Another Awkward Week [10.17.14]

It is FRIDAY and I have nothing clever to say as I’m plagued with a wicked fall cold (OR EBOLA?) (NOT EBOLA errrbody needs to calm down) and I slept about .4 hours last night so I’m running on fumes. That last one is totes my fault though. I went to see Gone Girl last night (4 out of 5 stars, great job everyone!) at 7:10 and I knew I shouldn’t have any caffeine but truly, I find there are few pleasures greater in life than an icy cold fountain Diet Coke and some peanut M&M’s in a dark movie theater so I decided you know, what the hell, treat yo self, Liz. And THEN when I got to the concession stand (which, never call it a snack stand. As a former “concession engineer” at our local movie theater MoviE-town, which is a play on our town’s nickname E-town, I can say that snack stands are for swimming pools and roller rinks, show some respect) I meant to get a small Diet Coke, which was already like 48 gallons but saw that the medium was just 50 cents more AND had a picture of Taylor Swift on the cup so I was like, lemme-lemme upgrade me because I am as basic as they come and THEN I drank this whole giant soda which of course had my heart racing like a pony all night so, yeah, I didn’t really sleep.

I’m clearly not in the state to write anything coherent this morning – and I have to like, work, ew – sooo instead I will just share a little Autumnal gift with you and leave you with my favorite piece of seasonally appropriate, office inappropriate internet writing. I did NOT write this but oh, wish that I had. Genius! I did however put a lot of time into staging that casual instagram photo accompanying the text so yeah, I think I might be the more brilliant talent in this situation.

Happy Friday, Motherfuckers. And Happy Fall!

 

 

IT’S DECORATIVE GOURD SEASON, MOTHERFUCKERS.

BY

IMG_20141017_095413

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[Originally published at McSweeny’s, October 20, 2009.]

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I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get my hands on some fucking gourds and arrange them in a horn-shaped basket on my dining room table. That shit is going to look so seasonal. I’m about to head up to the attic right now to find that wicker fucker, dust it off, and jam it with an insanely ornate assortment of shellacked vegetables. When my guests come over it’s gonna be like, BLAMMO! Check out my shellacked decorative vegetables, assholes. Guess what season it is—fucking fall. There’s a nip in the air and my house is full of mutant fucking squash.

I may even throw some multi-colored leaves into the mix, all haphazard like a crisp October breeze just blew through and fucked that shit up. Then I’m going to get to work on making a beautiful fucking gourd necklace for myself. People are going to be like, “Aren’t those gourds straining your neck?” And I’m just going to thread another gourd onto my necklace without breaking their gaze and quietly reply, “It’s fall, fuckfaces. You’re either ready to reap this freaky-assed harvest or you’re not.”

Carving orange pumpkins sounds like a pretty fitting way to ring in the season. You know what else does? Performing an all-gourd reenactment of an episode of Diff’rent Strokes—specifically the one when Arnold and Dudley experience a disturbing brush with sexual molestation. Well, this shit just got real, didn’t it? Felonies and gourds have one very important commonality: they’re both extremely fucking real. Sorry if that’s upsetting, but I’m not doing you any favors by shielding you from this anymore.

The next thing I’m going to do is carve one of the longer gourds into a perfect replica of the Mayflower as a shout-out to our Pilgrim forefathers. Then I’m going to do lines of blow off its hull with a hooker. Why? Because it’s not summer, it’s not winter, and it’s not spring. Grab a calendar and pull your fucking heads out of your asses; it’s fall, fuckers.

Have you ever been in an Italian deli with salamis hanging from their ceiling? Well then you’re going to fucking love my house. Just look where you’re walking or you’ll get KO’d by the gauntlet of misshapen, zucchini-descendant bastards swinging from above. And when you do, you’re going to hear a very loud, very stereotypical Italian laugh coming from me. Consider yourself warned.

For now, all I plan to do is to throw on a flannel shirt, some tattered overalls, and a floppy fucking hat and stand in the middle of a cornfield for a few days. The first crow that tries to land on me is going to get his avian ass bitch-slapped all the way back to summer.

Welcome to autumn, fuckheads!

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Another Awkward Week [8.9.13]

You guys. Is it just me or is this summer going like, really, really fast? I feel like I’ve blinked and missed it. I haven’t been to the beach once, have barely picnicked in the park, haven’t been on my bike in weeks. On the plus side, I’ve managed to avoid any more ridiculous sunburns but…I’d trade pattern-free skin for a few days of really feeling summer.

I made a pact (with myself) to Make The Most of August but mostly it’s left me feeling anxious for everything I want to accomplish…and every rainy Friday ruining my plans!

What have you been up to this summer? What do you have left to check off your list?

I’m planning:

  • beach day (at least one!)
  • swim in a pool (will be visiting my dad in a few weeks to check this off the list!)
  • camping & hiking in Virginia in a few weeks
  • long bike ride … somewhere
  • visit Governor’s Island
  • sunset picnic in Prospect Park
  • summer Friday happy hour at my favorite local outdoor bar (was to be this afternoon but, see above for weather complaints!)
  • 5K in Prospect Park (if I don’t accomplish this one I won’t be that sad)
  • Outdoor movie in one of the parks (there is quite the selection!)
  • Eat more heirloom tomatoes

What an ambitions list I KNOW. I’ll let you know how it goes! Now, let’s move from the future and back to the past with a little look at what was keeping it awkward this week:

These Pickles:

corchinons

As everyone knows, I love me a good pickled veg, especially if that veg was once a cucumber. I am VERY into these mini picks known as cornichons, which is french for YUM. I can not pronounce that word but I gobble these little guys up like they are candy. They’re the perfect sized to shove in my face one by one by one bye one by two by five while I’m cooking dinner to hold me over until my food is ready.

Anyhoodle, I was pickle bingeing in the kitchen the other night when I choked just a little bit and then thought in my head “choking on the pickle” and how that could be a euphemism for you knowwwww dirty stuff, because I am twelve, and then I started laughing at the thought of me dying and them having to write

Cause of Death: choked on pickle (that’s what she said!)

on my death certificate and I started laughing really hard and actually DID choke on a pickle but did not die the end.

TWSS!

This Bathroom Door:

bathroom door

So I got a much, much needed hair cut this week, my first since I chopped it all off last winter. My usual pattern for hair maintenance is to get it cut and then let it just grow out for a while and it usually looks good, fine, GREAT, fine, good and then suddenly: TERRIBLE. Like one morning I’ll just wake up, look at myself in the mirror and think holy shit, get this monster off my head immediately.

That happened to me earlier this summer but I was being cheap and lazy and thought I could eek out a few months of ponytails but finally Monday morning the feeling of my hair touching my neck gave me such shudders I panicked and set up an appointment.

I tried a new salon near my office which made me nervous and also filled me with great guilt about abandoning the gal who has cut my hair for the last few years. She’s great but her salon is so far away! It’s not worth the time! Or is it? She lives in my neighborhood and I have great anxiety that I might run into her on the street and she’ll know I’ve gone elsewhere and cry.

I need to get a life.

Where were we?

Oh! This bathroom door! So, the salon I tried out was actually pretty great – just swank and hip enough without being too over the top. When I got there I needed to use the ladies’ so I asked the desk attendant if she could show me where it was. The ladies’ room had a sliding door and appeared to be open just a crack, so I tried to pull. It opened a little bit more…then stopped…I thought it was jammed, so pulled harder. It turns out that the chain on the door lock is a little bit too long, so that the door is able to open a sizable crack, even when it is locked.

I call shenanigans.

I realized what was happening and moved away from the door and the gal who had walked me there gave me this super pitying look and said in this kind of condescending, almost childish voice

“oh nooo! someone is in there! looks like you’ll have to wait just a little second!”

I know how to use a bathroom lady! I wasn’t like, ripping down the door because I can’t control my urges – your lock sucks!

It was weird. Then I had to stare at the wall for a little bit to avoid making eye contact with the woman in the ladies room as she walked out of the door.

Awk to the ward.

then…

This Robe:

haircut robe

After I peed they brought me into the “changing room” to get a “robe” which just confused me because any salon I’ve ever been to just wraps you up in one of those apron doodads and goes about their business.

Not this place.

They had a full changing room, like you’d find in a gym or mall, and a room full of black robes and a woman working back there handing robes and taking people’s bags and handing back check tickets like a coat check at a fancy club or somewhere. I was not experienced in this kind of class! I did not know what to do!

Was I to put the robe on over my clothes? Was I to take off everything and just put on the robe? I didn’t know. I was wearing a skirt and a top so I took of my top and put the robe on over my brassiere and skirt. If this was the appropriate way to do it, I have no idea. I tried to snoop around at my fellow salon patrons but couldn’t get a glimpse. I spent the next hour terrified that my robe would fall open and I’d flash the whole establishment.

Like most of my fears, this did not happen.

I did however make a mild scene trying to pay. I realized I had no cash to leave a tip and had to use the salon’s ATM and it was late evening so I was kind of the only customer with about 5 stylists and cashiers watching my every move, including my own stylist, and I’m super awk about tipping – I never know how much to leave and don’t want to look stingy but also don’t want to break the bank just to look good – and I had to break a 20 and everyone was just staaaring at me (they probably weren’t, but it felt like it!) and gah! Get me out of here.

How much do YOU tip your stylist? I’m genuinely interested! I never know the etiquette!

This Nectarine:

nectarine

I stopped at a fruit stand to buy some cherries and the vendor convinced me to grab a nectarine as well, telling me they were very sweet and soft this time of year. I do love a good necta so I said, sure, why not. He selected the fruit, washed it and handed it to me with an expectant look on his face.

“Eat it,” he said, staring at me lasciviously. “Bite it. ‘Eat it. Bite it. Bite it”

Um. Yikes. I threw the fruit in my bag and ran far far away.

Ladies of NYC if you have a fetish where a stranger is lustily watching you get covered in fruit juice, um…I’ve found your man!

And finally, if we could all take a moment of silence for

My Basil Plant:

dead basil

June 2013 – August 2013.

We had a good run. RIP bud, RIP.

And that’s the week! I’m off to conquer August! What are you kids up to?

xoxo Liz Ho