Brutalism

Thursday, I did my first-ever speaking engagement at the Vale School House in Oakton, Virginia, and I loved every.single.second. and did not want it to end. During the evening, I shared this reading of one of my favorite posts:


(NOTE: I did omit mention of the "euphemisms for masturbation" category during my reading. And I think that was the right choice. Although for the record, I'm sure the category would have been included in the double jeopardy round and that "What is Shaking hands with Abraham Lincoln?" would have been the answer to a daily double.)

People laughed in all the right places, with the exception of after the line about "cities I've thrown up in". (What a bunch of vomit haters.) And then, during the Q&A portion of the evening, someone inquired, "Who are the famous men you've touched?" And I drew a  complete blank. Seriously? Was my misspent youth so crazy that I cannot even remember all of the famous men with whom I've had skin-to-skin contact?

That night, I went home and compiled the names of these men, so I'll be ready the next time someone asks. (My humorist career should skyrocket after killing with the SRO crowd at the school house, so I'm guessing that the next person who asks me this will likely be Anderson Cooper. And if so, I'll make sure he is added to the list.)

Listed in order of importance, based on what each has contributed to humanity from greatest contributions to most minimal contributions, I give you...the list of famous men I've touched:

Joe E. Tata ("Nat" from the Peach Pit on Beverly Hills 90210)
Jeff Cockey
Jeffrey Ross
Todd Glass
Tom Selleck
Joe Mantegna
Jerry Mathers (who really likes my beaver shot, BTW)
Joe Frazier
Buzz Aldrin
Jimmy Carter  (Sure, Jimmy Carter won the Nobel Peace Prize...but did he teach Dylan McKay responsibility?)

I'll never wash my hands again,
Brutalism

(This will so not be the post you expected based on that title -- apologies.)

It's like that old joke about what you get when you play a country song backwards...you get your wife back, you get your job back, you get your dog back...

Just 24 hours ago, I submitted this week's Oakton Patch column -- a column based on the theme of what a big, fat loser I am of late. (Yes, OF LATE. Shut up, everyone who knows me.) And between the time I submitted it and the time it ran this morning, I found out that my iPhone was turned it at Penn Station and my good friends John and Meredith are currently working on retrieving it and shipping it to me, and I also found out that a wonderful neighbor had two tickets to the White House Easter egg roll that she offered up. (I have not stopped smiling today.)

However, I also discovered that my daughter is #58 on the wait list for the magnet school -- so not all has moved on from Schleprockism.

Just mostly.

Off to buy a lottery ticket,
Brutalism

On Saturday, while watching The Hunger Games in the theater, I was so startled by the appearance of the muttations that I tensed enough to strain a muscle in my calf.

I wish I was kidding.

Which was awesome timing as I was running the Cherry Blossom 10-miler on Sunday. I've avoided this race for a few years, as the last time I ran it, I ended up requiring knee surgery. (Though, to be fair, I ran it three weeks after running a half marathon at a pretty good pace.) And grimacing and curling up in a fetal position while crossing the finish line.

In order to prevent any injuries from happening again, I did a lot of preparation and training this time around. And by that, I mean I did approximately three training runs over the past few months.

I'm an idiot.

But guess what? I finished it. While I did not complete it in great time, I did complete it in a non-humiliating time. And I got to be there while my friend, Amanda, PR'd by THIRTEEN MINUTES.

Even better? When I get a massage tonight, I can blame the tight calves on the run and not on The Hunger Games.

I'm a finely tuned athlete,
Brutalism

Recently, I used the most horrible verbal transition of my life. During a business call, I discovered that the owner of one of our customer companies had died. I was very empathetic with the Office Manager who was conveying the news to me and told her how sorry we were to hear that and that I could call back as this was obviously not a good time to discuss promotions. She then said, "No, now is okay." So I said solemnly, "Again, I'm really sorry." And since I didn't know where to go from there, I followed it one nanosecond later with a cheery, "Now, let's talk marketing!!!"

As I have a lot to catch you up on, this post will be in blurbs, introduced by the most awkward or disjointed segues I can think of in honor of what a total rube I am.

1) Canetto's mom had surgery yesterday. She was vague about details, letting us know only that it involved her "lady parts." And, trust me, we did not want to probe further.

SEGUE: Speaking of probing my mother-in-law's private parts...

2) I spent last weekend in Manhattan with Canetto and Avery. Highlights included: my cousin's wedding on Long Island, Mary Poppins on Broadway, walking the length of High Line park, taking the ferry to Staten Island, going to the American Girl doll store, bowling with Canetto's friend from high school, and randomly meeting up with a friend I've known since we were seven and discovered we were staying a few blocks from each other in NYC thanks to Facebook. I love social media. So much, it's almost like a disease.

SEGUE: Speaking of social diseases...

3) While coming back to Manhattan on the Long Island Railroad, I left my iPhone on the train when disembarking at the terminal.

SEGUE: Speaking of getting off at Penn Station...

4) I have been invited by a local charitable organization to be a featured speaker at an upcoming event. This alternately thrills me and terrifies me. It is one thing to hide behind the computer to write about unsavory topics...it is another thing entirely to stand in front of a group who is paying to be there listen to you talk about poop and swinging.

SEGUE: Speaking of last Saturday night...

5) The owner of a local kids' clothing boutique in Oakton asked me recently if Avery would be interested in modeling Easter dresses. My child, while a fashionista, is completely shy. So I didn't think she'd go for it. But once she realized that she could try on any clothing she wanted and feel like a princess in a fairy tale, she conceded.

SEGUE: Speaking of happy endings... 

I'm out,
Brutalism

In an uncharacteristically sappy (read: beer-fueled) moment tonight, I turned to Canetto and said, "You know, I appreciate what a great Dad you are. The fact that you are so involved with our daughter will mean more than anything both to her and to the person she becomes..."

To which he replied: "Thanks. Now can you go read to her so I can surf some porn?"

Right now, I'm walking around the house like I'm 80 thanks to the 8 miles I ran this morning with my friend, Amanda. Because I'm a mental patient, I don't like her to tell me the pace at which we're running, as I tend to slow myself down if I know I'm going fast, even if I feel okay. Then, it's like a big, fun, reveal at the end when she can disclose just how fast we ran. (Well, "fast" being relative. She kindly goes much slower than she could when running with me.) 

Yup. Pretty much captures my parenting philosophy.

This is my big, fat, hunk o' love, Seamus. God, I love this cat. And his tremendous belly.

Conversation with the Dilettantes during our Falconry class today (post to come on Dilettante Club site):

Me: "You know. I just could not like that instructor, because he reminded me of a guy named Smelly Dave that I used to date."

Amy (incredulously): "You dated someone called Smelly Dave?"

Me (apologetically): "It was during a low point in my life."

Amanda (helpfully): "Is this the same guy that ate french fries out of the trash can?"

Me (also apologetically): "No. That was Rob. And come to think of it, I dated him during a high point in my life..."

Thanks to Canetto for saving me from myself,
Brutalism

For the record, I was never a nose-picker or scab eater, although I was (am?) pretty prolific in my pants-wetting.

Which is interesting, really, as I was a painfully shy kid. (And when I say, "painfully", I mean ridiculously, paralyzingly so.) As such, I was terrified to ask teachers, instructors and other grown ups if I could use the bathroom when I needed to, which led to many, many public urination episodes.  (And yes, it has not escaped me how I somehow found wetting my pants in front of my peers less embarrassing than asking a grown up to use the restroom.)

I'm not that bright.

Then again, I'm sure lots of people from grade school remember me because of it -- it was my signature move. Read about other signature moves in this week's Patch column (the one that is accompanied by a photo of a ham).

In other news, a conversation with a co-worker/friend this morning went as follows:

Her (breathlessly): "I was so late this morning, because every single thing that could have gone wrong this morning...did!"

Me: "Oh my God! Like what?"

Her: "Well, my hair dryer broke, so it took forever to dry my hair. And I meant to paint my nails last night but ran out of time, so I had to do that this morning."

Me: "Well those invisible children in Uganda have nothing on  you."

If there's anything worse than a pants-wetter, it is an unsympathetic one,
Brutalism

A friend of mine works for a government contractor and therefore, has a number of government customers -- one of whom has not paid its bill in several months. The hilarious part? (Really, what's not hilarious about someone not paying their bills?) The customer is the Bureau of Engraving and Printing.

When I shared this fact with my good friend, Dilettante07, she totally gave me a Tosh.0 "20 Seconds on the Clock" list of comments in response. To wit:

• Maybe they ran out of toner?
• Do they know your friend's company accepts cash?
• Maybe they want to pay with those bags of shredded money, and it's just taking a while?
• Perhaps they don't realize they actually have a license to print money?
• No wonder there's a budget deficit...we literally do not know how to make money

This has just made me think that I want to work at the Bureau of Engraving and Printing...as I could then say, honestly, "I make millions of dollars at my job."

Rolling in the dough,
Brutalism

This past weekend, I had a bit of a meltdown because I'm feeling overwhelmed. (And because I had a stye the size of a watermelon in my eye.)

You totally want me.

My husband was very understanding because he was recently juggling getting all of our financial information together to refinance our house, scheduling life insurance physicals, researching, test-driving and negotiating for a new car, and doing our taxes.

I'm overwhelmed because of a Peeps diorama and a trapeze class:

One of the nine thousand ridiculous things that is consuming my time lately. But this was so fun. Read all about it here.

It's not the events that overwhelm me...it is the lack of time to sit, do nothing and recharge. Even though I love doing things and being around people, I also love being by myself and not having to be anywhere. (Particularly when I look like the Elephant Man thanks to my stye-the-size-of-North-America). 

Whatever. When I don't have things to do, I get bored in about an hour. So even though I complain, I like having commitments. Like writing a weekly column and then shilling it for all I am worth: (Last week's was about how we roll around naked in piles of money here in Fairfax County, Virginia. This week's? A Lent vent.)
Maybe I should re-think that stance on Lent and give up whining for a while?

A reader of my Oakton Patch column contacted me this week to see if I spoke to groups.

Of course I responded "yes" then immediately contacted social media goddess/presenter extraordinaire (and my friend), Stacey, to ask her advice. (Because my offer to speak at a small gathering at a garden club is totally on par with her speaking engagement in Poland for a billion dollar restaurant company in Central Europe that hired her to speak to all of their managers.)

Whatever. She did give me some really good advice, including:

• find out what the agenda is....what is the goal of the conference or meeting where you are speaking
• find out the basic demographics of the group....first rule of comedy is knowing your audience
• record all speaking engagements both so I can improve and also for marketing purposes

and finally, her most sage bit of wisdom:

• do not poop in your pants during the Q&As 

Anyway, I am now apparently going to pursue speaking opportunities. Please check out the new tab on this site -- the one titled, "Is This Thing On?" -- that announces this fact.

Dude.

I totally stole the title of today's column from Abbie Hoffman. Then again, he promoted people stealing things from him, so I guess it's okay.

(Yes, Abbie Hoffman. My cultural references are very contemporary. Try to keep up.)

Off to burn my bra,
Brutalism

Sweet Jesus. Was January the longest month in history? I suppose not drinking will make it seem that way, particularly when the month includes a night out at an Irish bar with friends, my company's holiday party, the most stressful month at work in a loooong time, my birthday and some major challenges for close friends. (Also, what do the Dilettantes really have in common besides a love of the drink?)

It was also a long month because I was not eating sugar, processed food, dairy, or wheat. (Which, frankly, is why you have not heard from me here. I was barely conscious and not at all lucid.)

Which explains why I forgot to share my last few columns with you. Please to enjoy the one where I make lots of thinly-veiled sexual jokes, the one where I mock incorrect word usage (even though I use words incorrectly all the time and my punctuation would make my high school English teacher weep), and today's column about losing weight in a weight-loss challenge. (It was for charity. Do I get a medal?)

I'm going to keep not drinking until April. Because I want to lose all my friends. And I have forgotten my mantra that "nothing funny comes out of moderate drinking." (Even less funny with teetotalling.)

By the way, after our weigh-in last night, the other Dilettantes headed out to Dogfish Head Brewery for celebratory beers and food. I could not go because I had to head home and finish my column. But I didn't miss much, because THEY TEXTED ME PICTURES OF EVERY SINGLE BEER AND DELICIOUS FOOD ITEM THEY ORDERED AND CONSUMED while I ate a Larabar in front of the computer. Beeyoches.
Brutalism