Did That Really Just Happen?

I've taken public transportation for a long time. In high school, I took a public bus to school. While working in Washington, D.C., for a semester in college, most of my time was spent on the bus and Metro. While working my first job out of college, I took the bus until I bought my first car. And ever since I started working in Boston, I've taken the commuter rail and subway nearly every day.

So I've come to learn the ways of "train people." There are normal people, like me, who take public transportation. And then there are people who I believe exist solely to ride public transportation to make the normal people uncomfortable. For the most part, I'm able to disengage. I wear my headphones (the international symbol for "I don't want to talk to you") and am always engaged in one of the following activities:

• sleeping
• reading a book or magazine
• doing a sudoku puzzle
• crocheting

I am lucky that these behaviors have led to a fairly good track record of being left alone. But the other day I was forced to reevaluate my skills. Or just be perplexed at the new tactics of "train people."

Lately, since I have extra time, I've been walking to the train station instead of taking the subway one stop. However, it was raining when I left work and I was afraid it would begin to really storm again, so I decided to pop onto the T (subway). I was standing at the platform in standard form (headphones, working on a sudoku puzzle paperclipped to the cover of my novel), minding my own business and in my zone. Then the strangest thing happened.

Because I'm risking some of you judging me in this post, I must preface: I love the gays. I can honestly say that I have had the pleasure of being friends and working with some funny, sarcastic and genuinely nice gay men, albeit some have a stereotypical effeminate-sounding voice. Good guys, even if they don't particularly like girls--that's ok. So what happened next was weird.

I'm standing on the platform, in my zone, and this guy walks up to me. He's tall, light-skinned with "pretty" eyes, a few nondescript piercings and is reasonably dressed for what I assume is a undergrad. Nothing screamed homosexual to me, but if I were sitting on a bench playing gay or straight, I might have said bi. And then he started speaking.

Strange Guy: Um, excuse me? (yes, there was a lilt to his voice)

Me: Yes? (Taking out one headphone. WHY? WHY??? Damn me and my willingness to give directions to someone who looks lost.)

SG: Um, yeah, hi. So I saw you, um, standing here, and um, I just wanted to come over here, um and say hi...because you're, um, kinda cute. So I just wanted to say hi. Sorry.

Me (completely and utterly flabbergasted and confused): Oh. Ok. Thanks. Hi.

And then he just disappeared. For real. I don't remember seeing which direction he walked in, but when I came out of my confused haze, I looked around the platform and he wasn't there. There was a staircase nearby, so he may have gone to the lower platform, but that made it all the more random for me. So why was I so confused? Most women would be flattered to have a guy approach them. This is what was going through my mind while he spoke.

• Oh, he's so cute! He doesn't know he's gay.
• Wait--kinda cute?
  
• Maybe he does know he's gay and doesn't want to be, so someone told him he should just go up and talk to random women because then he might like girls.
• Oh no, he wants me to say something back.

And then when he left:

• Yeah, that was a training exercise, because who stops to talk to someone when they are on there way to catch a train on another platform?

I think I'll keep walking up to the train station.

Are You Ready for Some Football?

For me, the month of July is like being a kid during the month of November, fixated on sweet anticipation of Christmas. You know it's too early to really decide what Santa should bring you, but there's no reason you can't bank up some good "better not pout, better not shout" points to ensure your status on the nice list. And while it's only preseason and it doesn't count and it won't even be very good, I've spent the last 6 months eagerly anticipating the return of football. My personal sports quota has been way below normal, with the beginning of the lull delayed due to the Winter Olympics, and then a mild increase during Celtics playoffs, but overall, since February, I'm more than two quarts down.

I love football. Specifically I love Steelers football. But over the years I've come to appreciate the entire sport and all the players who make it great. I think this comes from having moved away from Pittsburgh and therefore being exposed (whether I like it or not) to other teams.

When I lived in central PA, I mostly got Pittsburgh games, but sometimes the Eagles would come through too. And of course I don't get nearly enough Steelers games in MA. And I have a profound loathing of the New England Patriots. So I've come to watch whatever game is on Sunday afternoon. And then the 4:00 game. And the Sunday night game. And when Dave broke down and we got cable with ESPN, the Monday night game too.

My excuse started as "Well, if I watch this game, maybe they'll give me highlights of the Steelers game." But the more I watched, the more I was interested in the different players and teams. Don't get me wrong, my loyalties lie in Heinz Field, but I can appreciate a strong player on any team and can spot a good game when I see it.

And while I'm not a fevered sports junkie, I've started doing something that I once believed was reserved only for the most dedicated sportsaholics. I joined a Fantasy Football league. And then, because I had so much fun and wanted to play with people I knew and could really get into it with--I started my own league.

I'm the commissioner of a trash talkin' league full of family, friends and coworkers. We take it seriously (well, we take the trash talk seriously) and while for the most part it is just for bragging rights, there is a Family Cup that my sister, brother, brother-in-law, D and I throw a few bucks into, winner take all for the team among us that rates highest. D won last year, but ended up not getting his money since he couldn't come to Pittsburgh and collect his winnings as a result of his back injury. So we spent his winnings on beer when the Steelers beat the Ravens at Heinz Field after Christmas. (So I think that means everyone but D won that one.)

Yesterday I renewed the league, so now begins the second most important part of fantasy football (the first being creative, funny, and insulting trash talk): picking my team name. Two years ago I start with my love of all things ninja and was the Trailerpark Ninjas. Last year, in keeping with the ninja theme, I developed several ever-changing names, including Bridal Ninjas, Ghetto Ninjas, Ninja Muffins, Rainbow Ninjas and Defeated Ninjas (I ended up in 10th place out of 14th--at least I don't take my team development too seriously). This year I'm starting out strong, with Ivy League Ninjas (What we lack in brawn, we make up for in brains) although that will require me to pay serious attention to team development. I'm open to suggestions!





Oh, and as long as I beat my family, I don't care if I lose every other game.

Hip-Hop Grandmas

I have a distinct memory of being in my room when I was in either 5th or 6th grade, and Grandma made a sudden appearance. She and Grandpap had come over for the evening and were playing cards with my parents. Apparently my brother or sister had won the TV battle, since I was playing up in my room instead of hanging out, watching TGIF on ABC or some family movie. My brother was probably watching baseball.

Anyway, I'm in my room, listening to the radio and the dance party/remix set that came on after 8:00 pm was jamming. All I needed was a disco ball and I was ready to bust a move. The Electric Slide started to play and I continued playing or reading or whatever I was doing. I'd heard Grandma come upstairs, and when she heard the music, she came in, "I love this song!" I smiled and laughed because I knew it was true. Grandma and Grandpap used to go out dancing most weekends, so I wasn't surprised.

Grandma: Why aren't you dancing?

Me: Oh, I don't know it.

Grandma: It's easy! I'll show you.

And that's the story of how Grandma taught me the Electric Slide in my bedroom. Growing up with such an influence, I'm rarely flustered at the actions and comments of, well, grandmas. So it should come as no surprise, that this past weekend I wasn't fazed by a few things.

Over the weekend, my mother-in-law, M, and I traveled to the Allentown, PA, area to go to my husband's cousin's fiance's bridal shower (did you get that?). We stayed with D's step-grandmother, A (D's grandfather passed away last year, but A is a part of this very small, close family). On Friday night, we piled into A's car to go out to dinner. Now, I wasn't actually surprised, but I was curious when I heard Ke$ha playing on the radio. Later, on the way back to the house, A addressed the interesting choice of music, now playing a little ditty by Ludacris.

A: How do you like my radio station, C?

Me: It's pretty good. Not what I'd think you'd have on, but I'm not complaining.

A: Well, they play different stuff during the day, and then in the evening it switches for more of what the kids to listen, so I just never bother to change the channel. I don't mind it.

Me: That's cool. I don't know which is funnier, that you listen to this station or that my 4 year old niece knows all the words to these songs.

A: Well, last week I was in the car with my daughter and my grandkids and they had their iPod hooked up. We're driving along and all of a sudden, I say, "That's Usher." Just about blew them away.

I laughed, and then A admitted that she cheated a bit because Usher had just been on Oprah so that's the only way she knew his name. Regardless, I was impressed that she recognized and remembered the song. It made me wonder if she could do the Electric Slide. (I checked our wedding photos and couldn't find any evidence of such behavior, but that doesn't mean she wasn't out there!)

The next day, after the shower, we had come back to the house and A said, "I need a drink," meaning she was parched and wanted some water, but the way it came out made us giggle that it was happy hour. This sparked something for A and she had M and I follow her to the basement so we could help her with something. She opened one of the cabinets and we saw this:

About 40 bottles of varying alcohol that hadn't been touched since the late 1970s, so far as M and A could determine. It had been added to over the years (wine that D's grandfather had received as gifts from work and such), but no one had actually consumed any of it and many bottles were totally untouched.

A: What do I do with it?

Me: I think we need to dump it. If it's that old, it's not good any more.

A: Even the unopened bottles?

Me: Yeah. With the temperature changes and humidity down here, I don't think any of that could have survived one year's worth of temperature swings, let alone 30.

And so it commenced. I'm sure my Irish grandfather rolled over in his grave when I poured a 5th of Seagram's down the drain. As I popped corks from wine bottles, they disintegrated and it wasn't long until the entire basement smelled like a distillery.

Before we started, I sent D and text: We're going to help A empty out the liquor cabinet from the 1970s.

In return, he wrote: I wouldn't drink any of that if it's that old.

I didn't know what to make of that: My husband thought his wife, mother and step-grandmother were going to get totally sloshed on a Saturday afternoon by drinking 40 bottles of booze or he thought I would actually drink 30 year old liquor. (He told me later he was joking about us drinking it.)

When we were done, this is what we accomplished:


Oh, the humanity.

And poor, A is so concerned about throwing the bottles out. Living in a small town, she's planning to throw out a few at a time, so as to not cause suspicion that she had a wild party.

Nuisance du Jour

When D first bought our house, he did a lot of work to the landscaping, giving it significantly more curb appeal. He took out trees, removed a chain link fence, put in flower beds, and more. One of the trees that the removal company took out was right on the edge of the lawn and driveway. Since removing the stump would have ruined the driveway, they cut it down pretty close to the ground and left it.

D has been systematically killing the stump in an attempt to remove most of it and bring it flush to the grass. Sometime in the last month or so it had deteriorated enough that he was able to remove most of it and fill in the hole with some sod so that it looks like we have an uninterrupted lawn. Last Friday morning, D and I were on our way to the car when we noticed that the stump area had been dug up. The carefully placed sod had been disturbed and strewn all over the area.


Assuming this was a the work of the crazy squirrels in our neighborhood (yes they are crazy--we have one single tulip that grows among our holly bushes. Just one. And we've never planted tulips. We can only assume that a squirrel "relocated" a tulip bulb thinking he'd enjoy it later. And then it stopped being food and started being a flower.) D was cranky since he had literally just filled in the hole a few days prior, but we got in the car and went about our business.

When I got home from work that afternoon, we entered the house through the side door, going through the gate at the end of the driveway. We have a little side yard here with a small patch of grass and then lined with lilies on one side and just a mulch bed on the other. We'd pulled out a dead lilac tree earlier this spring, so hadn't done much else with it. The corner closest to the gate also has another dead tree stump, this one very old and dilapidated, the tree having been removed well before our moving into the house. Walking through the gate, I noticed this:

What used to be a completely smooth and flat, albiet dead, tree stump, now had a hole in the middle. Like a doughnut.

Me: Um, is this new?

D: Yup, I noticed that earlier today. I think it's the same crazy squirrel who dug up the other stump.

Me: Does he realize it's not dirt, it's a tree? Has he lost so many acorns that now he needs to hide them in landmarks to remember?

Annoying? Yes. Mildly destructive? Ok. But really overall, just bizarre squirrel behavior.

Saturday morning, D and I woke up to begin preparations for our Fourth of July party. Since the weather was awesome, we knew we'd be using the pool and the deck to their capacity, so I opened the back door do get to business. What's this? Why is that terra cotta planter that lives on the ledge now on the ground? Why is there dirt everywhere?

D and I have been toying with growing various herbs and such and decided this spring to grow our own garlic. We stuffed a few cloves into this pot, they started to sprout and when the weather turned nice, we took our various container gardens outside. This was the pot that had the garlic (nevermind that the garlic had died due to heat exhaustion and lack of water).


Um...where's the clove of garlic? Allow me to sum up: crazy squirrel digs up two dead tree stumps and then knocks over a planter from the ledge to the table to the deck floor, leaving a trail of dirt, digs the garlic clove out of the dirt and runs off with it.

Let me repeat: A squirrel stole our dead clove of garlic off our deck.

I've come up with two possible scenarios. The first, with the rise of the Twilight series, the squirrel--crazy and all--has decided it needs garlic to defend itself from rogue vampires. And being that the squirrel is also stupid, it doesn't know that dead garlic will not be effective. The second, and more likely, scenario, is that since the mice can no longer enter our attic, they have teamed up with the neighborhood squirrels, employing their antics to terrorize our yard. I'm not sure what the mice have to offer the squirrels, but I'm sure there is trickery afoot as apparently the mice are mentally far superior to the squirrels.

Sibling Harassment

My brother has never been the neat one in our family. I wasn't either--that role belongs to my sister--but growing up J definitely had the messiest room and to this day is still a little bit of a disaster when it comes to order.

Simulation of J's messy room growing up. And possibly his house now.

So it should come as no surprise that when we all come home to my parents' house that when things are scattered about the house in disarray, chances are high that those items belong to J. In his defense, however, when we went home for our family reunion, he did have to sleep in the living room and really had no one particular area to keep things tidy. Not that he tried, but his options were limited. (See--I can be nice to you.)

J brought his 7 year old daughter, E, and her 14 year old sister, T, with him to Pittsburgh. My sister, A, had been harassing J for his clutter and then came to the conclusion that he might be successful in taking all his stuff home with him since he had a female who could keep track of things with him (T).

Moments later, A was folding laundry in the living room, a hodge-podge of everyone's clothes that needed cleaned from playing outdoors at the picnic grove. She picked up a pair of J's shorts, and in a homage to his housekeeping said, "Whose could these be? J's! Let's fold them like he would!" and promptly threw them in the air. What she didn't realize was that she was mighty close to the ceiling fan and the shorts got stuck on one of the blades (although throwing things into a ceiling fan and letting them live where they land might be one sort of organization tactic. Just sayin'.)


But the funniest part happened after we left. A few days later, Mom emailed us with a list of items that had been left behind at the house. If it hadn't been for the "2 bras and 1 undergarment--stringy" listed among the evidence, the logical conclusion would be the items belonged to J. But alas. The follow up email from A read, " Sorry...I am turning into J after making so much fun of him..."

Helping Others Through My New Hobby

I've become a little obsessed with my new hobby.

I'm really enjoying crocheting and have been occupying my evening time with new projects. I've also spent a bunch on yarn (always on sale or with coupons, though!) and am trying to complete the projects I've started. Most of them are unfinished because I've run out of the yarn needed. So I start something else until I get back out to Michael's or Joann Fabrics. So it's not that I've lost interest in a project--I've just decided I'd rather be working on something new than not working on anything at all.

However, I've also determined that I can only give so many people in my life a scarf for Christmas (or a bag or a blanket), so I've been trying to think of another outlet. While looking online for free patterns today, I stumbled upon a listing of charities to send completed projects that will be donated to people in need. The resources run the gambit of needing blankets or hats for newborn babies to lap blankets for the elderly to scarves for the homeless, both locally and nationally. Ultimately, I imagine I'll create something for several of these organizations, but there was one that really caught my eye, mostly because I'm new to this and my skills are still limited. And because this charity is something I can donate a lot to in a short amount of time.

Miles of Smiles is a group associated with the 2011 Special Olympics Washington State Winter Games which will be held in March 2011. The goal is to create/collect 2,500 scarves in order to distribute one to each athlete at the games. I love this idea. Using many different patterns in the same color and brand of yarn, this is a fantastic idea to use my new creative outlet and help out a good cause.

This picture is from the Miles of Smiles blog tracking the progress of their effort. These are just some of the scarves donated by crocheters.

As a person used to volunteering on a regular basis (I was a Big Sister, served in my church growing up, helped out in the community for a long time), since moving to Massachusetts, I've been looking for some new way to do my part in making the world a little brighter. It's been a struggle with my work schedule and commute, but this is one way I can contribute. I can even do this on the train, so I should be able to make several scarves in a relatively short period of time.

I'll keep you updated on my progress and would love to learn of any deserving charities that I might be able to contribute to.

Wedding Crashers

A few months ago, D and I were sitting at home on a Saturday evening without much of a plan. In trying to decide what to do for dinner, I decided to text our friend C and ask if she and her boyfriend, K, wanted to go out somewhere. A few minutes later I get a phone call from C.

Me: Hey, what's going on?

C: I'm at a wedding. K isn't with me--I let him stay home from this one. Want to crash it?

Me (to D, still sitting on the couch): Want to crash a wedding?

D: Ok, sure.

Me (to C on the phone): Ok. Where and when?

C: Really? That's awesome. It's at the Elks just down the road from you. We're here now but the bride and groom are supposed to arrive in about 30 minutes. They have a lot of food and not a lot of guests, so I think the bride will appreciate having someone here to enjoy it.

Me: Ok, cool. We'll get dressed and be down there soon. I'll text you and you can meet us outside. (hang up with C)

D: Whose wedding is it?

Me: Oh, I don't know. I didn't ask.

D: Whatever. Free food!

So, being that we were sitting on the couch playing video games all afternoon, we were not in wedding attire--more like yoga pants and a t-shirt attire. I'm also not sure that I had showered yet that day. So we both took quick showers, I did my hair and make-up (I think D managed to shave) and we put on some formal wear--D in a suit and tie, me in a cute party dress I wore to our rehearsal dinner.

In the midst of this whirlwind makeover, I thought to myself, "We're going to a wedding, we need to take a gift." I typically have a handful of emergency gifts on hands for a few different reasons. Sometimes there's an item that I see on sale and I know it would be perfect for some sort of occasion, or maybe it'll make a good Secret Santa gift or something. Other items are things I've collected from some of the executives at work who, very generously, want to thank me for helping them. So I've got a collection of some really nice things that just aren't my style and a few not so nice things that I just can't bear to throw away, thinking maybe they'll find a home later.

Sorting through the gift draw, I called out to D, "A set of silver candle holders or a set of linen placemats and napkins?"

D: What?

Me: We're going to a wedding, we have to take a gift.

D: Oh. Ok. Placemats.

Now I just needed a card. I usually also have a stockpile of cards. Unfortunately, I didn't have any wedding cards. Dammit. Oh! D and had just been recently wed and all of the cards we received were still sitting in a box in the office. I opened the box and started looking for an appropriate card. And by appropriate, I meant one that didn't have our names on it and had a vague signature.

Me: Ok, we're Kathi and Tom tonight.

D: Ok, I can be Tom. Why?

Me: Because those are the names on the card.

I put the placemats and card in a gift bag, grabbed our camera and we were off. Mind you, all of the above, from initial phone call to out the door, showered, dressed and gift in hand was less than 30 minutes. We're awesome.

On the way there, I text C and we met her outside. She laughed when she saw the gift, and we went in. Yes I signed the guest book (All the best in a life of love, Kathi & Tom) and we sat down with C and some of our other friends.

C and I used to work together and the wedding was for one of her colleagues, who I actually know from visiting C at work. Turns out the bride and groom were actually already married in a Muslim ceremony a few months ago and this was their reception for family that couldn't come to the wedding. Since the wedding was on short notice. Since the bride was pregnant and all.

So there were about 8 tables set up, but only enough people to fill about 5 1/2 of them. And there was a lot of food. When we arrived the bride and groom still weren't there, but we had a good time catching up with our friends, sharing our alter-egos, and having a general good time. Except for the fact that this adventure started because D and I were hungry. By the time the bride and groom arrived (about an hour and half after we got there), we were ravenous. And getting a little tipsy since the bar was serving anyway. Eventually we got some food. During dinner the bride and groom made their rounds and were very excited to see some friendly faces filling the crowd. She was in very good spirits about us crashing her wedding.

The evening went on with some traditions (Muslim and Western) and we even danced and had cake. Then we invited the whole table back to our place to play video games (see--we came full circle).

A couple of weeks later, I stopped by to see C at work, and she remembered she had an envelope for me. Puzzled, I opened it to find a thank you note addressed to Kathi & Tom from the bride and groom! Apparently, the next time C saw the bride, she thanked her for being a good sport about letting us come to the wedding and hoped she didn't mind that she invited us since her boyfriend and son couldn't make it. The bride was very sweet and said it wasn't a problem, she was pleased to have us. But she was more puzzled because she knew our names and couldn't piece together who Kathi & Tom were. C laughed and clued her into our alter egos, forever sealing our fate as the crazy couple who crashed a wedding, but had the taste and class to bring a gift.