The Gurly Life

Potty, for short

I give you ... Potter Van Smokersdaam. Directly from Amsterdam. Solar powered.

Finally, I get to sit at the cool table

On Saturday night my mom and I attended the Brown Club of Southern California's Lunar New Year dinner. Yeah, it was a bit late, but there were scheduling issues. The dinner was at a restaurant called Shanghai No. 1 Seafood Village, in San Gabriel. That whole area, San Gabriel, Monterey Park, Alhambra, is a huge Chinese area. Hence, Shanghai No. 1 Seafood Village.

Let me begin by shattering the "Asians drive slowly" myth right here and now. The Asian drivers in San Gabriel are rabid crazy people who will flatten you, your car and themselves just so long as they don't have to ever slow down or wait for you to pull over somewhere. When we arrived at the restaurant Brian, the organizer of the event, confirmed that a good day is getting out of the area alive.

The restaurant is completely amazing, and just our room sat about 200 people. Comically, the restaurant owns one water pitcher. The whole restaurant, which probably seats 400-500, owns ONE water pitcher. One. Apparently no one drinks water with their meal there, just hot tea. Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore.

At our table we had a really fun mix of people, and about half of us were young alumni (and by "us" I mean them, not me). We had a couple of dragons at the table, and since I'm a monkey, we figured that if we team up it would give "monkey on your back" a whole 'nother meaning. Not to mention the lethal flaming poo that we could swing our enemies' way!

The great thing about Brown alumni is that we have a baseline of commonality so it doesn't matter at all if we are out of school 1 year or 30 years, we have fun together, discuss important issues of the day, gossip, and make friends on the spot. It's really something to be at a table with several generations of people who are intellectually curious and, let's face it, different.

Ah, it's good to be a snob.

The menu included what felt like 30 courses, but apparently it was less than that. Here's what we had:

*Chef's 8 Item Cold Plate (this was 8 different appetizers)
*Hot and Sour Soup
*Sauteed Green Beans
*House Special Shrimp Fried Rice
*Spicy Chicken
*Cuttlefish and Braised Pork
*Lobster with Ginger and Onions
*Shrimp Two Ways
*Black Pepper Diced Beef
*Beef Chow Fun
*Chinese Sponge Cake

One of the appetizers looked like it could have been brains. I ate it. While I thought it was brains, I made an agreement with the guy sitting next to me that if I turned, he would take me out (double tap to the head, natch). He looked big enough to be able to handle it. It turned out to have been cooked gluten. EEEEK! Brains would have been preferable. Thankfully, I did not start farting at the table. I did get a mild stomach ache this morning, and last night my feet itched, but other than that I'm none the worse for wear.

However, I did notice that all it takes is one big meal for my stomach to expand. It literally felt like a balloon being inflated so that more food could fit. And I've been hungry all day. I think it will take several days for it to shrink back to normal. Damn.

Finally, a new year's resolution I'm not likely to stick to!

Have you ever made a new year's resolution that you didn't stick to? Perhaps I should rephrase that: have you ever made a new year's resolution that you still remembered when the hangover passed? Yeah, me neither. And I don't even drink.

Unfulfilled new year's resolutions inevitably lead to either shame or cynicism. Shame because you can't stick to them and what kind of person are you that you can't even stay on a diet for longer than 48 hours. Or cynisim, because why bother with new year's resolutions when you're just not strong enough to stick to a diet for longer than 48 hours.

Let's face it: losing weight and getting in shape is really the only new year's resolution that we, doughy first-world mollycoddles ever make. For example: this year, I'm going to lose weight and get in shape. Or: this year, I'm going to meet the love of my life, because I will be in shape and thin by February. Or: this year I will get promoted and I will be a fit, thin boss. Or: this year I will travel around the world, and as a result I will be fit and thin. Or: this year I will lose a bunch of weight so I can go to Paris for a week and eat my own weight in food and still fit in an airplane seat. Or: this year I will travel to India to take care of the orphans and while there I will get dysentery, which will suck but on the plus side I will be super thin. Anyway, you get the gist.

If you're a big fat liar, like me, you'll say something like, oh I just want to be healthy and feel good, when what you really mean is I would like to lose a little weight and look hot, but if I fail, I don't want to be held accountable because I'm healthy, and that was my goal, that's why I said it that way.

Inevitably, we are broadsided by a chocolate cake, and that's that.

My solution: make resolutions that I am not likely to follow through on. I know, this might at first glance appear to be a cynical approach to resolutions, but bear with me. This is a win-win kind of deal. No, it's a win-win-win kind of deal. Here's my resolution:

I'm going to get in better shape than I already am so that I can look good in a bikini in April, when I go to Maui with Willow and Adam. This is also a good idea because I need to replace some of the muscle I have lost since I stopped running.

(You heard me: we're going to Hawaii. Jealous much? Don't get sidetracked.)

The likelihood of this happening is almost zero. I hate the gym, this is well known. Weight training tends to give me super chunky thighs, with no apparent decrease in cellulitic fat. So just as soon as I begin to notice an uptick in thigh meatiness, I will give up the weight training and decide to focus on cardio. Which I hate even more. I cannot make peace with being on a machine that simulates movement but that is indoors and where I can cover a distance of virtual miles without ever moving. It's nightmarish to me. So, that will fall by the wayside, also.

Where is the win-win-win, you ask? Well, here it is. If I fail, I win, because I made a resolution that I don't really intend to fulfill. If by some miracle (i.e., just to be contrary) I manage to stick with it, I win too because I will have built muscle, maybe lost some fat, and now look better in a bikini -- that's all kinds of win right there. And either way, I win because I feel zero pressure to actually stick with it, which actually makes it more likely that I will.

I should be a motivational speaker.

Hippo surprise

The only thing more awesome than this cute little hippo doodad (courtesy of Ms. Willow)

Is that it's actually useful.

Form *and* substance.

 

Oh fine, text then

Occasionally, I comment on the ads that Facebook posts on the side panel in the hope of getting me to click through. Since I'm single, one of the most persistent type of ads is dating sites. Recently I found ads for meetseniorpeople.com, (senior people? who you callin' senior people?), with the enticing tag line, Good faithful women wanted. As an aside, at the time I remarked that, duh, who doesn't want good, faithful women? Someone helpfully pointed out that there is a website for married people who want to cheat. I kid you not. In other words, no, not everyone is looking for good, faithful women. I stand corrected.

Anyway.

Having had absolutely zero success with its ads, Facebook is trying a different tactic:

It Started With a Texting
[INSERT GENERIC WOMAN PHOTO]
Turn any MAN into a "Romance Addict"
with just a few text messages -
No 'sexting' Required!

Several things intrigue me about this ad, not the least of which is the weird grammatical mishap in the first sentence. Then I spent a little time contemplating the capitalization, as well as the inconsistent and inexplicable quotations. Are they used for emphasis or for irony? Who knows?

But the best part is the cynicism. Facebook is all, ok, fine, you won't sign up for this panoply of singles services we so generously provide, I guess it's because you're lazy (or stupid, your pick) and don't want to be bothered with dating and human contact, so we're gonna give you one more shot, and really if you blow this you're just a loser because all you have to do is "a texting," not even sexting for heaven's sake, just texting how hard is that?

There isn't just one of these ads, there are at least two at any given time. One had this condescending gem:

How to Turn Even the Biggest Romantic Numbskull into “Prince Charming” Just by Pushing a Few Buttons on Your Cell Phone.

I guess it's never too late to learn a new skill, whether you're me, or a Romantic Numbskull.

A mysterious infestation

I don't use thumbtacks. I mean, I think I have used them occasionally throughout my life, but I'm not a thumb tack user. I'm a post-it user, I have post-its all over the place, I find them just about everywhere at work and at home, and that makes sense. But recently, thumb tacks have started appearing, too. You know the kind, with the flat, colored plastic back and the sharpy pointy bit. They have been showing up on the floor, and getting into my mom's feet, or batted around by the cats and then getting into my mom's feet.

We couldn't figure out where they were coming from until my mom found a little box of the things tucked in with some other art supplies of mine (yes, said supplies include crayons and play-do, no art supply pile is complete without them). Or maybe it was a in a drawer, I forget. Point is, I have no idea where that box of tacks came from, and how some of them ended up ambushing my mom. We threw the box away, we have no use for them, but we keep finding them in the oddest places.

To wit:

Somewhere out there...

...a wicked witch is nursing one hell of a hangover.

This Week In Maliboo Kitty: The Cricket Chronicles

Cricket, seen here attempting to chew on a camera strap, which makes taking pictures of her awkward, had another big adventure. Since the first big adventure, wherein she looked outside, she has actually gone outside a few times. By outside, I mean a few feet outside the front door of my third floor condo, which looks out onto a self-contained landing that faces an inner courtyard. So, really, nowhere to get lost.

The other day, it happened again. I didn't realize she was outside, and I locked the door. Within seconds, I heard a desparate yowling. I rushed back to the door, opened it, and a white/black/orange streak of kitty panic skittered past me and into the condo. Whew!!

The funny thing is, though, that she survived. She went through this harrowing experience, and lived to tell the tale. And what's even funnier is that she totally changed right after she came inside. All of a sudden she had the air of A Cat That Has Lived, A Cat That Has Seen Much And Could Tell You Some Stories, A Cat Wise Beyond Her Years. So for the last few days she has strutted around the place with a certain air of detached wisdom and has positioned herself regally all over her dominion, omnipotently surveying all about her.

I won't mention that she hasn't really gone outside but has limited herself to brief peeks to make sure all is well, and then quick trots back in to file her little reports. But I guess now that She Has Seen It All and Now That She Has Lived Life To The Fullest, she doesn't really need to go outside much. Been there, done that.

MOO!

Ivy the Monkey Goddess strikes again, with the BEST. MUG. EVER.

How zombies reanimated a conversation

On Monday, I had a deep tissue massage.

Nevermind why I was getting a massage IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WORK DAY -- I went to work early and stayed late to get all my stuff done, so you needn't be concerned that urgent work is languishing.

Back to my point. The massage. I always like to talk to massage therapists, physical therapists, what have you. Well, ok, I like to talk to anyone and everyone. So I said a few platitudes about massage and how it helps me and this or that. I could tell though, the therapist was completely disengaged from the conversation, so I just shut up. I could hear the voice in her head going, "Oh my god if I hear one more person tell me about how they have good/bad circulation, I will smack myself on the head with a plastic lotion bottle until I pass out or I'm dead, either is fine."

About 5 minutes later, I had the weirdest impulse. This popped out of my mouth: "So, I'm reading a zombie book. It's called World War Z. Have you heard of it?" [Thanks to Willow for the recommendation.]

And it was as if the floodgates had opened. Turns out, her husband is a zombie freak, knows all about zombies, has seen all the movies, has read most of the books, the ones he hasn't read are on his book list, and he is very clear on what to do in case of a zombie invasion. The therapist, on the other hand, likes vampires and fantasy, and she has a Kindle with about 3000 books on it. She reads 1-2 books a day -- A DAY!

We spent the rest of the massage talking about zombies, vampires, and books, and by the time I left, I had learned that my Kindle has an audio book feature, and that if you want to kill a zombie I need to go for the brain stem, which apparently control motor reflexes, not just the cerebral cortex. I feel much better prepared in the event of a zombie invasion.