Just sent an e-mail saying:
My project this morning was to redo/update my burial instructions (which he attached — Dad, by the way, is not sick. And both his parents lived to be 101) to:
→ Leave a CommentCategories: My Crazy Family
My brother called and said he was on his way to talk about Hanukkah at his kids’ school.
Wow, I said. You’re just like mom. (Mom ALWAYS talked about Hanukkah at our schools.)
I didn’t volunteer, he said. Can you remind me of the story?
There’s an eternal flame in the synagogue that has to be lit at all times. And when the temple was destroyed there was only enough oil to last for one night. But the miracle is that it lasted all week. And that’s why we eat fried foods. Because we celebrate oil.
Who destroyed the temple? my brother asked.
I don’t know. Arabs? People who hate Jews.
Lots of people hate Jews. It couldn’t have been everyone.
The Macabees fought them.
When was this? my brother asked.
I don’t know. Olden times?
You don’t know anymore than I do. You only know how to make latkes. (Actually, this year, I’m thinking of celebrating with fried ravioli. And maybe some fried chicken.)
Why don’t you call mom? I asked.
She won’t know anymore than we do. She’ll just tell you that you make latkes by grating potatoes by hand — but, if you like, you can use a food processor.
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Tagged: oh dreidle
A friend died today.
She had the flu last week. She told one of her coworkers that she was feeling better, and she’d come to work on Monday. But she didn’t show.
Her office called and called.
She didn’t answer.
Finally, security guards went to her house. (She works for the government, and apparently, if you don’t show up for work — they go check to make sure you weren’t abducted by terrorists.)
They found her dead on the couch.
They think she died just watching TV, my brother said.
That is my worst nightmare, I told him.
I know, he said.
(Because I’ve told him 100 times that my worst fear is that I’m going to die and no one is going to notice. Because I live alone, I work from home, and since I don’t go into an office, there’s really no one that expects to see me or talk to me every day.)
I’m so sad. She was really nice. (I wanted to be her roommate when I moved up here. But she was mad in love with my brother, and sad that he married someone else. And I look an awful lot like my brother, so I understand.)
I saw her walking the other day, and I should have flagged her down, my brother said. But she was far up ahead.
Then he started talking about how he could drop dead at any second.
We were talking when I was pulling into my parking garage. I walked into my apartment, and was checking my e-mail when I heard a whimper. I called my dog’s name. She didn’t answer. I opened the front door, and she was sitting in the hallway. I was apparently so upset I walked into my house and left my dog outside.
I’ve never done that.
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I have a little bit of pneumonia.
My 3-year-old nephew called and said he wanted to bring me a popsicle. He thought it would make me feel better.
(I heart him.)
My nephews were at my house playing zingo (which is like a picture pages version of bingo) when a friend stopped by.
We all went out for Chinese.
Wow, she said after dinner. Both of them are exactly my type.
My nephews are 3 and 5.
She’s 36.
I just have to wait 20 years, she said.
“… And here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson,” won’t stop playing in my head.
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I introduced my friend … let’s call her Sally (because I promised no real names) … to one of my best guy friends.
He’s a dirty, dirty whore, I said by way of introduction.
A couple hours later I asked if she was interested in him. No, Sally said. I’m just not attracted to him. Sorry.
That’s cool, I said. Because I can’t whole-heartedly endorse him. Great guy to be friends with — but not to date. Every girl who sleeps with him cries.
Why? Are they in pain? another friend asked with sudden interest.
While I don’t have any first-hand knowledge. I think the pain is more emotional.
One girl he slept with and never called went to his office. He wasn’t there, but his dad works in the same building. She told his father that his son’s an asshole. DDW just shrugged, “My dad knows who I am,” he said.
Whenever I date guys, I always worry that they’re really DDW — but I just don’t know them well enough yet.
A couple hours later, after DDW told us about getting roofied in Phuket and waking up on a beach with a whore not knowing who he was, or where he was…. Sally started telling stories about all the different kinds of sex she had all over air planes. I mentioned an upcoming tubing trip. She mentioned the sex she had in rivers. DDW talked about his inability to successfully have sex in his bathtub. Sally talked about the scar she has on her hip from the last time she had sex in a bath tub.
So, red heads are your favorite, she said.
Yeah, I told her. He really likes red heads.
We stopped by her house to get her dog. (But then she remembered her dog has fleas.) She came back to the car without any jammies or a change of clothes. That’s the moment when I figured she probably wasn’t going to join me in the guest room.
They started drinking vodka. I went to bed.
Around 5:30 a.m. I heard Sally screaming, “That is not funny! That is not funny!” over and over again.
She sounded mad. And, since I know DDW — I felt I had to go check to make sure he wasn’t doing anything she didn’t consent to.
I walked out into the hallway; they were naked in the jacuzzi tub. (They hadn’t closed the bathroom door. He has this amazing bathroom, with a giant bath tub facing a flat screen TV. I want his bathroom.)
“Come in,” Sally said. “Join us!”
Oh God, no, I said, covering my eyes. I was just making sure you were okay.
The thing is, I hadn’t really wanted to stay alone in the house with this guy, so I was glad she came home with us. In the morning, I felt like I had sacrificed a baby lamb. (Kind of like when I didn’t want to play on my boyfriend’s softball team, so I helped recruit sporty girls.)
I debated not waking them up to say goodbye when I left in the morning. But I figured they had woken me up. I put my hands over my eyes and walked into the room and said, “Bye, y’all!”
Where are my clothes! Sally said.
Yeah, I don’t know that.
Are my clothes at my house? she asked.
?
Before I left, I snapped a picture. (And if I could figure out how to photo shop black bars over their eyes, it would be posted right here. I double dog dared them both to make it their Facebook profile picture, but they refused. Even though they both texted me that afternoon asking how the picture came out. )
Sally called me later that day (but I was at a birthday party surrounded by 4-year-olds, so it wasn’t the best time for a morning after talk).
It was actually, quite good, she said.
Eew.
And I haven’t cried, she said.
Not yet.
→ 3 CommentsCategories: boyz · first dates · hmmm · my drunk friends
I am in deliverance country.
I was sitting at a bar last night, waiting for a source to show up. I was talking to a lady who maybe, maybe not kills her husbands (but she gave me cake, so I like her) and chatting with the bartender.
Then the DJ announced, “We’ve got Tanasie from [insert name of national publication I was reporting for] here tonight. Buy her a drink! But don’t buy her tequila — because tequila makes Tanasie’s clothes come off!”
He was trying to introduce the song, “Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off.”
As the song played, he kept shouting out my name telling me, “Take it off! Take it all off!” And saying, “Come on Tanasie! Tequila makes TANASIE’S clothes fall off!!!”
I texted my boyfriend.
“Hotel. Go.” he wrote.
A creepy older guy walked up to me. “What’s a nice Jewish girl like you doing alone in a bar?” (I wasn’t wearing any Jew jewelry, no chai’s or mogen david’s. He didn’t know my last name. I think I do look Jewish — but back home in Tennessee everyone just asked, “What are you?” and when I lived in Texas, people just assumed I was Mexican. So, it was weird. It’s not like he met me at Hillel, or something.)
He wouldn’t stop touching me.
I told him I had a boyfriend. He told me he didn’t care.
Creepy Old Man told me to text my boyfriend that we’re done. And that I’m moving in with him.
No, I love him, I said.
“Hotel.” my boyfriend texted.
More drunk guys came up to me. The bartender told me she didn’t like those guys. I have a bad feeling, she said.
My boyfriend asked for the name of the bar, and told me to leave, or he was calling the state police.
I went back to my hotel.
It’s kind of redneck there, my editor said when she called this morning. My husband hates it.
Yeah, I told her, it was sketch at the bar last night.
And now, I’m on my way back there. Yay.
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I’ve had bad luck with men, a lady at a bar told me last night.
Yeah, me too.
She told me she met a guy at the bar right where we were sitting. He was real sweet, she said. They lived together for two years. Everything was great — then he went for a routine check-up one day, and the doctor called her to say that he had a stroke. She lied and said she was his wife, and signed the consent form for the brain surgery to relieve the pressure on his head. But he never woke up.
And it turns out — her first two husbands died too.
My sister calls me, ‘The black widow,’ she says.
What’d you do to them? I asked.
Nothing, she said. They were all healthy. You can check the medical records.
She walked me through all the details of her husbands’ deaths. The first one was 17 years older than her. He was 63. He had a heart attack and dropped dead in the house with her two young children. He died in the house, she said over and over. And then the next husband, she met at work. And he was “sweet enough” to marry her with her two little boys. Then he died, too.
When she met the last man, she asked him, “Are you healthy?” And she told him that she couldn’t lose another man she loved. He promised he was fine.
If he lived, we probably would have been together forever, she said. I’m done with men. No more.
So she’s moving to Florida. Last night was her going away party. She gave me a piece of cake.
→ Leave a CommentCategories: boyz · my drunk friends
I asked a friend if she wanted to hang out this weekend. She said she was crazy busy: going to a concert Friday, and Saturday she’s having dinner with mom, dad, and fiance. And the engagement party is on Sunday. Can you come? she asked.
Engagement party? She’s engaged?
She just mentioned she was dating a guy she met online a week or two ago. This Valentine’s Day she begged me to spend it with her and curse the world. (But, for a change, I actually had a Valentine.)
“It was love at fourth date,” she e-mailed me.
She said as soon as she realized how deep her feelings were, she felt instantly that he was her husband, not her boyfriend.
I don’t know how I missed her being-engaged-is-great status update a couple days ago (but maybe because she’s the type of girl who updates her status with every cup of coffee.)
They’re getting married this summer.
“It’s not rushing,” she said. “It’s right.”
→ 1 CommentCategories: boyz · my drunk friends · online dating
I was driving home from an assignment in North Carolina when my editors asked me to detour to Hampton Roads.
Can you get there faster? How fast can you get there? my editors asked over and over again.
I got pulled over and given a reckless driving ticket in Emporia, Va. (Which I now know is one of the top speed traps in the country — so if you’re ever anywhere near there — SLOW DOWN. I was pulled over a block after the speed limit sign changed as I was braking for a red light.)
I told the officer I was a reporter going to breaking news. He didn’t care.
I hired a lawyer. I paid the fine.
Yesterday, I got a letter from the DMV saying my license is suspended.
?!
I called the court. They acknowledge that I paid the exact fine they told me to pay, but it turns out they asked for the wrong amount. So, because they made a clerical error, I owed $10. The court revoked my driving privileges over $10.
They were a lot nicer this morning after my lawyer yelled at them.
So, I’m sitting here, homebound, waiting for the DMV to process the paperwork reinstating my license. An editor just called and asked me to jump in the car and “fly” to another story, “as quick as you can.”
Yeah, I can’t do that.
“I’m going to tell everyone you’re a felon,” she said.
→ 1 CommentCategories: reporting live · travel
Tagged: emporia, hit the brakes in emporia, on the road, reckless driving
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