So there’s a bumper sticker just to give away the ending to the new Harry Potter. I’m thinking of making my own spoiler stickers… Something like “The ship sinks” or “It’s a sled.”
Or a whole line of English major/Classics major spoilers:
“Ahab and Moby die”
“Romeo and Juliet die”
“Richard The Third dies”
“Agamemnon dies”
“Achilles dies”
Well, you get the picture.
Rachel‘s wedding was this weekend. I considered inventing a tale about all the crazy cool things I’m doing with my life now, because for some reason I thought I should impress people who were important to me ten years ago. I was going to get Stick in on my plans, and we’d drop hints about my nascent superpowers. Instead, we collaborated on not telling any of my most embarrassing stories.
The service was beautiful, and Rachel wins the award for Least Hideous Bridesmaid Dresses. They looked great on everyone, which is impossible but true.
There was a photo collage of Rachel and her new husband Zak, including a picture from the year I had a Halloween party. Rachel dressed up as Princess Leia and brought a cardboard standup of Han Solo as her date.
At the reception, I caught up with a lot of my high-school crowd. It was a little disturbing when I found out that they’ve getting those “real jobs” that I’ve heard so much about, and achieving that whole “financial independance” thing.
Afterwards, we all went up to Eagle Rock Reservation, a spot well-know for drunken teenage antics and parked, but inhabited, cars. (Actually, I never really went up there in high school. I was either on a date or playing computer games on a Friday night. come to think of it, I haven’t really outgrown that) I discovered that the overlook point has been transformed into a September 11th memorial. Because I have no sense of direction, I can’t tell exactly where the towers were, it just looks like there’s something broken about the skyline.
And of course, Stick’s amazing response to Dancing Queen should not be missed.
My job at Lonely Hearts is a lot like everyone else’s office job, only I’m supposed to be gossiping on the phone all day.
Sometimes two members will go on the same date and have completely different experiences. (Sometimes this happens to Stick and me, too) When this happens, both parties call me and tell me in great detail how awesome/horrible the other person is. Sometimes the woman will say “Can you believe he made me drive?” and the man says “She liked me so much, she picked me up at my house!” Often, one person will say “We had a great conversation last night,” and the other will say “The self-centered jerk didn’t let me get a word in!”
Today a woman called me to tell me about a date she had last weekend. She met up with the man, and he spent the entire meal telling her about some creepy war game he plays. He must have been sharing a bit too much, because from her description of his description, he plays weekly Diplomacy, not Risk or 40K, which were my original guesses.
“Really, he’s a grown man!” she said. “Playing war games with kids! Honestly, would you date someone like that?”
I changed the subject.
My new roommate Stephanie and I decided to go on the milk diet. You’re supposed to add 24oz of milk a day to your regular eating habits, and it speeds your metabolism, protects you from osteoperosis, and gives you energy. 24 ounces sounds like a lot but it’s really only 3 glasses. I like diets that involve eating normal food, and I like milk, so if it magically makes me hotter, I’ll be really happy!
Except whenever I drink a big cold glass of milk, I think about how much I want Oreos to go with it.
For the last six years of my life, people have looked at me funny and asked “Oh, classics… and what are you planning to do with that?” I would mumble something about teaching or my secret plan to be a female Robert Graves or change the subject.
I will never be stumped by that question again, because I just got a job as a professional yenta*!
It was the hardest interview EVER because my new boss owns and directs the Lonely Hearts Club. Always nerve-wracking in an interview! {I decided not to blog the real name of the dating service. Because of what happened last time I used a real name… Hi Cyberlore boys!) But I think it’s better to have the boss down the hall, than to report to faceless corporate headquarters in, say, Milwaukee.
She asked me about my career goals, which I HATE almost as much as the classics-major question. I can never bring myself to say I have a bright future in vacuum-cleaner sales, but I can’t say that I’m just here because I don’t want to starve. I said I hoped to make enough money to support my dead-Romans habit.
It was the right answer, because I’m employed.
*yenta — Yiddish for busybody, matchmaker, gossip.
I passed my MTELs! I got a 97 in reading! I showed my roommates, well, actually I did a happy little dance and they came to see about all the crashing. Chris asked me if that’s percentage correct or percentile, and I had to think long and hard about the difference. (It wasn’t a 97 in math)
A month ago, Stick’s mom drove me to the MTELs, and therefore had to listen to my spastic, nervous rambling on the way, as well as my brave announcement that if I fail, I’ll just retake it in the fall. So I showed her my score report. She looked at my perfect scores for Grammar, Usage and Mechanics subsections, and said “Meggy! You done good!”
Edit: Yes, I DID tell Stick, and he was underwhelmed in that “I knew you’d pass” kind of way that wasn’t really worth mentioning.
Some people have told me it’s been a while since I’ve posted. To those people, I have to say: For bandits, those Defias guys don’t really have much money.
Also, my girlfriend Allison got married on Saturday.
Early on Saturday morning, Eric drove me to the salon to meet up with the girls for hair and make-up. I arrived in a super good mood because I’d finished hemming my bridesmaid dress in the car on the way over. There was a dressmaking drama, which involved all the bridesmaids and assorted relatives sitting in the bridal suite cutting and sewing late into the previous night. (Note to self: Require written contract. Perferably signed in blood.)
We all got prettified and went back to the Warfield House. The dress disaster continued. When the remaining costumes finally showed up, they must have been for another wedding since none of our bridesmaids fit. The best part was when the florist came upstairs, in garb, and helped us finish pinning and tying our dresses together. But it really doesn’t matter because everyone only looks at the bride.
Then we got Athene dressed up in her pretty, pretty princess dress and we cried. Her mom came in to give her “something borrowed” and we cried. We went outside to the wedding, and we cried. I got a little rush of single-girl blues, and a bigger rush of pre-party excitement. But mostly I was watching my friend getting ready to join her life with someone else. She’d been stressed about all the minutiae of throwing the party and the dressmaker’s saga, but now she was calm and happy.
AllisonI think there’s a rule that girlfriends never ever think their friend’s boyfriend, fiance or husband is good enough for her. I’m no exception. He’s anal in a little-boy way about other people touching his stuff, obsessed with his TV, has bad taste in movies, and adores Allison with all his heart. So I guess he’s all right.
All the girlsI tried to teach the bridal bouquet to like me and want to come back to me, but SOMEHOW Allison’s sister caught it. I wonder how that happened?
Later, I danced with Stick, who doesn’t like to dance and doesn’t like gothy music but he did it anyway to make me happy (because he’s the Best Boyfriend Ever). Sadly, I could not convince the DJ to play Dancing Queen so none of my friends got to see the amazing spectacle that is Stick’s special response to that song.
Then Stick and I went back to our room, and had some wine and after-action review until I fell asleep. Actually, I am not entirely sure how the conversation ended and I have a vague feeling that he may have still been talking. But after all that WarCrafting, I mean, pre-wedding adventures, I was really tired.
If you are driving on the New York Thruway, and you happen to miss the exit for 84 (the uneducated might think this is the fault of the girlfriend/navigator but all of the signs were CLEARLY stolen by gnomes in the middle of the night), it’s a good idea to make sure you have enough cash to get off at Albany. Because if both people assume that the other person isn’t so ditzy as to leave without any cash, you’ll have to pull the car over and search through several pairs of jeans, backpacks and a purse. And if your combined efforts still can’t find five dollars, and there aren’t any rest stops, and it’s a pretty good situation for a deus ex mechina twenty to show up, and it doesn’t, and you’re getting closer to Albany, well, that’s a very romantic bonding moment. Really.
On the plus side, I think we have seven days before we’re technically on the run from the law.
Yesterday I went to see The Sisterhood Of The Traveling Pants with my long-lost good twin (I’m clearly the evil one, wouldn’t you agree?) We kept poking each other and whispering “Ya-Ya!” which is only funny if you’ve seen Divine Secrets and Traveling Pants and also are extremely easily amused. Which you kind of have to be to watch either of those movies.
After the movie, we saw a boy standing outside the girls’ bathroom holding a pink bag that said “I just got my ears pierced!” and I think he has to be the second greatest boyfriend in the world. He was holding it like a football though, and Stick says that’s the key to true masculinity. Wonder if Stick would buy tampons for me if able to carry in football-style. On second thought, should not push the boundaries of the Perfect Boyfriend.
Later Stephanie told me a story and end of it was “And then, even though my parents weren’t home, he left to play D&D with his friends!” and I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe. But she grew up on California and I grew up in New Jersey so we probably don’t have any ex-boyfriends in common.
This is a well-thought-out article against mandatory seatbelts, and this is the author’s obit, after he was without a seatbelt in a car crash.
I’m actually against seatbelt laws, too. Not because I don’t wear them — I always do and I encourage/coerce everyone else in the car to do the same thing — but because I think our limited force of police should be protecting us from actual crimes instead of wasting time harassing people who are endangering only themselves. And I’d prefer if the money spent on those creepy “Click it or Ticket” commercials was used for something a bit more useful. I really don’t think the job of our government should be to protect dumb people from themselves.
But still, the irony…
