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Got this from Bonnie, who found Googlism. Fun stuff!
alison is on the phone
alison is in the babybedroom
alison is a scary individual
alison is the bomb
alison is a wicked character
alison is first lady of the sky
Continue reading "alison is literally one of utah's finest treasures" »
Allan has already written about the long trip back to Pittsburgh on Friday. It was long and hard for me because my kids were being obnoxious. I decided that Allan and I needed to have a night out after that, so I asked my dad and stepmother to babysit on Saturday night.
I scanned the Weekend section of the Post-Gazette, especially the rundown of live music. Under the rubric "Acoustic," a place and a name caught my eye.
I'd heard of Club Cafe on WYEP, and noticed that there was an early show on Saturday. Mark Dignam was playing. I had no idea who Mark Dignam was, but saw that Jesse Prentiss was opening for him.
I know Jesse Prentiss. Well, sort of. We went to school together, and I knew who he was. I remember Jesse as a brooding artist-type, a tall skinny guy with dark bangs covering his eyes. He was different from the neo-Deadheads and prep school kids you'd see on campus. And I wanted to see what he was like now.
Allan was game for this acoustic show, so we went to the South Side and found Club Cafe. The doorman asked if we were there to see Mark Dignam. Yes, we were, we said. Mark can't make it; his wife went into labor this afternoon, replied the doorman.
So I asked you to ask me questions.
Here are my answers:
Angel said "you steal from other bloggers?" in a wink wink nudge nudge kind of way. The ants are my friends answer, my friends, is HELL YEAH! But you knew that already.
Carrie wanted to know if I hate peas, too. No. I love any kind of pea, as long as it's not canned. Canned peas are quite possibly the grossest canned food ever. Except for canned spinach, maybe.
Patrick must know that I quit math after 11th grade Geometry, so he gave me a story problem: "If a train leaves Cleveland heading west at 35 mph, and a train leaves Denver headed east at 47 mph, when will they pass?"
Patrick. Patrick, Patrick, Patrick. You need to visit France, where the trains travel MUCH faster, and not just because a kilometer is shorter than a mile. Oh, and Patrick? One more thing: PINK!
My bald ex-colleague wanted to know if poop meant what he thought it meant. Dear ex-colleague: Oui. Poop = caca. Ce genre de vocabulaire est essentiel, surtout quand on a des enfants.
Lee, Bonnie, Margaret, and that bald French guy all wanted to see a picture of my new hair. Silly me, I forgot to take a photo that first day. My stylist, Ashley, did a great job drying my hair (well, it doesn't take much to do a better job than I do, considering that I NEVER blowdry my hair), and when she was done, she drawled, "Honey, you need to go out on a hot date tonight." My hair looked awesome. I think Allan said "Wow!" when I walked out of the salon.
But in all honesty, it's not really a "new" 'do. It was more of a trim with more layers added in. It was also my first trip to the salon since December, and back then I posted a photo. And it's pretty much the same look. Go here if you want to see my hair.
Finally, Rand and Melanie didn't ask any questions, but they left some nice comments. Thanks, guys.
C and T petting the affectionate kitty that lives in the barn at Allan's uncle's horse farm.
Since I have absotively nothing to say -- and yet SO much! -- I'm just going to start rambling and see where this goes.
I'm sitting at Allan's kitchen table, about to get that next mug of coffee that I really don't need. What was that SNL skit? Coffee Achievers? The only thing I achieve with my coffee consumption is regular bowel movements.
...
Okay, I'm back. Speaking of pooping, I had a dream about Dooce the other night. She and her husband came to visit me and Allan to talk about blogging. Okay. Now tell me, how much of a loser am I for dreaming about star bloggers and blogging? And this, when I can't even produce a decent blog entry! There must be SOME correlation.
It's not as if I don't encounter interesting subject matter these days. I do. I could blog about lovely Lexington; the charming Kentucky twang; the horse farm we visited; Charlie and the Chocolate Factory AND Johnny Depp AND his connection to Lexington; my new haircut; the food I've been eating (and pooping; if I talk about poop, maybe my readership will increase); my hair stylist, Ashley; Old Navy; the fact that Allan and I cook so well together, and that is NOT a metaphor; and the list goes on.
Anyone else singing Sonny and Cher in his or her head?
Yeah, the list goes on.
How about this idea that I'm blatantly stealing from other bloggers: Got any questions for me? Leave a comment or question, and I'll post answers in a later post. Maybe it'll help me get my blog mojo back.
*No linkage due to laziness.
In blog entries past, I have mentioned my friend Anne, another American transplant on French soil. Anne used to teach English too, but a couple of years ago she went for a total career change and started a business, Esprit de France. At first limited to importing French products to upscale American grocery stores, Esprit de France now has an online presence. Anyone can browse the store and order French products, and trust me, there are some good ones on there. Anne will be adding merchandise and modifying her website in the future, so keep checking back. You can also sign up for the Esprit de France Gourmet newsletter.
Go check it out at:
And thanks.
We are in Lexington. Allan, me, and my kids.
It ought to be interesting.
Sort of.
Allan is here visiting, and our days have been busy. We've seen some cool stuff, eaten lots of great food, and have made the obligatory trip to IKEA.
By the time we get back to my dad's house in the evening, I'm too worn out to blog. Besides, I'm having a kind of blog dry spell. I don't know what to say. Only one thing made me say "I have to blog that" in the past three days. Here it is:
Last night I watched The Goonies with my kids. You know, it's a story about finding a pirate's hidden treasure. The pirate's name? One-Eyed Willie. One-eyed. Willie.
Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha!
I'm too tired to come up with some witty zingers about phalli in PG movies, so I'll just say that in 1985 I totally wanted to be Martha Plimpton.
from my sister, the Ziploc Queen*.
On George W. Bush: "He doesn't deserve to see my butt!" This was in response to a comment from her husband that if Air Force One flew over their house, she'd go out in the street and moon the President.
Okaaaaay, maybe you had to be there.
*She puts everything in ziploc bags. Snacks for her daughter. Heads of iceberg lettuce. Washed grapes and cherries. Leftover canteloupe. Honestly, I have never seen anyone use so many ziplocs.
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