You guys?! Did you know that ‘Namaste” means “hello” in Hindi? I did not! Guess I need to spend some more time at yoga. Why am I bringing this up, you ask? WELL I’m headed to South Carolina today for a big Indian wedding and was going to start this post by wishing everyone hello in Hindi but then realized that I’m not actually 100% sure if the bride & groom are Hindi, I just sort of guessed that because I am what you might call ‘culturally insensitive.’ See also: complete asshole.
So anyway, Namaste y’all. I’m so excited for this wedding, I bought a sari! There will be multiple nights of dancing and possibly a white horse but definitely not elephants which of course is the first question I asked upon receiving the wedding invitation because, well, see above.
And how are YOU guys? What cultures will you be learning about slash deeply offending this weekend? If you’re going to be in Colombia, South Carolina around 10 AM on Saturday and know how to drape a sari…wellllllll call me.
And that’s what’s up! Let’s take a look at what was keeping it awkward this week:
This Basil Plant:
Purchased at Trader Joe’s (where else) a few weeks ago, he has been brought to the brink of death and back no less than 80 times since coming home with me. He has fallen to the ground, been parched dry, over watered, and ignored and yet every time it looks like he’s on his way to meet his poinsettia cousin in houseplant heaven: he revives!
Who speaks limited French, has two thumbs and both of them are green?
Last weekend Brian and I went to a wedding on Long Island (was nottttt joking when I said it’s all weddings, all the damn time round these parts) and it was too close to merit a hotel, so we decided to just rent a zip car and zipped on over. We got sandwiches for the ride up and Brian, ever resourceful, was worried about getting food on his suit so he tossed a towel in the back seat.
He ended up being too focused to drive to get any time to eat and even worry about this problem, but true to form, his ever worthless co-pilot had nothing but time and mayonnaise on her hands, so I spent the hour drive wrapped up in a towel a la so.
Brian may or may not have eaten his bagel in the vestibule of the Catholic Church, sorry JM&J (Jesus, Mary and Joseph, obviously), but it was all worth it, as we managed to both dine on the go and keep our clothes in immaculate form. Here is a gratuitous, nauseatingly adorable photo to prove it:
Sexy and we know it!
That, friends, is NOT dirt, but a pile of cinnamon on my kitchen counter. Why, you ask? Good question! We have a minor ant problemo in la cocina and, ever the naturalist, I’ve been trying to get rid of them sans chemicals. Apparently ants are very averse to a number of herbs including but not limited to: cinnamon, cloves, cayenne pepper, bay leaves, black pepper and garlic. Cinnamon smells the yummiest of these spices, so I poured it all over the problem areas in the kitchen and voila! Problem solved!
No ants, no harmful chemicals buttt in we do have giant piles of cinnamon all over the place so I don’t know how great of a trade-off this is…
This is the door to the men’s room at a VERY divey dive bar in Williamsburg, Brooklyn called The Turkey’s Nest. They are right next to the park in that neighborhood and have some deal with the devil/city that they are able to sell booze in GIANT styrofoam to-go cups that patrons can carry into the park and get good and outdoor crunk. Their specialty is margaritas… hellooooo disaster!
Anyway, we hang in this park every 4th of July before catching the fireworks from a pal’s roof nearby and always make frequent stops into the T-Nest to refresh our margs and use their facilities. WELL, on this particular day, the ladies’ room (labeled “Turkettes,” really guys?) was backed up so I decided to declare my independence from waiting for women to take their sweet time going to the bathroom and use the empty Turkey’s room.
The room is pretty run-down – just a solo toilet and a sink and a bunch of rolls of toilet paper all strewn about and the lock on the door was rickety, at best, but I felt confident that it had locked solidly behind me.
You know how this ends.
I’m mid-stream when the door swings open – I scream, throw one hand to close the door and the other to cover my Va-J-Lo and the befuddled gentleman backs his way out the door.
I run out to tell my friends the hilarious story and learn they’ve already heard it: the unsuspecting intruder was no other than my friend Peter.
Now for a confession: My embarrassment was NOT about being barged in on bottomless, no. Rather,I was mortified I’d been caught texting on the john.
And don’t even TRY to tell me you’ve never done it because hi, your pants are on FIRE.
Speaking of bathrooms…
I went to happy hour the other night and before we left I met my co-worker/friend (no, friend first, then co-worker!) on the floor below mine and I decided to use the unfamiliar third floor bathrooms on my way out the door. Afterwards, I went to the sink to wash up and was at the middle basin between two other women. I turned on the warm and a little bit of the cold, washed my hands and…could not turn off the water.
I turned the spouts left, right, side-to side. I turned them in unison and one at a time. I could not, for the life of me, get the water to turn off. I tried to play it cool, but the caught the eyes of the gal to my left, who I know very casually from working on some projects together and she was doing her best not to crack up. I looked to my right and sho nuf, the girl there was holding in her laughter.
It ended up kind of cute, we all giggled about it and eventually one of them manged to help me shut down the faucet but OH! there was that one, painful moment before the laughter broke when I thought: this is it. You’ve done it, Liz. You’ve broken the office bathroom sink and EVERYONE saw it was you and now you have to quit. Just grab your purse, head for the door and never return.
Mildly dramatic, I know, but that’s the way I do it!
And that was that! My week! How was yours?
Now I’m off to get my Tikka Masala ONNNNNNNNNNNNNN. Sorry in advance, Jay & Ami!
Goodbye in Hindi,
Liz Ho(rrible American)