Month: July 2011

Proof Of Pez

I have a three-day work week.  Thursdays are my Fridays.  In honour of this, I would like to share my most recent internet-find: Princess Bride Bobbleheads.  If I get these, they already have a place beside my Wizard of Oz Pez Set. Because I really do need more junk inspired by my favourite films.  Obviously. Do you have any interesting or weird collections?  Or interestingly weird...

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Going Home

‘Is the chair coming off?’ the bus-driver asked Sarge. ‘No,’ I said ‘I thought I’d leave the chair here and walk off myself.  Have a nice day.’  And I went down the ramp. Two more ramps and I was on a train to Glasgow.  As I dug my book out of my backpack, I realised this was the first time I’d done such a trip without Sarge.  And I began to miss him, because I am sap. I had plans to meet friends and camp out in the pub before spending the night at my Dad’s.  Another ramp and I was at the bar. ‘Framboise, please.’ ‘What flavour?’ Perhaps because I am a word-nerd and a beer-snob, I might have laughed. ‘Um.  Raspberry.’  And then I read a sign that said the pub would be closing at the exact time I was meeting my friends.  Maybe I shouldn’t have laughed. I drank my raspberry beer, and I waited.  Nobody else was in a hurry to leave.  I may have actually looked up at the sky through the trees and said ‘I’m home.’  My friends arrived, and then another one.  Then we got the chair and ourselves into a rather small car and went somewhere else.  I told the story of how last year four people and the chair jig-sawed into a Fiat.  And off we went.  Good times. The...

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Magic Coffee: Brooklyn Edition

While in Brooklyn, I snapped this to post.  You may not see anything, but I saw words, and happiness and hope and bagels.  That’s why it’s magic. Taken at The Flying Saucer Cafe, a place where my friends and I would probably hang out every weekend.  If we all lived parallel lives in Brooklyn.  It could...

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How To Get Free Beer

Last weekend, Sarge and I went to the pub (OK, two pubs) to meet with friends and prove that he had survived meeting my mother.  We left the first pub in search of another one with an accessible toilet. I spend half my life needing to pee, and the other half looking for an accessible toilet to pee in.  I have accepted this as an interesting/annoying part of my life, and go with it.  Or not.  (Pun maybe intended, I haven’t decided.) Anyway.  We arrive at what has become one of my favourite places to drink.  Comfy couches, generous measures, and the much sought-after accessible toilet.  A girl could get spoiled.  Almost. On this night, I ordered and made my way to the bathroom, where I did not have to pop my shoulder to lock the door.  Maybe that was the problem, it was too easy. Fast forward to turning to leave.  And I couldn’t.  No, there was no dubious graffiti to hold my attention (although, nothing beats ‘Stephen Hawking hates karaoke’ which I read off the wall of an accessible toilet in Glasgow once.  OK, maybe twice.)  No, the walls were clean this time. The door that had been so easy to lock wouldn’t unlock.  That’s right.  I was locked in the toilet.  By myself. The latch was, um, bent.  I tried to push it through with my...

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He’s So Handsome. You Look Tired.

I was sitting in an airport chair, waiting for my chair to roll through on the baggage-claim belt.  Sarge and I were trying to convince the Sky Cap my chair would be through on Over-size Items, which meant we were waiting in the wrong place. Sarge was tired, and I was just wired and wanted to get OUT.  We got our bags, and then Sarge pointed over my head. ‘It’s over there,’ he said, pointing to my chair which had been where we said it would be the whole time. Sarge went to get my chair; I did a quick scan to see everything was in the right place and transferred without putting the brakes on.  ‘Let’s blow this Pop stand,’ I said. My mother has since said she spotted me before I saw her.  Not unlike our last airport hello where I waved at the wrong woman before I realised my mother was standing behind her, a very bewildered stranger who wondered why I was waving so frantically at her.  In my defence, my mother and the stranger had been wearing the same coat, and I so tiredwired, perhaps I thought I was seeing double. This time, I met my mother halfway, away from the general crowd.  We speak on the phone often enough that my accent is confused, but we hadn’t seen each other in over 5...

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