Unlike many folks in this day and age, my parents have an unfinished basement. Ok, they have an un-started basement.
For several reasons, this was never a grown-up social setting and quickly became the playroom/TV room/sleepover headquarters in addition to what it already was -- a storage facility.
From the washer (with a PVC pipe dumping into the janitorial sink) and dryer (hooked up to the weird space-suit arm leading to the vent outside) to the random pieces of wood and fishing poles stored between the wooden braces of the ceiling, their basement reeks of my dad's blue-collar feng shui.
There's his worktable overflowing with mason jars of turpentine, baby food jars of screws, bits of scrap metal and wood, basically anything you'd ever need to fix anything. Ever. Leather oil? Vice? 7 different kinds of tape?
My dad is such a home improvement pack-rat that when my brother and sister-in-law were expecting their second child, my brother called under the guise of "I need you to come quickly! Bring a sledgehammer and some Guerrilla Glue!" My parents arrived at my brother's house breathless and ready to simultaneously destroy something and glue it back together. My brother, of course, didn't need either, just an excuse to have them drop by while his in-laws were in town and knew that my dad would have both and would come running. A hilarious prank considering my brother's trademark placid and imperturbable personality.
Alongside my dad's worktable, there's a big chalkboard next to an authentic iron boxing bell I used as a school bell, a pull-up bar, and two 5' metal filing cabinets. You can also find a yellow HAZMAT suit complete with mask, several types of rubber gloves, fluorescent orange traffic vests, a dog leash (note: our dog died in 2002), and possibly a pinewood derby racing car (circa 1987).
There are random, unmatched rugs everywhere in an effort to cover the uneven cement floor. Our television stand is a porcelain sink. (Note: I didn't realize this was unusual until I was in college). We also have an entire section of board games and children's toys, camping equipment, paint cans, a croquet set, and tins of plastic silverware that my mom insists on washing after parties.
At age 7, my friend Jana (jay-nah) and I were playing after school and discovered that the Styrofoam insulation on one wall doubled as a blank canvas. We carved our names, we used pencils to gauge designs, we clawed maniacally in no pattern whatesoever, solely because the texture of those minuscule Styrofoam balls under our fingernails felt like what I imagine drawing on the surface of the moon feels like. After what seemed like hours, Jana's mom arrived and we ran carelessly up the steps to greet her.
Laughing and looking like 2 human nonpareils, we bounded into the living room leaving little white balls in our wake unknowingly having destroyed the basement in what was probably only 30 minutes. Face-to-face with 2 equally angry mothers, they lit into us at a volume my neighbors had probably become familiar with.
To Jana, I apologize. In all likelihood, it was probably my idea and you got the worst of the repercussions, solely because my mom's anger was trumped by your mom's red-hot embarrassment-turned-fury.
To my family, you're welcome. After the mess was cleaned up (a good vacuuming was all it took), my dad installed giant floor-length mirrors and classed up the place, not to mention created an illusion that our basement had doubled in size. And in a house that small, with that much stuff, if the only space we can get is an illusion, we'll take it.
3.26.2012
3.16.2012
Heidi the Pelican
I'm not sure when it started (1 year? 3 years?) or why (because I'm famished? or because I have so much to say?), but recently I've had some issues eating.
Not so much the biting and digesting part, but the general chewing and swallowing part (I put "chewing" in there because I know how you think, you sickos).
About a year ago, I met 6 of Justin's friends for the first time at a Chinese restaurant. I went with one of my beloved standards: General Tsao's Chicken.
After splitting a scorpion bowl with Justin, our food arrived. (Note: scorpion bowls have powers in them. You think you become invincible.)
The pieces of golden fried chicken were an odd size. A little big bigger than a large marble, but most people would just hold the chicken, bite off half, chew it, then go back and finish the other half still held in the chopsticks.
Instead, I picked up my chopsticks, stuffed the entire piece of chicken in my mouth, bit it in half, then simultaneously chewed one half while "pouching" the other half in my cheek until I could attend to it.
This worked until like 3 or 4 pieces of chicken into my meal.
And then disaster struck.
I had gotten too confident and was skipping the "pouching" step. Instead, I was chewing a few times then attempting to swallow something the size of a miniature golf ball. This might not be such an impressive feat for some people I know who can nearly swallow an entire banana (Esco, I'm talking to you), but as a former dentist told me, I have a small mouth. That is accompanied with a small throat.
I had sucked the chicken nugget in and nearly swallowed it whole after chewing once. But it had gotten stuck. I found myself in the awkward position of, "OMIGOD I'M CHOKING. AND I JUST MET THESE PEOPLE. DO I MAKE THE INTERNATIONAL SYMBOL FOR CHOKING? OR JUST TRY TO FIGURE THIS OUT ON MY OWN?" Yes, in my head, it was in loud, CAPS LOCK font.
Justin caught my eye, saw me turning colors (red from embarrassment, blue from choking) and asked if I was ok. Intent that I would not make a bad impression, I slightly shook my head no but apparently when you can see the whites of your dining partner's eyes, it's time to worry.
Just as I was about to stand up for an assisted Heimlich maneuver, I quickly did an extensive finger sweep and dislodged the General's chicken from my throat.
I took a few quick gasps of air, calmed down, and proceeded to cut every piece of chicken on my plate into quarters. Which was going fine until....
I pulled a Julia Roberts a la Pretty Woman stunt and a piece of chicken flew out from between my chopsticks and flew across the floor like someone skipping rocks.
Luckily, either Justin's friends were neck-deep in scorpion bowls as well, or they were just kind enough not to verbally slay me for having such atrocious manners.
Either way, it's happened a few times since then, hence my self-imposed nickname of "The Pelican".
Not so much the biting and digesting part, but the general chewing and swallowing part (I put "chewing" in there because I know how you think, you sickos).
About a year ago, I met 6 of Justin's friends for the first time at a Chinese restaurant. I went with one of my beloved standards: General Tsao's Chicken.
After splitting a scorpion bowl with Justin, our food arrived. (Note: scorpion bowls have powers in them. You think you become invincible.)
The pieces of golden fried chicken were an odd size. A little big bigger than a large marble, but most people would just hold the chicken, bite off half, chew it, then go back and finish the other half still held in the chopsticks.
Instead, I picked up my chopsticks, stuffed the entire piece of chicken in my mouth, bit it in half, then simultaneously chewed one half while "pouching" the other half in my cheek until I could attend to it.
This worked until like 3 or 4 pieces of chicken into my meal.
And then disaster struck.
I had gotten too confident and was skipping the "pouching" step. Instead, I was chewing a few times then attempting to swallow something the size of a miniature golf ball. This might not be such an impressive feat for some people I know who can nearly swallow an entire banana (Esco, I'm talking to you), but as a former dentist told me, I have a small mouth. That is accompanied with a small throat.
I had sucked the chicken nugget in and nearly swallowed it whole after chewing once. But it had gotten stuck. I found myself in the awkward position of, "OMIGOD I'M CHOKING. AND I JUST MET THESE PEOPLE. DO I MAKE THE INTERNATIONAL SYMBOL FOR CHOKING? OR JUST TRY TO FIGURE THIS OUT ON MY OWN?" Yes, in my head, it was in loud, CAPS LOCK font.
Justin caught my eye, saw me turning colors (red from embarrassment, blue from choking) and asked if I was ok. Intent that I would not make a bad impression, I slightly shook my head no but apparently when you can see the whites of your dining partner's eyes, it's time to worry.
Just as I was about to stand up for an assisted Heimlich maneuver, I quickly did an extensive finger sweep and dislodged the General's chicken from my throat.
I took a few quick gasps of air, calmed down, and proceeded to cut every piece of chicken on my plate into quarters. Which was going fine until....
I pulled a Julia Roberts a la Pretty Woman stunt and a piece of chicken flew out from between my chopsticks and flew across the floor like someone skipping rocks.
Luckily, either Justin's friends were neck-deep in scorpion bowls as well, or they were just kind enough not to verbally slay me for having such atrocious manners.
Either way, it's happened a few times since then, hence my self-imposed nickname of "The Pelican".
3.05.2012
Leap of Faith
Last week it was Leap Day. Excited to have someone to start traditions with, I woke up and immediately told Justin we should make a Leap Day tradition. After vetoing my suggestion of "Leap from the Tallest Building" where we'd have drinks at the tallest building in Boston, he suggested a "Leap of Faith" by going to see a psychic.
I excitedly agreed.
See, Justin had never been to a psychic. I had and, despite their varying degrees of authenticity, never failed to be entertained.
For our first "Leap of Faith" traditional outing, we chose the Tremont Tearoom, "the world's oldest and most reputable psychic institution, serving Boston and the universe since 1936." For our psychic, we chose Molley:
Molley is a deeply intuitive and knowledgeable third generation psychic who has been counseling and guiding seekers through many psychic salons and emporiums all over New England, including in Salem and on the South Shore. A Salem witch and a priestess trained in the Cabot tradition, her readings are notable for their magnitude and depth, and her warm, friendly manner makes her easy to talk to about all of life's questions. Her kind and compassionate heart, and authentic psychic ability, will help her to guide you to the next level in your life.
Sounds like a reputable psychic, right? Sure, Justin said "she looks like a weirdo," but he relented since she was available to do a "Two of Hearts" reading. What is this, you ask? "Two of Hearts. A couple's reading that covers the gamut of compatibility and reveals the strengths and weaknesses of your relationship. Psychic insight to meet the goal of two hearts beating as one.
Cute, right?
Upon walking into this place, it was 1 room with about 6 small tables (the size of a tray table) and chairs on either side. This could easily be a suicide hotline headquarters, if it weren't for all the mystical stones, charms, and tarot pictures scattered about.
After a short wait, Molley sat us down and told us to cut the deck of tarot cards, shuffle them, and pass them back and forth to each other while she "got to her special place." So while Justin and I smirked and passed cards back and forth, our psychic hummed/moaned while holding a phallic looking cataract-colored crystal.
Then it was down to business. He and I alternated between asking questions, picking cards from the fanned out deck of tarot cards, and listening to our psychic.
In no particular order, here are my favorite lines from the night:
So all in all, complete hogwash and horsefeathers.
Did we find divine insight into the future and/or past? No.
Were we heavily entertained with a one-man show full of theatrics and props? Absolutely.
We're thinking that in 4 years we'll try our luck at tea leaves. I mean, at the very least, maybe I won't get called a giant whale and my psychic won't hit on my boyfriend.
I excitedly agreed.
See, Justin had never been to a psychic. I had and, despite their varying degrees of authenticity, never failed to be entertained.
For our first "Leap of Faith" traditional outing, we chose the Tremont Tearoom, "the world's oldest and most reputable psychic institution, serving Boston and the universe since 1936." For our psychic, we chose Molley:
Molley is a deeply intuitive and knowledgeable third generation psychic who has been counseling and guiding seekers through many psychic salons and emporiums all over New England, including in Salem and on the South Shore. A Salem witch and a priestess trained in the Cabot tradition, her readings are notable for their magnitude and depth, and her warm, friendly manner makes her easy to talk to about all of life's questions. Her kind and compassionate heart, and authentic psychic ability, will help her to guide you to the next level in your life.
Sounds like a reputable psychic, right? Sure, Justin said "she looks like a weirdo," but he relented since she was available to do a "Two of Hearts" reading. What is this, you ask? "Two of Hearts. A couple's reading that covers the gamut of compatibility and reveals the strengths and weaknesses of your relationship. Psychic insight to meet the goal of two hearts beating as one.
Cute, right?
Upon walking into this place, it was 1 room with about 6 small tables (the size of a tray table) and chairs on either side. This could easily be a suicide hotline headquarters, if it weren't for all the mystical stones, charms, and tarot pictures scattered about.
After a short wait, Molley sat us down and told us to cut the deck of tarot cards, shuffle them, and pass them back and forth to each other while she "got to her special place." So while Justin and I smirked and passed cards back and forth, our psychic hummed/moaned while holding a phallic looking cataract-colored crystal.
Then it was down to business. He and I alternated between asking questions, picking cards from the fanned out deck of tarot cards, and listening to our psychic.
In no particular order, here are my favorite lines from the night:
- [to me] You've had a hard life, haven't you? You have....[looks at Justin and points to me] She's been put through the wringer, so be good to her. Wow, I mean, you really...rough stuff, right? Me: No, not really. (my childhood was idyllic compared to most people). Her: ...Well, maybe you're blocking it? That must be it.
- [to me] You get depressed. Me: sometimes (like 2 days every 6 months, but I feel like that's a normal amount and totally acceptable). Her: What are you doing about it? Me: Umm...nothing. I mean, exercising....eating better. Her: tsk, tsk, tsk. You need to talk to someone about that.
- [to me, smiling] You love spending money. You do! Ah, I see it, and when you don't have enough money, you....get....depressed. [looking at Justin] Do you have a good job? Yes? Good. Because she needs financial security, or she can get depressed.
- [to both of us] Are you married? Engaged? Living together? No? ok. Which one of you has a child? You? You? [I laugh and say to Justin, Well, you never know...maybe a wild and crazy spring break night....you could have a child running around....] Her: So you MIGHT? No? Ok, well, I see a child in your future. Very soon. What are you using for birth control? Well, whatever it is, you should double up, if you know what I mean.
- [to both of us] Well, your marriage? It's going to be....TOUGH. It's going to be hard, really hard, and it's going to take a LOT of work to make it through.
- [to me] Your health? It's dicey.
- [to me] Whooooo.....you're going to gain a lot weight. After you have kids you're going to be a big woman. [looks at Justin] Do you have big women in your family? Yes? Good, because she's going to be a big woman [laughs good-naturedly].
So all in all, complete hogwash and horsefeathers.
Did we find divine insight into the future and/or past? No.
Were we heavily entertained with a one-man show full of theatrics and props? Absolutely.
We're thinking that in 4 years we'll try our luck at tea leaves. I mean, at the very least, maybe I won't get called a giant whale and my psychic won't hit on my boyfriend.
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