Did y’all know that there is a place in Philadelphia that delivers ice cream? To your office? There totally is. I am currently devouring a vanilla yogurt with mint oreos and andes mints mixed into it. MMMMM. Damn, I should have gotten a large instead of a small - or, in Scoop deVille lingo, a fleetwood instead of a coupe.
Delivery ice cream makes up for what was a bit of a crappy morning. Why crappy, you say? Because I am moody and cranky, for one thing. Also, I leaned over to kiss a sleeping Rob this morning before leaving the house, with plans of telling him happy anniversary (yep, folks, we are anniversarying today! Three years without killing each other, woot!) once he was awake; instead, he hit/pushed me in the face until I said “OW!” and he realized I was not, in fact, the dog.
I know he was only semi-conscious, but NOBODY likes being mistaken for a dog (or being hit in the face).
The bright side of this episode inspired me to create a someecard that Rob should send me. (Please vote for it so I can become pretend-famous, okay?) Plus, Rob feels really really bad about it.
In other news, I signed myself up for a 5K on a whim yesterday. This may seem awesome, except that said 5K is scheduled for two Saturdays from now. What the hell kind of moron signs up for a 5K less than two weeks in the future when she hasn’t ever run more than two miles and has only gone out jogging maybe 5 times in the last two months? THIS kind of moron, apparently. So, wish me luck. If you’re wondering why I did such an idiotic thing, well, I’m not sure I have an answer for you. The only reason I can come up with is I figured it would get me over my fear of 5Ks. Besides, I can always walk some of it if need be.
Next up for discussion? Concert-goers. Crazy, annoying concert-goers, to be precise. I went to see my man, Ray LaMontagne, with Christine and her fiancee last weekend and I swear to you, it was as though someone had passed out drugs to the other concert-goers before we arrived. Behind us, we had Whistling Guy. Oh, how Whistling Guy loved to show off his ability to do a loud whistle! He whistled after every song, multiple times. He whistled before songs. Every once in a while, he whistled during songs. STOP WHISTLING, WHISTLING GUY! If that wasn’t annoying enough, Whistling Guy’s alternate name could be I Think I Sing Better Than Ray LaMontagne Guy, because he also enjoyed singing along, VERY LOUDLY, with every song. I almost turned around and asked him to stop, but then an usher of sorts came up and told him he couldn’t stand where he was, and he left. Whistling Guy wasn’t the only annoying concertgoer, though.
We also had Crazy People Way in the Back Who Got into a Fight in the Middle of the Show. Folks, Ray LaMontagne is not exactly the kind of musician that makes people want to fight. I mean, it’s not like he’s…well, I cannot think of a fight-y kind of musician but I’m sure there are plenty. He’s not exactly hardcore, is what I’m sayin’.
The most fascinating of all the annoying concertgoers, however, were The Crazy Chair-Dancing-Couple-Who-MUST-Have-Done-Ecstasy-Before-the-Show. These people were nuts. The Chair Dancing Dude limited most of his dancing to mere bouncing. The Chair Dancing Chick, on the other hand, liked to quickly sway her upper body back and forth, with some extra shoulder-wiggling thrown in for good measure, and a lot of head-tilts. I really cannot describe this spectacle adequately, and I think I’m going to have to get someone to videotape me and Christine re-enacting this for your amusement because it was positively ridiculous. I mean, it would be ridiculous no matter what kind of music was playing – but this was Ray LaMontagne. One yearns to dance to most Ray LaMontagne songs about as much as one yearns to fight to them. Which is to say, NOT AT ALL. Crazy Chair Dancing Couple, however, felt differently. When Ray played this song, for example, they chair-danced. They chair-danced like they were listening to this song on speed. It was nuts. To make it even more nuts, Chair Dancing Chick would occasionally throw her arms up in the air, throw her head back and roar like a cougar. Wait. Do cougars roar? In my mind they do.
Anyway, the whole thing was annoying and distracting, and as much as I love Ray and enjoyed giggling with Christine over the idiots we sat near, I think this might not have been my favorite concert ever.
On a completely different topic in what is turning out to be quite the lengthy post from me (Stef, are you taking notes?), I wrote the first line of my novel-to-be today. Plus three more words. At this rate, I will be finished with it by the time I am 90. Will it stay my first line? I don’t know. But I like it. I’m tempted to share it here, but then (a) what if y’all don’t like it or (b) what if one of you is a plagiarizing bitch who takes my first line and writes a better book than the one I’m possibly attempting to write? Ahh, the dilemmas.
Speaking of books, I have yet another one to recommend to you. It’s called The Well and the Mine, by Gin Phillips, and it is excellent. Gin Phillips won a Barnes & Noble “Discover New Writers” award of some sort for it, so I’m not the only one who loved it. Gin also went to Birmingham-Southern College with one of my three friends named Alice, and Alice was kind enough to send me the book in the hopes that I would agree with her about its awesomeness. Alice has fantastic taste, so I wasn’t worried.
Anyway, the book is set in rural Alabama in the 1930′s and it opens with 9-year-old Tess witnessing someone dumping what appears to be a baby into the family’s well. Although the book is about that incident, it also explores each member of the family’s character; the life of a coal miner (Tess’s dad) and his family during the Depression; racism; poverty; and so much more. It’s been a while since I’ve been introduced to someone I would consider a Great Southern Writer, but it’s certainly looking like Gin Phillips could fit that bill.
With that, my friends, I think I will finally stop rambling for the day. Peace out.
I would totally get that ecard even if I never hit someone in the face while sleeping. I’m not very physical. However, I can glare at you with the fire of a thousand suns. At least, that’s what the husband tells me.
I think I’m on the same book-writing plan as you. I’ve written about 90 words, showed said 90 words to three people and now they are tucked away in my jumpdrive which I carry around in my purse, waiting for another 90 words to magically shove themselves into my brain. So far, only Jim Gaffigan lines are coming to me. Hmm.
You had me at ice cream delivery.
If he mistook you for Chester, you might want to think about shaving.
Happy Anniversary!
OMG, I had no idea you could create your OWN someecard!
When I spent the night at a boyfriend’s house once years ago, I awoke in the middle of the night to find his sleeping face unexpectedly close to mine. I screamed, and he shot up in bed, shouting, “WTF?!” I apologized, and we went back to sleep. The next day I apologized again, but he had no memory of it!
Speaking of less-than-stellar concert experiences, just the other day my boss’ boss and I learned that both of us had attended concerts where the drunk guy behind us threw up on our coats. My story was slightly worse than hers, though, because I was visiting a friend in another city when it happened, and his mother had let me borrow her coat. I had to leave town the next day so I didn’t even have a chance to get it dry cleaned for her.
I did NOT take notes, and as a result, I almost forgot about ice cream delivery until I read Sizzle’s comment! Mmm… ice cream… OK, moving on. That ecard is fantastic. Maybe not QUITE as hilarious as the Peeps one I found last week, but we can’t all be vile along with hilarious. Secondly, remind me never to go to a concert with you, because I have TERRIBLE luck always being by who I inevitably refer to as “THAT Guy” or “THAT Girl,” so between the two of us, with our combined luck, whatever show we attend together is bound to be completely ruined by nearby concert goers. Word to the wise: we’ll just stay in and drink wine instead. Deal?
Ummm…two Saturdays from now? Aren’t you going to be in Atlanta? Is the 5K in Georgia, because if so, I’m not running with you.
Also, mistaken for Chester? Maybe you should’ve brushed before trying this move!
Hugs!
Happy Anniversary! I will vote for your card as soon as I register for someecards. I had no idea you could make your own. There goes the remaining twelve minutes of the day that I don’t currently spend on the internet.
When I was in college, there was a place nearby that delivered gelato. Sometimes the pizza delivery guy and the gelato delivery guy would get to my place at the same time. That was always kind of embarrassing.
Yay, novel to be! Yay, delivery ice cream! Yay, anniversary! And yay, hilarious someecard!
let’s have an opening together when we are 90, your book and my artwork.
Happy Anniversary!
Happy anniversary, for one. Second, I love that someecard. It’s pretty awesome.
I respect, though I don’t understand, your desire to run a 5K. I am jumping on your improvement kick and doing some god-awful run up the stairs of a building for charity. Because I’m a giver. Not because it’s hosted by fire fighters who, I pray, will be climbing stairs in tiny shorts and helmets.