Sunday, December 21, 2008

Best E-mail Ever

This evening I received what was undoubtedly the best e-mail I have received in a very, very long time. Names have been changed because you all know who it means and the internet is creepy.


Hello Ahice "Chopped Liver" Jorke -
Three people have asked me for the recipe for Lysa "Get To An AA Meeting" Dorschtick's cookies. Would you oblige? And also compliment Corinna "Daddy Issues" Bregner?
Also, I am going home on Wednesday and I will be back on Sunday. Can we hang out multiple times between Monday, December 29, 2008 and Monday, February 2, 2009?
Say hi to Cathy "Daria Morgendorffer" Colye for me!
Happy Christmas!
Much love,
Casey
[PS - If Lysa is really struggling with alcoholism or Corinna really has established daddy issues or you have a phobia of chopped liver, please ignore my off-color jokes. I don't really care how Cathy feels about her nickname.]

Thursday, December 18, 2008

My Morning, Thus Far

So I am, once again, sitting around listening to Christmas music on the radio. A terrible, terrible 80's pop song came on and I was thinking about "Love Actually", like, wow, do pop stars really get forced to remake their songs into Christmas songs?

Then I was surprised to hear the strains of "Strangers in the Night" since the station is only playing Christmas music. Except that it begins "Reindeer in the night...". I sat stunned, and then furiously searched the Internet for the lyrics because they were really fantastic, but apparently the song just doesn't exist.


-------------


In "Time Out New York", there used to be a horoscope section called "Planet Terry", which mysteriously disappeared during some year I wasn't a subscriber. I remember liking those horoscopes, so today I searched for "Planet Terry" online. I found a Wikipedia article on the Marvel comic book of that name, and I also found Cheryl Lee Terry's website. Bingo. The first thing you see is a Maya Angelou poem. Then I looked up my horoscope. This is what I found:

WEEK OF: December 15-21

The Twins are one of the most delightful, interesting and sensual signs of the Zodiac. But on Monday, when Mars arouses your insecurities, jealousies or (probably unfounded) suspicions, try to hold off delving into mental excursions to nowhere, because Tuesday's fabulous aspects will lift your spirits and turn you into a tactful, delightful and very desirable object of someone's affections.

The rest of October is full of opportunities for growth, both spiritually and mentally. You should follow that subliminal urge to delve into the family history, spend time with unusual people, or enroll in an intriguing class or seminar. When these urges appear out of nowhere, this is usually the Universe providing direction, insight or a bit of information that will come in handy down the road.



There are four subsequent paragraphs, but I couldn't read any of them. I actually sought out this particular horoscope, and she's merely copied some of it from some random week in some random October. The only spiritual growth this has brought me is to officially stop reading horoscopes.

...Except the ones in the L magazine, because those are fantastic. Look how pertinent mine is: "
I’m not going to solve your problems by telling you your future. If we were honest with ourselves we’d recognize that the future is known to us, but we just refuse to admit it, because the idea of doing anything to change it is abhorrent and terrifying."

The L Magazine horoscopes don't mess around, and I trust them because of that. They're the ones who told me that my future involves sitting around, drinking in bars by myself while all of my friends disappear. They're right; telling me that didn't solve any of my problems. So now I'm taking control of my future and turning off the radio because "Christmas Shoes" came on and the only person who's going to be meeting Jesus tonight is the absolute tool who wrote and sang that horrible, horrible affront to music. Reindeer in the night, come back to me! Come back!

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Hmm

Today I wasn't scheduled at either of my jobs, but I thought I would pick up a shift at Vicki's because I'm dropping one on Friday for a dentist appointment. Having woken up in a bit of a funk, the prospect of choosing to go there for 6 hours was not a fun one. However, neither was sitting on the couch by myself all day listening to Christmas music. As I was donning my mood-lifting all black attire, I got a text message from the manager of Bare Escentuals who was sending out the "distress call": one employee called out sick and she was in the ER because the safe dropped on her foot. In a store with a grand total of 20 employees, two people calling out in one day is huge. So I responded and am now going to BE for the rest of the day. As I walked around getting ready, I realized that--as opposed to ten minutes prior when I was dragging my feet from one room to another--I was literally dancing my way around the apartment.

Do I prefer one job over the other? Good question. Sometimes I can't tell because I work 30 hours a week at the bad one and only 8 at the good one. Something is wrong with that picture.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

?? again!

Similarly, what does one wear to a party at which pictures of yourself will be projected across the walls, to which you were invited by an adorable boy you met on Craig's List who has seen you with Cheetos mashed up in your braces?


It seems that all my problems these days are sartorial.

If only that were true....

Saturday, December 6, 2008

Just Super

I'm having an allergic reaction to the $6 pants I bought at a discount store which is filing for bankruptcy.

I guess I won't be getting them taken in.

This has been another chapter in The Alice Yorke Story: Too Pathetic to Be a Lie.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

??

What do you wear to a cupcuke party where you'll be meeting a guy who's been e-mailing you for five weeks after meeting you in a grocery store where you sold him sausage?

I DON'T KNOW!!!


Edit, 10:57 pm (Post-Date)

"Bright Lights, Cured Meats: The Alice Yorke Story"

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Gotta Love National Passive-Aggression

"When Napoleon seized the Netherlands in 1810, he demanded that all Dutchmen take last names, just as the French had done decades prior. Problem was, the Dutch had lived full and happy lives with single names, so they took absurd surnames in a show of spirited defiance. These included Naaktgeboren (born naked), Spring int Veld (jump in the field), and Piest (pisses). Unfortunately for their descendants, Napoleon’s last-name trend stuck, and all of these remain perfectly normal Dutch names today."

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Saturday night's alright for bloggin, Saturday night's alright

I thought I would update my two readers who don't live with me on my life in hopes that they will do the same:

I went as a pair of curtains on Halloween. The next day I went to sausage hung over. I partied with Planned Parenthood when Obama won. The next day I went to my first interview at Victoria's Secret hungover. I got two seasonal jobs in one week. I work now at Victoria's Secret in Herald's Square in PINK and the Italian Intimissimi division. I don't fit in. I've never seen another person there read a book. I also got hired at the Bare Escentuals up by school. I still haven't figured out how to spell their name. I haven't worked there yet, but will have my first day of training after T'day. I quit sausage. Every so often NYCMale still sends me desperate e-mails. I still respond but still have not gone out with him. I went to Actorfest and flaked on an audition that that got me at The Network. Stellar move. I'm going to spend Thanksgiving upstate with my bro, sis, mom and grandpa. That will be nice. We are having a rib roast. The roommates are good. The library is good. We have creepy pictures of Macbeth and King Lear hanging on the walls. I recommend reading Steve Martin's Shopgirl. It won't take you more than 24 hours. I recommend you both come back to New York. I swear it's funner here than it's ever been--as evidenced by my being at home bloggin' at 10 pm on a Saturday night. Hm. I can't think of much else to say. I'm gonna go to bed now.

Friday, November 21, 2008

Smoke Signals are for Suckers

Today is the perfect example of why I've always wanted and still believe in the necessity of the Land Line.

Last night I lost my phone. Today our internet doesn't work. This morning I called (from Corinne's phone) the woman at whose house I left my phone about trying to come get it. How does she call me to let me know when is a good time for me to stop be? It's too bad there isn't some other number this woman can call to reach me. I suggested she call and leave a message on Corinne's phone and that Corinne could e-mail me when she does so. Two problems with this solution: Corinne can't check her phone at work. Also, I can't check my e-mail since our internet stopped working. How do I fix the internet when I can neither get on the internet to find a solution, or call Time Warner for them to tell me how to fix it?

Also, I was supposed to go to an audition for The Network (an acting thing) today. But I'm not because I'm completely unprepared. How do I tell them that? I can't call them. I can't e-mail them. But I also can't just not show up. So I'm sitting in the "internet bodega" down the block. I just finished reading Shopgirl last night, and decided to take two-thirds of Mirabelle's sage advice about how to tell a convincing lie: 1. It must be partially true, 2. It must make the listener feel sorry for you, 3. It must make them not want to ask question. I decided to include in my excuse (which was decidedly not "my unpreparedness") the pitiable and true fact that I have more or less lost all ways of communication with the world. I toyed with including some of my winning self-deprecating charm by adding "I know it sounds like I'm lying, but this is too pathetic to be a lie."

Then I realized two things: 1. I shouldn't do that, and 2. That is the ultimate of all possible titles of my memoires:

Too Pathetic to Be a Lie: The Alice Yorke Story

Appearing everywhere in hardcover as soon as I get my sorry ass in gear.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Vote! (For my mom!)

Don't Stop Voting Now!

My mom posted a slogan on this website. Vote for it! It's something a professor she and my dad had in college used to say. My dad really took it to heart.


Update:

There are some weird slogans on this website. Some people seem to do nothing but think of weird sayings, and then post variations on them. User RAMZKIE, for example, muses about swallowing pride ("I Can Swallow My Pride, But Not Yours?"), promises ("Promises Are Meant To Be Swallowed, And Spit It Out.") , and religion ("Catholic Is A Religion Of Fake, Not Of Faith."). This is the link to all his slogans: Ramzkie Just go see for yourselves. Caution: There are a LOT.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

Smart Girl's Guide to Being Broke?

Today I found myself crying on the street because the owner of the diner where I got lunch made me take money out of an atm instead of paying with my card.

When I got back to my sausage station, at least three employees offered me tea. They told me that it was free to employees and demonstrators, but I think they were doing it out of pity from having seen me cry. They didn't offer me any before I went on break.

Then Cher's "Shoop Shoop Song" and Roberta Flack's "Killing Me Softly" came on. I danced away my troubles when "Footloose" played.



The Smart Girl's Moral of this Story: Just dance your blues away.

Friday, November 7, 2008

Alice in What-the-Fuck-Land

(Author's Note: Names have been changed to protect the possibly-herpes-infected.)

This morning I woke up extremely disoriented to my phone ringing. It is dark out and there is a little noise on the street, but that's not really a good indication of what time it is. I pick up almost immediately, just to get it stop ringing, noticing only that the call is not from someone in my address book. "Hello?" "Alice!" says a man's voice. Oh god, please don't let it somehow be NYCMale. "Yes?" "You don't know who this is, do you?" "No," I say, if possible, more warily than before.

It turns out to be Petruchio (that's what I'm calling him because a picture of King Lear is the first thing I saw when I was searching for a man's name, and since that picture is way creepier than the real person is, I went with the name of a befitting Shakespearean character he portrayed once), a guy who I spent four years of college with, who has seen me at my drunkest on two occasions. After confessing to me that he always thought I was rather, ahem, fetching, he made a bet on my chastity with my ever good friend Erica. He lost. Several weeks ago when Erica came to visit, I reminded her that she should get her $50 from him, so we called him and made him agree to take us out to dinner.

Last night he calls and says "I'm drunk dialing you!" and then immediately starts apologizing, saying "You were asleep. Oh man. You were sleeping." I assure him that it's fine. He explains that he was looking through his phone book and thought he'd call me. He asks where I live. He mentions losing the bet. He says something to the effect of "I don't know where you're at" or "what you're up to" which I can tell has nothing to do with my location or what I was doing at the moment (given that he knew those two things) but was more a comment of my relationship status (god, doesn't he check facebook?). I try to invite him to the party on Saturday, but instead he asks to take me out to lunch. I say sure. He says that he'll call me tomorrow (today) around noon.

Then he asks if it's too late for a late-night visit from Petruchio.

I say yes.

The whole phone call lasted less than two minutes. And then all my subsequent dreams were about telling people about the conversation. And then one where he and I were eating baklava together.

It's 1.30. He hasn't called. I don't think I'm getting a free lunch today.

This is my life. I guess it sounds pretty exciting sometimes.



Oh, did I ever mention what time it turned out to be when he called? 4.30 am. I had been figuring it was maybe 1 or 2. But no, 4.30 am. Oh you crazy Petruchio, you.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Election Emotion

Yesterday I cried when I heard about Obama's grandmother dying.

Tonight I'll cry again, no matter what the outcome. And if the outcome doesn't come tonight, I'll cry even more.

In January, when I listen to Obama's inagural speech, I'll definitely cry.

And just now? Just now I cried listening to the testimonials of first time voters, many of whom recently became legal citizens. It made me remember how proud we should be that we get this opportunity. Even if we don't like the outcome, at least we have the chance.

So yes, I am proud to be an American. Where at least I know I'm free to bitch (and cry) about whatever I want.

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Happy Belated Halloween



Because there was no Halloween at his house, he gave us this video as a treat. I'm serious: http://www.brucespringsteen.net/news/index.html

Also, I hope to one day play the harmonica half as bad-assedly as the Boss does.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Update

This morning I put "E-mail NYCMale" on my to-do list. And just now I crossed it off.

Last night, the roomies and I came to the conclusion that his pathetic e-mail address is probably an acronym for Men And Ladies Ensemble. Not that that really makes it better...but it sure makes it funnier.


A plea for advice from my four blog-readers: How does one find out if someone has a girlfriend? Without being really creepy.

Thanks dudes.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Well, it finally happened.

After five months of selling sausages to hungry men all over NJ and NY, some dude finally realized how blatantly sexual the whole thing was and asked me out. It was the most bumbling, stilted interaction and yet somehow (because of my awesome powers of conversation with strangers) not awkward. In fact, he commented on how happy I was. He thought I was from the midwest because of that, actually. He made up a scenario in which he needed my e-mail address and at the end of it said, "So... how 'bout it?" I used the phrase "sausage proposition" and then backtracked very hastily. He wanted me to write down my email on the coupon I gave him. I had to remind him that they would take that away once he got to the register. I gave him my g-mail address, which is my whole name, and told him not to stalk me. I made him buy two packages of sausage, and effectively made $1.50 off that interaction.

Last night, I noticed there was one message in my spam box. My g-mail (completely unlike my yahoo account) never has spam in it. It had no subject and was from "nycmale123". Porn, I thought. But then I looked at the first line of the e-mail which g-mail is so kind to provide, and it was about helping someone pick out good food to eat. Oh god, I thought. It's from Him. Not god, Michael. Who I met in the refrigerated meats section of the D'Agostino's closest to the dorm in which I spent my first two years of college, having my first bumbling sexual experiences in stairwells and common rooms... none of which involved gourmet sausage.

For your reading pleasure, I have included here the entirety of his ever so poetic epistle.

"Alice, thank you very much for your help picking out some new great food. You have a great personality for sure while working and a very nice smile. Lets hang out sometime."

I gave him my full name, and he doesn't even sign his e-mail. Not only that, but his e-mail address "nycmale123", if I need remind you, is from AIM.com. AIM. Oh, did I not mention that this guy was probably about 40? Because he was. And his e-mail was nycmale123 at aim.com. Does he think I'm going to IM him? I gave him my super professional, full name g-mail account!! Maybe I'll write back saying that there's probably no hope for us, but I do need a raise, so would he be so kind as to write to my superiors a glowing recommendation of how I have a "great personality for sure while working"?

After this, I realize what a fool I was for not giving my phone number to the young red-headed guy in a deli on the upper west side who tried to woo me by saying that red-heads were a dying breed and need to procreate with one another. It may sound creepy, but he was adorable and the whole thing was adorable. But that was in June, and the little bit of Episcopalian guilt I have and the fact that I'm a good person forbade me from doing so. What a fool I have been.

In case we didn't know this already... "Sex and the City" is a work of utter fiction. Hilarious, horrible, totally untrue fiction.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Lovely

I had a lovely day today. This morning I waited forty minutes to interview for 30 seconds for a job I'm not qualified for, but who cares?! The baker, Angelo, was obviously thrown by the man-voice I have these days. Then I had a lovely lunch with my brother at Max Brenner's where I got salmon wellington and oh god was it good.

This afternoon I had several lovely interactions with strangers. One guy who runs a hot-dog stand was convinced he saw Liv Tyler walk by, but I knew better and told him so. He was disappointed to learn I was right, but told me that he once met Harvey Keitel on that same corner. Later, a man walking down the street in the same direction as me commented on what a beautiful day it was. I agreed because, well, it was! He told me he was en route to his banjo lesson. I told him that I love the banjo! We chatted about Bela Fleck.

Then I sat down in a park and watched a boy (9 years old?) practice riding his bicycle. He nearly crashed into me and excused himself saying "I'm still learning!", so I reassured him that he was doing very well. I just started reading "The Once and Future King" so I was torn between reading about young King Arthur and watching this little prince. I did both. Then he nearly ran into me again and he said something to the effect of "I've almost got it", and again I reassured him of the fact because it was true, he was indeed getting better! I fell in love with him when he said "I just got the bike on Thunday." Adorable! Then I was walking toward Planned Parenthood and I stepped in a puddle! But today I wore mary janes! The young man behind me made some comforting, innocuous, but more or less indiscernible comment so I just laughed and crossed the street. On the other side I tried to shake the water out of my shoe and air out my foot when he came up to me and said "I've got a towel, you know." So I gladly accepted. I dried my mostly dry foot and we smiled at each other and went our ways.

Then I got on a bus headed to Hofstra, took a nap, woke up and rallied with other Pro-Choicers in the designated rally area, headed back to the bus, and saw an Iraqi vet get literally dragged away by the cops, and saw a girl with a hurt ankle get carted away on a stretcher. I heard about both of those events later on the news.

Now I'm writing this and next I'm going to bed. And that was my day, start to finish. Minus the boring bits. Because there are always boring bits.

Friday, October 10, 2008

My Week on Craig's List

After a week (plus) of searching Craig's List, MonsterTrak, EntertainmentCareers.net and many more, I finally applied to one job (see last post). A whopping one. What follows is a review of the postings I responded to, forwarded to various people I know, and generally just looked at.

My Week on Craig's List

I found an ad from someone looking for dog calendars, with a detailed list of the types of photographs he/she was really hoping for ("A two panel image of a dog eating a bug and then spitting it out because it tastes gross (The bug is fine!)")

I applied to get paid drink copious amounts of clear liquors in a focus study. No dice.

I responded to an ad looking for curly haired people for a photo shoot. No response

I tried to be an intern for a movie Sam "Rocks my world" Rockwell is making. (Don't worry, I'll never refer to him that way again.)

I e-mailed a guy looking to take pictures of people for a gallery project, and now he's going to take a super close up picture of my brace-face eating Cheetos and enlarge it to more than 50 inches. My dream has finally come true.

I didn't apply to be a contestant on a cooking/dating reality show where people have to cook meals around New York City--think beans on top of a boiler--for really picky eaters.

I applied to be an extra in a vampire movie that was part of Brooklyn's 24-hour-film-festival.

I dreamed of having nearly enough experience to work as an overnight baker in any one of the various places looking for one.

I convinced myself many times that I didn't have enough experience (read--desire) to apply any one of the various administrative assistant/receptionist jobs that are always listed.

I found a guy offering private baking lessons and a woman offering piano lessons and am considering e-mailing both of them to see if I could barter my awesomeness for their time and skills.

I tried to find a router, a bed frame, and almost anything cool in the Free section.

Over a month ago I found a guy giving away his banjo for free. I e-mailed him twice. I still don't own a banjo.

And finally, just now, as I was perusing CL for some inspiration for this post, I applied to be a tour guide on a "Sex and the City" bus tour. Boy I hope I get that one.

The right stuff?

I just said the following in a cover letter:

"I would made a great assistant because I have lots of experience with customer service and, having worked closely with children who don't know how to speak yet and their sometimes-equally-as-uncommunicative parents, I have learned how to figure out people's needs without them having to ask."

Friday, October 3, 2008

After a more or less depressing day of job searching, I'm applying to be an intern on the set of a movie Sam Rockwell is making.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

A Test

Would you qualify for this job?

FXCM, an INC 500 company, leads the rapidly expanding field of online currency trading services for retail and institutional traders. The firm operates out of offices in New York, Dallas, San Francisco, London and Hong Kong. With substantial operations around the world, the FXCM Group currently services over 100,000 live accounts via the FXCM Trading Platform from nearly 200 different countries. FXCM has a proven reputation of reliability and success, executing on average 4,000,000 trades per month accounting for $350 billion in notional trading volume. Additional information can be found at: www.fxcm.com .
We currently have an opening in our Marketing Department for a Proofreader. The position will focus on quality assurance for all of the company's marketing material. We offer a competitive salary, exceptional medical benefits, a 401(k) plan, and an exciting, fast-paced working environment.
(Position includes the following):

Workflow Management:
• Edit material for mistakes in grammar, spelling, and sentence-structure
• Submit changes to Compliance and/or the Design department. Ensure that the work is complete as specified (formatting).
• Ensure that the edits submitted have been applied
Quality Assurance/ Proofreading:
• Proofread the entire company's written material as it's developed
• Check the technical functionality of finished work
• Do hyperlinks navigate to the proper location
• Can Web forms be submitted as designed
• Maintain consistency-of-work across all media (e-mail, eb site, print)
Qualifications:
• Must be eligible to work in the USA (No H1 Visa ponsorship).
• Bachelor's Degree in English, Journalism or Liberal Arts
• Excellent grammar, spelling, and solid sentence-structure skills, and an overall strong command of the English language
• Ability to exercise prescriptive-grammar judgment
• xcellent attention to detail
• Ability to communicate and organize ideas effectively
• Proficiency with MS Word a must; experience using MS Excel preferred. Adobe Acrobat experience a plus!!
• The ability to learn quickly the use of applications you may not be familiar with
• Some familiarity with the Chicago Manual of Style a plus



If you spotted what I did, then I'll race to the cushy salary!


PS. Were they trying to be ironic?

Monday, September 22, 2008

Creepy.....

http://newyork.craigslist.org/mnh/bar/851416486.html

Sunday, September 21, 2008

In a Non-Gay Way



Sometimes, when I look for people's blogs on Fuzeit, I end up on Zach Braff's, which leads me to this. Sometimes... is a good time.

Friday, September 19, 2008

"Diablo Cody Responds to Haters"

Writer Diablo Cody, the recent Oscar-winner for "Juno," has posted a message on her MySpace page for all the people out there that hate the fact that she has become successful. If you're one of those people, you may not like what she has to say.

"I may have won 19 awards that you don't feel I earned, but it's neither original nor relevant to slag on Juno. Really. And you're not some bold, singular voice of dissent, You are exactly like everyone else in your zeitgeisty-demo-lifestyle pod. You are even like me. (I, too, loved Arrested Development! Aren't we a pretty pair of cultural mavericks? Hey, let's go b*tch about how Black Kids are overrated!)

I'm sorry that while you were shooting your failed opus at Tisch, I was jamming toxic silicon toys up my *ss for money. I get why you're bitter. I took exactly one film class in college and-- with the curious exception of the Douglas Sirk unit—it bored the sh*t out of me. I also once got busted for loudly crinkling a bag of Jujubes during a classroom screening of Vivre Sa Vie. I don't deserve to be here. We've established that. But I'm here. Five million 12-year-olds think I'm Buck Henry. Accept it.

I'm sorry to all those violent, semi-literate fanboys who hate me for befriending their heroes. I can't help it if your favorite writer, actor, director, or talk show host likes me. Maybe you would too, if we actually met.

I know my name is fake and that it annoys you. What, do you hate Queen Latifah and Rip Torn, too? Writers and entertainers have been using pseudonyms for years. Chances are, you're spewing bile under an assumed screen name yourself. I'm sorry if you think I'm like some inked-up quasi-Suicide Girl derby c*nt from 2002, but I like my fake name. It's engraved on an Oscar. Yours isn't."

more from worstpreviews.com

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

New Stuff?!

I'm trying out a new layout. Thoughts? Also, if haven't gotten your fill of my Italy posts, reread them, as there will be a surprise waiting for you at the bottom of the page. Bonne chance!

PS. For those of you who aren't Katie or Corinne... we got an apartment!

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

Oh no

http://www.worstpreviews.com/headline.php?id=10047&count=0

Jessica Alba Stars in "Invisible"

Jessica Alba will topline a modern-day fable "An Invisible Sign of My Own." Silverwood Films and iDeal Partners Film Fund closed a financing deal for the pic over the weekend at the Toronto Film Festival.Filmmaker Marilyn Agrelo (Mad Hot Ballroom) begins lensing the film, based on Aimee Bender's tome, next month from a screenplay by Pam Falk and Mike Ellis (The Wedding Planner). It is her first feature directorial outing since "Ballroom" (2005)."Invisible" revolves around a young woman who has retreated from the world and is consumed by numbers and math. Things begin to change when she becomes a second-grade math teacher.



We need to stop this.

Saturday, September 6, 2008

Italian Lessons

Ah-lee-chay = Adopted name (spelled "Alice")

Gelato = Ice cream you don't regret eating every day

Finocchio = Fennel, can be used as Fag

Cazzo = Dick, used like Fuck

Si, Cara = Yes, "beloved" = A really dreamy thing to have a dreamy Italian boy say to you

When you go to a foreign country to babysit, try to remember more than four songs with which to sing the children to sleep. Also, try to remember more than two verses of these songs. Further, don't let any of those four songs be "Yesterday" as it will cause children to be moody upon waking.

If you are not a person who wears them, don't bring thongs. Just don't. They won't make you feel sexy when they're riding up your butt crack as you're riding in a minivan listening to an Australian recording of "I'm a little teapot". And when you realize that you've brought not just one, but five pairs, you will feel stupid in addition to unsexy.

Furthermore, do not blow your budget on lingerie which you will wear for no one but yourself. I am, under other situations, a huge advocate of buying lingerie for oneself, but it doesn't help with the above situation, or with the realization that the relationship you're in is almost over. However, disregard this rule entirely should "Hit Me Baby, One More Time" come on while in you're in the dressing room and literally "give [you] a sign".

If you only started drinking coffee while on said family vacation, and are still new to the concept of ordering coffee, do not--I repeat--DO NOT think that you will be able to order a cup of joe in a country whose language you do not speak and whose cafe culture you do not understand. You will be standing at the counter--this is where they stand, right? why isn't anybody else here??--sweating not just from the 90 degree heat outside, or the 90 degree caffe latte in your hand, but from anxiety wondering why all the baristas are staring at you and talking--obviously about you--in the condescending and ironic way that only those who speak a language you can't understand know how. You will run outside, after swallowing the huge cup in one gulp, and realize that maybe there's some truth to the idea that a hot cup of coffee is the best way to lower your body temperature. Or maybe it's because you were sweating so much when you were inside, that the stale breeze that greets you when you finally get out is a very, very welcome one.

Dewy-eyed Italian boys do not give a second glance to sweaty, frizzy-haired girls with braces who have four children in tow.

Once you have accepted this fact and have started to settle into the glory of not caring about that fact, men named Enzo (and I do love the name Enzo) will ride up to you on their bicycles and ask you where you are going to eat lunch, and whether they might be permitted to take you out for lunch. You will politely and insistently decline because--did I not mention this?--Enzo will be 70.

If you sleep in the same room as the children for three weeks, you will, eventually, have to let at least one of them try on your underwear and maybe let her wear the pair to bed over her PJs as a compromise for not letting her wear them, over her clothes, to breakfast.

Kids love boobs.

There are two categories of flavors of gelato: fruits and creams, and ne'er the two shall meet. But that won't stop you from making glorious combinations of flavors. I recommend fior di latte which means milk flower and is what happens when vanilla goes to a strange tribal ritual on a tropical beach, has a transcendent experience, and drags its hungover, yet divine ass back to the gelateria. Eat it and be merry.

You will never--no, New York, never--have pizza as good as the pizza in Italy.



More when (if) I remember.

Monday, August 25, 2008

You've all read this by now, but just for good measure

Yesterday I took the most awkward bath of my life. We are in the last leg of our trip, staying in the house of some of Michele's friends. There is a bathroom connecting the rooms that Michele and Rich stay in and the one that I stay in with the kids. In our room, Michele is saying goodnight to the kids; she has said I can take a bath or go sit in the living room for a while. In the other room, Rich is putting the baby to sleep. So I decide to go to the living room, where I discover our hosts arguing with their own cranky children. I immediately retreat and decide to take a shower. Showers are one of my least favorite things about Europe. Showerheards are rarely fixed at a sensible height on the wall, instead you find the handheld kind resting just above the taps to fill the tub. However, you can't even take a shower with the handheld in this tub since there is no curtain. Just a tub. So I run a bath. I don't want to use a lot of water because this isn't my house, but I don't want to turn the water off and have to hear whatever it is that's happening in any number of rooms around me. But I do. And so I sit there in three inches of rapidly cooling water. I try to lie down. I try to relax. Both are impossible.

I am made all the more anxious by my awareness that at any moment, either of two doors will fly open and there I'll be... naked to whomever, in three inches of bathwater. I am even more worried about this given the fact that twice in the first two weeks, someone has walked in on me in the bathroom. The first time I thought I had locked the door and Alessandro (a friend of M's whose apt we were visiting for the day) burst in looking for his glasses. When I finally came out he tried to make me feel better saying "I didn't see anything!" holding up the glasses he'd been trying to find. The second time, a week later, Stella runs into the bathroom, sees me on the toilet and stands, staring at me like a very intrigued deer in headlights. After a solid minute of me saying "Stella! Leave! Stella! Get out of here!" she finally runs out of the room, a weird I've-seen-something-I-shouldn't've-how-cool smile on her face. Realizing that I'd been walked-in-on once a week since the vacation started, I sadly admit to myself that since we'll be in Italy for three and a half weeks, it stands to reason that I'll be walked in on three and a half times. Ha ha ha, I then think. "Three and a half times! Impossible!"

And so it comes to pass that not only in the last week of this vacation, but in the same day, in the same trip to the bathroom, the remaining one and a half unexpected bathroom visits happen. In the supposed security of this bathroom from Mommy's bedtime visit on one side, Daddy putting Baby to sleep on the other, and Host arguing with Small Child on yet another, I take off my pants and walk around the bathroom gathering and preparing various things for my bath. The moment I realize what an awkward way this would be to find me, the door from Daddy's side starts to open. I try to knock as a subtle signal, then say "There's someone in here," and finally after Rich's "Oh... ...sorry..." I have to concede, "I'm about to take a bath" which, I feel, is quite obvious code for, "I'm half naked."

Narrowly avoiding what could have been a hugely awkward situation, I realize that I was just half-walked-in-on and so there must be one remaining incident. I have been sitting awkwardly in the tub for several minutes when there is a small knock on the door from the kids' room. "Yes?" "I have to go potty" says Stella. My towel is, of course, on the other side of the room. I hear the knob turn. "Wait! Just a minute. Please." I luckily find one closer, stand up in the tub, and wrap myself up. I let her in, trying to keep out of the doorway as much as possible. I stand there, dripping wet, wrapped in my towel as she ambles over to the potty making random-five-year-old conversation. She takes her sweet time with the toilet paper. Stands up... looks at me... looks at something else... says something... "Stella! Wipe!" "Oh yeah." She takes even more time flushing and walking to the sink to wash her hands. "Stella! Hurry up! You're interrupting my bath!" She doesn't get this. I break it down: "I am still taking a bath. I got out of the tub to let you in. 0When you leave, I will get back in. I haven't even washed yet. Please hurry up and leave." She stands there and considers this. "Oh. Okay." Finally when I let her back into the room, she and her brothers try to engage me in meaningless conversation. "I'm shutting the door! Don't talk to me anymore! Don't talk to each other! Go to sleep!"

Deciding it's time to end this most awkward of bathtimes, I set to washing myself. Except that there's only three inches of water in the tub, so I have to rinse myself off like a baby. With the souvenier Coke cup sitting in the bucket with the childrens' toys. The perfectly awkward end to a perfectly awkward bath.

So right now the thing I'm looking most forward to about coming home is a proper shower.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

The Constant Refrain:

I hate your hair
You look funny with your glasses on
Stop!
I dont like you
Im going to put you in the dungeon
Youre a witch
Dont touch me!
No!!!
Your hair is itching me!
You wore that yesterday.
Are those your pajamas?
Stop!!
I dont want to hold your hand
I want Daddy!
No!!!!!
Youre going in the dungeon! With lions and bad guys and doggies!

The Golden Nuggets:

I cant smile, Im holding all these rocks! (Stella, when I tried to take her picture)
That must have been so much for your whole body! (Aga when I almost tripped)
That hill makes my bum feel funny! (Aga)
I even have a hair growing on my penis! (Aga, when Stella and I were discussing the hair on our arms)
Does your mommy have breasts like yours? Do your friends? (Oliver)
Wheres your baby? (Oliver)
Are those big nipples? What? (grasping and shaking my boob) These. (Stella)
I want to be a girl. I want to be a girl so I can have a ponytail. (Aga, the budding homo)
Im going to be the queen. (Aga, of course)

More to come, without a doubt.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

italia!

on a time limit, so im just copying the email i sent to my parents. will dish more dirt on the parents the next time im not charging my internet access to their bill...


Hello parents! I dont even know where to begin, but we just arrived in montecatini terme, which is a huge change from the agriturismo in sansicario. picture this: from a hikers paradise in a former olympic bobsledding site where the milk in our coffee came from a cow that morning and if it wasnt picked from the garden, it doesnt go on our plates to the spa paradise of tuscany, where you cant enter the dining room in shorts and the designer clothing stores stay open until 11pm.

anyway, im having a really good time. it can be pretty stressful... todays car ride was about 6 hours long... but it was a breeze compared to the trips we took up and down the mountains in sansicario (so bad that i got barfed on.) day two was the worst. i didnt go down to dinner, instead staying up with the baby, who barfed on me and then fell off the bed when i went to clean my jeans. that was terrible. it was about a two foot drop onto a wood floor... no small deal for an 11 month old. i pretty much freaked out. luckily shes fine and michele doesnt seem to hate me.

other than that, weve been hiking, spent a day by a river in "marmot valley", and tomorrow were going to pinocchio land. i cant say too much more because its nearly midnight and weve got a big day tomorrow!! also, im charging this to the room, and i dont know if i should be doing that.... eek! but, to sum: food is wonderful, weather is getting better, kids are on-and-off, food is wonderful, italy is wonderful!

gonna go now, will try to write more when i can. though theres not really much more to say!

love al

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Straight to Famous, continued


Step 4: If you haven't already bought it... go do it now

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

I don't really have anything to say, I just thought I'd write something because it's been a while. Last night Erica and I went to Sympathy for the Kettle and spent three hours there drinking tea. I got chocolate mint tea. It was delicious. I need to find a job. Hm. Well that's all I've got right now.

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Google me...

...it's worth it:


"Just then there was another rustle on the stair and another step, - this time a lighter one, - and the next moment appeared what was to the young man a vision.

Keith's face, as he rose to greet her, showed what he thought. For a moment, at least, the dragon had disappeared, and he stood in the presence only of Alice Yorke.

The girl was, indeed, as she paused for a moment just in the wide doorway under its silken hangings, - the minx! how was he to know that she knew how effective the position was? - a picture to fill a young man's eye and flood his face with light, and even to make an old man's eye grow young again. The time that had passed had added to the charm of both face and figure; and, arrayed in her daintiest toilet of blue and white, Alice Yorke was radiant enough to have smitten a much harder heart than that which was at the moment thumping in Keith's breast and looking forth from his eager eyes. The pause in the doorway gave just time for the picture to be impressed forever in Keith's mind.

Her eyes were sparkling, and her lips parted with a smile of pleased surprise.

"How do you do?" She came forward with outstretched arm and a cordial greeting.

Mrs. Yorke could not repress a mother's pride at seeing the impression that her daughter's appearance had made."

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Breakfast

I went grocery shopping the other night at 10.30 and, when picking out cereal, had the overwhelming urge to buy peanut butter Cap'n Crunch. But Associated didn't come through for me on that score. So I got the new flavor of Special K--cinnamon pecan. I love pecans. I finished the rest of my shopping, then stared at the cereal wall for a while longer and debated getting Cinnamon Toast Crunch, but decided against it. The next morning I poured myself a bowl of new Special K, and guess what?!?!? It tastes like C.T.C!!! How crazy!

That same trip I overheard a woman who must have been actor talking on the phone about plays. When she was done, I overheard her as she was starting at the yogurt wall, thinking she was all alone, sing "You don't have my yogurt...."

That is all. For now.

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Hm...

You know it's been too long when you have a dream about washing your hair.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

I just saw a roach running around in the bathroom. Oh my god that was shocking and disgusting. If that thing gets in my room, I will cut a bitch, to use the old familiar phrase.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Holy crap, whoa

"Uncommon Women" Week is running away with itself.

So far we have five professors signed up to give panels. We are sort of talking with the higher-ups of the Women's Project, a theatre company. Anne Cattaneo, the dramaturg for Lincoln Center and the original dramaturg for "Uncommon Women and Others" is coming to speak with us.

I just got two e-mails, one from Katie Carter saying that one of the chief editors of BITCH magazine wants to speak, and one from Mary Fleischer saying that Alexis Greene, a theatre critic, is also interested in coming.

Holy crap.

I also am presenting my Camille stuff at Honor's Day and just got a refund check for $11.25 all of which is going to laundry. Man, my life.

Sunday, March 2, 2008

S.I.S.T.

It's too bad that the acronym for "Stuff I Saw Today" sounds and looks so much like the word "cyst." Oh well.

Only two today, but I think they're pretty good:

1. Two girls and a dog in a red pick-up truck stopped at a light on 3rd avenue rocking out to Tiffany's "I Think We're Alone Now"

2. A lump of coal on 42nd Street

Sunday, February 17, 2008

Stuff I Saw Yesterday:

1. A man changing his dog's diaper on the street

2. A woman carrying her laundry, she was barefoot and had obviously just gotten (and ruined) a pedicure

3. A lighter fall out of my towel that I removed from the dryer, I think it had materialized in the wash

2/18/2008:
More stuff:

1. A North Carolina vanity plate that read "Homies2"

2. A man showing off to a woman by talking about "The Philadelphia Story" except that he called it "The Philadelphia Society" and then corrected himself by calling it "Philadelphia"

3. A guy wearing sweats and a bright red bowler hat with a feather in it.

4. A teacher from Marymount

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Stuff I Saw Today:

1. An old woman on the bus wearing two different shoes

2. Every person I passed in Home Depot singing along to Cher's "Believe"

3. Two guys shouting at each other, almost getting in a physical fight, in- and outside of a Wendy's

4. My face turn red after I put Icy Hot on it


My life is so blog-worthy these days.

Monday, January 28, 2008

I'm thinking about getting a Gmail account. This is for several reasons: 1. I won't have mmc email forever 2. "Alywooo" is not very professional but mostly it's because 3. Gmail uses ICal which I fell in love with over January. I had long thought of how useful it would be to have a calendar that categorizes your events ("school", "work", "mega parties", etc.) and that you could either see them all at once, or only see one event, or maybe only two. And guess what! That's what ICal does!! But there's only two ways to get it: 1. Buy an Apple computer--totally out of the picture, or 2. Get a Gmail account.

So I was playing around with the sign up page trying to think of what my email address could be. "AliceYorke" isn't available, but "yorke.is.alice" is and so is "chieflike06", and "boilinghot18, too.

In conclusion, I recommend going to gmail.com and trying to find your perfect email address, because even though I could have "AliceLYorke", I think "chieflike06" is really calling to me.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

The Big Texas-Sized Finale

So my predictions were right. Thursday afternoon we went out to eat and then did some house hunting. We ate at a place called Brio and I got lobster bisque and salmon over angel hair pasta. Delicious! Then we got a chocolate sandwich for dessert. I'm not kidding. It was toasted bread covered with cinnamon-sugar butter then smeared with nutella, served with strawberries and a vanilla cream dipping sauce. Yowza. Yow-za. I started to say "ay chihuahua" a lot in Dallas, don't ask me why. I sort of love it though. After that we drove around some more, stumbling first upon John McCain Road (!) and then upon the Rumson of Dallas suburbs. HUGE houses and every one of them exactly the same as the one before. All brick, all huge and seven-gabled, all ugly. I don't get it, it's like invasion of the house-snatchers. Imagine waking up to find that your house had been replaced with a non-feeling, brick replica of the one you had the night before. And then over time, finding that all your neighbors' houses had been snatched as well! I for one would move! (Or, not move there to begin with, in this case).

But anyway, after that came the best part of the trip. I decided to forgo the first mall because it was outside and it was too cold out to willingly put oneself outside, so instead I opted for the second, the Grapevine Mills Mall. It was indoors and right next door to the huge convention center/hotel where my dad was meeting work people--the Gaylord Texan. Yes, that's really what it's called. And people don't seem to make jokes about it, either. Anywhoo, Pops and I had already visited the Mills Mall on a previous occaision: we went to the Books-A-Million hoping to find books about Dallas and came out empty handed. Literally no books about Dallas, not even a magazine. So I decided not to start my shopping trip there. Instead I started at Steve and Barry's, a store that one can find in the Manhattan Mall that was once known merely for its low-priced sweatshirts and baseball hats, but is now more famous for its celebrity clothing lines, including Venus William's "Eleven", Amanda Bynes's "Dear" and SJP's "Bitten." As you may know, I am not an endorser of celebrity clothing lines. I once rejected the softest pair of underpants I had ever felt because Jennifer Lopez made them and they were like air, silky, silky air. However, I am now a convert to the SJP cause. I walked out of that store with $90 worth of merchandise, and that was a lot of stuff: a dress, a down vest, a suit vest, a tee-shirt, earrings for The Fashionista, mittens, a bag, and sneakers. All of it only $8.98. Everything in the store was on sale for 9 bucks. I even made shopping friends during the nearly 2 hours I spent in that store; we would pass each other and wonder aloud if it was really real, and trade the joys of a good find and the sorrows of it not being in your size. I even found jeans that fit me. JEANS. that FIT. ME! Of course, I didn't buy them because the only one in my size had a broken zipper, but I'll be back to Steve and Barry's, oh I'll be back! I'm also pre-disposed to the store because my step-uncles are named Steve and Barry. Their sister's name is Peeka. It's really Susan, but we all call her Peeka. I also went to another store and bought an adorable dress for $25.

Normally, spending a hundred dollars is torture for me. I don't really like shopping and definitely don't like spending money. In fact, last night we were shredding my mom's old bank documents and we found my pass-book from HS which was a record of all my bank activity for three years---I made three withdrawls in three years, and one was just transferred to open another account. I don't spend. However, leaving the Grapevine Mills Mall, I discovered what Retail Therapy was, and it was glorious. The world was my fucking oyster and I was going to eat that mollusk like it was my job. Now, they didn't have oysters at the mall, but they did have Dad's root beer. So I bought that. And drank it. And it was good, and this is from Miss No-Thanks-Water's-Fine. Now, I didn't it all, or even half of it, but I still drank some of it.

Then I drove the Gaylord and waited in the parking lot for an hour reading Children of Men because I didn't want to pay $12 to park for an hour. But it got really cold in that car. Finally I went to pick up my dad and went inside this place. It is huge. Unfathomably big. And the inside is designed like some sort of Texan grotto. Bridges and streams and waterfalls and a glass ceiling with a huge star in Christmas lights. There was even a canyon with a covered wagon and a replica of an old-tyme train! Then we went back to the hotel were I ate left-overs of prime rib. Such was the high of my shopping excursion that I even considered going in the hot-tub at the hotel. The outdoor hot-tub. Then I realized that it was 30 degrees outside and if I got in it I would never leave. Instead I packed and went to bed.

Next morning we meet with a realtor, Joan, who takes us to several different townhouses, some of which were pretty nice. But the best thing about that trip was Joan's Cadillac. The back seat has not only its own heat controls, but a butt warmer with back warmer option and a button that changes the lumbar support in your seat. You can roll it higher or lower, and have it recede into the seat if you don't want it, or have it bulge out if you need a lot. It was awesome. I hope my road to fame leads me to a Caddy. The car and the golf guy, I'll need both when I'm famous and wealthy.

Then we go to the airport, no problem now that I've got my license. Get some food at Au Bon Pain--very Texan--check out the big fire some place on the tarmac (pictures to come on Facebook), and get on the plane! No delay this time! In fact, the plane got in early! But still no TVs or meals. Oh well. The driver who picked us up was quite rotund (that was the dispatcher's word), and could barely squeeze into the front seat when some huge mini-van parked right alongside the taxi. Then the backseat doors wouldn't open. Not from the inside or the outside. We finally got in, but that was pretty unnerving. I decided that in the event of a fire it was every man to himself and that I would push over the fat man to get to the working door. You've got to be ruthless.

So then I was home, yay! I also had an exciting non-Dallas weekend that I'll relate in brief. Saturday Kevyn and his brother and I took their mom to see Wicked. It was good. We ate a nearby restaurant. Not so good, the lasagna burned the shit out of my mouth. Then Kevyn and I saw Mad Money in Times Square and thought a fight was going to erupt in the theatre. Then we went uptown to Steve Yates's place and drank mini Heinekens. We didn't know they were mini when we bought them, but they were tiny. It was there that I discovered that Tony Daussat, who I knew to be from Texas, grew up in Grapevine!! How crazy!! Sunday we came back to my mom's house, played an awesome game called Hoopla (by the makers of Cranium) and Kevyn, the Fashionista and I went to see 27 Dresses. I'll say this: Kevyn preferred Mad Money. It was a very cute movie, but they didn't spend enough time on dreamy James Marsden, concentrating instead on an insipid side-plot about Heigel's sister and boss, neither of whom was very good at a thing we call Acting.

Yesterday was boring, I stayed inside all day and cleaned my room and--Oh! Got my computer working! I'm on it right now for the first time in nearly two years! Wooo! Today I'm going to apply for an internship and then go into the city and get burgers a la peanut butter day. Corinne, I'm sorry you won't be there, Katie's covering for you.

Okay, that's all. Wow. So much stuff.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Alice Does Dallas

And it sucks. Probably more than Debbie did.

No, it's not really that bad. Just a little boring.

Sunday. The flight was at 5 out of Philadelphia so I get packed and go to my dad's and we get in a taxi and go to PA. That drive was probably the beginning of the boring since I can't read in cars so I just looked at pictures in magazines. Then we got to the airport and I realized that my driver's license was missing. It just wasn't in my wallet. And I couldn't remember taking it out, so who knows how long it had been gone for! But I get in because I have some other ID card which passes muster. So we're there around 3.30 for a 5 o'clock flight which we don't board until 6.30 and which doesn't leave until 7. Also, word for the wise: don't fly American. They have stopped serving meals and snacks (bag of chips, snickers bar, etc) cost $3. Also, there are no TVs and no radio stations! In short: nothing. But the flight was only 3 hours long and I had "Watchmen" to read. We are staying in a Quality Inn which is the Fair Cleaners of hotels: Quality, but not too much. (Except that I do get a king-sized bed!) We are in Irving, TX, a suburb of Dallas and there is nothing around but other hotels. We eat at the Denny's nearby. Of the server my dad whispers, "Is that a man or a woman?" Oh Baffles.

I spent Monday and Tuesday morning hanging out in the hotel watching daytime television and eating biscuits and gravy at the hotel breakfast. That part rocks. I love biscuits and gravy. Monday my dad and I get lunch at a French bakery (in Texas) which is pretty good. It is there, in Grapevine, that I discover that They aren't joking when They say everything is bigger here. Pictures (and poetry) to follow on the Facebook. Tuesday afternoon we get lunch with some people from my dad's work at the BBQ place across the street. It has a meat-pit. And sweet tea. It was great. Corinne, don't ever go to Texas, or at least, don't expect to eat much. In the afternoons we drive around looking for places for my dad to live. All the houses look the same here. They're all made from brick and it's sort of creepy. Streets and streets of the same house. Then you go to the next complex, and they're all the same as the last one. Yikes. Monday night we have dinner at a steak place and I have a delicious prime rib and a local beer called Shiner Bock--yum! Tuesday night we go out with my dad's boss and his wife to a seafood place that gets their scallops from 10 miles south of Sea Bright. I have Nigerian shrimp. They are called U-2s because you get less than two shrimp per pound. I wish I could have taken a picture, they were HUGE. Our server was a guy named Josh who looked like a young Alan Tudyk. We are running away together. Sorry Kevyn.

Yesterday my dad was in a meeting all day so I planned to go into Dallas proper. I found a few places that I wanted to visit and figured out the public transportation enough to have a day's worth of stuff to do. I drive (license-less) to the train station and realize that it is not 60 out like the weathermen said and also that there is no one else around. That's because the next train isn't for 40 minutes--who would have thought to look up the schedule?? So I go back to the hotel, put on more clothes, and resign myself to watch TV and wait for the next-next train. I get into the city no problem and make my way to the Sixth Floor Museum which is the JFK museum in the former Book Depository. It's a really good museum made better by the 6-year old French boy running around. However, don't ever go there by yourself, or at least bring tissues. It's really sad. After that I find a place to eat and get served the thickest slice of French toast I've ever seen. Yum! After that I discover that Dallas is not a tourist town. You can not walk from one place to another and the free trolleys that all the maps say exist, don't. I wander fruitlessly for two hours before deciding to just leave. So I get on the train and come back to the hotel, dejected. But then a Texan in his pick-up truck hits on me and I feel loads better! Sad but true. My dad and I go out to a chain-Mexican restaurant and I get a weak but good pomegranate margarita which I stumble through ordering, ending up saying "pomegrant margareety". Oh yeah.

Today I get up and do the old morning routine: biscuits and gravy, daytime TV. I decide to go to a local mall to get some new jeans because I discovered on Monday that, in addition to the hole in the knee that I knew about, there is also a hole in the crotch that I didn't know about. However, I haven't done that yet. I'm at my dad's office posting this blog. I bet this afternoon we'll do more house hunting. This evening my dad has a work-dinner so I'm going to go to a different mall (because that's what there is to do around here). Tomorrow we're going out with a real estate agent to look at townhouses and then we're coming back. I pretty much can't wait. I keep trying to loudly address Baffles as "Dad" in public places so that people stop thinking I'm his date. Yikes.

The trip (except yesterday) has been more fun than I'm letting on, but I'm bored right now, so everything is seeming extra boring in retrospect.

Also in case you were concerned, my mom found my license and sent it here. I have it now.

Well, that's all I suppose. See you all soonish.

PS. Texas is really flat.