Monday, May 30, 2005

UGH

Big spiders. Antsy fucking dogs. No hot water. Permanently wet clothes.

14 DAYS

Sunday, May 29, 2005

Some recent good (clean?) fun at House Posted by Hello

Spring has sprung, a.k.a. Welcome to the Jungle

Well, spring/summer has sprung here at House. This means all varietals of flowers are in bloom, jasmine and roses and the really high weeds that have taken over the yard. As if it were easy trying to get myself to walk the dogs before, now I find myself traipsing all over high grasses and thinking that now, not having health insurance, is no time to get Lyme's disease.

Along with the "splendor" of summer at House comes critters. Birds are tweet-tweeting everywhere (until Fred gets hold of them) and deer are frolicking in the yard. Unfortunately, bees the size of a small fawn are standing guard at the door, so I've been going in through the garage to avoid them instead of running screaming, knowing these bees can catch me if they want to. Even as I type, there is a hornet with a long stinger trapped between my skylight and my screen, fighting to get inside and eat me.

Today, while walking the dogs through the woods/my yard, I had just dodged a couple bees. Ducked down from some low-flying bird in Alfred Hitchcock movie style. Navigated my way through the less-tall grass.
Went to step on a garden hose and IT WRIGGLED.
This was no garden hose. This was a garden snake, and a pretty long one at that. By now, I'm panting with all this activity and scream like a banshee as the snake slithers under a bush. The dogs, my alarms and my protectors, just sat there and looked at me.

Have I mentioned there is no hot water because I've apparently run out of propane ("300 bloody dollars to fill that tank," I've been told), and my third floor room with all skylights is currently 85 degrees?

I believe today is the appropriate time to start the countdown till Miss M gets home, meaning the countdown till I move out an hour before her plane arrives.

15 days.

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

"Hip? Hip Hop? Hip hop anonymous?"

Well, I'm one step closer to the person I should be after an Off the Curb class with Jackie Henderson.

My friend and coworker Anne suggested we take a hip-hop class tonight, only $8. We drove over to the studio, right at the top of the projects and next to a very low-class dive bar. A Jamaican in a caravan drove by and told us we were beautiful and asked if we were already married. Of course, we said yes we were.

Jackie Henderson is the choreographer for the Off the Curb dance troupe, and in case any of you haven't seen them, they are amazing. She's such a freakin natural, too... all she has to do is throw her arm up in the air and I'm like "oooooooh. das niiiice." She's so sweet and casual in her Rocawear sweatshirt and Timbs, I guess the way a hip-hop dance diva should be dressed. I have learned the Crip walk and several other dance moves that you have to see to believe. To give you a mental picture, at one point, she said, "Shake whatever's loosest as fast as you can. But make sure you can stop it!" I thought about how I left my sports bra at home by accident and decided I'd better just shake my ass in that case.

And, then at the end, Jackie Henderson told me I'm really good and I should think about getting involved in the Off the Curb Dance troupe! ... OK, no she didn't. But that would've been cool, huh?

Next time, I'll wear my Rocawear jeans and the yellow Brooklyn sweatshirt Brian gave me. I knew I got them for a reason.

Thursday, May 19, 2005

Due to Jenn's scolding, now known as "Gimme Gimme Gimme that Groupie Love"

I had this feeling the whole time that something really, really cool was going to happen, but I couldn’t exactly come right out and say that. It would’ve sounded arrogant or teenybopperish, or both. But something very cool did in fact happen.

Angie and I parked the car in Boston to find it smoking and leaking coolant. Our night seemed off to a bumpy start, but we jumped on the T (God, I love public transportation) and headed down to the Roxy for The Roots concert. Next, we stood in the wrong line for a half hour to collect our guest list passes and thought we had missed my beloved Floetry. I was bummed.

The club was packed. Angie pointed out balcony and decided if it wasn’t VIP (or was), we should get up there. We grabbed a couple beers, $6 Bud Lights in a plastic bottle. We scouted out the locations, and we settled in behind a couple Hispanic girls at a spot that looked right over the stage. I befriended one by discussing just where that weed smoke might be coming from.

“Mmm, girl if you find it you come tell me,” she said, swinging her hips. “They betta be sharin!”
“I know, right?” I said, acting like I cared.

Angie pulled on my sleeve.

“Look over there, where that sign says the Roots,” she said, pointing at a black curtain pulled back just enough to see through. “I think that’s them, right there!”

With our free tickets, we had stumbled upon a place with the best view AND right next to backstage. Holy crap, we agreed, we were looking at The Roots only a few yards and a VIP rope away. Things were looking up.

Needless to say, The Roots were outta control when they took the stage. They haven’t become one of the most legendary hip-hop groups for nothing. And wouldn’t you know, they took a break and out came Floetry! Life, my friends, was good!

During their break, the band went up and hung out on the outside of their curtain, right in our plain view. We were baffled. There they were, drinking bottles of water and actually watching the other artists performing. The girl that sings their backup vocals was right next to me, talking to a couple people. I decided I had to meet her.

I strode right up to her and told her I thought she was amazing, the whole band was amazing, her EARRINGS WERE AMAZING! God, I said, you guys are just so friggin cool! She grinned and shook my hand and said it was nice to meet me. She introduced me to her cousins who were there for the show. I walked back over to Angie with the decision that The Roots were my new favorite people. Who knew it would get even more interesting from there? Well, I did, but we’re getting to that.

So, when I was finished gushing about how beautiful and well-accessorized the Roots girl was, I turned my attention to the band members hanging over the railing right next to me. I looked at the drummer, ?uestlove, probably the most recognizable of the group because of his fro. (Note: I didn’t know his name at the time, or anyone's in the band for that matter. I have since learned everything there is to know about The Roots.) I’m looking at ?uestlove, mumbling something about how OMG, they are just standing right there like they aren’t famous, and he nods his big old fro and waves at me, not a hint of a smile but why would a badass drummer need to smile? My jaw drops, and I shriek and hope nobody can hear.


I wave back, then I look directly down at my beer to contemplate how to react
when someone famous waves at you unprovoked.

Wow, I think. This is pretty friggin great. I met the girl with the huge earrings and the drummer waved to me. I start sending Ian frantic text messages so he knows everything he was missing. I look at the people around me, paying particular attention to the Asians standing behind me with big Asian grins and dancing to the music. I think they’re probably stoned, and I talk to Angie about how much I love Asians in general.

When I get the nerve to look back over at the band, I caught the eye of the guitarist, aka Captain Kirk. He was looking at me. I try to smile, but after three beers and two famous people I’m not too confident in my muscle contractions. He keeps looking, then he and ?uestlove turn and start whispering.

I start to think they are talking about me, then I mentally smack myself in the forehead and think, shut up you dumb fuck. They are The Roots. They’re not talking about you. But still, I’m secretly thinking it, as much as you can keep a secret from your own self.

They took the stage again, rallying for another amazing hour. The crowd had thinned out when Floetry came on, because I think people thought the Roots wouldn’t come back out. So we had a good size space of the balcony to ourselves and we danced. I couldn’t help but think that Captain Kirk was looking at me, but I tried to fight it. But it was like that time that we first went to see Felix Brown. I knew from probably the third song that something was eventually gonna go down, and when Kwesi took my coat and tossed it to the back of the stage I knew where he was going later. It was kind of like that, only they couldn’t reach my coat at a real concert and this was THE ROOTS!

The show ended, and I slowly finished my beer so Angie wouldn’t try to get me to leave.


As the band left the stage, Kirk the guitar maniac came up the stairs and walked
directly over to us.
“Hi,” he said, and stuck out his hand. “I’m Kirk.”

I shook it, acting like I knew he was Kirk, and introduced myself. Ditto to Angie.
He asked if we enjoyed the show, had we seen them before, et cetera. I don’t think either me or Angie remembers much of the conversation because we were waiting for the chance to scream.

“You know what?” Kirk said. “I want to introduce you to my bass player. Can you hang out here for one minute?”
Sure, we said, trying to act cool. We could wait. He walked off backstage, and me and Angie turned and looked at each other blankly for about 7 or 8 seconds.
“AAAAHHHH!” we screamed, startling the stoned Asians. “AAAAH! He just came over here and introduced himself to US!”

A minute or two later, Kirk came back with Hub, the bass player. Kirk made Angie’s night, looking down at her pink Barbie t-shirt. She had originally felt underdressed in jeans and flip flops, but her Barbie tee pulled her through yet another night like a champ.
“Can you tell me your name again? I keep wanting to call you Barbie,” he said, probably not realizing that being called Barbie by a member of the Roots was the best possible scenario she could imagine for that night. Meanwhile, I was trying to explain to Hub how I think they are the coolest, least pretentious band I have ever seen. He was rubbing my arm.

“I mean, I just think it’s so great that you guys just come out here and meet people after the show,” I said, rambling like I do when I am excited. He put his arm around me.
“Well, how else are we supposed to meet the cute girls?”
I internally shrieked again. Hub tells me how he’s gotta get on a tour bus again at 4 a.m., they’re going to Cleveland. Yea, it’s fun touring but sometimes he wishes he could get more sleep. OK, so maybe Hub (on the right) is the kind of guy that would hit on me anyway. He’s certainly not the hottest in the band. He’s a big, black, sorta mean looking dude. But very sweet, and famous, and hitting on me. They say something like they’ll be right back. Angie shrieks, “he thinks you’re cute!” I just open my mouth but by this point I’m too overwhelmed to shriek. I just shake my head, bewildered.
Kirk comes back to say goodbye, giving me a kiss on the cheek and Angie a kiss on the cheek AND a hug (hubba hubba, Kirk is kinda hot). At some point, Kirk tells me he likes my braids. I figure maybe that’s why this is all happening, Angie's Barbie tee and my big hoop earrings and a couple little braids here and there, very Julia Stiles in Save the Last Dance. Good accessory call, I think. Meanwhile, some girl had butted in with Hub, and Angie and I just stood there waiting, smiling like we were not freaking out, and sent frantic text messages but tried to appear nonchalant about it. Hub came back.

“You are just so cute,” he said. “My boy came over and told me I had to come over here and meet you cuz he knew I’d like you.”
I thought, “What! That shit’s crazy!” And then I said, "What! That shit's crazy!"
I was still dumbfounded by this whole affair.
“Nah,” he said, squeezing my arm. “You’re so cute! It’s not crazy.”

He went backstage, and me and Angie left.

At this point, I told Angie that I knew all along this was going to happen, but who could actually say that out loud? She understood.

I know that might seem like an anti-climactic ending, just going home. You all were probably thinking I went backstage and gave him something to remember, but God, that quickie shit is so two years ago for me. We just left, with the knowledge that very famous men picked us out of a huge crowd to say hello, and that we can feel pretty good about that.

Monday, May 16, 2005

Raise your hand

Who wants to go see the Roots with me Wednesday in Boston? Ian is SO dumped.

Now recruiting anyone with a love for hip hop and who also thinks they are black. I think me and Ian might have been the only ones that fit that though.

Act now or forever hold your peas.

Thursday, May 12, 2005

Ronald Must Die

I really needed a caramel sundae.
I was home alone the other night, and it was only like, 8 p.m. I thought I would pick up a caramel sundae from McDonalds, the only proper place, and try like hell to avoid eating it until i was home, warm in my bed. In one hand would be my caramel sundae. In the other would be the remote, clicking through the second season of Sex & The City before I have to return it to Netflix. Yes, I actually HAVE to return it, because I can't afford Netflix anymore.

Anyway, I got to McDonalds and entered the drive thru, since I always drive thru and since I was wearing pajama bottoms and no bra. I pulled up to the speaker and scanned the menu absent-mindedly, wondering if I wanted nuts. I noticed that the dessert section now had McFlurry's and hot fudge sundaes. No caramel. Hm.

"Welcome to McDonalds, may I take your order please?"
"Oh, hi, can I get a caramel sundae please..."
I trailed off, trying to decide if i should ask for the extra caramel on the bottom, when to my surprise, she interjected.
"We don't have caramel."
"Um, excuse me?"
"We don't have caramel."
"Oh, crap. OK I'll have an oreo McFlurry."

I drove around in a panic. Maybe they just ran out. Maybe it's just this McDonalds. On the way over, I had been contemplating whether I should go to the McDonalds on West Main or East Main; maybe I had just made the wrong choice and I was being punished.
I pulled up to the disinterested looking Hispanic girl at the window and handed her my $2 and change, far more than I should be paying if I were getting my $1 caramel sundae.

"So," I said, trying to act composed. "Are you just out of caramel or do you not carry it anymore?"
"We don't have it anymore."

My face dropped. I looked at her sadly, and I told her quite honestly that this was the saddest thing I have ever heard in my life. She smiled politely.
I went home with my McFlurry and made a couple frantic phone calls, trying to find out if this was a McDonalds-wide phenomenon. Jamie confirmed that she in fact also had tried to get a caramel sundae a few weeks ago, to no avail. Oh my god.

So, yesterday afternoon I went to my Memere's house to bring her some oatmeal in the hospital. I went instinctively to the fridge for a Diet Pepsi, and there in a blaze of glory was a bottle of caramel on the door. I reached and swiftly pulled off the cap and squirted it right into my mouth-- about a full mouthful if truth be told. God, it's good. McDonalds be damned.

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

To any of you who were faithful readers of the Mosaic in the good old days, i suggest today you check out the features section at www.newportmercury.com. A scintillating story about thefacebook.com, which unfortunately has my picture but i suggest if you're nearby, you pick up the print edition. THAT one has cute pics of Angie, Abby, Brian, Dave, etc. all over the page which makes sense. that picture of me... does not. But I love you guys and I wanted to share.

A blog about my traumatic Tuesday evening will follow later tonight! Nothing serious, except it is serious.

Monday, May 09, 2005

The Black Experience

Anyone who's driven with me on a Sunday knows where I keep my dial set. Sunday is the day of rest, the day of family dinners... The day to leave the island and jam in my car to 95.5 WBRU. Any other day, this is not my station of choice, but on Sunday, the alt-rock station becomes 360: The Black Experience.

In the morning, they take ya to church with gospel in case your hangover kept you from the chapel. Evenings ease into "The Gentle Touch" slow jams. The music is interspersed with shoutouts that usually sound like this: "To JoJo, from your wifey. I love and miss you. Keep ya head up and you'll get home soon." One can guess that all the radios in the ACI are tuned to 95.5 on Sundays, as inmates listen for a personal shoutout from their own wifey, a reason to keep their head up.

Most of the DJs are horrible. They stutter, they stumble and they generally have nothing interesting to say, but I manage to block out the 30 or 40 seconds at a time to have a radio experience blissfully high on hip-hop but low on G-Unit. It's one day to listen to the old-school, the classics, the hits that don't get the overblown play on Hot 106 and enjoy being in the car. Sunday was an especially good day because I had a lucky day.

They do contests constantly, and sometimes I get the sense I should try because anyone else who's listening probably has to wait in line and call collect from the payphone. They were talking about a Roots concert in Boston and said, "call up and be the 9th caller to win and see the Roots." So, I called. Beep Beep Beep. Over and over, maybe like 9 times. Ehh, i figured, I'll call ONE more time and if it doesn't get through, I'll stop. So I did... it didn't. I put the phone down.

Still, I called one more time, because I had this feeling that I would win. Nope. Busy again.

Put the phone back down. Ugh, one more time, I thought. Ring! Ring!

"Hello, this is 360"
"Hi, I'm calling about the concert tickets?"
"Do you like the Roots, cuz you're the 9th caller!"

I like 95.5 because they don't play your conversation when you win. So I said hells, yes, I like the Roots.

In a grand sweep of serendipity, my sisters in soul, Floetry, are the opening act. Yesssss. I'm bringing Ian, which is good because I'll be on the guest list and I'm afraid I'll have to say "I'm with the Black Experience." Ian won't mind though.

Sunday, May 08, 2005

For Miss M, whenever I decide to leave

Dear Miss M,

I will soon be leaving House for the following reasons.

There is no way I can feed two dogs and a cat, keep them fresh-smelling and happy for two and a half months with $40 and I need more money. Your cat kills something nearly every day—a couple weeks ago, it was the lower half of a dead grey thing and today I was greeted with blue jay leftovers—and your dogs think they’re supposed to shit in the house. At least they stopped humping each other now that they’re out of heat, but nonetheless, it must say somewhere in the health books scattered around the house that breathing in urine and feces every morning is not good for the lungs. I thought maybe if I gave them more freedom they’d stop shitting, but they tore up your couch cushions instead. Sorry. Luckily, you probably bought the couch for $30 at Building 19 anyway.

"House" is disgustingly messy, cluttered with items still wrapped that you bought from Job Lot, and infested with a wide variety of spiders. The fact that I notice another strange object taped to the wall each day, like tea bags or the plastic thing you pull off a half gallon of milk to open it, is disconcerting. I had to clear 35 bottles of vitamins from my foot-high fridge to make room which, by the way, freezes everything no matter which way I turn the dial. The fridge in “your” kitchen is full of really old eggs, vitamins and dead lobsters, and the lack of a dining room table anywhere in this two-kitchen house is confusing. Your clothes dryer doesn’t actually get a bra dry in less than two hours and I believe it’s wasting more energy than my refusal to “switch to solar power on sunny days.” You’ll find that out when the electric bill comes, though, and you can add that to the list of complaints including “ploughing the drive, bloody expensive, and $300 to fill the propane.” Again, I apologize for my excessive needs to be warm and actually leave the house this past winter. Too bad you couldn’t get your tractor out and plough the drive yourself; I would’ve paid you the $80 to see that.

Most importantly, your water turned my hair green, and I know you stole my quarters. Fucking Cheap Brit.

Most of your plants are dead, and I've taken the liberty to have your still-wrapped Patsy Cline CD that you bought from Wal-Mart many years ago. Jenn and I ate your frozen pizzas, the only bloody edible thing in your whole fridge, so you can take that off the $30 you owe me for baths and doggie perfume. Pay no attention to those photos snapped on your disposable camera, and if it smells like weed in here, it should.

I know Zup is supposed to be my emergency contact, but honestly, I think we called him enough that time after the bar when John Fing Bozzuto asked his answering machine if he had gotten his rabies shot. I’d call you myself, but I can’t find you since you faxed me your travel itinerary in French.

The dogs are taking a holiday up the street at K-9 Instincts. Cheers!

Lots of love,
Kennel Girl

Saturday, May 07, 2005

bout time

bout time you bitches posted. have he/she contact me if necessary.

love,
kate

Monday, May 02, 2005

You can quote me

I think we should devote an entire post to the theme "Best Quote of the Weekend." So if you remember any gems let them be known!

To start us off I'll submit this one (which I think I have verbatim) -

Kim: "Jenn, I'll make out with you even if I'm not drunk"

Thoughts on my way home

Yes, I made it home from Newport, safe and sound, should anyone be wondering. I actually drove home after getting into Minneapolis because I missed my bed. I also learned that my brother's roommate happened to steal all the blankets from their apartment so he could go sleep out, in the snow, for tickets to the System of a Down concert, and I would have nothing to sleep with there anyways.

So 12 hours after leaving the island I made it to my house, thanks to 3 coffee beverages, singing loudly to my RENT cd, and bopping to a radio station playing 80's music.

I thought I had met my quota for crazy encounters back in Newport, but I found out I was mistaken during my trip home. So in addition to our new friend Kim, "Lou," "Motel 6 worker who hates his life," "Guy who told Dani what Skeet means" and "Guy who asked Dani if she had a bisexual friend" I would like to include the following 2 characters.

1 - Cesear from N'Awlins. He was very chatty and informed that even though he is 28 and has a little boy he knows how to party. In fact he had been partying since Thursday while he visited friends in Providence and NYC this weekend. Apparently the party had not stopped as halfway through the flight he leaned over to tell me that his buddy convinced him to mix vodka with his Snapple. Then he shared his Ipod list, assuring me that I could listen to anything I wanted.

2 - Mustafa and the Starbucks workers in the Minneapolis Airport. It seemed English was not their first language when they asked if I wanted my Caramel Macchiato made upside down. All I got from their explanation is that they consider their beverages to be great pieces of artwork or that they are like that Dr. Pepper commercial with the guy with the long tongue. I have no idea what commercial they were describing but I was assured I would be "hooked up."

"You want delicious drink, yes? Den, we hook you up. No worry."