call bar in town - The Boyne. We weren't there for five minutes when two gentlemen walked in wearing kilts. My girlfriend turns to me and says "I dare you to..." she didn't even get it out before I was up there requesting a peek. Turns out the rumors are true. We danced to AC/DC and then went home.

I must sign off, Jude is now talking to me about tree pruning.

Love yas!

What Once Was Lost...

2007-09-17T16:25:00.000-07:00

Saturday afternoon I got a call from Jude on my cell. She was up at the Rockingham Plaza in Salem, New Hampshire. She lost her keys. She was stranded.

Merging onto I-90 in my car that has brakes so bad it shouldn't be driven I was nearly side swiped and then nearly side swiped a car trying to avoid the first car.

But I made it up there, gave her the keys, and then headed back to Boston. Got lost, ended up on Mass Ave in Roxbury, as I always do when I get lost, but found a sneakly little quick turn back onto I-90 West from Boyleston Street.

When I got home there he was. This thing. This guy.

He had been gone for over 25 days. I dealt with the fact that he was dead over two weeks ago. But there he was. Tattered, injured. Hungry but unable to eat. Fucking really thirsty.

I'm not pointing fingers. But the vet says someone hurt him.

But hes home, my brother fixed my brakes, Sears called my mother and told her they found her keys.

Lessons of the Week

2007-08-17T16:17:00.000-07:00

No. 1

If you are like me and are prone to getting ink all over yourself, best not to use a yellow highlighter. If it gets all over your hands and face it will look like mustard - if you are lucky, I am fairly sure half the folks at my office think I am suffering from some deficiency. Although they wouldn't be all wrong because I am obviously lacking somewhere.

No. 2

What is worse than taking the bus, worse than being in your car and getting caught behind a bus - being on an "Express" bus and getting caught behind another, local, bus.

No. 3

The Boston Tea Party museum burnt down three years ago. An Asian tourist came up and asked me where it was, showing me a map. I looked at the map, then over to the Congress Street bridge construction, back to the map, scratched my head.....looked at the Asian girl...looked at the map...the construction...the map....finally some old lady came up and told us it burnt down three years ago. Nosy know-it-all old lady. I woulda figured it out eventually.

No. 4

I was a lunatic for ever taking the bus when I could of been driving all this time. 15 minutes tops - even in traffic. 15 goddamn minutes. Side note - if you tell the guy in charge of parking passes that you are embarrassed of your car he will immediately go check it out and then come back and announce (in front of everyone) that it isn't so bad, it just needs to be cleaned. Another note - at home I park under a tree and even if I do take it to the car wash it is dirty the next day....just saying.....

Anyhow, happy Friday!!!!!!!!!!!!

Finally, A Drinking Story....

2007-08-13T17:34:00.001-07:00

Finally!! My anxiety has slowed down enough to start to write again about the important things in life. Men and booze. Here is one of the many moments I've had in the past few weeks in regards to just that.

Last Wednesday night my friend and I went out for drinks at a local bar to oogle softball cuties having their weekly post-game drinks. A friend of hers, a male cop, was there and we ended up sitting with him at the bar. For the next hour or so we received shots and beers and whatnot from across the bar from people who we didn't know. After the third time this happened it dawned on my friend and I - people thought we were cops too. It came to a head when one of the guys approached and asked us what district we worked for - since I am more comfortable lying about things such as my weight and age rather than my occupation (but of course that is also a lie, I have been known to claim I am a CIA agent every now and then), I fessed up that I wasn't a cop. You think he would of taken that in stride, me being a girl and all - but he was frigin pissed. Pissed meaning drunk and pissed meaning angry. I offered to buy him a drink - he refused. I offered to have my friend give him a bj - she refused.

Just another reason to stick by my "no unsolicited drinks" policy, folks. I should get a tattoo of that on my wrist to constantly remind myself.

I'll write more later in the week possibly exploring such topics as:

Why can't I date a man named Melvin?

Why can't my friends and I not stop ourselves from drinking the night before we are scheduled to drink together resulting in one big massive hangover? :-)

Not Dead...Yet....

2007-08-07T18:18:00.000-07:00

I've fallen in the trap of so much to tell that it seems useless to even try.

Tonight marks the one week anniversary of my new job.

I've learned so much thus far, I am constantly busy and challenged. But I have had time to reflect a bit - mostly on the Downtown Express Bus (which dare I say it - it's a fucking pleasure, expensive, but a goddamn joy - and yes, still haven't ventured downtown in the RAV just yet, bit embarrassed of my car but that will be a future blog). Anyhoo...reflections......

I realized that in the past (or so I hope) that I have always presented and applied myself to a lower standard, and then, I have the glory of surprising people with what I am actually capable of. Here, now...it is a different story. They expect the best of me, nothing less. And therefore I have no choice but to be better. Better than my best.

I am driven, I am focused, I am happy.

Enough with the deep thoughts, already.

Oddly enough, with so much time spent at work my social life has also had a boom. I promise to update more often soon.

I miss you guys.

Hitting the Ground Running....

2007-07-31T18:31:00.000-07:00

First day, a long day, at the new gig.

Nothing more to say than - I love it. I wasn't there two hours this morning before I was busy, challenged, excited.

Oh, and I get a parking space. I am truly glad my new boss did not disclose this during the interview process because I may have just offered to work there for free (and yes I'm keeping it clean folks).

A parking space. A fucking parking space. Downtown. A parking space.

The option, if I am so bold to take it...to never....ever...ever..... have to take the T again. If I so choose, I will never ever have to be wait for the bus, or time a train, or...HOLY SHIT A PARKING SPACE!!

I put $50 bucks on a Charlie Card anyhow. Go figure.

Anyhow, blogs are going to be sparse for a bit while I get my shit together. Thank you all for the well wishes and please oh please don't let my next blog be titled "Fired"..... or..."Get back on the Bus"....

The Last Day Email

2007-07-27T12:01:00.000-07:00

So today is my last day at my current job - new one starts on Tuesday.

In keeping with company tradition I sent out the usual "Goodbye/Thanks" mass email.

One great response I got from Jay in IT:

"Best of luck to you, and never forget - the world is your ashtray."

Kind of an inside joke but I was thinking - how many times do you think I'd be run off the road if I got the phrase "The World is My Ashtray" put onto a bumper sticker? This could work great with my idea of a "Masshole on Board" sign for my back window.

ha.

More to come this weekend, it's just been so busy, yet busy in a boringly bad way, this week.

Open Letter to my Job

2007-07-25T11:43:00.000-07:00

Dear Job:

Well, it's less than three days that we have left together now and although I've been mostly occupying myself with happy thoughts of the future I must admit I cried today at the thought of leaving you.

It's been a long and crazy four plus years we had together - we've pretty much seen it all, haven't we?

I imagine that in another month or so they'll be someone else in here doing you and you'll most likely have forgotten all about me by then.

I will never forget how much I loved you at times and how at other times I was sick at the thought of you. Our late nights, those times when I put you before everyone and everything else. But there were moments, phases even, when you were the only sane and stable thing I had in my life. Thank you for that.

At times you defined me. You could make or break me in a heart beat. Other times I didn't want to be associated with you at all.

But now, at the end, I know this - I am a better person for having had you in my life and I will never forget all you have taught me and all you have given me.

Thanks Job, I will miss you.

Deep Thoughts by Auntie Scotch

2007-07-18T12:26:00.000-07:00

Late last week Amy started to read the book “The Secret” and in my typical monkey-see/monkey-do behavior I picked up a copy for myself on Monday night. Personally I really haven’t had time to get into it yet but from what Ames said a good part of it is keeping your eyes open for signs (I think).

In any case, yesterday on my way to the bus stop I decided to give my Ipod a rest and take notice of the world around me in hopes that I too would receive a message from the universe.

I was not disappointed. As I waited, a butterfly fluttered by me and landed in the dirt next to an urban renewal planted-type tree only steps from my feet. It’s beauty was remarkable even amongst the discarded cigarette butts and other miscellaneous litter that surrounded it.

I went into deep thought about the beauty of change, how I am now at a crossroad and this butterfly is symbolic of what I can be, what I will be.

Then it fluttered it’s wings a bit and I was snapped back into reality, I’m afraid of bugs. Even pretty ones. I feared if that butterfly came near me I would instinctively swat it away, possibly injuring it.

More deep thoughts - if the butterfly symbolized the beauty of change and good things ahead, could it be that I have been pushing these things away out of fear?

I remembered Suldog’s blog on bees and how it made me feel silly about my fear of bugs by making me realize that insects aren’t out to hurt me, they are just trying to do their thing.

Even more deep thoughts – maybe if I learn more and change the way I think about the things I fear, there will be nothing that I cannot conquer.

It was then that I decided to write a blog about this. For effect, I reached in my bag and grabbed my camera. As I was about to take the shot, the butterfly flew off. Into traffic. Underneath a wheel of a Honda Civic. No way, it can’t end like this I thought. It has to have made it.

As the light changed and the car started to move, I saw what was left of that butterfly on the wheel of the car as it went by me.

One last deep thought – no more deep thoughts for me.

Two Short but Sweets for Monday

2007-07-16T13:07:00.000-07:00

One....

This weekend my mother was driving along Storrow Drive with my 5 year old niece Kay when someone cut her off.

Jude: “Jeezus!!”

Kay, waving her fist responded in a thick Boston accent (that we never even knew she had): “Stupid Ahshole”

See, you are never too young to be a Masshole.

and two….

Reg and I went out for drinks on Sunday to watch the game and got into a conversation about ID checking with the bartender .

Bartender: Wow, you sure know your stuff, you must work in this business.

Me: Um, no, (cough), um…I…uh…..we ….(now dragging Reg into it)…. just drink in bars a lot.

Goodnight, Mr. Butch

2007-07-13T11:15:00.000-07:00

RIP Mr. B.

May you get shut off by St. Peter and tossed out on yer ars by the angels. You will be missed here.

Rotten Orange

2007-07-13T08:37:00.000-07:00

An update to the Retarded Guy vs. My Mom's Cat(s) story - apparently when I was on vacation one of the neighbors told my mom that she witnessed the guy kicking another one of my mother's cats, Clinton (aka "Rotten Orange"). Of course Jude was beside herself but honestly, I'm sure he didn't do a full on kick ball kick or pull the Karate Kid Crane on him, he probably just wanted to shoo him away. In any case, by the look of the photo I took of Clinton today I can see that:

a. He doesn't give a shit, and

b. He kinda asks for it, doesn't he? In fact, he kinda begs for it.

In Honor of it Being 7-11.....

2007-07-11T14:54:00.000-07:00

.....I present to you a conversation I had with my friend Kerry last night in regards to the Friday night before I went on vacation when a group of us went out to celebrate my new job.

ME: Hope I wasn’t acting a-fool that Friday, I was feeling pretty good.

KERRY: No worries, you were kind of funny though. You demanded the cab stop at 7-11 for smokes and then came out with a huge bag of Funyuns, a 2-liter of Diet Coke, and a king size Butterfinger.* When we took off you demanded we stop at Store 24 because you forgot the smokes. When we dropped you off you refused to take the Funyuns with you.

*Aside from the Diet Coke (which oddly enough I had like 10 12 packs in my fridge at home), I don’t think I’ve ever eaten Funyuns or purchased a butter finger in my life prior to that night.

More on (b)OOB, Chachachanges......

2007-07-09T17:06:00.001-07:00

On Tuesday morning I woke up at 6AM - if there is one thing I miss about my youth it is the ability to sleep in. Isn't it strange that when you have something to do, like work, you'll try to sleep until the very last second, but when you don't have any immediate plans something compels you to jump out of bed and start the day?

I slept well considering I was all alone in a tiny old cabin - the memory of two years ago when I stayed in the same place with my boyfriend and another couple and someone accidently walked into our cabin drunkingly mistaking it for theirs was fresh but my fear was dulled by the beer and exhaustion. I jumped in the car and headed to Dunkin Donuts. Before I knew it it was 10AM and Reg called to report she was on the road. Always one to laugh in the face of speed limits, she was there before I knew it.

We unloaded her car and settled into lounge chairs by the pool, three hours later we were giddy and buzzed. The thing about me and Reg is that we could be confined in a cell for months on end (and that isn't really out of the question) and never run out of things to talk about. We've been friends forever - when I think about that it gives me hope that I can indeed commit to someone or something.

After cutting out the drinks for a few hours, showering and resting, we were ready to hit the town. My friend Sand and her husband have a place in the downtown area so we planned to meet up with them.

When we arrived Sand came out of the bar she was at to meet us. As we walked toward the place I realized Sand was a bit buzzed. This was obvious because she rushed towards the train tracks to meet us and nearly got knocked down by the wooden divider that was closing down because a train was coming. Once the barriers were down, her on one side, us on the other I decided it was a good time to duck under and cross. This totally freaked the hell out of all the little kids who were holding ice cream cones and gleefully (yet now horrificly) awaiting the passing of the train. "Mam!! You are going to get your heel stuck!!" a 8 year old yelled. I ignored him. See kids, beer makes you fearless. Fine example I am.

We went to the first place and ate and then headed to another bar. I can only describe the scene as being really wicked frigin shady. Older men, middle aged women dressed in almost costume-like sexy outfits, all staring at me and Reg as if we were intruders. Sand being buzzed tried really hard to introduce both Reg and I to different men that she knew (despite Reg saying time and time again she had a boyfriend and I assuring her I just wasn't interested). One guy, who Regina swears looks exactly like Rose Nylon's boyfriend Miles (Harold Gould) from The Golden Girls was trying to convince us he was turning 50 at midnight.

I went out to smoke a butt in front of the joint and noticed that creepy looking dudes were coming in and then leaving with the older ladies....hmmm..... Some guy approached me and asked me if I was from Maine. I told him no, I was a tourist, he introduced himself and then we got into a brief conversation about my fear of amusement park rides (there was one directly across the street) and he said something almost profound and I was done with my smoke.

Nice to meet you Tim, I said shaking his hand, I've got to get back.

"Wow, a handshake!! Can I have a hug?" he asked.

Um, no

"Well can I least feel your breasts?" he asked with a stone cold serious face.

I like you're straight-forward attitude, Tim, but I don't think so. Have a good night.

Reg and I realized shortly after I got back that we were most likely witnessing men coming into the place and leaving with escorts. That alone would make me uneasy but coupled with the fact that there were parents and young children walking by the front window carrying fried dough and ice cream cones really made my skin crawl.

The rest of the trip was fun, we spent out days relaxing by the pool laughing our heads off and only headed downtown a few more times. We checked out The Pier which was pretty cool when we went earlier in the evening but later at night, especially on Saturday night I presume, it turns into somewhat of a "Girls Gone Wild" scene. Which is cool for some I guess but just not my scene anymore. I'm 29 (+4 -2) after all. Overall we had a great time.

It was driving home on Sunday when the panic set in for me. This was more than just the "Sunday dreads" one gets when anticipating the upcoming work week. As I made my way down 128 South past the Yorks, past Portsmouth, by Bysfield and Georgetown and Topsfield and finally home to good old Boston, it finally hit me what I had done the Friday before I left for vacation.

I quit my job.

Okay, let me put a more positive spin - I got a great offer that I couldn't turn down out of the blue from a downtown firm that is totally out of the current field I am working in. As scared shitless as I am I cannot help but think that this is going to change my life and take me places only three weeks ago I never thought I'd go.

New beginnings.

Drunk Girls on Golf Carts

2007-07-09T08:49:00.000-07:00

So I went up on Monday and it turned out that Regina had some work stuff to take care of and couldn’t get there until Tuesday. My cousin and my uncle both have places up there but I was a bit hesitant just to drop in. They knew I was going to be up there for the week but I didn’t have a phone number so I didn’t want to impose or seem like a pain.

I got there about 2PM. I unpacked my car and dosed the cabin with Lysol before I settled into a lounge chair facing the pool and cracked a beer. What to do what to do. I texted Reg a million times and called Jude half a dozen. By 5PM I had enough liquid testosterone to slap on some make-up and heels and venture up the street to grab some dinner at the Ocean Grill. Sticking out like a sore thumb I ordered a beer and a sandwich and headed outside to the patio where I texted Reg, called Jude and chain smoked.

A few beers after that I concluded that it wouldn’t hurt to do a walk-by on my cousin and uncles places just for giggles. If I felt weird I would just leave and they would never know the difference. Aside from that, I could throw a stone at their park from the Ocean Grill. So off I went. I didn’t realize how frigin big the place was. It was a gated place and as soon as the click of the heels hit the pavement beyond the gate it seemed as though everyone came out on their porch to see who was intruding.

I stopped at a trailer near the gate and asked a woman if she knew where the two lots I was looking for where. She wasn’t so sure but flagged down two men on a golf cart. Next thing I know I’m on the back of a golf cart heading towards my uncle and cousin’s places.

So instead of being inconspicuous and taking a peek I arrive at their place buzzed and arms extended yelling “I HAVE ARRIVED, PEOPLE, I HAVE ARRIVED!” The surprise element had everyone in stitches. I was glad that I went to see my uncle, we had more beers, watched the game on a TV that my cousin had somehow taped to a tree, and laughed over and over again about the golf cart entrance.

I’ll write more tomorrow about how I now know why Sassy afraid of OOB.

Vacation, A New Home for Crystal

2007-07-01T06:42:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow morning I'm off to Old Orchard Beach with a cooler full of beers and a mini-grill I got for my birthday but have no idea how to use yet. Thinking it may be a good idea to buy the propane up there considering I'll be chain smoking the entire time due to nerves. I don't think I've ever driven such a distance by myself. Reg isn't able to make it up there until Monday night the latest due to work stuff.

I truly can't get the hell out of here fast enough. About two weeks ago a non-profit organization for a few mentally challenged adults moved in across the street. Somehow they are under the impression that the cat who hangs out in their front yard belongs to me. Just because I know it by name and talk to it and it is in fact my mother's cat Crystal doesn't mean she belongs to me. :-) Seriously, though....what am I suppose to do? My folks took Crystal in about 15 years ago (side note, remember I live in the upstairs apt. above my mother Jude). She was and is an outdoor cat and always has been (we had her fixed, shots, etc). Anyhow, I can't leave my house, sit on the front porch, etc. without being yelled at by one of the residents that he is allergic to cats. I've told him time and time again she is not my cat and really, she isn't. The fucked up thing about all of this is Crystal is usually wicked scared of people, but for some reason she is drawn to this guy - he's always out on his porch and I've seen him pet and play with her but sometimes he shoos her off - she doesn't budge. I am fairly certain she is smitten. I guess the only thing I can do is rat Jude out next time we are out there together. Aren't I a good daughter snitching my mother out to the retarded guy across the street? Oh well, better her than me.

Have a great week everyone!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Andelmans, Porta-Potties, OOB

2007-06-25T10:27:00.000-07:00

Saturday was a busy day. I got up early because I had a gazillion appointments and then headed to meet some friends downtown at the Phantom Gourmet Beach Party BBQ. Although I thought I loved the Andelmans, after Saturday I'm starting to have second thoughts - you've got to hand it to them for this creative scam though. Anyhow, I’ll sum it up:

The Good

BEER!!! Plenty of it, cold and moderately priced Bud and Bud Lite. You cannot beat hanging around City Hall Plaza catching a buzz while scoping out all the folks dressed in purple.

The Bad

Okay, you’d have to really love barbecue to tolerate the huge lines for over-priced and reportedly (and experienced) mediocre food. Unfortunately, I am not so I refused to do so. I sampled some pulled pork and chicken from my buddies’ plates and although it was decent, certainly not worth waiting in line for 40 minutes. In fact, there are few things on this planet I would wait 40 minutes in line for. Not even beer but possibly sex and definitely sex and beer.

The Ugly

Ironically one cannot have too much good without needing to experience the ugly.

Porta-Potties.

Number one rule for Porta-Potties – just say no. But if you must, the number one rule changes to never, ever, never ever ever look down. These had to be the grossest portable toilets I have ever tangled with – and believe you me, you don't drink as much as I do never to have danced with these babies before. My stomach is seriously lurching as I type this from the memories so I am going to stop there.

Overall I had a good time but only because of the people I was with. Afterwards we went to “The Emerald” for a much needed clean bathroom, a few more beers, and some appetizers that totally sucked. Another thing just to say no to - Truffle Fries.

I jumped back on the green line home to sober up for an hour or so before I went to a small cocktail party in Watertown. It was at my friend Sand’s newly renovated house that looks like something out of the pages of Elle Décor magazine. Her boyfriend designed the whole place and I was just awe-struck (not to mention a little drunk.

Regina came with me, which I was very happy about because for one she tolerates the extra chromosome I develop when I am a bit tipsy (DAMMIT! I forgot the gifts! As we are ten minutes away from the party) and she also gives me a heads up when the booze starts talking for me.

“Lay off the pooch” she said.

The hooch?

“No, the pooch. Calling her dog a ‘handsome well behaved beast’ was as unfunny and creepily inappropriate the sixth time you said it as it was the first time you said it when we walked in.

Nuff said.

I was also happy Reg got to meet Sand and her boyfriend. Next week we are all going to be up in Old Orchard Beach for the week. So let the vacay countdown begin – 7 days to go!! Sun, fun, drinks by the pool, beach, cook outs, clam bakes, beer bellied dudes in Bermuda shorts!

Woo hoo, I can’t wait!!

Weekend Excerpt - the Walk of Shame

2007-06-19T13:01:00.000-07:00

Well there is just way too much to write about this past weekend – my brother got married on Friday and my birthday was on Sunday, needless to say I did more drinking in the past five days than even the most seasoned alcoholics have done since the beginning of 2007.

After the wedding was over and the after party was in full swing I found it impossible to do two things – one, check into my hotel room, therefore I had to spend the night on the couch in a friend and his wife’s suite and two, going to get my bag with a change of clothes out of my mother’s car.

Because of this, when the sun rose and it was time to high tail it out of there and go to my mother’s car to throw on a track suit, I had no choice but the shamefully walk through the hotel lobby in my bridesmaid dress from the night before.

Five feet from the entrance I thought I had it made when I heard the all too familiar voice of my five year old niece, Kay, screech

“OH NANA!! THERE’S AUNTIE!!! LOOK AT HER BEAUTIFUL DRESS!!!”

Shit. I turned around to see my mother, Kay, the bride’s two brothers and their families and about a half dozen other relatives and friends of the bride and groom. Dammit. Shit.

All I could say is “this isn’t as bad as it looks.”

I’ve never been so ashamed.

Oh wait, yes I have.

Just One of the Guys

2007-06-12T12:02:00.000-07:00

One of my oldest and dearest friends got married on Sunday. He has been like a second brother to me. My second brother, growing up he was always in a cast or on crutches hobbling over to my house anytime a member of the opposite sex came ten feet near my door demanding intentions be put on the table. My second brother, who I once blamed for a joint found in my coat pocket, who once told all the neighborhood boys I had more hair on my back than I did on my head (UNFOUNDED!!). He is a blessed hole in my head that second brother of mine.

The wedding was beautiful. I cried like a baby - one part because of beauty of it all and one part because of the voice whispering “it will never be you. You are going to die alone.” But soon my mother quieted down and the bar opened, my eyes dried and it was time to party.

This was a hometown bonanza, I saw people I haven’t seen in years. Crazy people. Fun people. I just knew it was going to be one of those nights. You know, those nights where you drop the entire contents of your wallet into the toilet (check) and wake up the next morning with a melted carvel ice cream cake all over your coffee table because you took it out to eat but passed out before you got a chance to attack it (double check)? Yeah, one of those nights.

Growing up I had a huge social circle that mostly consisted of platonic male friends. I haven’t seen most of them in several years so it was so great catching up. I was a bit surprised, we picked up like it was yesterday. I was quite shocked that even though we are all older and they don’t really know me that well anymore that they were fairly free to say whatever gross or inappropriate thing that came to their minds. I wasn’t offended so to speak, just surprised is all. Fairly flattered in a way – obviously I can still hang with the boys although don’t really know if I want to again anytime soon.

My mother (Jude) showed me some pictures. There is one of me with several of the guys, Tall Jake is behind me giving me a hug, everyone else is smiling but I look like I am about to scream.

“What’s with your face in this one?” she asks.

“Oh, Tall Jake told me he had an erection a second before you took the shot.”

And that pretty much sums up the whole evening. Great food, great drinks, great friends standing behind you with an erection as your mom takes a photo. I felt as if I was 14 again. And I wonder where the social anxiety around men comes from!?!?

The Boys Club

2007-06-12T08:36:00.000-07:00

Well, I’m back after a very very long, almost too long, weekend of partying like a rock star – all in the name of happily ever after.

Saturday night the gals and I took out my future sister-in-law for her last Saturday night as a single lady. It was a lot of fun, we went to Bisuteki Japanese Steak House for dinner first. This is the place where the chef cooks the food right at your table. Great food, saki, and the possibility of getting a shrimp tail particle in your eye – I really don’t see the point of eating any other way.

After that we headed to a lounge in a popular downtown Boston hotel. There was some sort of convention in town and the place was crawling with escorts, old business men, and binge drinking 30 year old women (okay so that last part was me). Seriously, it was every wife’s worst nightmare – I swore I saw Ted Kennedy at one point. That was the other funny part about this place, there were so many frigin people who looked like celebrities. Richard Pryor’s twin was there, I had my picture taken with Paulie Walnuts doppelganger (Sopranos). I told him I hope he didn’t get whacked on Sunday. If I knew then what I know now I probably would have done away with him right then and there. Damn you Sopranos!

But we all had a great time, too many laughs to even remember. The cherry was when I was leaving a convention-goer from Chicago approached me and asked if I’d like to come up to his room so he could give me a massage. I declined but like the true creepy gentleman he was he went out to the street and hailed me a cab anyhow. See ladies, there are a few left out there - even if they are probably married with children and have a bottle of KY ready and waiting in their hotel room for the first girl who says yes. Chivalry is alive indeed.

I’m going to break this entry up – more to come.

Nickels and Jerry

2007-06-08T13:51:00.000-07:00

Just because. Okay?

Overheard in Harvard Square

2007-06-08T06:56:00.001-07:00

Ah graduation day! By far the best people watching day of the year in Harvard Square. I could write a million and one of these just from waiting for the (mofo late) bus last night for 30 minutes - but this one was the cutest:

Older Lady to Elderly Father: Dad, we are heading over to the Charles Hotel.

Elderly Father: Who?? What? WHY???

Older Lady: We are going to a very elegant restaurant. Don't worry, it's very nice.

Elderly Father: WHY!?? WHY??

Older Lady: Because your grandson, Jonathan, just graduated from Harvard University and we are going to celebrate.

Elderly Father: Oh, that's right. Good for him. Ata boy.

Girl Meets Boy, Boy Calls Girl Nasty

2007-06-08T04:32:00.000-07:00

Girl meets Boy through Friend and Friend's Husband.

Boy asks Girl out, and although Girl realizes she was wearing beer goggles at time of introduction decides to go.

Girl gets pedicure, wears sexy dress. Girl tells co-workers, mother, friends.

Boy picks Girl up. Girl realizes that she was not so much wearing beer goggles, but rather a rum soaked blind fold at time of introduction.

Boy and Girl go to dinner. Boy tells Girls life history and shows Girl five stacks of pictures from travels. Boy asks nothing about Girl and interrupts when she tries to engage in the conversation. Boy tunes Girl out by watching Red Sox game whenever she manages a word in edgewise.

Girl hates boy. Girl needs to drink, and drink heavily to get through date.

Girl loosens up. Girl makes a joke. Boy tells Girl he does not find her funny and proceeds to tell several jokes. Girl doesn't find Boy much funny either.

Girl under impression that Boy also hates Girl. Girl tells Boy that she realizes Boy does not feel a connection here but she was glad they went out nonetheless and had a good time (lie).

Boy takes Girl home and asks if he can spend the night. Girl wishes she had mace. Girl makes a speedy exit.

Friend's Husband runs into Boy several days later and asks how date went. Boy says everything was going great, he really liked girl, but then she turned into a Nasty Bitch.

Girl is upset. Girl analyzes situation with co-workers, mother, friends. Co-workers, mother, friends reassure Girl she is not a Nasty Bitch.

Girl starts to wonder if she will ever meet Right Boy.

Word to the wise....

2007-06-01T06:41:00.000-07:00

Hi Everyone:

I just like to let you all know that I am no longer holding myself accountable for drunk dialing you.

In fact, if (when) I do get hammered and call you up to talk about the latest episode of Celebrity Fit Club or to tell you something extremely important about my cat, I will be angry at YOU the next day for picking up the phone in the first place.

You oughta be ashamed of yourself.

Scotch

The Powerful Double Edged Sword of Boobies

2007-05-31T06:53:00.000-07:00

Last Thursday rushing to get ready for work I looked through my closet and grabbed one of the new, inexpensive, summer dresses I bought the week prior.

It was clean and it fit, so off to the bus I booted, late as always, headphones blaring Waltham.

When I got into the office and bumped into a fro-worker the first words out of her mouth were "WOAH!!! Who you trying to impress today?" I figured it was because I typically wear a potato sack to work and thought nothing of it. Later in the morning I met with my boss and noticed as I sat across from him he was looking everywhere but directly at me. Paranoid as I am, I simply assumed I unwittingly effed something up big time and would be fired later in the day accordingly.

But then I went into the bathroom, and in the mirror before me was the most abundant cleavage I believe I have ever pulled off. So much so in fact that the possibilities of accidental nipple exposure was at 50%. Couple this dress with a bad choice in bra it would certainly raise to 80%.

Since it was a Thursday before the Friday before a long weekend (No. 182 of my 198,654 reasons to celebrate), there was no better time to go out for a few cocktails after work with the girls. So after COB we sauntered over to the Legal Seafood outside bar at the Charles' courtyard.

You can't beat this bar for people watching and atmosphere. It is so great that it makes up for the fact that it is wicked expensive, you have to walk a mile to get to a bathroom (not a good thing for a woman with a bladder the size of an eye lash), and it is always horribly over-crowded. You can pretty much count on never getting a seat, and worse than that - it takes forever to get a drink.

Since of course there were no tables available, the four of us boldly and discreetly gathered some loose chairs and formed a close circle. Most likely due to my impatience and love of alcohol, I am invariably nominated to go up to the bar and get the drinks. I had my work cut out for me, the crowd was deep. While flashing the green to ensure they knew I was interested, I busied myself with checking out the masses and mentally buckled myself down for the long haul.

I wasn't there but two seconds when a sheer miracle occured - the bartender yelled to me over the heads of the crowd and took my order. As I made my way back to our makeshift untable my friends were astonished. How? Why? Who the hell cares? Second round - I'll fly! Again, quick service, others looked over. I am a frigin super hero at this point. An hour later again, same thing. When I got back to our circle, they made me swear I would wear the dress every time we went there. And it dawned on me - it wasn't experience, tact or skill that got me those drinks - it was my boobs....hmmmm.....I may be on to something here....

Saturday night rolls around and I have plans to meet my friend Sandy and her husband at the hands-down diviest dive bar in Waltham. What to wear? What..to...wear? Considering this bar is very small, and quite popular despite the fact your feet will stick to the floor, I figured my best bet would be the freshly laundered beer getting dress - my coat of armor, my super power cape if you will.

I was a bit early and my friend weren't there yet, so I took a seat at the bar.

ID! A raspy voice demands.

Shit, it is a woman bartender. This may not work. I hand over my ID.

This doesn't look like you!

Oh it's me alright. I have several other items with my name on it to prove so.

She reluctantly filled my order and then started in on me with 101 questions. What brings me there? Who am I meeting? Am I driving? During all of this a scuffle breaks out at the other end of the bar. She goes over the kicks someone out then makes a beeline back to me and tells the other patrons around me "he is a good guy, he just gets a little pushy after a few drinks". Frigin great. Thank god my friends showed up minutes later, and then more friends later than that, so we pretty much dominated the place so I wasn't worried. My friend Sand told me when I went to the bathroom the bartender took her aside and asked her pretty much the same questions about me that she had asked to me. I ordered another beer.

You better slow down, we don't need trouble.

Huh? This is my second drink! I already told you I am not driving.

For crying out loud I can be the biggest troublemaker that you have EVER dealt with after a few beers but I am quietly sitting with friends, not to mention you seem to have a heart of gold for people who get PUSHY (this outburst was in my head of course).

You just better watch it, she says.

So there it was, my super cleavage obviously worked, it got her attention, but not exactly the kind I was looking for. I realized that by being rude she was strangely expressing concern over my safety. It was obviously not the nicest of places, she knew it, and I knew it. She eventually loosened up, and I had a great time with my friends.

There is of course no moral to this story, it's been a long slow week in Scotchland.

Happy Thursday!

Fears that Disable Me No. 2 (No. 1 is Pigeons)

2007-05-24T13:56:00.000-07:00

Those who know me are well aware of my street crossing phobia (and yes I am constantly ridiculed for it). I more than likely picked this up as a small child. Since my best friend (to this day!) Regina lived two houses down from me my mother would often let me walk over to her backyard by myself but never without the warning of horrors that could happen if I went near the street let alone attempt to cross it.

The phobia doesn’t prohibit me from getting from Point A to Point B - it just takes me a bit longer to get there considering I need to seek out the safest route humanly possible to cross. Also, I can often be found on a sidewalk pretending to look for something in my bag when in reality I am just trying to look normal while I stress about whether or not to cross at that particular point. Oh, and I’m also a big fan of adopting a “big brother or sister” (i.e. a complete stranger who just happens to be at the same crosswalk as me) to tag along with while crossing (and I’ve come pretty damn close to grabbing my “guide’s” hand on more than one occasion).

From that we can conclude two things – one, I am a total freak who’s sanity is hanging on by a thread (but you already knew that now didn’t you) and two, I’m pretty frigin safe about crossing the street.

That said, you think I’d be delighted by the Boston Police’s “Operation Crosswalk”. Not so, and here’s why:

On FOX 25 this morning they were interviewing a cop who was explaining how this operation was going to work, then he went on to say that not stopping for pedestrians in a crosswalk, even if there is a green light, is against the law.

This stresses me out because if people are wanting to cross, even if there is a green light for traffic and the signal is flashing “don’t walk”, does this mean that vehicles are going to stop and let pedestrians go?

What worries me is that one car in a four lane street is going to stop, the person is going to start to cross, and the people to the right of the car who stopped are not going to realize what is going on (or more likely the car behind the stopped car will get impatient and go around) and BLAMO! jogger on windshield.

Oh well…I guess personally I don’t have to worry about this because of my disabling fear of being run over by a car.

Ah the shit I worry about…..Happy Thursday and I hope you are all luckier than me and have tomorrow off!

Random Thought No. 894

2007-05-22T18:00:00.000-07:00

Is it just me or do you notice that every time you are taking a left turn onto on-coming traffic and there is a car just far enough away to make it that they jump on their gas to kill your chances?

Or on the flip side, if there is a car coming with no one behind them and you realize there is no chance you can make it they then slow down to a snail like pace?

Angry Blog. Angry Angry Blog.

2007-05-21T08:42:00.000-07:00

Premonition?

My last blog entry was a real knee-slapper, wasn't it?

How funny would it be if my debit card was stolen?
Not to mention my credit card as well?

How about if they over withdrew me apparently filling up every piece of shit car in their neighborhood? What if they bought themselves a new cell phone and did a $400 food order at Stop and Shop? *

How frigin hilarious would it be?

Turns out not very comical at all.

In the words of Meredith Brooks - I hate the world today.

*Ironic in a way – now that I have no access to cash or credit that two major things I am suffering for at the moment is food and gas for my car. Assholes. On a lighter note – I dug through my work bag for change and realized I had almost $15 in those one dollar coins. I wonder how many other people let them collect at the bottom of their purses as well?

Identity thieves beware

2007-05-17T08:52:00.000-07:00

Identity thieves beware – unless you know were I was partying like it was 1999 (because it was in fact 1999) you are not going to be able to hack into my checking and savings web account.

For the past few days, every time I have tried to log onto my bank website (to check and see if I’ve gained any interest on the $13.85 that is in my checking account) I’ve been prompted to up the ante of security by submitting answers to some questions that could only be answered by me (actually, hardly even me). Of course, busy as I am (I’ve got blogging to do and street people to harass) I kept hitting the “fill out later button” until this morning. Imagine my surprise when I looked at some of these great questions (yes I was tempted to pen in some snappy answers):

What city were you in at the turn of the millennium?

Who is your favorite person from history?

What is the name of your favorite culinary ingredient?

What year in history is the most important to you (historical or personal)?

How old was your father when you were born?

What is the last name of your first girlfriend/boyfriend?

Could you frigin imagine answering these questions when you call up in a panic about your debit card being stolen?

Slacker

2007-05-16T17:27:00.000-07:00

I have been a total slacker this week - the house is a wreck (note to Nickels - feel lucky that you are eating, never you mind about a clean litter box, thats for fancy cats), they are putting an APB out for me at the gym, and in total sloth-like fashion, have been driving to work pretty much all week (and getting my masshole on big time, folks - frigin Harvard Square construction, will you ever go away!??!) . Oh, and beer is back - in a big way. I even attempted to order chinese food last night. Well I did actually order it - they never showed up and when the horror finally hit me that they lost my order I assumed it divine intervention and simply let the lord have his way.

But all good things must come to an end, and I feel as though heathful life is beckoning me back into society.

I think this is the dreariest blog I've ever written. Sorry, don't mean to dump on you.

Happy Almost Thursday.

Fed-Exiety

2007-05-11T08:11:00.001-07:00

Readers who I talk to on a daily basis have seen the title of this blog entry and pointed their mouses directly to the X in the top right corner. I have talked so much about fed-ex since Monday that I noticed as of yesterday Regina has been sending me right to voicemail, Lady hasn’t been responding to my emails, Amy seems to be too busy to talk during work, and even Jude told me that if I mention the goddamn package one more time she is going to call Dr. Kevorkian to put her out of her misery.

I’ll make this short and sweet (as if!) – on Monday I worked on a very important, very time sensitive document that needed to be in a far away country by a certain time or I would be..hmm, what is the proper business term…oh yeah, totally frigin screwed. Monday night I took it to Federal Express and even took a moment to ask the busy clerk if the package looked alright. He glanced at it and said it looked fine (in his defense - I didn’t exactly define what “alright” meant, he could have thought I was asking “does this box make this package look fat?”).

So all was good, my package was scheduled to be delivered to the far away country ahead of schedule (I won’t say what country, but my previous blog, the one down under you may say, will give a hint. Mate.) and I could resume my normal daily activities of obsessively counting rolls of toilet paper and doling out my opinions of subjects that are truly none of my business.

Tuesday morning I get into work and the first words out of Amy’s mouth were “I don’t want you to panic”. A message was left overnight from Fed Ex. Apparently there was a issue scanning the package and I needed to call back right away. Instead of calling I sprinted down there (of course my definition of sprint is a slow, tortoise like walk with plenty of breaks).

Huffing and puffing I explained the message to the clerk, who in turn called over the manager, who then told me that the package wouldn't scan but no worries, they punched it in. Same tracking number? Yup. So really nothing changes from last night? Nope.

Okay then. Everything is alright. And I was free to go back to the office and begin my workday activities of stuttering and avoiding eye contact with my boss. But I couldn’t shake the feeling, something wasn’t right. All of a sudden I felt as though I had developed some sort of psychic ability – I could hear the package crying out to me – “Scotch!! Help! Help!! I am not where they say I am!! I am being delayed!! Help!” So psychic ability, and the whole thing where you can check the status of your package on fedex.com pushed me to go check one last time by the end of the day.

The night clerk was now on. Hi, explained my situation, here to double check. Oh, you, I called you he said. Thanks for that, I came in this morning and…..HOLY SHIT HE JUST PULLED OUT MY PARCEL!

Now, I had worked in retail and customer service for years through highschool and college – so I am not one of those people who flip out in stores and give shit to sales people. I took a breath, explained to the clerk that I appreciated his call last night, it was the right thing to do and I appreciate it.

BUT.
W
T
F
?????

I could lose my job. Oh my god I could lose my job over this. Look at my face, I said lose my job. Yes I know it wasn’t you who told me it was fine. Yes I understand what happened. Yes, again, thank you for calling me last night, thank you again for calling me last night. BUT WTF????

At that point Amy, who is my hero and was with me by the way, was all but chanting, lighting candles and giving me a deep tissue massage to try to calm me down. Holding me back like a boxing kagaroo you might say. I pulled my shit together for a moment to ensure that goddamn package was going on the next flight out of this one-horse town (okay so it’s Cambridge), never to return. But the best they could do was estimate a delivery of 3 hours after my deadline.

So there was nothing I could do but worry. Worry and pray.

I chose to pray to Judas the Apostle. You know, the one who ended up turning Jesus into Pontius Pilate's soldiers?

I chose him for a few reasons, the first being that Jesus seems to be wicked busy these days and he gets BULLSHIT when I bother him with minor stuff like this, and also I figured that Judas was the one who delivered the kiss that put Jesus away, and although the bible doesn’t come right out and say it I can interpret that he was pretty prompt about it. There was nothing in there about guards checking their sun dials and saying “he better hurry his ass up, I’ve got a stoning to attend tonight.”

So the past few days I did nothing but worry sick about this, checking fedex.com every few seconds, memorizing flight patterns and time zones. I even hired a package delivery expert to analyze the situation - my brother, who is now a firefighter but was once a driver for UPS, took the job for the fee of one can of diet coke.

But all’s well that ends well.

I am happy to report that on Thursday, 9:48 PM Eastern Standard Time (Friday, 11:48 AM Far Way Country Time), a bouncing, beautiful, package was delivered, weighing in at 1.8 pounds.

I celebrated with a can of Fosters.

And I promise friends, I will never speak of this again. Not even if you ask me about it. Okay maybe if you ask me specific questions I will give brief answers or give a presentation of some sort.

Happy Friday.

Hump Day Blog

2007-05-09T14:51:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking alot about kangaroos lately. Don't ask, just enjoy. Happy Humpday.

Blinded by the light

2007-05-08T11:42:00.000-07:00

On Friday night after work I had several drinks with the gang at Redline followed by even more drinks at my favorite local dancing dive near my house. Two things that are very funny after a few cocktails - one, letting people try on your glasses and two, demanding the DJ play back to back ABBA and then proceeding to dance like an idiot, all by your lonesome, on the dancefloor.

But, guess what isn't so knee slappingly, belly bustingly hilarious?

Waking up the next morning realizing you lost your glasses and the only thing you can see clearly is the vision of yourself from the night before doing high kicks to "Take A Chance on Me". Needless to say I am still free because no one in the right mind would have dared to take a chance on me at that point.

Considering I had ran out of contacts and I wouldn't be able to get any for a week and my old, crappy, spare specs were at the office and far be it from me to be responsible enough to locate my key card, I was pretty much screwed for the weekend. Fortunately, I didn't have any major commitments on Saturday and even relished in my handicap for awhile - I couldn't do laundry, dishes, or anything that I usually dread doing on the weekends.

Sunday, however, I needed to attend another wedding shower (along with my mother, Jude) so I had to get my shit together at least as much to dress myself somewhat decently. Late as usual, I ran around the house trying to get ready.

As I made my way down my hardwood stairs in only my nylons, a flash of black, presumably Nickels the cat, caught the corner of my eye. I shifted quickly to avoid stepping on her and ended up slipping then sliding and eventually crashing into a heap at the bottom of the stairs. Nickels, more than likely never in danger to begin with, immediately ran to me and began purring then kneading at my back as she curled up in a comfortable ball despite my cries of “go get help, girl!”.

I indulged myself in self pity for a moment, but then carried on despite the sharp pain in my side, because I was now running even later. I made my way to Jude’s apartment, directly below mine, and told her:

“I fell down the stairs and almost died….”

“Wow”, she said, “I thought I heard a big crash. But then I heard crying….is Nickels okay? You didn’t land on her did you?”

“No, the crying you heard was me. Because I fell down the stairs and almost died….”

“Oh”, she said, “is that what you’re wearing?”

I realized at that moment that Jude was never going to shine in the the role of “Elderly Mother of a Handicap Adult Child”. It was obvious that I was just going to be an embarrassment to her at the shower and that she’d probably spend the day gazing at all the normal adult daughters wishing she didn’t have to accompany me to the bathroom because if she didn’t I would more than likely walk into the men’s room or take a shit in an elevator.

But we went, and everything was fine. Jude hung by my side and didn’t even flinch when I took the hands of people I have known for years and introduced myself as if we had not lived next door to each other for 20 years or went to school together for 10 or we gave them a ride to the shower that morning.

Happy Tuesday everyone.

Trials of Tanning

2007-05-03T12:33:00.000-07:00

Lordy it’s been awhile! So much has happened this week – I made soup, I kept on getting shooting pains in my ear due to allergies, I went to the supermarket. All truly, earth shattering exciting stuff. God it’s great to be me! Sarcasm really isn’t my strong suit, is it?

In any case, last week in one of my thirty blog entries I promised to write a review on some of the self tanning products I have used to add some color to my scarily white Casper-like appearance. Never one to back out of a promise (unless of course I promised to help you move or feed your dog or not drink before your wedding), without further ado I present to you the top three products I have had fairly good experiences with over the past four years or so.

No. 3 – Sally Hanson Airbrush Legs

I fell in love with this product when Amy discovered it about two years ago.

Pros: Went on evenly, has a natural look – not orangey or yellowy.

Cons: When you are applying it, it gets on everything. My sink, my shower, my floor, my cat, my glasses. Everywhere. Seriously. Everywhere.

Since I wasn’t about to stand out in my backyard buck naked (now that’s a mistake you only make once in your life), I had to give up on my beloved Sally, which was okay because I was getting the vibe she needed her space anyhow. I can be needy sometimes.

No. 2 – Mystic Tan

Who doesn’t like to strip down naked, go into a strange looking booth and spin, all while donning a sexy shower cap on their head? I’m certainly not raising my hand. Besides the anxiety of someone accidentally walking in on me (and this never ever went away), I became addicted to mystic tanning when it was popularized in 2003.

Pros: The first few times – no streaking, perfect coloring.

Cons: Pretty expensive for something that only last three or days. After a few times I had some bad experiences, detailed below.

One time, the tanning stuff pooled in my cleavage – it looked like a less severe form of the disease Michael Jackson is suffering from. At a business meeting, a woman (who no longer works with me thank god) looked at me and loudly proclaimed “oh, I know what that is – it’s a bacterial infection.” Then she lowered her voice and whispered that she had one once too, she got it in a pool. I announced that it was from mystic tanning – but it was too late, my other co-workers now thought I had bacteria on my boobies. The upside of this was I got my own special bathroom for a few weeks. Swanky.

Last summer for my friend Lady’s wedding I got a mystic tan. The morning of we were sitting on her front steps having coffee when all of a sudden she spits hers out in fit of laughter. “your feet! The bottom of your feet!! They are tanned!! You look like a freak!!” She was right, I guess I didn’t apply the lotion they give you for parts that you don’t want tanned correctly, the bottom of my feet were tanned and I did indeed look like a freak. The worst part is, after a few drinks at the reception, we found this absolutely hilarious and now Lady has several wedding pictures with me showing the bottom of my feet to friends and strangers alike. Again, swanky.

All in all, Mystic may be worth another shot, but I’m too nervous to do it again for a special occasion in fear of the boob pool or freaky feet.

No. 1
Jergens Natural Glow Daily Moisturizer

Another Amy discovery! Once I tried this I have never gone back to anything else. It ROCKS!! It is perfect for my really light skin – it gradually gives you just a bit of color.

Pros: Natural looking, does not streak, affordable, moisturizes (and they even have a “firming” kind now!), not fake looking.

Cons: If you are looking for a dark tan quickly, this is not the product for you. It’s a gradual process and the more you use it, the darker you get.

So that’s it folks! Happy Almost Friday! Hopefully I’ll have some more exciting shit to blog about soon, life is pretty dull lately – but that isn’t so much a bad thing.

Random Thoughts After Five Cocktails....

2007-04-26T20:09:00.000-07:00

I wish my cats knew that the reason why I am only feeding them Iams catfood.

It is only for their own good, at this point I am afraid any other cat food may kill them.

They hate it and are miserable.

I love it because they are still alive.

Actually, I don't think I would recognize the symptoms if they did get sick from pet food.

So really I may be slowly poisoning them but just don't know it and they are miserable because they are sick from tainted cat food.

Shit.... why is caring for something so complicated?

Goodnight.

Poor White Child

2007-04-26T11:39:00.000-07:00

To say I have fair, pale skin is not an understatement, it is an outright lie. In fact, the best adjective to describe my skin tone has to be translucent. If I stare long enough at my forehead in the mirror I can actually see the beginnings of a brain tumor forming due to years of microwave misuse and abuse.

Side note, banana peels will catch on fire if you put them in the microwave and even if you do succeed in drying them out, you will not get high if you smoke them. This lesson brought to you by Scotch circa 1992.

Like quite a few people of Irish decent, I burn like a like a Richard Gere poster in New Delhi when out in the sun. The sun became my enemy at the tender age of nine or ten after a day of fun with my friend and her family at Lake Cochituate. Jude, my mother, who believed if you were old enough to walk and use a toilet, you were old enough to make your own decisions and deal with the consequences, sent me out the door with a peanut butter sandwich and a hug, but neglected to give me SPF or warn me of the dangers of the sun. Just kidding mom I love you.

The burn was horrible - blisters, pus, huge pieces of skin everywhere - the absolute worst. I remember that HBO was premiering “The Muppets Take Manhattan” that night but I had to miss it because I had to lay face down in my parents bed with the fan blowing above me because if it blew on my skin I would scream. Also, my father did not believe in air conditioners – to him needing one was a sign of weakness. After he passed away we buried him, mourned him, and then hightailed it to Bradlees to buy an air conditioner. Not in that order.

Prompted by not wanting to scare the neighborhood children with my powder-white legs, around this time every year I reevaluate my relationship with the sun.

My best friend Regina, who is Italian and tans beautifully, always tries to encourage me to give it one last shot. Regina is what I call “Tanorexic.” No matter how dark she gets, she still thinks that she could use more sun. She is totally convinced that I could get a tan if I just worked at it.

But I never do, and therefore am forced to use no sun tanning products. Tomorrow or over the weekend I am going to write a review on the top three products that I have found over the years and my mishaps with them, so stay tuned.

Happy Almost Friday!!

Dateline

2007-04-26T02:00:00.000-07:00

Has anyone watched Dateline lately? I noticed in an episode over the weekend that they have started filming introductions to their news stories with MTVesque camera angles and the correspondents are not looking directly into the camera.

So this is an open letter to Chris Hanson in hopes he can take care of this:

Dear Chris Hanson:

I don't know what you are trying to catch now, but it is certainly not my attention considering I can't hear a word you are saying over the screaming voice in my head demanding to know what you are looking at.

On that note, I've noticed over the past few weeks you have really branched out and away with your "To Catch A...." segments. Car thieves, con men...what's next Chris, shoplifters? Toll evaders? Public urinators? Word to the wise - dance with the one who brung ya - even if in your case the one happens to be big, scary, hairy sex offender with condoms in his glove compartment.

Very Truly Yours,

Auntie Scotch

xoxoxo

Admin Professionals Day

2007-04-25T11:35:00.001-07:00

How I dread this day - mostly because I have to admit to myself I am an administrative professional or at least acknowledge the fact that others view me that way when the flowers roll in.

A day when I have to contemplate hugging my boss or not for getting me flowers is a dark one in my book.

Part Two - No Witty Title

2007-04-24T11:43:00.000-07:00

Where was I, oh yes...Saturday.

By the time we were cleaning up after the wedding shower, I was physically exhausted. I made the bad decision of wearing high heel shoes and I swear it hurt to even operate my car on the way home.

But I made it, and the only thing I wanted to do was get into my pajamas, dive onto the couch and spend the rest of my daily weight watchers points on sugar. I was not in the house three minutes before my hair was up and my snowman pajamas, that even Kay makes fun of, were on.

I went into my office and sat there half dead as my computer was coming on when I heard a banging sound coming from my foyer. I looked out my window, Jude and Kay hadn't made it back yet, so I assumed it must have been Nickels that cat up to no good. I ignored it.

A minute later I heard it again and there was no denying someone was knocking on my door. I thought about just ignoring it again, it may have been a Jehovah's witness or someone trying to save some species and I just wasn’t in the mood. But then the fear that it was somehow Jude and Kay and they were locked out of the downstairs apartment got the better of me so down I went.

When I opened the door I almost swallowed my tongue.

Because there, on my driveway about to retreat, was Brian.

He turned and started walking back as I peeked my head out the door. I must have told him the night before what my street number was to compare where I lived to his friend.

“Hey there! How are you?” he asks as if there is nothing at all weird about showing up at someone’s house you hardly know uninvited. Once again the invite to “talk” was made.

I didn’t know what to say, I told him I was busy and couldn’t hang out, my house was a mess, my niece was on her way, etc. etc.

During this, Nickels the cat decided to take a new risk and sneak by me. She sat on the driveway, eyeing him as if to say “what is this? Where is it’s chest pillows?” (Nicky hasn’t seen a man in awhile).

So, I brushed him off, said goodbye, and he began to walk away. I came out of the house and scooped an angry Nickels up, scolding her.

He turned back:

“Are you sure you don’t want to just talk or something?”

WHAT IS UP WITH THIS?!?!?? NO! NO! ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND TIMES NO!!!

“Really, no thanks. Some other time.”

And that, my friends, was the end of THAT.

and of course the beginning of the fear that I will be featured on "48 Hour Mystery".

Part One - The Chat

2007-04-24T04:04:00.000-07:00

As promised, more on Saturday...but first I need to take you into the way back machine to the Friday before. I need to break this very, very boring story into two parts because it's getting a bit long, I'll post the conclusion tomorrow.

On Friday I was leaving work early so I could get a head start on some outstanding items for the shower the following day. As I was about to leave the office an email from Brian (Brainy McBrains) pops up.

Now, I hadn't heard from Brian since our first and only email exchange, so I was a bit surprised that I hadn't fell victim to the "ol' out of town on business" excuse that I have used so many times myself. In his email he wanted to know my plans for the weekend and hoped we could get together for a "chat" (his word).

Chat...hmmm....

In the Auntie Scotch Dictionary of Misrepresentation, a "chat" is a confrontation. A "chat" can never be a good thing, especially when it is summoned from a man to a woman (or vice versa), a boss to an employee, or a teacher to a student.

But I hardly know the guy, I did not have the faintest idea what the hell he would need to talk to me about. I mean, even if he came across the blog or did indeed see me on the bus that day, would it warrant a chat? Any normal person would just break off all contact with me if that were the case - and quite frankly I'm suspicious of anyone with continued contact with me (including blood relatives and life long friends).

My mind raced, could he be a religious zealot trying to convert me? Did he indeed find the blog and want to become my AA sponsor?

Who the hell knew, and who the hell cared, all that mattered was I didn't like this. I didn't like this one bit.

But I responded quite nicely and quite honestly that I was up to my ears with commitments over the weekend, shower, jewelry making class (you heard me right), visiting niece, etc. etc. But some other time...yada yada yada. That was the end of that. Or so I thought.

About 9PM Friday night my cell rings. It's him. I only picked up because I didn't recognize the number and assumed it was one of the bridesmaids. He's giving me a second chance to take him up on the chat
offer. I again decline but start to casually babble in hopes that I will draw out the real reason behind his sudden persistence to meet with me.

After five minutes of discussing the neighborhood, where he lives, where I live (he has a colleague who lives on my street actually!), how was the business trip, brothers wedding, blah blah blah....I concluded that there may be no ulterior motive on his part.

So we ended the conversation, I told him to email me and we could get together for coffee or whatever but truly had no intention on doing so. It just wasn't happening. So again, that was the end of that.

Or so I thought..........

Chocolate Shower

2007-04-23T07:37:00.000-07:00

I typically use this blog as a tool in my life long effort of dumbing down America or to shamelessly promote my drinking and weight problems. But once in a while I feel I have something important to contribute to society through experience, and it is my obligation to warn you and ask you to pass it on - a public service announcement if you will. So here it is:

Chocolate fountains - just say no.

You may see one of these babies in the bargain bin at Bed, Bath and Beyond and think - "how novel! This is a great idea for my next party! Why doesn't everyone have one of these?!" And I have to admit, in theory it is a great idea, who the hell wouldn't want to have a fountain of chocolate to dip fruit, fried cheese, and any random body part into?

But I’ve had two separate bad experiences with these babies and I can sum it up nicely in one simple equation:

Chocolate fountain + copious amounts of liquor = cat covered in chocolate

Even when you take the drinking and cat out of the chocolate fountain equation, they are still a huge pain in the ass to operate, so when I heard they wanted to have one at my brother and future wife's wedding shower, I threw my two cents in. Since the bridal party is made up of her friends that I do not know so well, I didn't press the issue, I just let them know that I've seen things go wrong in the past with chocolate fountains and we should just be aware of it.

We met well before the start time to prepare for the big party. I was pretty eager to help out in any way I could, I may have been a bit over the top because I felt I had a little to prove since people didn't know me that well and (although Jude and my brother will choke when they read this), I kind of felt I represented the groom's side in all of this and didn't want to let my family down. I am such a sweetheart – really, folks.

Anyhow, running around, doing this and that, I noticed no one was touching the fountain. I tried to avoid it with all my might, but when I looked at the time and noticed we only had 30 minutes until folks were supposed to arrive, I had no choice. I took it out, washed it, assembled it, and started to follow the directions.

I burnt the first batch of chocolate in the microwave, filling the entire hall with burnt chocolate stench, but got the second right and walked it over to the fountain. By this time, I had a following of three young ladies, my 4-year old niece included, all ready with pretzels and marshmallows on skewers in hand.
Realizing I was the adult in the situation, I told them to stand back. We all held our breath as I turned the motor on.

They squealed with delight as it churned and then one big burst splattered directly across my glasses. I backed away and they descended upon it, giggling and laughing, it was quite cute actually.

I went to the bathroom to wash off my specs and noticed that it got in my hair, all over my face, my hands and therefore my clothes. Great impression I was going to make. I washed up the best I could and went back in to check on the fountain.

In the five minutes I was gone something had gone wrong, the chocolate was clumping, the motor was very loud, and the girls looked like they were outside rolling around in mud. But they were still enchanted nonetheless.

I went through the motions for the next half hour adding vegetable oil, cream, more chocolate, whatever....by this time the guests had arrived and everyone took turns giving me advice on what to do. Needless to say, when the other bridesmaids approached me and told me just to give up on it, I was all too happy to throw in the towel - after I wiped everything down within ten feet of it of course.

Other than that, everything at the shower was beautiful, the other bridesmaids and I did a great job if I do say so myself. The bride was totally surprised, got great gifts, etc. etc.

There is another story about this Saturday (not shower related) that I'll blog about later in the week.

Single People, Well Off?

2007-04-20T10:22:00.000-07:00

Why is it that just because you are single, people assume you have more money to throw around than married people? I am not complaining mind you, I’m just asking the question. As a single person I’ve not only dealt with this personally but see a lot of my single friends go through the same thing.

I can totally understand if you are a married couple with children. I don’t know from first hand experience, but I gather if you have wee one you may have to shell out a few bucks for food and clothes and stuff. And I know that sometimes you have to take them to the zoo and throw them birthday parties with cake and hoodsie cups - this concludes my future reference notes on child rearing.

But really, if you don’t have children, why is it so much more expensive to be married than single? I would think that just the opposite is true.

I find that living alone after a few years of “living in sin” with someone that everything costs about the same, but I just don’t have someone to split the bills and rent with. I also don’t have someone to blame when I can’t find my shoes or keys because although I’ve tried time and time again I can’t get any solid proof that Nickels the cat is dragging my shoes up two flights of stairs and hiding them under my bed. Yet.

So I asked my fro-worker, Ellie, who is also single, what she thought of all this. She said that she finds the notion of folks thinking she is rolling in money absolutely true, and she thinks it is because single people tend to be more generous with their money when it comes to gift giving, etc.

So there you have it folks – single people are thought to have more money because they throw more cash around in an attempt to buy the love and affection they are so desperately lonely for.

Or maybe that’s just me. Be sure to email me all your birthdays so I can send you IPODs.

Happy Friday, my dears. The sun is shining here in Boston and I'm a happy camper.

Spring, Yay!

2007-04-19T14:52:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I'm probably late with this news - but the Legal Seafood open bar has been constructed in the courtyard of the Charles Square hotel! This is a sure fire sign of spring for me!!

Of course, you know summer is here when the manager of the Legal Seafood outside bar asks me and Amy to leave.

God, if I had a dollar for every bar in Harvard Square I've been asked to leave I would have three dollars - soon to be four -

We are going to check out the bar at Harvest to try those cheese fry things that they've been raving about on the Phantom Gourmet.

I am going to say we last 45 minutes....anyone care to wager.......

She's Having A Baby

2007-04-17T15:37:00.000-07:00

One of my best friends, Lady, has become the first of my party animal friends to fall victim to pregnancy. ON PURPOSE EVEN!!!!!!

Dammit people!! Marathons? Marriage? NOW THIS??!?!?!

Ah well, at least we can now openly talk about her uterus and have exchanges like the below. She's pregnant, what the hell is my excuse? Read top to bottom, I was responding to a random phone message she left me about donuts. Pregnancy is no excuse for bringing up donuts to a hungry dieting bitch.

Auntie Scotch wrote:
I found myself dying for a blueberry muffin today. God, for the sake of the baked good community maybe I should never have children.... could you imagine how much weight I would gain???!?!? I'd seriously need a scooter when all was said and done.

Lady wrote:
Lets talk about donuts more often...
I am more of a glazed donut fan...my one complaint is the size they should really be bigger, because of this I sometimes opt for the bow tie, which still isn't big enough.....i've never actually tried but I bet if I had a dozen glazed donuts..i would eat them all.......

Auntie Scotch wrote:
As far as donuts go, store bought and dunkin's are two different animals I think.
There is something about that fake chocolate on hostess donuts that I live and breathe for. But just the other night when I was going to bed I thought my bedroom spelled like powdered dounts from Dunks and I wanted to go out right then and there and get one.
you are pregnant, what is my excuse?

Lady wrote:
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm my GOD....y can't every meal be 5 donuts?

Auntie Scotch wrote:
Got your message. Funnily enough, I was just looking at the shaws online flyer and they had hostess donuts on sale and I was thinking about how I would really hurt, possibly kill, someone for those right now.

Two Things I Could Do Without on this Tuesday

2007-04-17T08:50:00.000-07:00

1. Song parodies about Boston sports or political figures. Really, is there someone who gets paid to come up with these?

2. People who are on my ars as I drive through Watertown to or from the gym in the morning even when I am going a bit over the speed limit.

Don't they know it is (in my book only of course) the speed trap capitol of Massachusetts? Christ there should be sign as you enter:

"Welcome to Watertown, Please Pull Over to the Side of the Road and Wait for Your Citation".

Every time someone is tailgating me I have visions of letting them pass me in hopes they will get pulled over. Maybe someday this fantasy will come true.

So there is my Tuesday rant. Considering what happened yesterday I really had to dig deep for that nonesense.

Happy Friday

2007-04-13T04:20:00.000-07:00

I've been slacking in the blogging department, it's been a fairly standard, boring, cold, dark week. The lack of good weather is draining my creativity and since I heard a rumor this morning at the gym that we are going to be getting a frigin Northeaster early next week (because far be it from me to tune into an actual weather report), I'm starting to lose hope that the warm weather will ever get here. This of course will not stop me from bitching about it when it does arrive, mind you.

In any case, I'd like to give a shout out to all my peeps who are running on the marathon on Monday. There are quite a few of you this year and it is really making me take stock of my friends. Seriously folks, when did you get so healthy?

What happened to Marathon Monday being a Marathon Party day?

Ten to fifteen years ago I remember a very large group of "Rogers Park Kids" (myself including being the token funny fat girl) would assemble fairly early in the day and pool our money for the bails bondsmen that would certainly be needed by the end of the day. We made a pact to meet up at Imperial Pizza at a set time and whoever didn't show up was assumed to be next door at the District 14 Police station. The least wrecked individual would take the pooled money and bail our buddies out. I, of course, was never jailed nor chosen to go to the station.

These types of memories serve as a terrific form of birth control for me.

Happy Friday everyone and best of luck to all your crazy folks running the marathon!

A Special Ladder for A Special Lady

2007-04-09T13:28:00.000-07:00

This weekend I decided to tackle a home project that I have been procrastinating for almost a year now. So I got my ass up early on Saturday morning to get a jump start on taking down the wall paper in my entryway in an effort to repaint the entire thing.

I headed to Home Depot as soon as they opened to pick up some DIF, a scraper, and an extension pole for the scraper because the walls are very high on the staircase part. I found the dif and the scraper without a problem. When I came to the extension poles I picked one out and started to compare it with the scraper.

"That’s not going to work," the Depot clerk said.

Do you have any extension poles for wall paper strippers? I ask.

"No, you are going to need a ladder."

But it is on a staircase.

"Then you will need a special ladder. You can rent one here."

By this time everyone in earshot, all men, were staring at us.

Well, I’m doing this myself, so I’m a bit leery on getting up on a ladder on a staircase.

The clerk exchanges a look with another male patron. They both smirk.

"Well, I really don’t know what to tell you," he says, "there is no alternative. You are going to have to get a special ladder." Or get a man in your life you lonely pathetic cat lady. (okay, so I made that last part up. But dammit he was thinking it).

I thanked him and slowly walked away with my head down, defeated and feeling foolish.

Shit. I was sure of two things. I wanted that paper down and I sure as hell did not want to rent a ladder, regardless of how special it was. The only way I would consider it is if it included a free wheelchair in the deal, because if I got up onto a ladder on a staircase, I would likely be confined to one for the rest of my life.

I waited until the clerk was busy raining on someone else’s parade and I grabbed and extension pole and hightailed it out of there (stopping to wrestle with a self check-out lane first of course).

I got home and took out the pole and the scraper. By god that man was right, there was no way on earth that the two were going to fit together. Who would have thought? I am a crazy broad after all.

But I didn’t give up so easily, I went into my closet to find my drill to see if I could doctor it up (MacGyver it if you will) when I came across an old plastic push broom. Forgetting the drill, I grabbed the broom and took it apart.

Wouldn’t you know it, the broom handle and the scraper fit perfectly together and worked like a charm. The paper was down within hours.

I was so proud of myself when Jude and my niece Kay came up to check it out. I told them the story about the man who wanted me to rent a scary ladder, how he told me it could not be done, but I did not give up.

Let this be a lesson to you, Kay. Never give up. If you can dream it, you can do it.

She was silent for a moment as she scanned the now bare walls and debris on the floor. A look of confusion came over her face:

This is your dream, Auntie? she asked.

Nothing like a four year old to take you down a few notches.

God, this has got to be the running for the most boring blog ever. Sorry folks. Don't think it was lost on me that I created my own "stripper pole" - it's Monday and I'm too tired for sexy humor. Also, note that I was appreciative of the clerk's assistance, he was honest even if his tone was a tad condescending.

Happy Monday!

May The Power of Christ Compel You

2007-04-06T11:42:00.000-07:00

There was a time in my life when Good Friday meant something more than excitement over light traffic on my way to the office.

As a kid, growing up Irish Catholic mind you, my mother tried to instill in me that Good Friday was a day of solemn relfection, of course this was partly a ploy to get my brother and I to behave, but still. I mean, he died for me, right?

There was only one other person who even alluded to dying for me and that was my freshman year boyfriend. I'm fairly certain that his testicles were the color of the Antarctic flag when this proclamation was made.

In any case, every Good Friday my mother would pack my brother and I up and off we would go to the stations of the cross. One word to describe the stations of the cross to a child - petrifaction. In fact, third only to being possessed by the devil and Guy Smiley, the crucifixion was a major contributor to my childhood night terrors.

The devil thing came about when at the age of eight while I was vacationing with my immediate and extended family in York Beach. One night I snuck out of bed and into the living room where my mother and aunt were watching a movie. They were so involved in the film they didn't even notice me as I quietly curled up in a chair in the back of the room. I remained undetected for about ten minutes until I left out a whimper. They turned to find me shaking and crying, they had been watching The Exorcist and I had snuck in during one of the more horrific scenes.

For days after that I couldn’t sleep, I was obsessed, I was sure that everyone, and everything, that I loved was going to be possessed by a demon. To make matters worse, my brother and some of my cousins decided it would be hilarious if they attached my Cabbage Patch Doll onto a coat-hanger contraption and dangle her over my bed in the middle of the night while making demonic utterances. It was only then that I pulled my shit together – being eight years old, chubby and the only girl amongst a brood of 11 – 13 year old boys, I didn’t need to add additional gasoline to the mortification blaze.

But I eventually got over it. I can safely say that I am no longer a demon-phobe and one time I even attempted to see the film again in its entirety.

I still, however, pee my pants a little bit at the thought of Guy Smiley.

Update

2007-04-05T10:19:00.000-07:00

I sent Brian (changed the name because Brainy seemed a tad insulting, I’d hate to think he is blogging about Psycho McFalldown) an email on Tuesday night.

I hesitated because Amy, my partner in paranoid worse case scenario projecting, had brought up a good point.

What if I email him, he does not respond, and I am forced to sit directly across from him on the bus?

So I thought about it and thought about it and decided that I am much more comfortable with rejection than I am with being a total jerk-off hiding from him. Besides, I know I saw him on the bus, you know I saw him on the bus, but even if he saw me, he doesn't know I saw him on the bus. He may just assume I am bat-ass crazy.

I mean, how would I feel if I gave my number to someone and not only did they not call, they were obviously trying to avoid me? Even if I wasn't interested in the person, it would certainly be a blow to the ego.

I have NEVER experienced giving my number to someone just to get the brush off.*

In any case, I sent the email. Very professional. Nice to meet you, here is the web address of the social network, hope all is well, yada yada yada, let’s have sex. Okay, so the last part isn’t true, but everything before the yada is.

In turn I received a very nice response. Great to hear from you, great to meet you too, going on business trip, let's hang out when I get back, yada yada yada, I’ve taken out a restraining order on you. Again, everything before the yada is true, the last part is implied.

Do I expect to hear back from him upon his return? Probably not.

Would I go if he did? I’m not sure.

If this has taught me anything, I don't think I am at the point where I would be comfortable dating again. I prefer my drama second-hand. But we'll see.

Yay Thursday!

*Sidenote: If you believe that please check out my ebay webpage, I am auctioning off the Zakim bridge.

I Wonder Why I Don't Have A Boyfriend?

2007-04-03T06:44:00.000-07:00

So, I met someone last week briefly while I was out playing pool with some friends earlier in the week. The conversation, at least how I'd like to remember it since you know I had my share of the drink went like this:

Him: Are you from around here?
Me: Yes, grew up here actually, moved back about a year ago.
Him: Oh, I'm new to town, where is a cool place to meet folks?

Lightblub goes off, way over the top overzealousness overcomes me.

I tell him all about my new meet-up group and how we go snowshoeing, hiking, have book clubs, and they have pretty much every activity under the sun for whatever may float his boat. I jump at any chance to talk about the meet-up group. I love it. So of course by this point I sound like a complete nutcase.

Funnily enough he does not mace me.

Him: What's the website?

Me: (fumbling for right address), Gosh, I'm not sure.

Him: How about I give you my info and you can email it to me? In fact, maybe you and I could hang out sometime.

Blank. ...blind....sirens.....

THIS IS NOT A TEST!!

SCOTCH, THERE IS A MEMBER OF THE OPPOSITE SEX WHO SEEMS TO BE INTERESTED, ALBEIT DRUNK, BUT MAY BE INTERESTED!!

So he hands me his business card:

Brainy McBrains
Head of Intelligence
Wicked Smart Company
Right Near Where You Work, 01235

You get the point - this fella was not a slouch, according to his business card anyhow. I decided it was in my best interest to retreat to my friends at the table before I made up a crazy lie about my career or education to impress him. Booze brings out the storyteller in me.

Fast forward about an hour, Reg, Dottie and I are heading out the door. As I open the door to Regina's car I notice he is leaving as well.

It was nice meeting you, Scotch.

Oh yes, you too, I'll be sure to email you that.....

And that is all I got out before my heel slid off the curb and I went down like a ton of bricks right on my knee. He had to frigin help me up. My nylons were ripped, my knee was bleeding, my ankle in full sprain mode.

So that was the end of that.

All weekend long I contemplated emailing him. Should I, shouldn't I? What was the harm? What do I have to lose? Then I realized I was giving this too much attention and decided maybe I'd come off as desperate and who knows if I'd even like the guy? What's a girl to do?

Yesterday at work I was pretty careful to avoid any places on my lunch break where I may run into him. I was thinking of walking home but then again became paranoid that I would run into him since he lives in the area that I have to walk through to get home. It became apparent that this was starting to rule my life. Or at least my day. Why oh why do I even attempt to talk to men in the first place?!?!

This morning as I was leaving the house I took good note of my coat and noticed that it looked like Jerry and Nickels (the cats) have been sleeping on it. I febreezed it down and then tried to get it as neat as possible, but really it wasn't so nice. I threw my hair up in my standard Monday through Friday ponytail, I've perfected the hasidic look since the two front curls aren't long enough to fit in the pony and just hang at sides of my head. No makeup of course. Oh you know where this is going, don't you?

So there I am, on the bus, blaring "Eye of the Tiger" on my ipod because I am indeed a loser. And all that paranoia - the paranoia that kept me from going to lunch, the paranoia that kept me from walking home, the should I or shouldn't I email him, did not prepare me for the most obvious scenario of all. Because as I sat on that bus in all my unattractive glory, who should get on but Brainy McBrains.

FUCK!!!!!

I immediately act overly preoccupied with something in my bag. My cell phone! Yes, my cell phone. I text Regina. I panic. I see him coming up the aisle but then I lose him. About ten minutes into the ride I dare to look up. He is sitting up front and not looking this way. Maybe he didn't see me.

No problem. I'll go out the back door. I make a scene getting to the back door at my stop and for some frigin reason the driver doesn't open it. All the other passengers proceed to the front. Not I. I cower in the back, missing my stop and looking like a complete lunatic to everyone remaining on the back of the bus.

I take a peek - shit, he's still up there.

Next stop comes. No back door again. What the hell!??!? WHY TODAY?!?!?!?

Finally, two stops away from where I should have gotten off, the driver opens the back door. By this time I am on the phone with Regina. She is instructing me on how to breathe. I RUN out of the bus, and RUN towards the square, all the while checking my wrist AS IF I HAVE A WATCH, and saying to Regina, my saint, "I'll be right there!! I am two minutes away!!" as if I have some big important meeting that I am late for and that is why I am running around like an asshole.

So really this is a prime example of why I am single. Now I am either going to have to quit my job, move, or walk to work to avoid this ever happening again.

Of course, this puts the internal debate on whether or not to email him to rest. See how things have a way of working themselves out?!?

Cherri-Oys

2007-03-27T15:47:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-27T09:31:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-23T06:26:00.001-07:00

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....

2007-03-20T17:04:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-03-17T11:22:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-15T20:00:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-12T10:56:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-07T10:01:00.000-08:00

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

2007-03-06T16:47:00.000-08:00

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

2007-03-02T03:08:00.000-08:00

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)!

Cold, Wet, Foot in Mouth

2007-02-28T19:08:00.000-08:00

Tonight Amy and I were sitting outside after work having a smoke when the marketing manager of our firm walks by us.

"Aren't your bums getting cold and wet from sitting there?" she asks

Trying to display some quickfire wit I reply "Well my bum is cold and wet but not because I am sitting here."

"Ew," she says and then walks away as I yell behind her "please forget what I just said, I didn't mean it to be so gross!"

I don't think that Amy and I have ever laughed so hard when we realized I basically just told an executive I shit my pants.

What was I thinking?

Snowshoes, Bearded Ladies, and the Papparazzi

2007-02-24T16:13:00.000-08:00

Today was my big day to go snowshoeing at the Decordova Sculpture Park in Lincoln. I was a little bit excited, but mostly scared. I have never done it before and I wasn't sure if I was too out of shape or too uncoordinated to do it. On top of that, I had not met most of the people who were going, so social anxiety was setting in and since the excursion was at 1PM I felt it to be inappropriate for me to slug down a few diet and captains to loosen me up.

I woke up early and headed to Target in hopes to find a cheap pair of sensible boots because all I own is what Jude calls "fashion boots". Since you never know when you are going to be discovered and want to wear your fashion boots even when you are wearing sweat pants and a sauce stained t-shirt, I have never owned a bought or worn sensible boots (i.e. waterproof, comfortable, won't give me blisters, create a red ring around my calf, or chaf my upper thighs - ew, just kidding on the last one but not the second to last). In any case, Target did not have any womens sensible or fashion boots, so I had to go over to the men's section.

There was an older lady in the men's boots section, staring blankly at the huge selection of Mack work boots and other steel toed delights. I asked her if she had come across any women's boots and she looked at me and said no and that is why she was in the men's section too. This part of the story would seem pretty pointless unless I point out that when she looked up to speak to me I almost choked because she had a full mustache and beard. I am not talking about a few whiskers or a slight mustache, I am talking about Kenny Rogers, Jerry Garcia, Uncle Jesse of the Dukes of Hazzard. Let's just say it was noticeable. So I grabbed the manliest looking pair of steel toe boots, not caring if they were waterproof or not, and high tailed it out of there.

I made it to the Decordova in record time, taking the highway unnessesarily just because I have OCD and I can't get anywhere unless it is off of 128.

Heather and a few of her friends were already there, and I was instantly relaxed because I could just tell they were kind folks who won't judge due to my lack of education, love of reality TV, or obession with the Anna Nicole Smith trial(s). Of course, since this isn't info I usually share with strangers, I mean that they weren't going to hammer me with questions about my background or test my knowledge of art and current events (which as some of you know I could probably talk about but have no confidence doing so with PhD types).

Our tour guide come out soon after I got there and we started to line up for our snowshoes. There were a few people in front of me and I heard them saying some numbers but wasn't sure what they were being asked. As I got closer, the horror finally became clear. We had to tell her our weight so she could figure out what kind of snowshoes to give us.

But God was feeling generous towards me and he gave me a pass. The woman in front of me weighed just about the same as me so I was able to see which ones she was given and simply point out which ones I wanted. Thank frigin god because the only man on the trip just so happen to be standing right behind me and was surely going to hear exactly how overweight I was. I would like to think he wouldn't have been able to tell by my appearance alone. :-)

So we were off, I have to admit it was a little awkward at first, but I got the hang of it in no time. Our tour guide was great, she took us around from sculpture to sculpture and gave us just the right amount of information for us to draw our own conclusions on the pieces. Although I was impressed by the cool trojan horse piggy bank and the beautiful sculputre of Eve, I had to say that my favorite was the two teepees collapsed into each other made out of tires titled "No More Cookies and Milk", it made me feel kind of sad thinking about how when shit collapes all around you the good old days are seemingly gone.

In any case, there was a photographer from the local newspaper there following us around like the paparazzi, once the online edition comes out I will post it here.

Update - Amy Tells Me I Could Have Died From the Peanut Butter

2007-02-23T07:40:00.000-08:00

Amy read my blog last night and told me this morning that someone actually died from eating the peanut butter !!!!

CAN YOU IMAGINE THAT??

Oh I could hear the speculation of the towns folk now now:

"I've heard she was into that Michael Hutchence's thing - what a freak"
"I've heard she's been into meth for years now..."
"I've noticed her looking a bit down lately, maybe she did herself in..."

And then it would be revealed I died from eating tainted Peter Pan Peanut Butter and folks would think it was a story my family made up to cover up something embarassing like getting drunk and letting my car roll on top of me.

It's good to be alive. Especially on a Friday.

Nutterbutter Junkie

2007-02-22T06:49:00.000-08:00

I have a confession to make – I am a full blown peanut butter addict.

Peanut butter is one of those foods I trick myself into believing is healthy for me (and for those who are not binge monsters it is) but then I abuse it to the point where I can no longer look myself in the mirror.

I hit rock bottom a few weeks ago after an extended peanut butter and whole wheat pita binge while watching “The Real Housewives of Orange County.” It may have been the anxiety of watching that show – the people on this show are so foolish I sometimes feel embarrassed for them, but I can’t turn away. I packed up all my peanut butter, 2 full and 1 half eaten jars of it, and brought it to my mother’s house explaining that I could not longer be trusted around its nutty goodness.

Last week I was visiting my mother and noticed she had the peanut butter on full display on the counter. I figured this was a ploy to shame me as she did when I was 16 and her and my dad found a joint in my coat pocket. They put it on a paper plate on the kitchen table for all who saw it to inquire about so I would have to tell them my big, dark, pot smoking secret. Most of these visitors were friends of mine and my brother so it did not have the effect they intended it to have, although my dad did threaten to invite the pastor over for tea.

Where was I? Oh, peanut butter. So I ask my mother what gives with my Peter Pan and she says:

“Oh, I forgot to tell you....wow, um, how have you been feeling?”

I went to check the bar codes on the Peter Pan and was quite shocked that the first three digits were 2111.

What are the frigin chances?

I tried to think back to that fateful night when I pretended to give up peanut butter forever - but I didn’t remember feeling like shit, or shall I say worse than normal - and if I did I guess I would have probably guessed it was god punishing me for worrying about eating too much peanut butter when there are starving people in the world. I should be lucky to be given the opportunity to contract salmonella poisoning, that's more than some folks get.

Is it Friday yet?

Trudging through sleet in 1997

2007-02-17T08:37:00.000-08:00

There is something about the snow, or horrible weather in general, that can take the most groundbreaking, or mundane memory, and cement it into my head forever.

Walking home from the bus stop tonight was nothing less than a bitch, the sidewalks are covered in layers and layers of ice and the possibility of walking in the sand covered streets is zero due to the high volume of traffic.
I trudged though and as I was making my way up Market Street hands full of bags when a random memory hit me like a ton of bricks in such detail that it kind of shook me a bit.

It was December 23, 1997. Lady and I went to do some last minute shopping during what had to be the worst sleet storm I have ever experienced. But we were young, and we were foolish, and despite our families warnings not to go out in this, we did anyway. I was overly excited because I was picking up a Christmas gift for my then love intrest - let's call him Dick - at "Things Remembered" at the Arsenal mall . It was a flask, with a sentimental saying, and his initials. Ah, the days when I wasn't over myself and unashamed about cheesy romantic gestures! I want those days back.

So I got my flask, and after some hardcore power shopping at Ann & Hope, we loaded ourselves into Lady's '76 Impala. The plan was for Lady to drop me off at the Irish Village to meet Dick so I could give him his gift.

As we made our way down Arsenal Street toward Western Avenue we started second guessing our judgement (yeah right, we were 21 at the time and were pretty nervous we wouldn't make it to the bar within the next 10 minutes) when we noticed that cars were swerving and spinning out all over the road. It was only a matter before...oh shit....Lady and I had spun out and were now in a vertical position blocking traffic in all three lanes. After three minutes of sheer panic and screaming, no less than three people surrounded the car and started physically pushing us to the side of the road. We were so grateful, see there are good people in the world!! Or so we thought - looking back I am guessing people just wanted to get the car full of screaming girls onto the side of the road so they could be on their merry way.

Lady called her brother on her 1997 cell phone (get the visual, people). To this day, I have no idea how he got there so fast, or how he even found us to begin with because I am quite sure that in our panic we were not so good at giving him our exact location. But within 10 minutes he was there, and he pushed us back onto the road and on our way. Lady was going over to her Mom's on Western Avenue, so due to the fact we were both suffering from PTSS and I would have never forgiven myself if we got stuck again on the way up Market Street, I told her I'd get out on the corner and walk.

And walk I did, bags in hand, stressed out to the max over what just happened - but excited to give Dick his gift none the less.

When I entered the IV Dick was sitting at the bar, chatting it up with some blouzah. I am calling her a blouzah in hindsight because when I got there I was so cold, and so relieved, the only thing on my mind was warming up my numb feet (of course my boots weren't waterproof, I was 21) and ordering a well deserved cocktail.

"You won't believe what....."
"You are late...." he cut me off
"Yeah, but I've got to tell you that....."
"I've been fucking waiting here for an hour, you were suppose to be here at...." he went on
"You know what, let me just settle down for a second and I'll tell you what happened."

So I headed into the Ladies room and got my shit together.... took off my coat, and most likely my boots (probably not but I should have), headed back and settled onto the stool next to him.

As I got it together, taking the iciles out of my hair, I said "holy shit, you will not even believe it, but....."

Dick: But nothing, it is ALWAYS something with you. And I am done."
Me: "Done?"
Dick: Done with you. And if you have not noticed, I am in the middle of a conversation here.
Me: Are you serious?
Dick: Never been more serious in my life.

Me:
No words spoken, just one flask on the bar . Merry Christmas.

Dick followed me out of the bar and thanked me. He had to add that he had a flask just like the one I just bought him but he appreciated it nonetheless.

And so I walked, up Market Street, to my house. Bags in hand, trudging through the snow.

Okay, absolutely cheesy sad blog... but the snow tends to bring it out in me.

Dear God....

2007-02-14T14:14:00.000-08:00

Please do not let me wake up tomorrow to find Nat, Ed, Chet, et. al reporting on a crazy killer on the loose in the streets of Boston....

Killer Zodiac Advertising Campaign

Five Reasons Why I Am Glad You Are Single Today

2007-02-14T06:46:00.000-08:00

I initially had this titled “Ten Reasons Why……” but then I got stumped. Maybe I’m not so glad you are single. For crying out loud go get laid.

1. While others are daydreaming about what their lover has planned you are focused on your job or at least pretending to look busy by running around the office with papers in your hand, acting self important, and unnecessarily hitting the reply-to all-button on emails just to prove……I don’t really know what your point is with that. But stop.

2. If you were in a relationship, you may not have time to take my calls and discuss what happened on Dr. Phil last night. Oh you missed it too? Let's take an educated guess - he was pissed at someone. And he loves his wife. Yeah, we get it.

3. Do you really need that chocolate? Hate to say it, but you've really packed it on since the holidays.

4. Think of all the free time you have to download internet porn now that you aren't wasting it shaving your legs or clipping your nose hair. As a side bonus you don't have to hide that porn from anyone - but remember, Jesus always knows. Always.

5. You are saving a ton of money on romantic getaways that you can put toward your model train and Hummel collection.

C26

2007-02-09T20:11:00.000-08:00

This blog is for Amy.

As much as we discussed how much we hate our fetish for horrible chinese food, I have to admit, in celebration of the pig I felt it was my duty to just make my usual order, with a diet coke of course.

As I got my cash together (thanks to you) I decided to leave it by the door and am continplating just asking the delivery man to leave the food and grab the cash because I assume that I will be too involved with my cnn ans. I only feel free to do this because the delivery guy loves my tips so much that now he just knocks and comes right in (i live on the 2nd floor)...as I said earlier -

You know you are not in your twenties anymore when a man is more interested in your tips than he is your tits....

Witty.

Anna Nicole Poll

2007-02-09T09:30:00.000-08:00

Sure there are millions of poll-worthy news items that we all should be paying more attention to than the Anna Nicole Smith saga.... but I can just can't resist. I'm a celebrity gossip addict.

Blogging for the Sake of Blogging

2007-02-07T16:37:00.000-08:00

Sorry I haven't posted much this week, I promised myself I would blog at least every other day in the beginning but sometimes the creative juices run dry and more often than not life becomes unblogworthy, esp. when I get really busy (See focused) at work.

The most exciting thing that has happened this week is I finally signed up for snow shoeing! I've been dying to try this and a perfect oppurtunity presented itself. It is a quick beginners course followed by a tour of the Decordova Sculpture Park in Lincoln. I figure if I hate it, it's only a two hour stint and I don't have to invest in the gear because they provide the snow shoes for you.

I'll be sure to post an update. Hope all is well with everyone and as always, HAPPY HUMP DAY!

My Retarded Brother Tom

2007-02-01T07:15:00.000-08:00

I don't think I can say anything that has not already been said about yesterday's scarily comedic events in Boston.

What I can comment on is how uneasy I get seeing Menino on national stations.

The way I see it, Tom is like a retarded younger brother - it's okay for ME to make fun of him, but if an outsider makes a crack I'm going to have to ask them to step outside.

Almost Friday, Folks!

If I Ever Complain About People Eating on the Bus Again.....

2007-01-31T07:34:00.000-08:00

About three times a week I have the pleasure of taking the bus with a fellow passenger I call Big Crazy Red. The name should say it all. I first realized she was a bit off when she sat next to me, put her arm around me, and told me her boyfriend took off with all her money and now she can't afford to pay her electricity bill. Tears streaming down her face, she told me she worried that NSTAR would shut off her electricity. I told her not to worry and try to work something out with them. Since then I've noticed that her damaged crazy dyed red mane has been blown fairly straight so I take it they never did shut her off.

Well today Big Crazy Red ("BCR") was on the bus and I sat down across from her because there were no other seats on the bus. BCR takes up one entire three seater with her various bags, etc. I silently prayed that she would not strike up a conversation with me but I must of done something to piss God off because three minutes into the trip I learned her cat ate her earring. I nodded politely and looked away not wanting to be engaged in a conversation for the entire trip to Harvard Square.

Bored with my lack of interest, she began rummaging through her bag. I assumed she was pulling out a package of drakes donuts as I have seen her done so many many times. No such luck - out comes a hair brush.

For the next twenty minutes she proceeds to brush and style her hair with barrettes I suppose will wind up in her cat's belly in the near future.

I spent the rest of the bus ride trying to ignore BCR but couldn't help but admire her inappropriate grooming in a way - I don't think that my co-workers have seen my hair out of a lazy pony-tail since Clinton was in office.

Ah well, Happy Hump Day everyone.

Trying to Make a Whole Lotta Changes....

2007-01-25T06:45:00.000-08:00

I just finished reading the book "The Whole Truth" by Andrea Beaman. If you are a Top Chef (Bravo) fan, Andrea was a competitor on the first season bringing a healthy flair to the show.

I liked the book, which was half resource/half recipes, it was well written with a comical voice. Andrea promotes, without preaching, the benefits of eating whole, un-refined, unprocessed foods. Of course, a chronic dieter knows this already but I especially enjoyed that she explained the effects that certain foods have on the body and mind.

For instance, spinach boosts your mood. Since my winter blahs have gotten kind of out of hand over the past two weeks I decided to add spinach to at least two of my meals. I honestly do feel better. Also, I am able to kick my nemesis’ asses with ease, ala Popeye - so watch out DMV phone system! Bastards! Why can’t I just talk to a PERSON!?!? Okay, enough rage.

So I started to give up some stuff. The hardest of all has been Diet Coke. I have become quite the tea drinker and am seriously considering picking up a faux-British accent just to drive the point home. The downside is I am constantly burning my tongue, the upside is I had the opportunity to loudly demand an explanation of "tea-bagging" to Kerry in a crowded room when she made a quiet joke of my new found sophisticated ardor of tea. That’ll teach her!

Andrea claims that once you are eating healthier, your body starts to crave good foods and if you listen to your body, it will tell you what it needs. I tried this last night, the conversation went something like this:

Auntie Scotch: Okay body, what’s yer poisin? What can I fix ya?

Auntie Scotch Body: Hmmm...well....let's see...that oatmeal you made the other morning was great...but...um...oh, and the grilled chicken? Never cooked better! Great job. But, if I have to choose - I'll go for a Captain and diet coke with a side of menthol tobacco. Ah hell, just put the tobacco right into the rum.

Oh, by the way - that accent? LOSE IT! You are causing me embarrassment. Stop looking at my love handles you judgmental bitch!

Although I appreciate when my temperamental inner monologue is honest, I had to deny her. I guess it will take some time before I start craving kale and buckwheat. Hopefully I’ll learn what the two are before that happens.

Wish me luck, folks.

Opposite Sex Woes

2007-01-20T14:23:00.000-08:00

I just got off the phone with Regina.

A little bit of back story if I will - Regina and I have been friends for 27 years. Considering the fact that I am (wince) 30, that is a fairly impressive amount of time.

To say we've been through it all together is an understatement.

One thing I love about my friendship with Reg is that we typically go through mini-midlife crisis together. Even if one of us is over-the-moon happy, if one of us is down and out, the other will follow suit without hesitation. Because, if nothing else, it is usually an adventure when we get into our "let's change our lives" mode.

Since we are both guilty of being typical gals, emotionally anyhow, our breaking points typically come in the form of some guy or another. Or better yet, when we try to improve our situation, it involves "getting out there" and finding someone new, or often enough, someone at all.

Our quests have brought us on some wonderful vacations, seedy bars, countless community ed courses, and once it even brought us to church. These adventures historically turn up fruitless, but we have a great time and there is always, always, always something to write home about.

Last week Reg and I were trying to come up with a way to find meaning and happiness and fulfillment. She hit on something and forwarded it to me in a form of an email. My boss was sitting next to me as I was showing him how to turn on his "Out of Office Assistant" because the lucky fella is going on vacation, when the subject "Scrabbilicious" pops up. We both almost choked and he simply said "I do not even want to know."

Well, Regina had the idea that we should go down to the B-Side in Cambridge on Monday nights to play scrabble. I was so all over it when I saw it and we were both pretty excited. Then reality set in -

I speak for myself, but Reg totally agreed, that vocabulary is not our strong suit. Better yet, the words we do know we cannot spell. Can you see it now - Reg and I will be spelling out words like "GOAT" and "DOG" and referencing a dictionary for words like "SURGEON" and "AUTUMN" all the while Harvard kids will be spelling the latest species found in the Amazon or diseases I have never heard of but probably have. So Scrabble night is out for now I guess.

Anyhow, I just got off the phone with Reg and of course our conversation turned to finding someone and it struck me as funny:

Reg: I'd love to meet someone who'd take my breath away, ya know?

Scotch: I know what you mean... I want to find someone that takes my breath away too...and not only because he lives on the top floor of a 5-story building without an elevator."

Searching for Mr. Goodflu

2007-01-17T08:32:00.000-08:00

A lot of people in my office were sick with a stomach flu last week. My boss, my boss' boss, her boss and so on and so on, right up the corporate ladder. Oddly, I did not pick up the bug but I figured for the sake of my career, I better start cracking on getting infected with this monster. The small talk value alone would last me through 2007 at least.

Despite my attempts to weaken my immune system to the point of non-existence, Friday rolled around and I was as healthy as a horse. I wasn't too tearful, it was a long weekend and I had a lot to do that required time spent outside of the confines of my bathroom.

Sunday night I broke open a bottle of champagne to celebrate the fact that I had a bottle of champagne in my fridge. My friend D was coming over after the Pat's game so I busied myself with putting together what I hope is the very last piece of furniture for my dining room. Jerry, my elusive and fearful, yet curious, shelter cat watched me from the top of the stairs, eyes bugging out of his head. With an allen wrench in one hand and a champagne flute in the other, I imagine he thought I constructing something to cause him sudden and certain death. How pleasantly surprised he was when an accent chair, just low enough for him to hide undetected (or so he thinks) emerged from the stray parts! Now he can conduct his staring bonanzas at a closer range!

So the Pat's won and my friend came over. I offered him food before embarrassingly realizing I only have triscuts, sherbet, and an impressive variety of dips in stock (no idea why I've started to stock pile dips).

It was the time call upon an owed favor. 30 minutes later Papa John arrived at the door.

After hanging out for a bit and a healthy dose of Celebreality on VH1, I dozed off.

About 3AM I woke up in severe pain -

Here it is!! The stomach bug I've been waiting for!!

In all honesty, I wasn't so thrilled considering the fact I felt as though I was being stabbed in the stomach. I curled into fetal position and waited for it to worsen. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Jerry, right in the middle of the floor, staring at me harder than ever, realizing I was in pain and in no condition to attempt to murder and/or pet him.

A staring contest ensued and before I knew it, the pain was gone.

I am not a doctor (although the 90's were kind of a blur so it's a possibility) but I have come up with this medical conclusion that I will share with you - eating four slices of pizza and drinking a bottle of champagne may induce symptoms of a severe illness. So next time you wake up with bruises, blindness, pierced nipple, midget in your bed, etc. etc., think back to what you ate and drank the evening before, it may save you a trip to the ER.

Two Weeks Into 2007...(subtitled No Tell Hotel)

2007-01-12T09:42:00.000-08:00

Two weeks into 2007 and I'm still hanging in there with the whole resolution to get fit thing. Of course I had a set back or two....

For example, last Saturday night I went to the corporate holiday party at the Langham Hotel downtown. I've been to a party or two there in the past, but I must say that this time Ames and I took the time to snoop around the other rooms and we were quite impressed by the place. I by no means fancy myself, well, fancy, in any way, shape or form, but there is something about older Boston hotels that I find captivating. The Boston Harbor hotel has to be my all time favorite. As my father used to say "for such a poor girl you've got some rich taste.."

The food was great, as was the service. I consider any waiters and bartenders who put up with the likes of the intoxicated me to be saints. I have this habit of openly, and overly, flirting with waitstaff and bartenders after a few drinks. This is no where near the line of sexual harassment, I mean I'm not grabbing asses, but I do find myself calling everyone "sweetie" or "honey", and sometimes when the drinks are REALLY flowing I may throw in a "sexy" ala Paris and Nicole.

All innocent fun, really, but a year or so ago when I was staying overnight at the (deleted) hotel after a bash, I got a call in the wee hours of the morning from a bartender asking me if I cared to "party" with him.

You can really define the verb "party" several ways. I would like to think he was inviting me out to do lines and have group sex with other members of the hotel staff.

I was extremely flattered but I was much too tired to run the risk of seeing the concierge whipping the bell boy while wearing a leather mask.

Of course, the probable truth is he wanted to go out for a drink after his shift ended and maybe split a pizza or something.

Ah, the boring reality of Auntie Scotch....

Have a great weekend, everyone!

O' The Bus Went Over the Island, The Bus Went Over the Island...

2007-01-10T06:52:00.000-08:00

ANOTHER bus blog, you ask? Bear with me, please.

Heading to the bus I felt as though I was on top of the world.

I had a wonderful crazy cat lady evening last night - Jerry my absentee shelter cat not only came near me he actually sat on my lap! After ten minutes he went directly back under the couch to stare at me but dammit that is progress! I also tried out my new Richard Simmons "Steam Heat" contraption and I think it's going to revolutionize how I cook. I absolutely love it. I got up early this morning and headed to the gym. To top it all off, I lost 1.5 pounds from last week which is a miracle considering the tons of drinks I had at the party on Saturday followed by a Sunday of Comatose-Couch Olympics - I won the gold in the steak and cheese sub eating competition by the way.

Anyhow, my mood torpedoed after the first 15 minutes of waiting at the bus stop. By the time it got there, about ten or so minutes later, I was about to have a full blown Tanxiety attack (new word for stress caused by MBTA). Of course, there were two buses in a row and the one that was packed with folks butt-cheek to butt-cheek pulled up at my stop. The love affair that I have having with the bus was officially over and it was back on top of the shit list - knocking crowded super-markets to second place.

I wasn't the only one who was pissed, several people were jabber-jawing on their cell phones about how late they were, etc. etc.

We are making our way down Western Avenue, aggravated and late, and just as we should be taking the turn onto North Harvard Street....we do not. He goes straight past it.

I suppose if the bus was hijacked (god forbid) it would cause less of a reaction from the crowd of passengers.

"Oh my god!! What is happening?!!"
"WHY?!? WHY!?!? WHY!??!"

Suddenly my mood picked up, this could be interesting.

The bus driver kept his cool as he tried to make a left onto the little passageway designated for cars getting onto North Harvard from the right. Finally he got over there but next thing I know half of the bus is on top of the island. We nearly took out the fire box pole.

“They don’t show you this in training!!” he laughed.

I finally made it to work, late, but in one piece. I can always count on the bus to give me something to blog about when my brain is too pre-occupied with real life stuff!

Happy Hump Day!

The Gospel According to the Bus Driver, Psalm 86 - Bus Transfers

2007-01-09T06:11:00.000-08:00

I have to admit, the whole Charlie Card transition, at least as far as I can see on the local bus to Harvard Square, has gone pretty smoothly. Despite yours truly trying to insert the card where dollar bills should go not once, but twice, I haven't had any or witnessed any truly bad experiences since the 1st of the year.

One thing I do note is that there seems to be some confusion when it comes to bus transfers. If one person doesn't ask, then at least five do. The drivers have been pretty patient for the most part, explaining to each person that they will need to get a Charlie Card in order to get transfers. T execs must be handing out stress balls left and right or hopefully plying the drivers with liquor at the end of their shift - they deserve it.

In any case, today on the way to work the driver must have had one more question too many about the transfers. Over the very low volume of my ipod (very low because I was listening to "Eye of the Tiger" - hey, we all have our problems) I heard:

"Ladies and Gentlemen - I'd like to tell you all right now about bus transfers".

He then proceeded to tell the entire bus how they work. Get a Charlie Card, and you automatically get a bus transfer, good up to three hours. That's it.

So now the entire bus is educated on bus transfers and I for one am compelled to spread the word. Even if only to my two readers, who probably don't take the bus anyhow.

Happy Tuesday.

Riding the Dog

2007-01-04T09:06:00.000-08:00

I've done it many times, and I am guessing you may have done it a time or two yourself.

The term "riding the dog" was born out of the story of my friend Lady who went to dinner at her boyfriend’s boss’ house and got so drunk that she attempted to ride his Collie around his living room.

So the true definition is:

Riding the Dog
Pronunciation: 'rI-di[ng]/ the 'dog, ('däg)
Function verb
1 : to make an ass out of oneself in front of someone to be respected due to consuming copious amounts of alcohol.

Riding the dog has been on my mind today because Saturday my company holiday party. Company parties can provide vast oppurtunties for riding the dog.

One of my favorite dog memories, one that I share over and over with friends when they are beating themselves up about making a fool out of themselves, happened when I was in my early twenties.

I was up for a semi-big promotion (semi-big to me anyhow). I spent the day at work interviewing with my potential boss, the president of a large firm, and was quite confident that I aced the meeting and would be offered the job.

That night was a retirement party for one of the more beloved executives in the upstairs room at Three Cheers on Congress Street. I wasn’t exactly invited, but I was bolder then and an open bar made me not hesitate at taking the risk of crashing.

Crash I did. I sat at the bar with my fro-worker Linda and consumed one captain and coke after another. Three or so hours into the soirée we decided for safety’s sake it may be best to get out of there and retreat to a bar where no one knows your name. I reached in my bag for my wallet and surprise, surprise – no wallet.

Let the scene begin.

In the matter of five minutes the entire party was hunting around the place for my wallet. My potential boss led the pack in the hunt. After about ten minutes we gave up, I figured that I must of left it at the office and I would stop in and grab it on my home.

As I headed to the stairs, I noticed that potential boss was standing right near the exit and thought there was no time like the present to really drive in my appreciation for not only taking the time to interview me but also help me look for my wallet.

“I just need to say this…” I slurred as a look of fright began to creep over his face.
“You are, a very, very, very”….at this point I am grabbing his hand…. “nice, nice man.”
Then I went for the full on hug, which, in hindsight, I appreciated that he accepted.

As I let the inappropriate embrace loose, I suddenly felt a little woozy. I stumbled a bit and eventually lost my footing…and then, proceeded to roll down the stairs.

Not trip.
Not fall.
Rolled down the stairs.

When I hit the ground I immediately dismounted out of the fetal position (my brother, as a fire fighter, has always been impressed with how well I fall - “you tuck and roll, just like a professional”) onto my feet, dusted myself off, and gave one last wave to my potential boss as if nothing even happened. I heard him calling behind Linda to “make sure I was okay” as we both roared with laughter toward the exit.

After hitting another bar we eventually headed back to the office where I found my wallet. Just put a cherry on top of the beautiful evening I decided that the right thing to do was leave potential boss a long-winded, drunken message about how I found my wallet and how nice it was of him to help me look for it. “Hope I didn’t cause too much trouble with the wallet business…” I remember saying. As if after the stairs he could even remember the wallet.

It took all the emotional strength I had to do the walk of shame into work on Monday morning.

But I did, and potential boss called me into his office and got up to shut the door when I sat down.

The panicked thoughts that went through my mind in the five seconds I was waiting nearly made my head explode:

great, I’m being fired, or worse, they are sending me to rehab to dry out....

He sat down, extended his hand out, and said “Congratulations.....on your new job…and oh… finding your wallet.” I shook his hand and briefly contemplated going in for the full on hug….nah….

I Try to Get Out….. but Papa keeps dragging me back in….

2007-01-02T14:30:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I spent most of the day watching "The Biggest Loser" marathon on Bravo. At first I tuned in because I thought it was a show comprised of all my exes battling it out to see who screwed me up more -

Ex-Boyfriend A: "I contributed to her binge eating disorder!"
Ex-Boyfriend B: "Oh yeah, well I stole her credit card!"

But, it was actually a show about people losing weight. I watched episode after episode, while they huffed and puffed and lost amazing amounts of weight, I ordered a pizza and ate an ice cream cone. Really, is there anything sicker than that?!?!

But food-wise, I officially start today. My intense exercise regimen starts tomorrow because I stayed up so late watching The Biggest Loser that I couldn't drag myself out of bed this morning to get to the gym. Oh yeah, the Papa John's food coma didn't help either.

Speaking of Papa Johns - it took about two and a half hours for the pizza to be delivered. The guy told me on the phone it would take awhile and I wasn't really all that hungry since I just ate an ice cream cone so I was fine with it. Well, about five minutes ago I picked up my messages and Papa John himself called (okay, so it was a lady who works there) and told me that I get a free pizza next time I call because my it took so long last night.

I’m certain this is some kind of conspiracy that Papa John (HIMSELF!) has orchestrated to keep me overweight. He's playing on my top two resolutions - to lose weight and save money, and pitting them mano de mano. That bastard.

So, if you are reading this, Papa John, be warned that I cannot be swayed so easily.

That is unless you throw in some hot wings............and maybe some of that dipping sauce....cheese not garlic..... see you in an hour.......

Fear of God

2006-12-26T13:13:00.000-08:00

When I was a little kid and got hurt due to running around the house or goofing off as kids do, my parents would always say the same thing when I ran to them in tears:

"See, this is God's way of punishing you..."

To this very day, every time I have some sort of accident, my first thought, even through the shock of pain, is always - shit, what did I do to deserve this??

For example, the other day I was sneakily trying to take a peek at my new cat who has taken to hiding behind the couch. Quietly, careful not to startle him, I swung my head over the back, completely forgetting I have a monstrous room-dividing bookcase behind my couch as well, and BLAM - forehead to shelf. The cat ran as if it was his own personal 9/11 and I was left head in hand on the couch regretting laughing at the guy who tripped over the curb in front of Au Bon Pain last week.

Who's laughing now, God asked.
Certainly not me.

In any case, last Christmas my niece, Kay, four now, three then, took delight in my mother's nativity scene and in-particular the little Baby Jesus figurine. As she held him in her hand, marveling, I took the opportunity to use this beautiful moment as leverage, and comic value of course, by telling her:

"You know, every time you misbehave, the Baby Jesus cries ..."

Now, this may seem cruel to tell a child such a thing but you have to understand - Kay does not take anything I say to her seriously, even when I'm stone faced, anxiety-attack, swallow my tounge serious (i.e. on Sunday - "I SAID PUT THAT HAMMER DOWN NOW!!! REALLY!!! STOP LAUGHING AT ME!! I'M TELLING SANTA").

I gave up on being any type of disciplinarian with her years ago, it's just too much work not to give into every tiny little whim that she may have. I am only her Aunt after all and telling her no is what Mommies and Daddies and Nanas are for. But on the other hand, sometimes she wants to do things such as swing a hammer around or sled down the stairs in a cardboard box, that even I cannot condone, so that is when folks like Santa and Baby Jesus come in handy.

So anyhow, I commented about the Baby Jesus crying on Bink's Myspace today and got a renewed chuckle out of it so I had to share it with Amy. Amy in turn came up with the ultimate twist to the crying Baby Jesus:

Aunt to Child: Oh, it's raining, you know what that means....
Child: What??
Aunt: It means the Baby Jesus is crying in heaven, you must of done something real bad....

Happy Holidays Y'all!

2006-12-22T09:32:00.000-08:00

Whether you are drunkenly about to burn down your apartment lighting the menorah for Hanukkah , or the Kinara for Kwanzaa for that matter...whether you wake up tomorrow entangled in lights under your Christmas tree....whether you are sacrificing a cow for Eid-al-Adha, (soberly of course because it's against your religion to drink), - HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

And if you happen to be sacraficing a cow, please oh please invite me over. I need something other than the bus and my cats to blog about.

Auntie Scotch

Disclaimer: No animals were hurt during the writing of this blog.

Blunderous Birthday Wishes

2006-12-15T12:21:00.000-08:00

Although I try not to blog about work, I just couldn't pass up sharing this story. It's been a hell of a week here.

Today is my boss' birthday. I usually recognize such occasions with a card or a simple "Happy Birthday" but today I was full of good spirits and cheeriness and decided to surprise him with a birthday cake.

Before I left to go buy him a cake at Finale I checked his calendar and picked a time to do this and then emailed an appointment to others on our work team.

When I got back, I double checked my calendar to see if everyone could make it. Oddly enough, the appointment wasn't there, as if I didn't send it at all.

Hmm..what gives. Head scratch. Tap fingers on desk.

Then Ellen (my fro-worker) came around the corner...

"Um, you may want to check Boss' calendar again..."

I almost fainted when I opened it up. It turns out I sent the birthday cake invitation from his calendar meaning:

1. he was well aware of what was going down and worse -

2. to everyone else who was invited it looked as though he was coordinating a birthday cake surprise for HIMSELF!!

Thank god he has a great sense of humor. I think I'll stick to the hallmarks from now on.

Death By Gouda

2006-12-14T09:19:00.000-08:00

Last night was the annual Yankee Swap with the gals from work at Legal Seafoods in the Charles Hotel in Cambridge. I was going to write a detailed description of what a Yankee Swap is for those who don't know, but I found myself nodding off as I did, so I will spare you the details.

Anyhow, this is a polite, professional Yankee Swap by most standards. For the most part, people did not "steal" gifts from others or exchange the gifts they opened.

One year, Amy ended up with a cheese cutting board. For those who know Amy, it's not a surprise to you that she pretty much didn't know what it was when she opened it. This is a woman who uses her kitchen as a clothes closet, after all. I love my Amy.

After a great dinner accompanied by several drinks at Legals, a few of us moved on to Noir, also in the Charles. Noir is a funky, dark little hotel bar. As Amy put it "this would be a great place to have an affair."

As you can imagine, after a few more drinks we all started to get silly and decided to call it a night considering we all had to work in the morning. Amy and I left and decided to make a pit stop in the hotel lobby bathroom.

As we emerged Amy decided that she could not lug the cheese board all the way home and looked around the lobby for some place to ditch it. At the same time, we both noticed a little old lady, probably about 85 or so, reading in the lobby library.

We immediately made a bee-line for her. What a wonderful thing to do during the holiday season! Old ladies like to cut cheese, right? (snicker, snicker)

"Miss, would you like this?" Amy asked.

The old lady looked at us as if we were about to abduct her. Sheer fright I tell you. We were both displaying drunken, polite, shit-eating grins so who can blame her?

Amy moved toward her and gently placed the cheese board next to her chair, face still frozen in crazy smile, and slowly backed away.

We both walked toward the main exit of the hotel.

"IS THIS A BOMB?" we hear her bellowing behind us.

"No, it's a cheese board" Amy calls back.

We noticed that we were starting to get attention from the folks at the front desk so we picked up our pace as we headed out. As we made it outside we both burst into a fit of laughter.

"Let's get the hell out of here," she said, "before we get arrested for planting a Cheese Board Bomb in the lobby of the Charles Hotel."

Getting Sloshed on Holiday Spirits

2006-12-11T14:22:00.000-08:00

Around this time every year many people find themselves hustling, panicking, freaking out, running, rushing, pushing, pleading and finally begging for this season to finally be over. And when it is, when you can finally breathe that sigh of relief, you did it, it’s over, thank god – it’s then that you get that sinking pit in your stomach of disappointment.

It’s over. That’s it?

It doesn’t have to be.

Rummies, drunks, alkies, booze-bags, lushes – call them, or me, or yourself, what you will – but there is no time like the holiday season to thank your lucky stars to be one, be related to one, or know one.

Because it is them, and possibly them alone, that will have you talking about this holiday season for years to come.

Think about it, you may not remember how fabulous Aunt Ginger’s Christmas ham was or what you got Cousin Edgar in 2005 but you sure as shit remember when Uncle Frank got looped on egg nog and fell asleep on the bathroom floor.

This blog was inspired by an email from a friend who admitted to having too much holiday cheer over the weekend and ended up accidentally knocking over her friend’s Christmas tree. It’s this type of heart-warming holiday story that we will be talking about all year round. Because, if you knock over a Christmas tree, the chances are great that it will still be brought up on the 4th of July.

And let us not forget the company holiday party. I have so many fond memories such as riding the lion statues in Copley Square, hugging my boss for a little too long, being dropped off on the highway because a fight ensued between me and several fro-workers (my new made-up word for friends who are also co-workers), tripping, drink spilling, telling too many people how I really feel – the list can go on and on.

But enough about me, there is always that one person in the company, quiet by most standards, who does something totally outrageous and is forever and ever branded by their behavior of the night. Sure he may have developed a new business model that saved the company millions last year, but he will forever be introduced as the guy who pulled the CEO’s wife onto his lap and asked her if she’d been naughty or nice.

So when the holiday season gets you down, pour yourself a glass of wine or six, make an inappropriate advance at a co-worker, pull at your Aunt Jenny’s hair fueled by suspicion that she is wearing a wig, sit in a corner by yourself and break into a loud, weepy rendition of "The Little Drummer Boy" and get angry when no one else participates - you too may find yourself a holiday legend to be celebrated for years to come.

Ahem, Mememe

2006-12-08T04:47:00.000-08:00

I am still fairly new to this whole world of blogging so some of the lingo that is used on other's blogs still leaves me scratching my anxiety induced welted arm in confusion forcing me to pop a Benedryl. But, I think I figured out what a "meme" is. If I am correct, it is like a survey like you see on MySpace that lets people know if you drank or have done drugs in the past month, what you're favorite color is, what you look for in a man/woman, etc., etc. That's just an example, I hope you know what I'm talking about.

Anyhow, I am posting my first Meme entitled "Six Things You Should Know About Me" that I saw on another blog yesterday. You know the drill, if you read this, you must too blog six things about yourself and leave your URL on my comments section.

SIX THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT AUNTIE SCOTCH

1. I am moved to tears easily for all the wrong reasons.
For example, if you tell me my pet died I would probably keep a stone face for the most part, but when Matt Roloff of "Little People Big World" returned from a business trip to find his porch had been completed while he was away, I went through a box of tissues. It was indeed a good day, my happy little friend.

I also sometimes cry at work. Yeah, yeah, I know it's not a good thing, but I've come to accept it as part of who I am. Some people do crafts, some people sky dive - I cry at work. My friend Kerry, who used to work with me and who I miss so much, and I would often break out into an accopello rendition of "Don't Cry Out Loud" just to crack ourselves up at the absurdity of it all when these bouts would hit me. I must say that I am good at covering up my work tears from most people, I either take a smoke break or pretend I'm having an allergy attack if someone should approach me. They probably know I'm crying, but jimmy crack corn, it doesn't affect my work.

2. My dreams often include Fraggle Rock (you know, that Jim Henson show that aired on HBO in the 80's )
Either the dreams take place in Fraggle Rock, it is on a TV in the background, someone mentions it, or I am about to embrace the cute Fed-ex guy when Wembley or Mokey open the door thinking it’s the bathroom. Damn those Fraggles.

3. I often dispense bad advice to the younger generation
Such as to my cousin “Hey, the E on the gas tank is just a guideline, you’ve got plenty of driving left to do, young man."

4. I am afraid of pigeons.
Seriously. And of course I have a story to desmonstrate.

Throughout my four years of high school, I worked at the local supermarket, the last two years in the bakery. At one point a pigeon got into the store and was hanging out in the rafters. Every once in a while he would swoop on into the bakery and peck at crumbs on the floor. I told the store manager I couldn’t work in these conditions. He laughed it off. I immediately quit without notice. That is really how much I hate pigeons. Four years at a place and I quit abruptly over a pigeon. Although, if I saw that pigeon today I’d thank him for making me quit a deadend job - but from very, very, very far away. Alaska even. Depending on where he was. Okay if he was in Alaska then I would thank him from Florida. My passport expired last month so I obviously can't thank him from New Zealand.

5. I can't spell for shit and my grammar is horrendous. But you already knew that, didn't you, you judgmental bastard.

6. I am often hypocritical and live by double standards. Hey, I'm only human - but if you do it then you are a truly bad person and should seek some help.

Bus Junk

2006-12-06T18:48:00.000-08:00

There was a gentleman sitting across from me on the bus to work this morning. He was professionally dressed and seem quite normal by bus standards.

One of the many golden rules of the bus is try never to make eye contact with anyone. If someone is looking you directly in the eye they are obviously crazy or looking for trouble, in that case you need to deem their behavior suspicious and report them to the bus driver.

So there I was, playing the no eye contact game, looking at the ceiling, out the window, studying my hands and fiddling with my mp3, soon they drifted down to the floor but immediately popped back up a few inches. Because there, low and behold, was a birds eye view of the gentleman sitting across from me's testicles, popping out of a hole in his pants for all the world, or at least everyone sitting on the three seater across from him on the front of the bus, to marvel at.

I immediately looked away, then back, away again, back, away..... I just couldn't believe it. He was engrossed in the "Metro" and I truly believe he had no clue whatsoever. He just made the wrong choice to go commando in the wrong pants.

Now, I don't have testicles, literally or figuratively, but I would imagine that if I did, and they were exposed, that they would catch some sort of draft, don'tcha think? When I'm bending down and exposing my plumbers crack, I know it. I'm not going to do anything about it, but dammit I know it.

And because of that, the thought of letting him know he was exposing himself left my mind as soon as it had entered it. In the past year I've unknowingly walked around with a hole in my pants exposing my ass and went through an entire meeting with my boss with my bra fully exposed without anyone letting me know, so I feel as though I've paid my dues and don't need to tell every Joe with fly down or junk swinging in the breeze to zip it up or tuck it in.

Aside from that, I don't think that is what they mean when they ask you to report any unattended packages to the bus driver. But just for fun, maybe I should have. I've always wanted to report an unattended package just to see how ol' grumpy bus driver would respond.

Take A Good Look Now....

2006-12-05T13:11:00.000-08:00

I woke up and decided that I would attempt two changes in my life today - first of all, I was going to get my ass up and go to the gym and at least attempt to eat healthy. Secondly, almost as an afterthought, I decided there was no time like the present to try and train my cat Nickels to use the toilet. These ideas usually come to me before day-break, so there is mostly no rhyme or reason to them whatsoever.

I learned a valuable lesson the hard way about Nickels likes and dislikes -

Nickels likes to be fed and petted and talked to and played with.
Nickels does not like to be picked up and dangled over a toilet bowl.

I also learned that when relaxed she may give a nip or a quick scratch to my hand without any apparent provocation, but when she is in fear she goes for the face and neck, hissing violently all the while.

So that was the end of that.

I did somehow succeed in getting to the gym. I truly hate going back there after being absent for a week or two - everyone makes a big deal by hooting and hollering (do people still hoot and holler? well these ladies do) and asking where I've been all their lives, etc. etc. I can see their eyes peering at the expanded waist roll and my third chin that has popped up since they had seen me last.

Typically I fire off a round of excuses - sinuses, knee and/or shoulder pain, work woes, yada yada yada. But today I simply responded, quite truthfully, that I wasn't quite sure where I had been or why I had been away so long. I just woke up one day after another and decided that I didn't want to go there. I woke up this morning and decided to go. That's it.

I had a protein shake for breakfast and that coupled with the gym visit got me on the path to cockiness about how I was really going to do it this time. It surprised me how quickly this attitude popped up, it usually takes two to three days.

When I got into the office I began my "I'm On A Diet" ritual by going into my boss' office, as I always do, and warning him to "take a good look now, you won't recognize me soon, I'm on a diet." This is usually followed by a silent, awkward moment that makes me wonder if I just broke some sort of sexual harassment rule by insisting he take a good look at me.

Then I go around to various research analysts exclaiming how they "won't have my fat ass to kick around for long". No matter how many times we've been through this it always confuses and frightens them - most get worried that I think they kick my ass around and apologize for doing so.

Throughout the day I've done well and hope to continue on this path. I think I've hit rock bottom as far as my unhealthly lifestyle, but then again I never cease to amaze myself – who knows what the evening will bring.

I Don't Like Change, Charlie

2006-11-29T07:42:00.000-08:00

Dear Charlie:

It's been quite a few months since you came into my life and replaced the standard monthly local bus T-Pass ("TP"). The most notable difference between the two of you was your appearance. TP would change colors every month and some transit marketing wizard would coordinate the colors to the season or a holiday taking place that month. I always wondered if there was one person with the sole job of designing the monthly T-Pass, if there was I'd take them out for a beer or two and try to cheer them up because they are now out of a job.

That is because, Charlie, you never changed. You never spruced yourself up in orange for October, or cool pastels in May, navy blue and red in April for opening day.

Not unlike the fanny pack, you were about function not frills. And I was quite okay with that, it was comforting even. I don't like change, Charlie.

We had our ups and downs, I often could never find you when you were needed the most, sometimes you would expire and still hang around and since you don't change from month to month, I'd foolishly try to use you and be belittled by the bus driver.

It was a few weeks ago when I started to get an inkling that things were headed south between us. I got on the bus to find this new shiny machine that I was suppose to put you in as opposed to just sliding you through. I consider myself to be quite on the ball, but I struggled a bit with it so you can imagine what the poor elderly people and various dim-witted bus folk went through. Since we know that most bus drivers have the patience of a diabetic gorilla deprived of a banana there were quite a few times that you were ripped out of passenger’s hands and inserted into the machine by the drivers themselves. It was all quite amusing in a way, so I forgave you, realized my cheese was moved, and dealt with it. I could never stay mad at you for long.

But yesterday my world fell apart, Charlie. Sure, I heard bits and pieces of the changes to come, but I was in denial. I never thought you'd really do it, Charlie.

Then I got this email yesterday:

Beginning with your January pass you will no longer receive a Charlie ticket at the beginning of each month. You will now receive a CharlieCard which will be your permanent pass and will be reloaded automatically each month. All you will have to do at the beginning of each month is tap your CharlieCard on the black target at the farebox and board the train or bus.

First of all, Charlie, you know how I like to randomly lose my credit cards, wallet, purse, bra.... how the hell am I going to hang onto you forever? At least when you came out monthly I knew if I lost you I only had so many days to wait before you arrived in an envelope.

And what's with this black target bullshit? People had a hard enough time using you the old fashion way and obviously wasted precious seconds trying to use you the newer way - and now this???

And the sick part of all this is, you are going up in price - meaning I am paying for these changes that were never really needed in the first place. I mean, if you and the T wanted to be more efficient, why wouldn’t you consider adding more buses and trains?

I just don't get it, Charlie. I'm pissed and hurt. And worst off I am stuck with you. I never thought I would find myself in a loveless relationship, but here I am. It sucks and I’m sad.

I hate you Charlie, burn in hell. Consider yourself couch-bound indefinitely.

Irately Yours Not By Choice,

Auntie Elizabeth Ann Scotch, IV

The Best Drinking Night of the Year in Boston...

2006-11-22T20:53:00.000-08:00

So, tonight is the famed best drinking night ever imaginable in Boston.... what did you do?

COMM-ENTS!!! (pounding my desk)
COMM-ENTS!!! (pounding my desk)
COMM-ENTS!!! (pounding my desk)

If Allston’s the Worst, You Can Keep The Best

2006-11-20T14:26:00.000-08:00

A new book entitled "The Absolutely Worst Places to Live in America" has named Allston, MA as one of the grossest and dirtiest places to live in the United States.

Disclaimer - haven't read this book yet and do not plan on purchasing it - if anything I'll take the 66 bus out of Harvard directly into the deepest bowels of America to steal a copy from the Urban Renewals bookstore on Brighton Avenue.

According to The Boston Globe, the author lived in Allston as a student in the 90's and from the quotes I read, also from The Boston Globe, he has a major chip on his shoulder...

Below in italics are some quotes taken from The Boston Globe of the author's descripton of Allston:

[Allston is] a community of "faux Irish pubs...."

What makes an Irish pub authentic anyhow? I mean, unless it's located in Gallway, aren't all American Irish pubs faux in one way or another? Most of the Irish pubs in Allston are owned, or founded at least, by true red-blooded Irishmen.

"....garbage, vomiting in the shrubbery, drunken brawling, late night/early morning car alarms"

That may be an accurate, yet arguable, description of some parts of Allston. I myself wouldn't want to move to the Commonwealth Avenue section of Allston because there is too much hustle and bustle for my taste. However, I am still left scratching my head wondering, even if the author's description is right on the money, how that could qualify Allston as being one of the worst cities to live in in the United States. And not only that, Allston is ranked No. 14!! It's in the top 25!!! I can name at least a dozen shitty areas in Massachusetts alone!

As a life long Brighton resident, I have griped for years about absentee landlords renting over-priced/over-crowded apartments to students. I am fortunate enough to only have one of these houses in close proximity to my house. The place looks as though it is about to fall down, there is always trash in the front yard and loud parties that go well into the wee hours of the morning - take that scenario and multiply it by 10,000 and you've got Allston. I don't blame the students - kids will be kids. I guess my point is - the author lived in Allston as a student, Allston is pretty much dominated by a student population who contribute greatly to the garbage and late night drunken behavior he complains about. It is what it is.

Allston has never dragged residents in under false pretenses of being the best cities to live in America, but it is certainly not one of the worst.

And then he gets really mean and strikes out in a seemingly passive agressive way......

"Allston is a Neverland for the thrift shop set," he writes. ". . . you have this whole aging (thirtyish) segment of the population pathetically suffering from the Peter Pan-like delusion that they'll never grow old or irrelevant, still hanging out at the college bars and sitting in each other's living rooms dissecting pop culture like it's 1992."

Ouch..... That kind of stung a bit since I myself am a delusional 30 year old - even if I avoid the college bar scene like a VD. All I can say is that this guy must of had some really bad experiences in Allston, but it serves him right if he's going from living room to living room of thirty-something college bar dwellers. Nothing good can come out of that.

In any case, I’m already over this - the guy has gotten enough attention and will most likely make a ton of money from the free press alone.

The Inebriated Epicures Brunch at SoHo

2006-11-20T09:12:00.000-08:00

On Sunday Elsie, Bella, Andrea, Regina and I met for our very first, of what we hope will become a weekly, or at least monthly, ritual, of getting together on Sundays for brunch. The idea was born out of a brainstorming session of Elsie and I - we thought it was about time we devised a concrete plan to drink on Sundays and since no one likes to have a big head at work on Mondays, the earlier the better. So brunch it would be.

We all met up at Soho on Market Street in Brighton around 11:00 AM. I had only been in there once before, but that was at night. When I walked in I was extremely impressed, I immediately fell in love with the contemporary decor surrounding the large Irish bar in the center of the room. We sat in front of a big window facing Market Street - prime location for my love of people watching. They had a jazz band playing in the lower level adding to the ambiance and I was happy - we made the right choice by coming here!

The server came over to take our drink orders, Reg dove in first by ordering a Bloody Mary. It was then we discovered a horrible, heinous, unspeakable, tragic reality. Massachusetts law forbids the serving of alcohol before 12PM on Sundays. When the waiter told us this Andrea jokingly said "oh you are pulling my leg" and we all laughed like hell. The waiter defensively responded that it isn't his decision that it is the state of Massachusetts. Okay, so our sarcasm attempt was lost on the guy, we told him we were just joshing and ordered coffee.
The waiter brought back our coffee and told us to go help ourselves to the buffett. That was the second to the last time he came over to our table. I'm not sure if it was the no booze before noon joke, or the fact that we were dressed casually (as more people trickled in we realized that people dressed up for brunch, and we were in jeans and sweaters) therefore we were labeled as trash, but he seemed to be avoiding us.

The food was good - no complaints, no raves. The coffee on the other hand was un-drinkable. Very, very strong.

Noon came around and finally the waiter surfaced to take our drink orders. This could have changed my view of him if not for the fact he never came back to our table, we ended up having to go up to the bar to get another round of drinks, and we had to track him down to even get our check. Our table was littered with glasses and coffee mugs for the entire duration of the meal.

All in all it was a great day. The food was okay, the locale and atmosphere was great, the service sucked and of course, the company rocked! I don't think I'd go back there for brunch, but I would certainly return for drinks in the evening!

The Circle of Meth

2006-11-17T02:55:00.000-08:00

Years ago I once heard someone refer to Brighton as "a melting pot" - I laughed because they said pot and I was pretty stoned at the time. Aside from that, they did have a point, Brighton is a pretty diverse community although I'm not sure how well we "melt" together. However, despite our different ethnic backgrounds, religious and political beliefs and sexual orientation - there is one thing that we all have in common that no language barrier can deter - and that is our undivided passion for gossip.

That said, it warmed my heart last night when I heard that a drug-making laboratory was uncovered on Surrey Street. Just in time for the holiday season!! I have not seen this many people out and about on the streets since the old barn behind my house burnt to the ground. There was excitement in the air as helicopters flew overhead and news crews flooded the neighborhood. Familiar faces on the 10 o'clock news making statements of shock and disbelief added to the fun.

Reports this morning indicate that the lab was producing ecstasy, cocaine, and crystal meth.

"Meth" as those in the know call it (or those who watch A&E like me call it) scares the shit out of me because I read that the average user is between the ages of 35 and 45.

When I turned 30, I patted myself on the back for getting through my teens and twenties without a serious drug problem (go ahead and take a crack about booze being a drug). I figured it was quite a feat to live so self destructively for so many years and still be able to hold down a job and not steal from my friends and family. In fact, if I die tomorrow, that is what I want to remembered for. On my headstone I'd like it to read "Auntie Scotch - She Was Not A Crack Whore." My finest accomplishment.

So you can see how it may worry me a bit that there is an addictive drug out there that is affecting my soon to be age group.

I can see it now, I'm 35, I'm at a dinner party with friends and just as the hostess is about to serve dessert and coffee someone busts out a meth pipe. Buckling under peer pressure and driven by a constant need to fit in, I take a hit.

Next thing you know, everything I achieved over the past five years is gone - my fabulous husband, my wonderful children, my million dollar home and red hot career. I'm back living in the apartment upstairs from my mother, broke, alone, spending my free time blogging about nonsense.

Christ I'm pathetic.