I’m no artist, and this is my first stab at a Venn Diagram, so bear with me. I just thought this would be less time-consuming than writing an essay about my plans for this fine Saturday:
And if you couldn’t tell, the point of this is: I’m actually very excited.
Let me refresh your memory. Four months ago I moved into a new place. It was so wonderful I did standing backflips just like Cuba Gooding Jr. in Jerry Maguire. (Can’t picture that? Here is a second refresher of how nimble I am.)
I was still backflipping when – on the second day of possession – I opened my freezer and found it FLOODED with water, some of which had formed icicles from the ice cube tray to the floor of the freezer. And there was still water spraying everywhere with the urgency of a dog dousing a fire hydrant.
Saturday morning we ran to the farmer’s market so I could pick up some fruit and greens for a salad. (Side note: I discovered kiwi berries, which, if you like kiwi fruit but HATE peeling them, this is the fruit for you – think of grapes that taste like kiwis.)
On the way there, we were breaking one of my pet urban rules: we were walking three-across on the sidewalk. Fortunately, my mom was tuned into our surroundings, and realized someone coming up behind us would need to get around. She stepped aside, grabbed my dad and me by the shoulders, and loudly announced, “Let’s wait a second so this gentleman can pass.”
The thing is, that gentleman had breasts. No sooner were the words out of my mom’s mouth, than my dad and I exchanged an uncomfortable look and my mom clapped her hand over her mouth. We dropped back a few paces and let the woman gain some ground before we spoke again.
My parents came to visit this weekend – their first time since I’ve moved.
My mom spends a large portion of her waking time observing (and commenting on) other people. My old place was HORRIBLE for her because it was on the top floor of a five-story building and had limited windows that really didn’t afford street views. She would pace like a caged animal trying to peek out the small windows in my turret, so visits would generally be planned around making sure she was outside and able to see people.
Since I moved into my new place three months ago, I’ve had only one complaint: my upstairs neighbors charge around like water buffaloes at all hours of the night, squeaking the floorboards above my bed to such an extent that I’ve developed insomnia.
I’ll skip the back-story (mainly because it’s boring), but a few weeks ago we invited said-neighbors down for a glass of wine with the hopes of having a friendly discussion about their floor.
Somehow, one glass of wine turned into several bottles, and my couch turned into a confessional for my neighbors (two gay men who are partners in their early 40s). They started opening sentences with, “You don’t know this about me, but…”
By far, the best admission of the night was when Jude revealed that he had not only dated women in his not-so-distant past, but also then went on to profess his skill at (and enjoyment of) certain decidedly STRAIGHT sexual activities.
They were also into astrology, so we learned that Michael is a Pisces and Jude is a Cancer. Now if only Jude had proclaimed himself to be a paleontologist. I think I could’ve surprised him with the perfect birthday present:
Somehow, I think that if Jude started sporting that shirt, I might only have to tolerate ONE set of footsteps above me each night. On second thought, it’s not a BAD plan, even if he’s not into dinosaurs.
pithypants 