Lisa's Place

2003-07-29T07:22:00.000-07:00

I'm Back!!

It's true. I've been gone for a while but I promise I have a good reason. And I have sooooo much to tell you all. I don't even know where to begin.

The day of my last post was the last day of a brutal period at work. I'd been in the office until after 10 PM like 4 nights in a row and it was late nights the whole 3 or 4 weeks prior. Finally, it all ended. I don't know if anyone remembers, but I spoke to my sister Bonnie about a vacation I was planning on taking with a few of my girls. The plans had been made and given the time that I'd been having at work, I never thought that it would ever come. Finally, on Saturday July 19th, we all hopped on a plane and headed down to Miami. I predictably overslept, despite staying at a friend's apartment to ensure that I wouldn't. I'm one of these people who thinks she's dreaming the music. Meanwhile, the alarm is going off and my roommate is in my room shaking me because she heard it across the apartment.

Anyway, we arrived in Miami and there waiting for us at the gate was the Carnival Cruise representative assigned to bring the people on our flight to the port, so that we could leave our bags on the ship and wait to board. We were early, of course. Why were we early? I said to everyone, "Hey, guys, let's get a flight around 11 AM. It'll get us into Miami around 1 PM and they say it's like a 30 minute ride to the port. The ship boards at 2 PM and doesn't leave until 4 or so." Everyone said, "Great idea, Lisa." Everyone, that is, except Donna. Donna said we should get an earlier flight to give ourselves some time, in case something happens. I found out later that Donna's father is like a flight Nazi and only travels in the dark of night or early morning. Anyway, we all listened to Donna and we were actually the first people to get our bags to the ship. I am not exaggerating. Witha guest capacity of 2,758 people, the four of us were passengers one through four. The porter who took our bags actually said, "No one's ever this early."

Minor inconvenience. We got some lunch and waited it out. The ship was gorgeous. The decks were like multi-tieredand the ship looked like it had been carved by an artist. The tiers were so intricate. And the ship was enormous. We didn't really get a sense of how big it was until we got off of it for a shore excursion for the first time. When it's in the dock, you can't see the whole ship. And when you're on the ship, you can't see it. Like the forest for the trees or something proverbial like that. Anyway, our rooms were nice. I roomed with Jessica and Julie roomed with Donna. There wasn't a whole lot to do on the first day until dinner. We waited it out in the rooms and talked for a bit. Figuring that the younger people would request the late dinner, we did the same. Dinner was at 8 PM. They theme these meals also. It's unreal. They are huge 4 course meals. I think the first night was an Italian theme, so they had osso buco and a fra diavolo dish. It was all delicious. There were 12 people at our table. Two young couples traveling together and four other guys. Jessica made friends right away. She made plans to have us all get together later in the night at one of the clubs that they have on board.

The next day was a day at sea and we didn't have to be up early. We ordered a few bottles of wine and drank them all, then ordered another and drank that too. We were supposed to meet our new boyfriends at the bar around 12. They were going to gamble a little bit. Jessica already had her guy picked out. In fact, he was, in her words, "going to have a really good night tonight." Jessica, when she gets drunk, gets like me. Flirtatious but like a thousand times more so. I was passed the flirtatious stage and into the "trying to keep it all down stage." At midnight, we got to the bar and the boys were there waiting. We all sat down and started talking. things sorted themselves out. I ended up with a decent looking boy named Neil. We started talking. They were from Tuscon, AZ. We talked for a bit but I was starting to get dizzy. The alcohol plus the boat rocking back and forth was about to provide for a charming new Lisa story for the repertoire. I excused myself from the table for a moment and all I wanted to do was find the nearest bathroom. I made it out the door of the club and right over to the potted plant, which got an unscheduled introduction to my dinner. I heard laughing behind me and there was Jessica, who'd followed me out to see if I needed help. Her words: "Come on, no one saw. Now get up, I can see right up your skirt." We went back in and finished the night with them. I went back to get some sleep and Jessica made it back around 6 AM. He probably had a pretty good night.

The excursions were really the best part of the whole thing. The first stop was Cozumel, which is on the very tip of the Yucatan Peninsula in Mexico. We signed up for a snorkeling thing there. The ocean down there is just like it is in Long Island. Oh, except clean and there's ocean life. There was a beautiful reef there called the Palancar reef. It was gorgeous. There were thousands of fish swimming all around you. At Grand Cayman, we spent a beach day at the Seven Mile Beach. I sent my parents a postcard from "Hell," which is one of the town on Grand Cayman. I knew my dad would get a kick out of it, which he did. In Ocho Rios, Jamiaca, we took a tour of the waterfalls. Ocho Rios, for those of you unfamiliar with extremely remedial Spanish, means eight rivers. As you can imagine with that much water, there are many waterfalls. They were spectacular. You can swim beneath some of the tamer ones. The weather was gorgeous. It rained once, for five minutes and this was cool too. You can actually see the rain move. It started next to the boat, moved across the boat and then was on the other side of the boat. It was really wild.

The food is as advertised. They never stop serving food. Ever. It starts with breakfast, which is a huge meal. Fruit, eggs, breads, waffles, anything. There's a mid-morning snack, a buffet of some kind. More bread, cheese, fruit. There's lunch, which is lighter fare. A mid-afternoon snack with some sweets and some breads and furit and all that stuff. Dinner is an enormous meal and there's a midnight snack. Any time you want food, you can get food. We all ate our faces off, drank like we hadn't seen alcohol in months. Julie even won money in the casino. We were sad to go. We met some great people, including the boys from the first night who turned out to be really good guys. They were our unofficial companions for the trip. We met a couple of great girls from Boston who are going to come down and visit us in the next few months. The cruise ship and staff were wonderful. All the amenities were great. The staff was helpful. And of course, my traveling compainons were the best.

I got home on Sunday night. I had a message from Greg. And I had a message from Matt (my college "friend") which reminds me that I owe you those stories. And you'll get them, so tune in tomorrow.

P.S. I've added some comments to the bottom here, if anyone's reading and has anything to say.

2003-07-18T11:26:00.000-07:00

Why I'm The Biggest Retard On Earth

Because Kin of Kin's Kouch, is a guy not a girl. My site has been properly amended and I'm preparing the noose in the garage for this horrendous error.

I'll update you all on last night next week. I'm so very, very tired.

2003-07-17T08:04:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the Family

I'll like to make mention of some new additions to the family of links.

First, please be nice to Kin of Kin's Kouch. He's one of the good guys in the world and I love to check in on him to see what's going on in the world of the "someone who should know better". Go say hi to him if you get the chance.

Also, Megan of Page Three joins us. She's got me in her "Blog of the Week" section and she's a sweetheart for doing it. I love to check in on her to see what's going on in her "thoughts on religion, reading, politics and teaching." Please drop in on her if you get the chance.

And, finally, one of those YPR goofballs has started a new blog. So every go visit Senor Wences and check out the "misadventures of a man with a sombrero, purchased for $3 at the U.S./Mexico border, on the way back from a bender in Encenada, MX." Geoff is pretty clever and he keeps asking if he can see my tattoos. No, Geoff, you can't.

2003-07-16T11:51:00.000-07:00

The Cup Runneth Over

I got a call last night. This guy that I knew in college and that I see from time to time and speak to fairly frequently called me up and it started out fairly innocuously. But before I knew it, I was agreeing to go out and meet him for a drink. I went out and we had fun and laughed like we always do. And I had a little more to drink than I probably should have and like I always do, got a little more flirtatious than I probably should have, and we ended up doing a little bit of kissin'.

Now I have a few problems and you should probably know a little bit of backgorund information.

1) I have had a crush on this guy FOREVER. We met when I was a freshman in college. This is a classic Lisa story. I coming back to my room in the dorms from the shower. He was in my room saying hello to my roommate who had a class with him. I walked into the room and, without looking, started talking about how I'd forgotten to bring a "feminine hygiene product" into the bathroom with me and I started rummaging around the room for the item. I heard some giggling behind me and I turned around and he said, "I think they're on your desk." I turned about 7 shades of red.

2) When I'm single, he's got a girlfriend. When he's single, I've got a boyfriend. We've just never been able to make it happen, so we've always just been friends.

Now I feel really bad for a couple of reasons, not the least of which is that I started dating a really great guy about 3 weeks ago and he's smart and sweet and cute and funny. I really like him a lot. I don't want to hurt him or mislead him. I guess that makes question one, do I tell him? And I guess that begs question two, which would be how much do I tell him?

I've known the other guy a lot longer and I've had a huge crush on him for god knows how long. Question three becomes: Do I owe it to myself to find out if there's something between us?

And should I pursue one at the expense of the other? Or pursue them both at the same time without telling one about the other? That seems a little too much like a bad episode of Three's Company. Plus, I'm a horrible liar.

Can someone email me here and give me some advice before my head explodes?

2003-07-15T09:19:00.000-07:00

Inner Monologue From This Morning's Subway Ride

Note to the construction guys at my stop on the 4 train: The whistling thing, not working. Although I enjoy the occasional "mamacita," there's no way in hell your whistling is going to make me turn around and offer myself up to you. It's not that you're filthy, lewd, disgusting, sweaty, muscular, well-built ... hmm. So, you're in construction, huh?

Well, the results are in folks and the winner of the "Worst Trailer of 2003" goes to My Boss's Daughter, starring Ashton Kutcher and Tara Reid. When you combine the acting talents of these two professionals and add in the zany storyline of a guy looking to get promoted housesitting for the boss and losing his prized bird, how can this not be a winner? Honorable mention for Gigli, which appears as though it might be the biggest flop since Waterworld.

I would like, just once, not to be solicted on the subway. I'm usually very easy going about this, but all I ask for is one train ride where I'm not serenaded by three men, not asked to buy candy for a church/school basketball team, not given a speech by someone telling me that they are just looking to get back on their feet, not offered batteries for a dollar. Just one. I'm on the subway for 15 minutes. I just want one ride.

I caught Amelie last night and I have to say that this movie was even more wonderful the second time around. If you have not seen Amelie, please try to catch it. Audrey Tautou, who plays the lead, is absolutely spellbinding as the young woman who goes around doing good deeds to enrich the lives of the people who touch her life. If you have an aversion to foreign films, cast aside your fears. This is a very lighthearted movie and you will laugh out loud, I promise.

I caught a glimpse of the new male fashions of this season from Hugo Boss on TV. I'd like you to find me the American male who's going to wear a skin-tight, black shirt that exposes (via a hole) their left nipple. I've had my fair share of experience with American men, including the one that I'm seeing now, and I can tell you that the chances of this trend catching on anywhere but Greenwich Village are about the same as Osama Bin Laden winning B'nai Brith's "Man of the Year" award. Who on Earth are they marketing this product to?

I have to give credit where credit is due, NBC's "For Love Or Money" was not a bad show. It had some interesting switcheroo plot twists and a pretty decent shock ending for the contestant. However, Erin, you are a moron. You know how easy it was to outsmart the idiot guy who stepped up for this challenge. What makes you think you'll be able to outsmart all these guy? Granted, they are men but 1 out of 15 should be shrewd enough to screw you like you screwed Rob. I know you are looking for fame, not money but if you want some more advice I'm sure Evan from Joe Millionaire would be happy to call you and give you some.

Did I just say the word "switcheroo?"

2003-07-11T11:50:00.000-07:00

Arrgh

If this busy period at work ever ends, I'll get back to writing some of my signature stuff. I'll do some "Inner Monologue," some interviews and a couple of quick stories.

As for now, my softball team won last night and the best part (other than the name, which as a reminder is "Barker's Beauties")? I got a hit! It was a little lame one, but I got to run the bases and everything. I only fell once too. It's a good thing I can laugh at myself. And get drunk after games.

Everyone have a great weekend!

2003-07-09T10:14:00.000-07:00

About A Boy

What is it about a boy?

Is it that I can sit here, across from him, having only known him for 3 weeks and feel like I know exactly what he's going to say as the words are about to slip off of his lips? That the conversation flows as easily as it would have had I been there while he was growing up, when he graduated high school, when he fell in love for the first time, when he had his heart broken for the first time?

Is it that it doesn't matter that we're at a restaurant? That we could be on the couch, just laying there and not saying anything at all, just laying with each other on the couch in some old sweats or something and dozing off in each other's arm with the TV blabbing mindlessly and endlessly in the background? Even though that hasn't happened yet?

Is it that he's strong but not too strong, sensitive but not too sensitive, smart but not too smart, soft but not too soft? That's he's sweet and clumsy and cute and he can make me laugh out loud whenever he wants to?

Is it that I've been burned or disappointed or just plain let down time after time after time and I just don't get that sense sitting across this table righ tnow while we bullshit about time and jobs and music and movies and dogs and life and anything else that we can think of before the restaurant clears off the tables surrounding us and locks the door to send us the message that it's time we left even though it only feels like we've been sitting here for 30 minutes?

Is it that walking home with him doesn't seem like a chore or a task to be done so as not be rude? That it seems like the thing that feels most right, that I'm walking down the street on his arm and it feels like the sidewalks are empty and the air is clean and the streets are moving with grace and ease?

Or is it the way that he always ends the night by saying, "Good night, sweet girl" and I can't help but smile?

2003-07-08T12:43:00.000-07:00

A Couple of Quick Notes

I owe apologies to all those who have tried to contact me over the last few weeks. I've tried to convey just how busy I am in this office, but I'm not sure I'm doing it justice. Anyway, a big amends to all of you, most notably Ari and a new addition to our right hand column of links, Mr. Initial Misconceptions himself, Doug. Please visit these two individuals at their fine Internet locations and retail outlets across the country. I would, of course, be remiss if I didn't mention the Yeti, who keeps me laughing out loud at his absurdity.

I beg, beseech and pray that you read the second to last paragraph of this, then read this and tell me that I'm a prophet.

Until tomorrow, my pets.

2003-07-08T08:33:00.000-07:00

A Nice Weekend

It's been oppressively hot here in New York lately, as if there's someone guarding the city's thermostat with the fierce intensity that my father does with the one in our house, not allowing anyone to turn it down even one notch to let out a little bit of the heat.

I know this may sound sacreligious to some people but I kind of like summer weekends in New York City. Most people leave the city to go to the beach, especially on July 4th weekend. The people left in the city just wander around, almost shellshocked that a city of 11 million people can empty so quickly. The park is relatively empty, so a spot on the Great Lawn in the sun isn't out of the question. All you need is a book, a pair of headphones and a bottle of water and you are set. It's the beach without the sand getting everywhere.

I'm in the park. I'm laying back on my big beach towel with my big sunglasses on and I'm just taking in the whole scene and thinking about my week. There's people jogging around with their dogs. There are some boys over there throwing around a frisbee. There are some more boys over there throwing around a football. There's a couple over there, the girl with her head on the guy's stomach and they are just talking. Those people over there are in a big group, telling stories and laughing. That guy over there is strumming on his guitar. I can name that tune in 2 notes, sir. It's "Stairway To Heaven." And shame on you for playing that overplayed guitar song.

All of these people just quietly having fun and doing their thing. Not too get overly patriotic and stupid, but isn't that what the whole July 4th thing is about? Doing your own thing? I think it is. To be honest, being yourself and doing your own thing isn't always easy, at least not for me. And I'm grateful for any time that I can take a step back, breathe out and just enjoy me. Like Angela Chase from "My So-Called Life" would say, "People are always telling you to be yourself, like yourself is this definite thing, like a toaster. Like you can even know what it is. But every so often, I'll have, like, a moment where being myself in my life right where I am is, like, enough."

Amen, sister.

2003-07-03T06:31:00.000-07:00

Dinner At 8

Willy's Bar and Grill, 80th and 2nd.

I giggle every time I look at the name. I know it's childish. Willy's. I wonder if he's trying to send a message.

I look in the window to see if he's there yet. Instead, I catch my reflection in the glass and fix my hair, which I've worn up tonight despite the admonition from both of my sisters, who seem to think my forehead is so big that bangs are the only cure. Thanks for boosting my confidence, girls. I absentmindedly fix my hair with my fingertips, while my eyes scan the restaurant. Oh, there he is. Right on time and at the bar.

I walk into the front door and my heart jumps for a second, so I stand and let it settle. The hostess approaches me and asks if she can help me. I point toward the bar and say that I'm here to meet him. That one at the bar. The one with the blonde hair. I'm here to meet him. He hasn't seen me yet. He's just sitting there over his drink, contemplating the bottles at the back of the bar. I ask the hostess if I can just stand here and watch for a second and she says sure and flits off to take care of something else.

Well, Lis? What are you waiting for? Go over there. Say hello and let the date commence. I can't. Not yet. I need a second. Because I'm still reeling from the perfection of the other night. Part of me wants to go over there, say hello, and have a nice meal with a nice boy who'll probably pay. Part of me just wants to turn around and hightail it out of here and keep the memory of one of the most spontaneously perfect evenings in the history of my life frozen in time. I can still see the dark sky framing his face while I looked up at him. Come on, Lisa. What'll it be? The lady or the tiger?

"Lisa."

I guess it'll be the lady. I smile at him and put my hand up to wave. He stands. As he stands, I can see it happen in slow motion. The drink that he was nursing starts to tip and then spills. All over. All over the bar. All over the floor. All over him. He stands there with his arms out off his sides and soaking wet pants. I put my hand to my mouth to cover my laughter and walk over there. He looks at me, blushing a little bit, and he smiles.

"I guess you found out how clumsy I am."

I look at him.

"I guess we have something else in common. Let's go sit down."

2003-07-01T13:39:00.000-07:00

Tonight, Tonight, Tonight

I'm still swamped at work and, as it turns out, have a totally incompetent moron working alongside me. What does this mean for me? Well, for one it means that I'm doing the work of two people and it means that I'm doing it with someone in the way. She's a very sweet girl, but if she wasn't sleeping with the Manager of the Division, she would have been out on her ass weeks ago. With any luck, she'll get promoted to his "assistant." You know what though? Not even this nonsense at work can get to me today.

Do you know why?

Because tonight, I have a date!

That's right. I, Lisa Grover, have a date. And I'm actually excited about it. I wish I had more time to talk about it but rest assured, there will be an account of it tomorrow. To all of you out there who threw yourself at me via e-mail, you are all sweet and I thank you.

BUT I HAVE A DATE!!!

2003-06-26T07:26:00.000-07:00

The Waiting Game

Ring.

Come on, damn you. Just ring.

I'm on the couch, by the phone. I'm near the phone, not by it. The phone is all the way over there on the other side of the couch and I'm all the way over here on this side of the couch. I'm not waiting for a call. I'm (looks around) reading this magazine. Yes, I am reading this magazine. I'm just flipping through the pages here, looking at the airbrushed photo spreads and the various advertisements for hair care products. There's also this insightful article on How To Have Sex Standing Up. Yes, provokative. Who would have thought that it was that easy?

Ring.

"Hello? (pause) Yes, she is. Hold on." (turns to roommate) "It's for you. It's Randy."

I didn't leap for the phone. No, I didn't. It rang and I answered it. That's all. I'm not waiting for anything. I'm just flipping through this magazine and (pause) going tomake some microwave popcorn. Yes, that's all. I'm going to make some microwave popcorn. Let's see here. Open the package. How long doe this go in? Hmm, 3 to 5 minutes. Let's just type in "3:30" and see how that works out. Good. Yes, light, fluffy and delicious. Just as I'd anticipated it would be. There is also a hint of buttery flavoring. See? I'm not waiting for anything. I am enjoying my magazine, as well as a bowl of microwave popcorn.

Ring.

"Hello? (pause) No, thank you. We're not interested."

Shit. I mean, I hate telemarketers. It's impossible to get off of those lists, isn't it? Well, no worries. They weren't really interrupting me. I'm not waiting for anything. Certainly not a phone call from a guy that I've recently met. All I'm doing is stitting on the couch (reaches for remote) watching TV. Who doesn't love the Discovery Channel with their remarkably well-researched documentaries on the origins of life or whatever it is they do over there? All right, screw this. I can't sit out here anymore. I'm going to sleep.

Ring.

I'm sure he'll call tomorrow.

Ring.

"Hello? (pause) Hey, Greg. How are you? No, it's not too late to call. I was just eating some popcorn and reading a magazine."

2003-06-25T09:15:00.000-07:00

Dancing In The Dark

It's not dark out. It rarely is in the city, at least not like it was where I grew up, when I could go in the backyard and stare at the stars. All I had to do was look up after the sun went down and there they were, looking back at me. Some of them even winked at me, like they had a secret that they only wanted me to share in. It's a confidence that I wouldn't dream of betraying.

The streets of the city aren't dark. They have the lights from the street lamps and the lights from the stores and the lights from the doorways of the buildings. When you take all of those lights from every street and every block of the city, that's a whole lot of light. And it overwhlems the stars and keeps them hidden from us here on these city streets. When I look up at the sky here, there isn't anything. Just sky. Which I guess is something. When you think about it.

I'm walking home. I went out with some friends tonight. It was a Tuesday and like so many Tuesdays that start as dinner, it ended with drinks. It ended with more drinks than I usually like to have on a Tuesday night. I got drunk. It's a good drunk, a warm and fuzzy drunk. We had another laugh session, which I really needed after the weekend with the family. I forgot all about work. I forgot all about life and bills and my boss and everything that usually preoccupies me. I just sat back and had some fun. It felt good.

I'm walking home and I feel a hand touch my palm. I turn to my left and there's a boy there. His friend John knows my friend Julie. His name is Greg. He sat with us at the bar for a long time. We talked for a while. He's a nice boy. We all left around the same time and he asked me how I was getting home. I told him it was such a nice night that I was going to walk. He asked me if it would be all right if he walked me home. I said that I didn't think that would be a problem but that he may have to carry me at some point. He said that he couldn't think of a nicer thing to carry. I felt my face get warm.

I'm walking home with my hand holding another hand. It felt nice. And I felt my face get warm again when I thought about how nice it felt. I'm so drunk. All of the sudden I'm spun around and then spun back into him. I'm turned and dipped and I'm looking up now, at Greg, at the sky, the sky that is still just dark, no stars. My face is warm again. I'm back on my feet and gaining my balance again. What was that I said, pretending to be angry or at least disdainful but unable to contain the smile on my face. That, he said, just a little dancing in the dark.

I'm in front of my building now. With Greg. I'm on the second step of the landing in front of the building and he's on the sidewalk. He's looking at me and he smiles, then blushes and looks at his feet. I'm drunk and grinning stupidly, the way that I always do when I'm drunk. Well, good night, I say. You have my number, I say, call me. He nods and smiles again. I'm waiting for him to say something. Say something. Come on. You can do it.

"Good night, sweet girl."

That'll do it.

2003-06-23T14:35:00.000-07:00

Commencement

Well, it happened. A Long Island High School has conferred upon my sister the title of graduate, with all rights and privileges thereof. It was, as usual, a gorgeous day in the New York City metropolitan area. It was overcast and gross, not to mention the stiff breeze that blew off the bay not only put a chill in my bones but also blew up my skirt in the parking lot in front of dozens of other people. As if four years of awkward puberty and embarrassing moments weren't enough, this Long Island High School had to kick me in the ass one more time before the last Grover girl left its hallowed halls forever. I turned around redfaced to see if anyone had caught this and was greeted by the leering stares of a couple of grandfathers behind me, one of whom winked and flashed the "A-OK" sign at me. Flush with embarrassment, I grinned at him and turned around. My father, ever the joker, said, "I can get his number for you if you want me to." Very cute, Dad. Very cute.

The halls of my high school seemed so much smaller than I remembered them and I found myself wondering if that was just because I was older or because I wasn't as intimidated by them anymore. I guess it's probably a little bit of both. We all filed into the gym and scored a bunch of seats, close enough to the stage so that we could see Abby. Then, all of the sudden, "Pomp and Circumstance" was being played by the band and the kids all walked in through the doors at the far end of the gym. Abby saw us and she waved and we all waved back. My mother started to cry. This was no surprise. I was only surprised she hadn't started earlier. She managed to hold herself together during breakfast this morning, but there she was weeping away. She took her seat in the middle of the alphabet (as we Grovers always do) and sat there giggling with Monica Goldman, whose older sister had a baby about 3 months ago.

And as with all events that involve the gathering of a large group of people, naturally we ran into all kinds of people that we knew. Folks from the neighborhood, friends of my parents, parents of Abby's friends. Thus commencement is the beginning of several things, not only the beginning of the end of my sister's high school tenure, but also the beginning of the propositioning of Lisa. It always starts innocently enough.

"So, Lisa, are you seeing anyone?"

And it always ends with, "Well, when are you and (enter stupid and/or ugly son's name here) going to get together and go out?"

I always tell them to give my parents the number. I know that people are just looking out for me and want me to be happy and I'm grateful to them, I really am. But enough is enough already. I want to make an announcement to the world. I will find someone when I find someone, when I'm ready. I'm sorry but I can not live on someone else's timetable. I have a hard enough time living on my own. I'm happy with my life and the way I live it. I promise you that when and if it happens, you'll be the first to know that I'm seeing someone or that I want to date your drooling idiot son, who if I remember correctly either made my life hell in high school by keeping me just on the outskirts of the popular crowd (I'm only human) and just insecure enough that I had layers of emotional issues to peel off in college or he was so socially inept he made Jeremiah Johnson look like Kirsten Dunst.

I'm so proud of Abby. I'm so happy (and jealous) that she's going off to college. And I can't get that music out of my head.

Daaaaaaaah, dah dah dah, daaaaah daaaaah. Daaaaah, dah dah, dah dah. (that's the "Pomp and Circumstance" song)

2003-06-20T08:55:00.000-07:00

Announcement

OK, in light of my ridiculous work situation right now, fiction week is on hiatus until I can recharge my creative battery. I'm totally tapped out by all of the menial, boring tasks that I need to take care of around the office. I was going to present a short "Inner Monolgue" but I can't even work up the power to take care of that.

However, the weekend is nigh. Even though rain is in the forecast for the better part of the next few days, I'm determined to make sure that I energize myself anf get back on the horse. This site has kept me sane for the last two months. I feel like I kind of need it.

Anyway, my sister graduates high school this weekend so the family's going to get together, including Grandma and Grandpa Grover who will be making the trip in from Florida. Yes, my life is a walking cliche. My grandparents live in Florida. They eat dinner at 3:30. They go to sleep at 8 PM. Also, they're nabbing Abby's (my) room, which means that Bonnie, Abby and I all have to share a room together with one of us on the floor. Anyone want to guess which one of us is hitting the floor?

Anyway, back on Monday!

2003-06-18T09:03:00.000-07:00

Those gents at Y.P.R. have made me the happiest girl on Earth again! They've posted one of my "Inner Monologue" pieces! Read it here.

Back to Fiction Week after these brief messages ...

2003-06-17T08:23:00.000-07:00

Before we begin ...

grrr ... work. OK, now that that's out of the way ...

Why Can't You Let It Go?

"I just can't"

"Dude, it's been three weeks already. Let it go."

"I'm sorry if I'm being too sensitive for you, OK. I can't be like you. I can't be unfeeling and immune to heartache."

"OK, I think you're losing it."

"Losing it? You think I'm losing it? Thanks for your concern."

"OK, relax. All I'm saying is, maybe it's time to start thinking about ..."

"Thinking about what? Starting over? You know I can't do that."

"Have you tried?"

"I can't even think about trying. It just hurts too much. It's all my fault."

"Now, stop saying that. It could have happened to anyone."

"Yes, it could have but it happened to me. Jesus, why me?"

"OK, that's it. Let it all out."

"I mean, I took care of everything. I was a rock. I was up nights, weekends. I did everything I possibly could. How could this have happened to me? I didn't sleep, didn't eat. I didn't nothing but pay attention."

"You did everything you could."

"Yes, I did. I did everything I could. And look where it got me. Nowhere"

"Don't say that. You gained valuable experience."

"Big deal."

"Oh, don't be like that. Dry those eyes."

"No, I just want to be alone."

"You want a soda? Hmm?"

"No."

"How about some ice cream? Hmm? You want a hot fudge sundae?"

"Well ..."

"There you go. Come on, now. How about a smile?"

"All right, fine."

"Atta boy. I'm sorry you hit the off button by accident. I'm sure with a little patience, you'll finish your game of 'Grand Theft Auto: Vice City' again."

2003-06-13T11:52:00.000-07:00

Inner Monologue From The Walk To The Deli On My Lunch Break

Memo to the boy who had his arms around my waist last night in a vain attempt to try to get me to go home with him: Next time you stand that close to a female that you are trying to get to come home with you, make sure you haven't had enough alcohol to make a Navy man jealous. Your breath smelled like you ingested a gallon of heavy wood shellac. If you want to know why I was leaning back so far, that's why. Also, the number that I gave you is fake, so don't worry about calling.

Have you ever had one of those nights out with friends, where you are just spending time together not worrying about anyone or anything else? And you sit there just telling stories and laughing so hard that your sides feel like they're going to split open? And your eyes are tearing and you can hardly catch your breath? And you lose track of time and can't believe how late it is? And you just don't want it to ever end? Do you love those nights? Me too.

Agenda for tonight: Go home. Order in sushi. Lay on couch. Watch TV. Go to sleep.

I heard on the radio that we've gotten 26 inches of rain so far this year. Does that seem like they're lowballing it a little bit? I mean, I'm no meterologist but if I was asked to give it a number, I would have said at least 50 or something.

OK, I caught Letterman again last night. Has anyone seen Harrison Ford lately? I heard he had gotten and earring but I thought it was a goof. I saw him and he's really wearing it. Is it just me or is it really sad to see the best movie stars of your youth fight so weakly against advancing age? And Calista Flockhart? Please, I've built card houses that aren't as flimsily constructed. She's thinner than Robert Blake's alibi. Harrison, please just let this whole thing go. It's not good. You're upsetting me.

Oh, one more thing to the boy at the bar last night: I'll admit it. You know how to hold a girl around the waist.

Here's a good indication of how horrible TV is now that we're in repeats. I'm actually excited to go home tonight and watch the thrilling conclusion of "TV's Top 50 Animals" on the Animal Planet channel. Who will it be? Tune in tonight at 8 PM and find out.

Turkey for the girls and turkey for the boys. My favorite kind of pants are courdoroys. God, I'm so tired.

Update: There is a scene in the movie Beautiful Girls, when Natalie Portman is ice skating and Timothy Hutton comes up to talk to her. Timothy Hutton says that he's going to become Pooh to her Christopher Robin. She says, "No literary reference left unturned" and asks him to explain, which he does by telling her that Christopher Robin grew up and he didn't need Pooh anymore, that that's how the book ended. If there is a cuter, more subtly sad scene in recent movie history, I haven't found it. Also, if you have not seen this movie, do yourself a favor. Rent it.

Next Week: Fiction Week

2003-06-12T12:27:00.000-07:00

Inner Monologue From This Morning's Elevator Ride

God, I feel like I was here less than 10 hours ago. Wait a minute ... I was.

My favorite awkward elevator moment: When the guy upstairs that confessed his love for me at the Christmas party last year gets on and gives me an awkward smile then stands with his nose pressed against the doors praying that they'll open quickly so he can get off of the elevator as fast as he possibly can. I feel horrible every time he gets on the elevator. I'd try to start a conversation with him but he's so obviously embarassed, it's best just to let him go.

Thom Yorke, if you are reading, I'd like to tell you two things. 1) Please never, ever stop making the music that you make. I got "Hail to the Thief" as soon as was humanly possible and my first reaction was that I'm going to throw all of the other CDs that I bought this year in the garbage because you've made them look like shameful imposters. OK, not really but I dreamt about it last night. 2) My offer stands. You name the date and the place and I'll be there in a white dress to marry you.

I'm not much into the mainstream movie critics because I find that a lot of them are motivated by some sort of personal prejudice one way or the other. Plus, I like a lot of stuff that usually gets panned, so it's hard for me to trust them. However, if you want to read a man who earnestly evaluates film and doesn't hate everything that he sees, read Andrew Saaris in the Observer. He knows his stuff and his writing isn't as condescending as, oh I don't know, the movie critic with whom he shares a paper. Without giving away the name, let's just say he's a grumpy, old man who's name rhymes with "Hex Meed."

I didn't get home until late last night, so I got a chance to watch Letterman for the first time in weeks. May I just say something? I know he copped to the whole thing. I know he's apologized and now he's got his job back. I'm sorry. Every time that I look at Marv Albert, I can't help but think about him wearing women's underwear. It has haunted my dreams from the moment I found out and will continue until the day I die.

Am I disturbed because the only thing I could think about yesterday was how I wasn't going to have time to post and it made me really sad?

Well, it's supposed to rain this weekend again, so I guess I'm going to have to go home and continue working on my ark. Do you think god will let me take my Tickle-Me-Grover with me?

I'm a fairly tolerant individual. I accept people and things for who and what they are. You have to. So I'm asking, nay begging, Madison Avenue, please make the Miller lite commercial with the fat guy standing over the other guy in the fountain go far, far away. It hurts me to watch this commercial. The female objectification doesn't bother me. Anyone getting their ideas on life from a beer commercial probably isn't running with me anyway. But if I have to stare at the fat ass soaking wet anymore, I might just lose it entirely. Thank you for your cooperation.

2003-06-10T08:59:00.000-07:00

Inner Monologue From This Morning's 10 AM Status Meeting

I really thought that the Finance people were the most boring people in the company. These people come to each meeting with riveting stories of budgets, actuals and projections. Along comes Research and just swipes that title right away from them. The Neilsen company must be the worst company to work for EVER! If the people there are anything like the people crunching the ratings numbers here, their Summer Picnic must be something like a weekend at Ralph Nader's place.

OK, so the Devils won the hockey thing. Was anyone watching? I know I was flipping uselessly through the channels in a vain attempt to find something that could pass for entertainment. Note to everyone: If you get a chance, try to watch some of this "Out of Order" show on Showtime. It's a little hard to watch. It's kind of jumpy and rough but the stories are pretty engaging. The characters are really the richest part of the show. I highly suggest that everyone give it a try.

Let's see. Stan, how in love with the sound of your own voice are you? I'll let you in on a little secret, Stan. Everyone here knows that you are sleeping with your secretary. We all also think you are a disgusting piece of shit for doing it because you have two young children and a wife at home. Oh, and we all also think that we've never seen a tie that ugly.

As it turns out, the Mark Walberg on the "Test the Nation" show wasn't the Mark Wahlberg (note the difference in spelling). This begs the question: Which one of your should change your name? Because honestly, no two famous people should have that name. Given your individual feats in entertainment, you are ruining it for everyone else that happens to have the name. Also, considering the possibility of exposing the entire nation as a group of slack-jawed morons, the studio audience passed with surprisingly flying colors. Don't pat yourself on the back quite yet, America. I think if they scored this your collective IQ would come in just a hair below the average mark.

I think I see a glimmer of hope. The In-Laws remake barely cracked the top 10.

I took out a classic today and slipped it into my CD player. I sat at my desk and listened to it this morning. I have to say, it stands the test of time. I bought the album in junior high and it was awesome. I listened to it in high school and it was amazing. I listened to it through college when some boys were jerks to me and it made me feel powerful. And now I took it out again and it still works. If you like, take out your copy of Carole King's "Tapestry" and play it again. I'm fairly certain you won't be disappointed.

If they didn't give bagels out at this meeting, it might be the worst hour of my entire week. Currently, that distinction belongs to 4-5 PM on Thursdays, whne I have to sit down with my boss and her boss and go over the week's work. Nothing says "Good times" like an hour with those two. They make George Will and William Buckley look like the Hilton sisters.

We're done!!!

2003-06-09T09:26:00.000-07:00

Inner Monologue From This Morning's Subway Ride

2 Fast 2 Furious is the number one movie in America??? Is anyone in this country even a little discriminating anymore? Or will anyone just slurp up any piece of garbage that's put in front of them? If you are reading this and you saw this movie and you are thinking about writing me to tell me that it was a good film, please don't waste your time. Short of "Lisa, they are sending you commission checks," there's nothing you could say that will change my mind.

Memo to David Spade: Shave the chin pubes and cut your hair. Every picture that you take these days makes you look like a child pornographer. Also, I don't really care. You're gay. You're not gay. Whatever. Just let us know already. I'm dying of curiosity.

Sir, I count 8 piercings on your face. Two in each eyebrow. One on your upper lip. One on the little thing between your nostrils. One on the left side of your nose. One in your tongue. How badly do you want to get back at your parents?

All right, I'm seriously going to have to find something else to do during the week. I'm looking at the TV listings. The following are your network choices for TV tonight: A repeat of "King of Queens" on CBS, the horrendous NBC reality show "Fame," "Test the Nation" on FOX (where Leeza Gibbons and Mark Wahlberg give the studio audience an IQ test) and the NHL Finals on ABC. Someone call Alec Guiness because I think we have a world record on our hands.

Let's speak about "Test the Nation" for a moment. You have two idiots giving a studio full of idiots an IQ test. Who gave this show the green light? Are we really in this much of a hurry to show the rest of the world just how poorly educated and horribly stupid we are? I understand that they are having celebrity guests that include Debbie Matenopolous. Debbie! Matenpolous! Taking an IQ test! On second thought, 8PM on channel 5, eh?

Note to self: New Radiohead. Tomorrow. If the buzz is correct, this could be the best album of the year.

I'm a fairly worldly person. Been a lot of places. Seen a lot of things. I thought I'd seen just about everything that Hollywood had to offer. Then I read the paper. Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher? I can understand that people find Ashton Kutcher attractive (though personally I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a grapefruit spoon) but I need to call timeout here. Demi, sweetheart, I know it's been rough since Bruce left. I know that you felt you had to do Charlie's Angels 2 to get your name back out there. But I just want to let you know that Jeopardy! had a category called "Things That Are Hitting The Wall Harder Than Demi Moore" last night. Just an FYI.

I saw Jennifer Connolly on the street this weekend and I'd like to let everyone know that she's just as stunning in person as she is on screen. This stunningness wasn't blunted by the fact that she had dark glasses and a hat on. It wasn't blunted by the child that she was walking around with. It wasn't blunted by the lack of makeup on her face. I've seen many a celebrity walking around this fair city and I have to say that it's refreshing to see a movie star that is just as gorgeous as you think. And I'm really, really jealous.

2003-06-06T07:41:00.000-07:00

President Grover Cleveland was both the 22nd and 24th president of the United States. The only man to serve two non-continuous terms, he is also the only President to be married at the White House, having married 21-year-old Frances Folsom in June of 1886. I spoke with President Cleveland via clairvoyant on June 6, 2003. He is my great-great-great-great-great-great-grand uncle. A man of firsts, he was the first man to lose the country's highest office despite winning the popular vote, losing in his bid for re-election to Benjamin Harrison in 1888. He died at his home in Princeton, NJ in 1908, at the age of 71.

Lisa G.: Mr. President, thank you for taking this time to speak to me.

President Cleveland: No problem at all, Lisa. Love the website.

Lisa: You have computers in Heaven?

PC: Actually, I'm in Hell. A bit disappointing really, but what can you do? We have computers down here but there are no porno websites.

Lisa: I'm sorry to hear that. How's Hell treating you?

PC: You know, it's not as bad as I thought. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's unbearable. All of that descriptive language in the Bible made it seem like it would be so much worse. Fire, brimstone, damnation, yada, yada. Sure, that's all true but I don't know. I'm not sure what I was expecting really.

Lisa: Well, they say it's not the heat. It's the humidity, right?

PC: That's not funny.

Lisa: Sorry. I understand you were the only president to be married at the White House. You were 49 years old when you married Mrs. Cleveland. She was 21.

PC: My dear Frances. I understand that she's in Heaven with the angels now. Also, Ben Harrison.

Lisa: Um, right. Here's the question. A 49-year-old marries a 21-year-old girl at the White House and Clinton gets impeached? Any comments?

PC: Hey, I'm with you. Clinton's impeachment trial made [Andrew] Johnson's look like a party at Zack Taylor's house. Boy, could that guy party. All I can say is different times call for different measures. I like that Clinton though. I suspect we'll be catching up with him somewhere down the road.

Lisa: You are my great-great-great-great-great-great-grand uncle. Do you keep tabs on the family?

PC: I try to when I can. There's a lot of stuff to be done around here. When you are hauling coal to the furnaces, pushing boulders up a hill and cooking Satan brunch, it's hard to watch everything. I see everything I can though.

Lisa: What do you think of Abby's boyfriend?

PC: He's a sloth, a jackass. In my day, if my sister brought home someone like that, my father would have had him out on his ear. He's looks down Bonnie's shirt every time he gets the chance.

Lisa: That seems to be the consensus. Tell us what it was like during the Civil War.

PC: It was just as it's described to you. I was a young man, pressed into military service. We lost a lot of good men, young men. Friends of mine who were to be doctors, lawyers. In those days, the Republican party was much like your Democratic party today. President Lincoln was a good, moral man with an important vision. He did everything he could before he was killed. We mourned him deeply.

Lisa: Is that what made you want to become president?

PC: No, not really. I just wanted to make a difference. I was sort of thrust into politics.

Lisa: Change of topic. Do you like my hair this way?

PC: The old way was better. Stay with this for a while. You'll grow into it.

Lisa: Fair enough. One last question: If you could have one day to be alive in 2003, what would you do?

PC: Wow. I'd probably just want to see everything. You have an idea, but you just don't know how different everything really is from when I was alive. I died in 1908. There were less than 250 cars in the whole country. People didn't lock their doors at night outside of the big cities. New York City has grass and hills and trees outside of Central Park. I won't even get into food cleanliness and business regulation. Oh, also, I'd get some of those pectoral implants.

Lisa: Thank you, Mr. President, for your time.

PC: Take care of yourself, Lisa. Great-great-great-great-great-great-grand uncle Grover is watching.

Next week: Inner Monologue Week

2003-06-05T07:50:00.000-07:00

Lynne Grover is entering her 25th year of teaching in a central Long Island school district. She has taught various grades over the course of her tenure, but for the last 10 years she has primarily been a middle school Social Studies teacher. She is also the theater advisor. The Spring Musical, an inspired production of "Kiss Me, Kate," drew rave reviews from the school's administration. On June 5, 2003, I spoke with Lynne during her period off. She is about 5'3" tall. In fact, other than her hair (which is blonde), I look remarkably like her.

Lisa G.: Hi Mom. Thanks for taking this time with me.

Lynne G: Is this for your computer thing?

Lisa: Yes, it's for my "computer thing."

Lynne: I don't know if I want the whole world reading about me.

Lisa: What kind of circulation do you think I have? This isn't CNN.com. It's an Internet journal.

Lynne: All right. What do you want to talk about?

Lisa: If you don't want to do this, we don't have to.

Lynne: No, no. It's fine. Have you called that boy that I gave you the number for?

Lisa: Mom, I'm not calling him.

Lynne: Why not? He's very cute. He does well for himself. Lives near you.

Lisa: First of all, he's 33 years old. Secondly, he's an accountant. Third, I'm not calling him. It's just weird.

Lynne: All right, suit yourself. But it wouldn't hurt to call him.

Lisa: I'm not calling him.

Lynne: OK, fine. You'll do what you want anyway. (editor's note: Yes, I will do what I want, which is not call)

Lisa: So, Mom, you and Dad are coming up on 30 years together. How's that feel?

Lynne: It's wonderful. We have three wonderful daughters. I have a wonderful life. It's everything that I could have hoped for and more. (editor's note: Her voice is quivering a little bit. Do I make her cry at school?)

Lisa: That's nice. Dad said yesterday that he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

Lynne: He's a liar. He likes that Bachelorette that was on TV last year. I think he'd sell me out for her.

Lisa: Touché, Mom. Good one. Dad has a thing for Trista. Good to know.

Lynne: Other than that, though, I'm sure he's telling the truth.

Lisa: Fair enough. Are you excited to go shopping for school with Abby?

Lynne: You know I love that stuff. I'm glad you'll be there though. She gets so hardheaded sometimes. You should have seen the dress that she got for prom. I almost passed out when I saw it. It's about 6 inches above her knee and her boobs stick out the top. I'm sure that boyfriend of hers will have his hands full.

Lisa: Ewwww. What do you think of her boyfriend?

Lynne: Your father calls him, "The Jackass." I don't use that language but I'm not crazy about him. He's always staring at Bonnie also, like he's trying to look down her shirt.

Lisa: Yeah, Dad mentioned the word "jackass." How's school going today?

Lynne: First period wasn't so bad. Second period is usually the bad one. I had to send a kid to the dean today. Only about half the class does the homework. Only about half are going to pass. The prospect of having these kids again next year doesn't sit well with me.

Lisa: How close are you to retirement?

Lynne: It sounds like an old person's word. I'll be ready soon enough. I'm not telling the world my age, but the district lets us go at 55.

Lisa: I love how you think the world is going to read this.

Lynne: What do I know?

Lisa: All right, Mom, last question: What time did Bonnie get home last night?

Lynne: 3:15 in the morning. You know I can't go to sleep until everyone is home.

Lisa: Yeah, I just wanted the world to know. (editor's note: My mom is kind of cool, too)

Lynne: Are we done?

Lisa: We're done. I'll see you Saturday.

Tomorrow: Mystery Guest

2003-06-04T08:17:00.000-07:00

Dave Grover is a partner at a midtown law firm, where he has worked for the last 15 years. He's been married to Lynne Grover (neé Harris) for 29 years. On the morning of June 4, 2003, I pulled him away from the exciting world of legal briefs and contracts to ask him some questions. He stands about 6 feet tall. His hair, formerly jet black, is mostly grey now, spotted with some of the black. Some would decribe this as "salt and pepper." I prefer "Salt and Pepa." He is a smart man with a dry sense of humor.

Lisa G.: Hey Dad. You have a few minutes?

Dave G.: For you, always.

LG: Aw, you're sweet.

DG: You want me to buy you lunch today?

LG: That should work for me. What time?

DG: I'm free from 12-2. How's 12:30?

LG: Sounds good. OK, Dad. You've been married to Mom for 29 years now. Any big plans for your 30th anniversary?

DG: Mom and I have tossed around the idea of going on a second honeymoon. With Abby going to college and Bonnie already there, it might be a little tight. We'll do something nice though. Maybe a weekend away or something. Your mother always loved that place in Carmel that we went to.

LG: Carmel?

DG: It's in northern California. Clint Eastwood used to be mayor.

LG: Yes, I know where Carmel is. I just never knew you went there.

DG: You don't know a lot of things. (editor's note: I can see the sly little grin he has on his face through the phone. I employ this grin myself.)

LG: What's it like spending that much of your life with another person? I can't imagine spending that much time with anyone. Sometimes, I even have to close the door on my roommate.

DG: It's nothing that I could really describe on the phone, Lis. Your relationship with your roommate or your friends or even your sisters is fundamentally different. Your mother and I share everything together. Life, children, a bed, the Sunday Times, my soda, everything. She's an extension of me. I signed on to spend my life with her, to share my life with her. Is it easy? Not always. But there's nothing that I would trade it for. You'll know what I'm talking about one day.

LG: When you were my age, you were married. Do you think I'm missing out because I'm not married or even close to married?

DG: The only thing you are missing is a steady piece of tail.

LG: Dad ...

DG: Sorry. No, of course not. Your life is your life. Things are different now. You'll meet someone. I'm not worried about you. Bonnie, I'm worried about her. She's less willing to compromise and less grounded in reality than you are. I guess that partly my fault. But you two were always different. Abby is more like you.

LG: What do you think of Abby's boyfriend?

DG: The kid's a jackass. It comes from upbringing. His parents are probably jackasses. Also, I think I caught him trying to look down your shirt. But Abby's happy with him. He seems to be good to her and I know he's not going to be around forever. I'll live with him for now.

LG: Fair enough. How's your golf game?

DG: I shot an 87 last week. I missed a 4-foot putt on 18 for 86, which would have been my best round of the season. I'm getting a little rusty. I'm hitting longer than ever but my short game just won't come around.

LG: None of that means anything to me.

DG: Then why'd you ask?

LG: I don't know.

DG: Fair enough. You have any big plans for the weekend?

LG: Abby asked me to come home and play shopping buffer with her and Mom. So I'll probably come home on Saturday for the afternoon. Can you believe she's graduating high school?

DG: I can't believe that she's going to college already. You are all still my little girls, even though I can't pick you up anymore. Well, Abby sometimes, but she's fights me on it. You drop a kid once and all of the sudden you're irresponsible.

LG: Very funny. Last question: What do you think the Knicks chances are next year?

DG: Not good. Layden is driving this team into the ground. They need to draft a young center to grow into the position. They're capped out. McDyess is done. They have about 6 swingmen (editor's note: Swingmen are players who can play both shooting guard [the "2"] and small forward [the "3"]). If they could somehow package Allan Houston and bring back a servicable point guard, they might have a chance at the playoffs. Houston's contract is too big. Spreewell will be the one to go and that's too bad. He's the heart and soul of this team.

LG: Follow up: If McDyess is healthy, does this team make the playoffs?

DG: I'd say, probably, but only because the East is so weak.

LG: Thanks, Dad! I'll see you at 12:30. I'll come to your office.

DG: OK, sweetie. I'll see you then. (editor's note: My dad rocks.)

Tomorrow: Lynne Grover, my mother.

2003-06-03T10:25:00.000-07:00

Abby Grover is senior at a high school on the south shore of Long Island. Due to the advent of early dismissal at said high school, I was able to speak with Abby over the phone on June 3, 2003. Abby has decided on a state school in the Midwest for the upcoming Fall semester. She will be spending most of the summer with my mother, getting necessities together for her impending move to college. She isn't thrilled. Her prom is coming up. She is thrilled about that.

Lisa G: Hey, Abbs. Thanks for subjecting yourself to this interview.

Abby G.: No prob, Lis. How's things?

LG: Things are good. That guy I went out with a few times is starting to annoy me. I stopped returning his phone calls. What did you think of him?

AG: He was OK. You could do better though.

LG: You think so? Thanks. That's good to hear.

AG: Of course you could do better.

LG: So, prom is coming up. Have you gotten a dress?

AG: Yeah, Mom flipped out when I came home with it. She said that I left nothing to the imagination. I said, "Reality is so much better." It's a little low cut, I'll give her that. But I've got the goods, so I'm not worried. I'm really excited about the prom.

LG: Fair enough. How about your man? What's his story?

AG: He's fun for now, but he's a little bit of a jackass. He's cute enough to go to the prom with. He'll photograph well. He cleans up pretty well, when he's not wearing those disgusting baggy pants. Also, I think I caught him trying to look down Bonnie's shirt.

LG: I see. What do you think of my hair?

AG: I liked it better the old way, with the bangs.

LG: Really? Bonnie said the same thing. She said it took attention away from my forehead.

AG: She's right.

LG: I think I'll have to change it.

AG: No, stay with this for a while. You might grow into it.

LG: OK. Are you excited to go away to college?

AG: So excited. A whole bunch of orientation stuff came in the mail for me yesterday, so I have to sort through all of that stuff. I've settled on my dorm. Dana and I are both going to (state school in the Midwest). Did I tell you that?

LG: No, that's cool though. When did she decide?

AG: A couple of weeks ago. Iit'll help I think. Meeting people isn't really the hard part becasuse everyone's meeting people. It's finding people you like that's the hard part. It's going to be weird going to a school with so many people. I feel like I know everyone in high school.

LG: Finding people you like is hard everywhere. And you feel like you know everyone in high school because you do. There are only like 500 kids in the whole school.

AG: Good point. Anyway, I'm not thrilled about all of the shopping time with Mom. But any shopping time is good time, I guess, especially when you aren't paying. OK, Lis, you've got me for five more minutes. Then I've got to go to work.

LG: How's work?

AG: I'm so sick of bagels, I never want to eat another one.

LG: How's John? (editor's note: John owns the bagel store. I used to work there in high school also)

AG: He says hi. He's still busts the guys' asses, but he leaves me alone.

LG: That's because you are cute. He loves cute high school girls. How are his kids?

AG: Josh is going to high school next year.

LG: Jesus, how old do I feel?

AG: Very?

LG: OK, smart ass. Last question: Can I have my room back when you go? (editor's note: Abby and Bonnie shared a room until I left home, when Abby moved into my old room)

AG: No. Where am I going to sleep when I come home?

LG: Fair enough. Thanks for doing this, Abbs.

AG: It was fun catching up. Are you going to need a second ticket for graduation?

LG: No, we decided I'm not returning his phone calls.

AG: Oh, right. OK, I gotta go to work. Bye!

LG: Bye.

Tomorrow: Dave Grover, my father

2003-06-02T13:50:00.000-07:00

On June 2, 2003, I had the pleasure of sitting down with Bonnie Grover, my 20-year-old sister. Bonnie is between her junior and senior years at a large, East Coast institution. She's of medium build and about 5 feet 4 inches tall. We spoke over the phone for a little while this afternoon because she refuses to wake up early. Also, she wouldn't pick up the phone until about 1:30 PM.

Lisa G.: Hey Bonnie. Thanks for doing this interview.

Bonnie G.: Thanks for having me.

LG: All right. Let's get down to it. How are Mom and Dad doing?

BG: They're doing alright. They keep asking me to tell you to call.

LG: I'll call them later. You are doing nothing this summer. Tell us about that.

BG: It's everything I wanted it to be and more. Usually, on most days, I'll wake up at 11 AM to catch the last of three episodes of Dawson's Creek on TBS. After that I'll go downstairs for some breakfast (or lunch, depending on your worldview) and watch some more TV. There's usually an SNL repeat on the Comedy channel. After that, if the weather's nice, I take mom's car and go to the beach. Depending on how drunk I got the night before, I'll nap on the beach for a few hours. If it's a work day (editor's note: Tuesday and Wednesday are workdays), I'll head home around 4. If not, I'll wait until 5. I get to work at 6. Otherwise, I'll call the girls up and see what's going on for the night.

LG: You mentioned work. How are you enjoying that?

BG: It's OK. I've managed to get it down to where I only drop a plate about once every other shift.

LG: You're a real DaVinci.

BG: Um, thanks.

LG: So what do you think of my hair?

BG: I liked it better when you had those skirted bangs. It took a little bit of attention away from your forehead.

LG: Interesting. You think I should go back to the bangs?

BG: Stay with this for a little while. You have the kind of hair that looks so much better when it's up. Make sure you wear it up.

LG: I'll do that. I was thinking about buying that skirt that I showed you the other day. Should I get it?

BG: If they have it in the brown, you should get it. Earth tones look good on you. Black, white, and gray are too binding, too permanent for you.. Easy, non-threating colors suit your bone structure better.

LG: Agreed. Remember that dress that I wore to your graduation?

BG: That's what I'm talking about. That dress was perfect for you. Do you still have that dress?

LG: Yes. Do you want to borrow it?

BG: No, I'm more of a dark colors girl. Besides, you're too skinny for me. You and Abby (editor's note: Abby is my other sister). You're both so skinny.

LG: What do you think of her boyfriend?

BG: Truth?

LG: Truth.

BG: I think he's a bit of a jackass. Did you see what he was wearing the other night also? My god. Plus, I think I caught him trying to stare down my shirt.

LG: Me too!

BG: Figures.

LG: She'll figure it out. OK, OK. Serious interview. With the G-8 summit going on in Europe now, what consequences, if any, do you think there will be fiscally for the United States? Do you think that the strength of the Euro will drive economic recovery here in the US?

BG: Uh ....

LG: Just kidding.

BG: Oh. Funny. I guess.

LG: Next question: Where should I go on vacation this summer?

BG: Hmm ... well, are you going away with the girls?

LG: Yeah. Donna, Julie and Jessica.

BG: Oh, fun. You should go to the Bahamas or something.

LG: Good idea.

BG: Thanks.

LG: One last thing. Remind Abby to call me tonight. I have to interview her tonight.

BG: No problem.

LG: Thanks for doing this.

BG: I had fun.

Tomorrow: Abby Grover

2003-05-30T09:23:00.000-07:00

Coming Attractions

I think that those who read my little blog here (if there are any of you out there, I'm waiting for your e-mail) will be pleasantly surprised with what's on tap for Lisa in the coming weeks. Over the course of the next few weeks, I'll be moving to themes. I figure it'll be a nice little experiment and provide a level of continuity for my addled brain, which can't even remember my keys and glasses at the same time.

As such, let the announcement go forth to the masses. The week of 6/2/2003 will be Interview Week. Monday's interview is a dandy as well. On Monday, we will tackle the life, times and many loves of Bonnie Grover, my 20-year-old sister. What's Bonnie got to say? Inquiring minds want to know!

Also new and exciting, my softball team ("Barker's Beauties") lost again last night. This time we lost 15-3, due in some small way to my two strikeouts. I really, really suck. I have one hit this season. I wouldn't play at all but there's some stupid girl requirement in the league. The need three girls and I'm one of the three that can't say no. We do go out and get drunk after the games, so that's good.

It's supposed to rain again this weekend. Do not get me started.

OK, I'm out. Stay tuned ...

2003-05-29T09:34:00.000-07:00

Inner Monologue From This Morning's Subway Ride

Is anyone else absolutely in hysterics about what the New York Post, a mainstream New York tabloid-style newspaper, gets away with printing on their covers? First was the absolutely classic "Axis of Weasels" cover with weasels in the place of the French and German UN delegates. Today they have the head of Don Zimmer on a mouse! Someone is having fun with Photoshop. For sheer comic value, there is nothing better than the New York Post.

There is now a hole in my TV watching schedule on Tuesday and Wednesday and I'm not sure what to do about it. I checked out that new "Fame" show on NBC last night. Are things really that bad for you, Debbie Allen? You used to be a respected choreographer and actor. Now, you are slumming it on this show and pimping out the good name of "Fame" while you are it? Is nothing sacred? You're still a good looking girl. Surely you could do better.

I want the marketing people at one of these Zima/Smirnoff Ice/Mike's Hard Lemonade places to look me in the eye and tell me they aren't marketing to underage people. Don't misunderstand me. I have no problem with underage drinking if it's in a controlled environment with no driving necessary. Take a look at some of these ads. Half naked women, flying in airplanes, dancing at raves. They aren't targeting my mother, folks.

Sir, I don't care what anyone says. Brown and black do not match. They never have matched. They never will match. It would also help if I couldn't see your undershirt. You look like 5-year-old dressed you.

Holy shit, is that Miranda from "Sex in the City"? Am I on the train with Miranda? Don't stare. Oh dear god. Who does your hair, Miranda?

Does anyone still read "Rolling Stone"? First, they practically run Jann Wenner out the door despite the fact that he not only founded the magazine but has one of the best ears for music in the business. Now, all the publish is articles about music that sucks. Memo: Fred Durst is over, Rolling Stone. Do us all a favor and let him go. And Marilyn Manson? Did I fall asleep and wake up in 1996?

I know I've said I'm a Knicks fan, but do the NBA Playoffs ever end? I'm not complaining entirely. Anything that will get the TNT/TBS network to stop airing "Roadhouse" for an extended period of time is OK in my book.

Speaking of music that doesn't suck, June 10, Radiohead. Mark your calendars.

OK, it's not Miranda. Whoever it is should get a new stylist though. That's the worst dye job I've seen since my sister found the green food coloring in the pantry and played "Don't worry, honey. It'll grow out" with my mother.

2003-05-28T09:44:00.000-07:00

A Couple of Notes

First, please take note of my links column. I have added a lovely little site to the links area, entitled "Ari Goes Down." Please indulge in Ms. Goes Down's wonderful take on life in New York and life in general. You will not be disappointed.

Secondly, if you do come to this humble, little blog and would like to comment to me about anything I've written, would like me to write something for you or would just like to let me know that you like what you see, my email can be accessed by the Lisa G at the bottom of each post. I would love to hear from anyone and everyone. I'm very friendly (I think) but not that way, unless I've had too much to drink. Also, if you have a blog or a website of some kind that you'd like me to link to, forward that along and I will add it accordingly (but only if you are witty, insightful, laugh out loud funny or some combination thereof).

Thanks! And keep reading!

2003-05-28T07:30:00.000-07:00

Nostalgia

I had a dream last night. Well, I probably had more than one but this is the one that I remember.

It is June, 1994 and I'm sitting on the hood of my friend's car, waiting to pull out of the high school parking lot for the last time as a student. I have my sunglasses on, those dark, dark sunglass that I used to have that totally shielded my eyes so that no one could tell where I was looking. I was sitting Indian-style, waiting for Jessica to come out of the building to take me home. I just sat there and watched all the students come out of the building. As each one walked out of the building, they took one step and changed into who they are today (or at least who I projected them to be). They became the people that they are in 2003. Doctors, lawyers, accountants, teacher, nurses, advertising execs and marketing folks. Some work for the town that I grew up in, others are writers, musicians, poets, actors. A couple of them took one step and just disappeared, cut down tragically in the prime of their lives. I sat on the hood of the car and I watched it all. I mostly just wondered why it didn't appear that I'd changed at all.

I'd never really cared for high school. It was an atmosphere filled with self-conscious worry and superficial obsession. Who liked whom? Who did what? Who was invited to which party/prom/event? Am I good enough? Smart enough? Fast enough? Rich enough? Pretty enough? Tall enough? Short enough? All of it served to make you question who you are, to make you feel inadequate if you didn't wear the right clothes or hang out with the right people. It somehow turned out that the people that I was friends with in high school were really just people like me. Girls and guys who just didn't really want to fit in anywhere else. I spent most of my high school days assuming that it would be so much better when I left and went to college. It really stopped me from enjoying those days. And in retrospect, they weren't so bad. I had a lot of good times with those girls. I just wasn't ready to see it that way.

I saw Jessica come out of the door and walk toward the car. She didn't change either. She came over and sat down next to me and smiled.

"You ready to go home, Lis?"

I smiled back. Am I ready to go home?

"Not yet, Jess. Let's go for a drive."

2003-05-27T08:10:00.000-07:00

Memorial Day Weekend

Beginning of spring, my ass.

Never in my 26 (almost 27) years on this planet do I recall the weather being this consistently crappy this late in the season. For crying out loud, Saturday is June 1st! June! 1st! It wasn't bad enough that the skies threatened rain all weekend, putting the kibosh on a well-planned weekend at the beach, on Monday I woke up to sideways rain. I half-expected to see a dog holding onto a lamppost to keep from getting swept away by the wind. Actually, I was kind of hoping I'd see that. The logistics of a dog holding onto the lamppost with his paws and lack of opposable thumbs intrigues me. It's thoughts like these that kept me out of the really good schools.

As predicted, I managed to get roped into a trip out to Long Island to "support my sister at her new job." Translation: Take an over an hour train ride to come out and sit at a chain restaurant where everything is overseasoned and undercooked (take note, Australian Chophouse) while my sister screws up only my order (I think on purpose). Also, she broke no fewer than 5 dishes/glasses in the hour and a half that I was sitting in the restaurant, which I must admit gave me a slight tingle of schadenfreude. My other sister invited her new boyfriend to come along. I'm not sure where to begin. He is a little cute, I'll give her that. But he went to the Fred Durst School of Fashion, and I'm not sure if he showered. Plus, I think he was trying to stare down my shirt.

And now, the weekend's over, the long three day weekend that the entire American working populace looks forward to. What's it like outside? Sunny.

It's a good thing I'm not a defeatist or I'd have surrendered long ago.

2003-05-23T08:37:00.000-07:00

Late At Night

“Michelle?”

“Hurmph.”

“Michelle? Wake up.”

“What time is it?”

“Um, 2:30.”

“2:30? What the hell is the matter with you? I’m going back to sleep.”

“No, don’t”

“Well, you better give me a good reason to stay awake. Otherwise, I’m going to wait until you go to sleep and kill you.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Fine. Listen, I have to ask you something.”

“Well, do it already.”

“Not if you’re in this kind of mood.”

“What kind of mood should I be in? I was asleep. You woke me up. You’re luckily I don’t chop your nuts off with a grapefruit spoon.”

“Will you settle down?”

“Fine. What do you want to ask me?”

“Now I don’t want to.”

“What?”

“Not if you’re going to be like that.”

“Oh god.”

“No, forget it now.”

“All right, John, I’m sorry. What is it that you wanted to ask me?”

“OK, ready?”

“YES!”

“OK, when we’re going to your parents house, is it exit 67 or 68?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Yeah, yeah, I am.”

“Ha ha.”

“You don’t have to be snotty about it.”

“What do you want to ask me?”

“OK, here goes: Michelle, will you marry me?”

“WHAT????”

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha. No, I’m just kidding.”

“What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“I’ve only known you 3 months. You didn’t think I’d ask you to marry me now, did you?”

“You’re a prick.”

“OK, I’m sorry.”

“No, fuck you. I’m going to sleep.”

“No, don’t. I need to know if you know the name of Sanford’s son on ‘Sanford and Son’”

“Fuck off.”

“Wait, who discovered the Pacific Ocean?”

“I’m sleeping now.”

“Come on. How many barrels in a hogshead?”

“I hate you.”

“Good night.”

“Screw you.”

2003-05-22T06:55:00.000-07:00

Difference Of Opinion

"Hey, sis, how's it going?"

"It's going well. How's it going with you?"

"Just got home yesterday from school. I'm looking forward to a whole summer of nothing!"

**growl**

That's right, folks. My intrepid sister is back from college and ready to sit on her ass. A summer of nothing???? Well, I shouldn't say nothing. She'll be waitressing two nights a week at one of the local chain restaurants (let's call it Australian Chophouse). My parents, god bless their little souls, have absolutely no problem with this. They are content to let their 20-year old daughter sleep until noon every day and go out until all hours every night. Fine. I just want to know where these people were when I was 20 and in between my junior and senior years of college.

I'm not jealous. It's just that when I was 20, there was no option. My father told me to go to work, get a job and set myself up for after graduation, so I did. I got a job similar to the one I do now (don't get me started on this) and I worked all summer. I took the train into the city in the morning with my dad (note to self: write LIRR story) and then either stayed in the city to get drinks with friends or went home with him and met up with some friends at home. I did it every day. Not just twice a week; every single day. It was exhausting. But it was worth it. When I graduated, I had a job set up for the fall. And I got to go to Europe for the summer. My sister, on the other hand, gets to take advantage of her summer. She's going to go see concerts and get drunk five nights a week. On the other two, she'll work at the Australian Chophouse. My parents will make me come out there and go to the restaurant, so she can serve us. They'll probably gawk at her and say, "Look at our little girl." My 17-year old sister (a far more reasonable and responsible soul) and I will roll our eyes at each other. You know what the ass-kicker is? My sister is the kind of girl that, even though she's screwing around this summer, will still go to Europe next summer because my parents can't say no to her. And she'll still probably have a job next fall becasue my dad will get her one.

OK, maybe I am a little jealous.

2003-05-21T08:06:00.000-07:00

For Curiosity's Sake

I'm a curious chick. I like to know how things work. I like to know what people are thinking. So, out of genuine curiosity, I checked out http://ilovelisa.com (the alterego of this masterpiece site. Tell your friends about it.).

It's an online dating service!

Which naturally begs the question: Should I sign up? Now, I'm extremely suspect of these services despite all of the supposed success stories out there. I realize that it's hard to meet people and I have no problem with other people using these services. It doesn't mark them as lonely, desperate or sad, merely as willing to try new things and meet people with very few strings attached and very little pressure. Good for them. For myself, however, I don't consider it an option yet. I'm not there yet. Maybe I will be, maybe I won't. Maybe I'm a little old-fashioned. My parents managed to meet each other before the advent of the personal computer or the Internet. I'm a reasonably intelligent, reasonably attractive and extremely personable girl out on the prowl. This process shouldn't be this difficult.

It is.

It's hard for everyone. Screening someone before you go out with them provides and additional level of comfort, control and let's be honest, safety. Internet dating is relatively anonymous, carefree and easy. Most importantly, it connects you will a tremendous amount of people that you probably would not be in contact with under any other circumstances. It broadens the spectrum. It also eliminates the element of chance. This is the problem for me. It places a sort of method on dating and love, a mathematical exactitude that makes the process of dating seem almost perfunctory. I need the excitment of not quite knowing before I go on a first date. I like the anticipation of meeting someone new. Dating services take that away. Your profile reveals you before you have a chance to do that yourself. There's no mystery. The element of possibility is gone because your profile has made it probability.

Should I sign up? Not yet, Lis. Not yet.

2003-05-20T09:50:00.000-07:00

Coming Clean

I'm a girl. I'm from Long Island.

And with those two very, very telling characteristics, there are certain expectations that people have when they meet me. Given the alarming rate of success that people generally have using stereotypes regarding those two facts, it's hard to blame them. I have a few of those characteristics myself, as ashamed as I am to admit it. What can I say? I grew up where I grew up. I am who I am. I make no apologies. I spend way too much time on my hair. I have a voice that pegs me as New York and sometimes I make words that end in "r" sound like they end in "a," especially when I'm drunk. When I'm drunk, I get very, um, amorous. I hate sports.

Speaking of sports, I hate sports but ... I love the Knicks. I can't help it. I'm my father's daughter. And when I was growing up, my father would tell me stories about sitting in the rafters at the old Madison Square Garden and watching the greatest team he said he'd ever seen. I tried to make him less upset that he didn't have a son to share all those stories with. He told all the stories he could about his New York Knicks. And they stuck. And when they went to the NBA FInals in 1994, when I was a senior in high school, we rooted hard for them. I said, "How about that, Dad? The Knicks are in the finals." He looked at me and he brushed my cheek with his index finger and smiled. And he said, "Yeah, they are. But you should have seen #22 play."

Of course. #22. The greatest all-purpose player in Knicks history. I knew all about him. On Friday, I picked up the phone and I called my dad.

"We lost a good one today," he said. And he was sad. I could tell. He met DeBusschere once at a fundraiser. They spoke for a little while. My dad pulled out the ticket stub that he carries around from Game 7 of the 1970 Finals. DeBusschere signed it for him. My father told him that Willis may have been the Captain and that Clyde may have been the leader on the court, but that DeBusschere made a good team great. He took them to the next level.

"No, I was just a piece of the puzzle," DeBusschere said, deferential as always. He was 63 when he died. Too young.

So I just had to come clean. I may be a Long Island girl, but don't pigeonhole me. I know my Knicks.

2003-05-19T12:48:00.000-07:00

Inner Monologue From This Morning's Subway Ride

Will someone please explain the appeal of the Matrix movies to me? Maybe I'm not getting something. I saw the first one. It was a good movie. Pretty good story. Lots of action (which explains why guys love this movie) but what's the deal with the ticket lines? Is it really worth it to stand in the rain for a day and half to see Keanu Reeves in slow motion? Everything he does is in slow motion. His speech, his thought processes. I'd be willing to bet it takes him an hour to read the menu at a Starbucks.

I need to know what happens in the next chapter of the Spanish cartoon ads that I see on the subway. My high school Spanish is rusty, so I can't imagine that Marisol is asking Juan if his cow feels OK. I need some resolution here.

Ma'am, you have to be aware that the seasons are changing. I know that it hasn't been all that warm lately but wearing a down vest and a wool turtleneck sweater is a little excessive today. It's 70 degrees out. What do you wear in the winter, an eskimo parka with space heaters in the sleeves?

American Idol: OK, Clay, honey, I know you're cute. I know you think you're a hit with the ladies. That's fine. You probably are. There's just one problem. Your voice kind of sucks and you are a bit of a doofus. Both of these things are not helping you. I hope you made it to check out time at the hotel or you're going to be paying for an extra night. Everyone call Reuben and congratulate him.

I think this guy standing next to me just farted.

All right, I give up. I tried my hardest to fight it but it appears I've lost the battle on this one. When is the American English language going to lose the phrase, "Get my (blank) on," as in "I'm going to get my movie on?" This is the worst addition that we've had to vernacular since the whole "Wassup?" fiasco of 2000. Let me know what I need to do and I'll do it.

Yes, he definitely farted on me. Will this train ever get to my stop?

Today's soup of the day: Cream of Potato. Does life get better?

2003-05-15T10:41:00.000-07:00

Minor Inconvenience

I'm sorry that I called you in the middle of Sportscenter. I promise that I'll never do it again.

I'm sorry that I asked you to listen to me about my day. I promise I'll never make you listen to that again.

I'm sorry that I wanted you to come out with my friends and me and spend some time at that party last weekend. I promise I'll never make you spend a weekend night with me again.

I'm sorry that I asked you to stay with me. I promise you'll never have to worry about that again.

I'm sorry that I wanted you to be someone that you didn't think you were. I promise I'll never ask you to compromise again.

I'm sorry that you weren't man enough for me. I promise I won't think about you again.

2003-05-14T12:14:00.000-07:00

Dream On

I threw the change in my pocket on the counter. The clerk looked at me and then rolled his eyes.

"What's it look like?"

He looked at me, again, and then looked at the counter. Why do you put me through this, convenience store guy? Am I not human to you? Just another stoned teen here at 2 AM to look at shiny things. There's only one problem. I'm not stoned. And I'm not a teen. I'm just a guy with limited change in his pocket at 2 AM.

"A yodel. A small water. Or a hot dog."

I looked at the hot dog machine. I don't think they've cleaned the hot dog machine since they invented the hot dog. You know what I love most about the hot dog? It's hot and not really a dog. Wouldn't that be weird if it actually was a dog? What if it barked? Hey, clerk, can you make my hot dog bark? Don't you know ventriloquism? Well, don't get all snippy. I'll throw my voice instead. Jeez.

The clerk walked over to the machine and I followed him. He took the tongs off of their holster thingy and went to take a hot dog.

"No, not that one. The other one. No. No. No. Yes, that one."

He took my hand-selected wiener and placed it in its bun. He slid the dog over to me and I barked out loud several times for effect. I made no effort to disguise that I was doing the barking. The guy in the back looking for the cheapest malt liquor he could find didn't seem to care anyway.

The dog was hot and tasty. I suppose not cleaning the machine gives the dog its special flavor. You've done well for tonight clerk. Done well indeed.

2003-05-13T08:44:00.000-07:00

Are We Having The Same Conversation?

"Hello?"

"May I speak with John, please?"

"This is."

"Hi, John. It's Lucy."

"Hi Lucy. How are you?"

"I'm doing pretty well. I'm just recovering from that surgery."

"What? When did you have surgery?"

"I had surgery a couple of weeks ago. You knew this."

"No, I didn't. Good god, are you OK?"

"Yes, it was just routine foot surgery. I told you all of this over lunch about a month ago."

"It's been longer than a month since I've seen you. We never had lunch. My goodness. Do you have to do physical therapy?"

"Yes, of course, that's why I'm calling. You said you'd be able to drive me back and forth."

"I don't even have a driver's license. It got suspended a couple of months ago."

"Then why did you tell me you'd drive me to physical therapy?"

"I wouldn't have said that because of the suspension. I was hauling Class C explosives across state lines without the proper permits."

"What? What were you doing with explosives?"

"What do you mean? I'm a blaster. I blast for a living. I always have explosives. I let the permit expire by accident."

"I thought you were a lawyer."

"A lawyer? I hate lawyers. A lawyer killed my parents."

"Your parents? Don't they live in Bethesda? I met them about 6 months ago."

"They've been dead for ten years. You knew that. It happened on your birthday. You went to the funeral."

"I didn't go to any funeral for your parents. Wait a minute. Is this 555-3284?"

"No, this is 555-3824."

"Oh, sorry about your parents."

"It's OK. Hope your foot gets better."

"Thanks."

"Bye."

2003-05-12T09:21:00.000-07:00

Laugh For Noone Else

"Knock Knock."

"Who's there?"

"Premature dog."

"Premature dog wh --"

"Woof, woof."

**laughs**

Thank you for laughing. It means a lot to me. When I'm drunk enough to let my guard down around you, things like that slip out. The next morning, when I think about it, I'm embarassed enough that my face turns red 6 hours too late. But you are always kind enough to laugh. You're kind enough to not laugh at me, even though you probably should. I wouldn't mind either. Laugh at me, with me or even near me. I like to hear you laugh. I like to see you smile. I like it even more when you smile at me. And I feel like a ten-year old because I can't tell you. Strangely enough, it's because I'm afraid you'll laugh.

So a quick note to you: Thank you for not making me feel like a total ass. There were four other people there. Three of them called me "drunk girl" and the other one just shook their head. But you laughed. And you did it for me. And it meant a lot. And I wanted you to know.

I love it when you laugh for me. Is it too much for me to ask that you laugh for noone else?

2003-05-09T13:26:00.000-07:00

But What Does It All Mean, Basil?

Life here in the city is not easy. At the very least, day-to-day life in general is somewhat combative. You fight the traffic, fight the crowded streets and subway cars, fight the lines, fight the good fight at the office and then fight your way home. Your sense of accomplishment is dulled by the sheer effort it takes to get yourself to and from your destinations during the day. Truth be told, if I can make it to the cleaners and the drug store, then still manage to prepare something for dinner more complicated than a can of tuna, I not only feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment, I'm exhausted to boot.

I read an article today on Yahoo that hit me in the gut, hard. It says that adulthood starts at age 26. I counted on my fingers. Dear god, I'm 26! Has adulthood started? I didn't really feel anything. I still have all my limbs. I pay my rent. I have a job, but I'm not really an adult. I take care of myself, feed myself, do my laundry. I make my own appointments for the doctor and the dentist. None of this really means that I'm an adult, does it? I'm responsible for everything that I need to do in order to maintain my life properly. If this doesn't mean that I'm an adult, what does it mean?

It means I've grown up. I am an adult. That's what it means, Austin.

If you find an article that says that the average woman becomes her mother at age 30, do me a favor. Don't send it to me.

2003-05-08T08:25:00.000-07:00

Thursday Morning Lament

Last night's become a blur it seems
Riddled with odd and crazy dreams
Singing songs with Shirley Jones
Tom Hanks and I ate ice cream cones

Fat guy dancing with Chris Farley
Smoking ganja with Bob Marley
Johnny Carson's house is burning
Belly dancing with Charles Durning

Falling into open space
That man there he has no face
Now he has one. Carrot Top!
I'd prefer a dirty mop

Why'd I drink that jug of wine?
It tasted much like turpentine
A good idea it seemed like then
Drink away those stupid men

I fell asleep with little worry
This morning now I'm in a hurry
Slept right through that damn alarm
Slept like I had bought the farm

Now I'm thirty minutes late
Roommate's in the shower, wait
Forget the shower, go to work
Hope the boss won't be a jerk.

Coffee, you're my saving grace
Allow me to save a little face
In the office, hour past
Sit down at the desk real fast

No one noticed I was gone
I pulled off a real good con
Tonight there will be no more drinking
I don't know what I was thinking.

Happy hour starts at five?
There will be some music live?
I'll come if you buy my first beer
Then I'll be there, thank you dear.

2003-05-07T11:30:00.000-07:00

Inner Monologue From This Morning's Subway Ride

Is there something that I'm not getting about Jim Belushi? I don't find him funny. Most of the movies that he's featured prominently in stink, yet week after week, I tune into his sitcom. After it's over, I cry myself to sleep. For some reason, I still watch. Who can I call to get this cancelled, so I can open up my Tuesday night?

You have Lizzie McGuire. You have that Amanda Bynes girl. Did I miss something when I was 16? Is there some sort of magician performing a bizarre Fantasia-like spell creating hundreds of these poor girls? Also, why do I feel like they have bigger boobs than I do?

Does anyone else find it hysterically funny that there's a law firm in Manhattan with Spanish language advertising that can be reached at the phone number (212) M-A-R-G-A-R-I-T-A? Does this office have their Italian language ads tell you to call (212) S-P-A-G-H-E-T-T-I?

I'd like your shoes a lot more if there weren't a piece of toilet paper stuck to the heel. Should I tell this woman that she's got toilet paper on her shoe? Nah, screw her. She'll find out when everyone in the office laughs at her, like the time the toilet seat cover stuck out the back of my skirt all afternoon.

Were either of the guys in "Wang Chung" Asian?

Memo to Madonna: It's over. Just let it go, OK? It's been a nice, long ride for you. To be honest, I thought it was over after "True Blue." You hung on, not many could have. That's cool. What's this new album all about? The music sucks. No offense, but I think kaballah is a little hard for mainstream America to swallow. Do yourself a favor. Go gracefully. I don't want to see your saggy ass (yes, we noticed) prancing on stage at 60. OK? OK. Glad we had this chat.

All right, I admit it. I've been watching "American Idol." If I were that Josh character, I wouldn't be making any long term hotel plans.

So, scratch an elephant, scratch an elephant ... damn.

2003-05-06T12:24:00.000-07:00

I Am An Internet Rock Star

Last week, the kind and benevolent editors over at Yankee Pot Roast saw fit to publish my first piece of anything ever (You may find it on this site in the handy navigation bar to the right of your screen).

Immediately following, I start the greatest blog in the world, featuring stories (both fictional and non-fictional) about and/or by yours truly. This blog is hailed by the blogging community as "one woman's exploration of her least consequential thoughts." I accept these kudos and beg idly for more.

Next, the New York Lottery comes out with their "Scratch An Elephant" campaign and song. This has nothing to do with anything. I just cannot stop singing the stupid song.

Subsequently, YPR posts a response to my piece by their inimitable contributor Sally Reardon. Ms. Reardon's piece challenges my treatise on Why Girls Can't Drive, presenting evidence to the contrary.

Now, I am not one to brag, but ... I AM AN INTERNET ROCK STAR!

Time for a little bubbly.

2003-05-05T07:49:00.000-07:00

Lemmings

"How was the weekend, Phil?"

"Not too bad. Went to the in-laws on Saturday. We took the kids to one of those water parks on Sunday."

"We've been meaning to take the kids. They just love the water. How was it?"

"It was really a nice day. The weather held, so the kids were splashing around all over the place. They set up some tables on the side for the adults, so the wife and I sat down and had a nice lunch. It wasn't too expensive either. Next time we go, I'll give you a call and we can take the kids together. I think they'd really like that."

"That sounds like a great idea. I'll tell Brenda tonight. She's been in Phoenix the last few days. Hey, where are you going?"

"I don't know. I'm following these guys. Why is she out in Arizona?"

"There's some conference out there for work. She says it's been boring meetings all day, every day, but she and the girls go out for some drinks at night, so it's not all bad."

"As long as she gets some time with the girls, I'm sure it's fine. I wish I knew where the hell we were going. Did you hear what happened to the Logistics division?"

"No! What happened?"

"Someone went crazy and led the whole division off the side of Eastwood Ravine."

"Man, that's the second Logistics division in 3 months."

"I know. Only 2 survived. They'll be heading up the new division. We've been walking forever. I wonder where we're going."

"No idea. I'm following you. Did you catch the game last night?"

"I caught that shot at the end. Unbelievable."

"I know and with no time on the clock. Can you see anything ahead of us?"

"No. I'm sure we're just walking though. Did you ever get the numbers for the Weinstein case?"

"Phyllis said she was going to run them today. I think it looks pretty good for us. Is that a cliff?"

"Nah, couldn't be. You feel good about the numbers?"

"I'm pretty confident. Are you sure that's not a cliff?"

"Yes. All right, let's hook up again later and review the numbers."

"Sounds good. OK, that's definitely a cliff."

2003-05-02T11:45:00.000-07:00

On The Road

One of the girls is getting married. Not just any one of the girls either. One of the girls. One of the girls that used to hold my hair back when I got too drunk. One of the girls that slept over when I needed someone to be there with me. One of the girls who sat and ate ice cream with me until the spoon found carton. One of the girls who cried on my shoulder until she ran out of breath. One of my girls. Except now she's someone else's girl. And that's all right. After all, all things must pass, right? She met a great guy. I couldn't be happier for her.

I get to stand up on the altar next to her. I get to watch her face him. I'm going to get that same feeling that I get every time that I'm at a wedding. It's a small longing. I'm not afraid to admit that it's a little bit of envy. For those of you who haven't been in love, there's no feeling quite like it. For those of you who have, well, you know what I'm talking about. For those moments that I'm up on the altar watching her, I'm going to want to be the one who's getting married.

I know that feeling will be fleeting though. After all, for all the want I have to get married eventually, finding the right person is a somewhat dubious task. And making it work is even harder.

So this weekend, I'm going to try to put it all aside. All the girls are going to be there; some of the guys too. We're going to go out on Friday night and get drunk and tell stories. We're going to laugh a lot. We're probably going to cry a little bit too. We're going to take turns catching up on each other's lives. On Saturday night, we're going to watch our friend get married, then we're going to get drunk all over again. There will be more laughter. There will be more tears. At the end of the weekend, we'll all go back to our respective places around the country.

And next time, we'll do it all over again.

And losing all that weight to squeeze into that dress will have been worth it.

2003-05-01T08:38:00.000-07:00

May Day

By May 1, Spring is usually in full bloom. The flowers are usually blooming. And I can usually sit in the park and eat my lunch under the bright sun with a cool breeze. This is a tradtition for me. Every year on May 1, I take my lunch to the park and I eat it there. It's how I welcome the impending summer.

Not today.

Today is gloomy. And overcast. And ugly. And I'm left here sitting in my office, waiting for lunch, which I'm going to eat at my desk because of the prohibitive weather. It's been such a long winter this year. It took forever for the snow to melt. It finally did. It took forever for the weather to get nice. It finally did, albeit sporadically. It's taking forever for us to get to summer. I know it'll get here. It's supposed to rain all the way through Saturday. I know that the rain will stop eventually.

This year, it'll just have to be May 4 that I sit in the park and eat my lunch.

2003-04-30T07:44:00.000-07:00

It's All Coming Together

(tenting hands) Excellent.

OK, I'm really kind of excited about this. For anyone out there reading this, please check out Deckie Holmes' site. He's Hollywood's foremost uncredited movie actor and cult hero. He shares his daily interactions and life via his blog. And he was kind enough to link to my piece on his page yesterday. Please read about the trials and tribulations of Deckie. You won't be sorry you did!

2003-04-29T11:39:00.000-07:00

Name In Lights

Yankee Pot Roast put up my piece! Read it here!

2003-04-29T10:01:00.000-07:00

In The Beginning ...

... there was Lisa. This is my first shot at a blog. I'm not exactly sure what to do. I guess I'll just do whatever the hell I want. After all, this is my blog. I figure, with my online writing career about to break wide open, it's time to fire up the blog.

I grew up on Long Island, which for the uninitiated, is like growing up in a sandbox. All the kids know each other. Everything is right around the corner. And after you reach the age of about 4, it becomes really, really boring. I lived there for 18 years of my life, the first 18, and after I had packed all my bags and put them in the car and was set to go off to college, I took a look around the room and for just a second it felt OK that I had grown up there. Long Island, bastion of dysfunction and locale of lunacy, will always be my home. I still take a piece of it with me wherever I go, despite the fact that right now, I live only about 20 miles west of where I grew up.

I feel like almost everyone feels this way about where they grew up. While they were there, they started out too small for their world, eventually grew into it and then finally grew too large for it. In a county full of small towns where all of the kids seem to know each other, sometimes it felt like we were all walking around smacking our heads on the rafters. My parents still live there because it isn't where they greew up; it's where they settled. There's a world of difference there. My siblings are all prepared to leave. One of them isn't old enough yet. She'll be out of high school in what seems like any day now. The other one escaped to college and she toils there, endlessly it seems. It seemed endless to me too. Then it ended.

Three sisters, two parents and one house. All Long Island born and all Long Island bred. One big happy.