August 11th, 2010
If you are a travel agent, or just really, really smart about these things, could you tell me the best (hahahahaha, okay, I mean cheapest) way to fly to one European city (like say, Rome) and leave from another, smaller-airported city (like, say Napoli)? Napoli’s smaller airport means folks like American just don’t go there, so that means, what, I should be looking for a regional airline to take me from Napoli to Rome? I mean, it seems to me that when an airport says it’s “international” I should be able to get on a plane there are go to another country. Across the ocean.
Why so difficult, Universe?
Clarification in the First: Don’t worry. No one is staying in Napoli. It’s just the closest transportation hub.
Clarification in the Second: I’ve taken the train from Rome to Napoli and back and it is totally the way to go… if you have an extra day of travel. That’s the thing I wanted to weasel my way out of.
August 10th, 2010
This weekend, we bottled wine. The process of which, I’ll be honest, felt quite contrary to all of my previous experience with the unbottling of wine. And I don’t know if I’ve told you, but, well, I’m very talented at it. The actual bottling of the stuff takes a little more eye/hand coordination than I am gifted with, so I took my place in the assembly line as bottle washer, corker and applier of slightly crooked labels (see: eye/hand coordination).
The event took place at a winery in the aptly named town of Grapevine. It’s a good thirty minutes away and my one experience with Grapevine consists of a date with a guy who lived out there – a lovely dinner, a trip to a wine bar, food poisoning and projectile vomiting. I went to Urgent Care in a brown silk dress and my date’s bright red hockey socks. I was recounting that unfortunate episode on Saturday night, and had anyone been in the know, they might just have gestured across the room to the wine tasting counter and said, “That guy?”
Because there he was. What are the odds?
And before I could remember if our association had ended awkwardly (which, um, it might have) I ran right over to say hello. And you thought my eye/hand coordination was bad. It gets even muckier when decision making skills are involved. By the time I got back to my friends, after a good round of oh, ha ha, remember so-and-so, I still couldn’t remember exactly how it ended other than, at the time, I was nursing a broken heart and that I probably had those red hockey socks in a drawer somewhere. All signs point to some degree of awkward. For a second, I wanted to face palm myself and then I thought, Hey! We’re in a winery. He has no idea I’m sober and embarrassed. In fact, given our surroundings, he might just be assuming I’m toasted and shameless.
And then, I went with that. Toasted and shameless. It’s really how I do my best work, anyway.
August 9th, 2010
Oh, ha ha, you guys. Let me tell you a funny story.
Once upon a time on Saturday morning, I sat down at the kitchen counter to finish my coffee and write up a grocery list. Milk, eggs, bread – one loaf or two? One. There’s a back-up in the freezer. Broccoli, spinach. Apples. Coffee? Nope, I just bought that new bag two weeks ago. And then suddenly, with a sounding of trumpets, Bill Nye the Science Guy came down from the sky in a puff of dry ice fog.
“Two weeks ago?” Bill Nye asked, forgoing any good morning pleasantries.
“Yes, Mr. Science Guy. I was really excited because Sprouts had that Ethiopian coffee that I can never, ever get my hands on.”
“Please, call me Bill. So, you’re telling me, that two weeks ago you switched coffee brands.”
“Yes, and it’s quite tasty. Can I get you a cup?”
“Thank you, no. Two weeks ago. Hmmm,” said Bill Nye, tapping a scientific finger to his temple. “Wasn’t that around the time you developed that wacky eye spasm?”
“What are you getting at, Bill?”
I immediately put down my cup, and gave it the People’s Eyebrow. Could it be? My eye was already beginning to flutter, so Bill and I scheduled our little experiment for the next morning, when I swapped out my luxurious Ethiopian brew for ordinary old Peet’s French Roast and… wait for it… my eye didn’t do jack squat all the livelong day.
I could punch myself in the face.
August 5th, 2010
Oh, you guys. My life is so complicated now! Bananas, calcium chews, magnesium supplements. I feel like I should invest in a closet full of caftans and a retirement condo.Do I still have a flutter in my left eye? You betcha! But on the plus side, I am for-ti-fied and ready for my golden years.
I thought about mentioning the huge philosophical divide between my siblings over the Prop 8 ruling, but then I realized that oh, hey, my eye is already twitching like fresh roadkill, maybe I shouldn’t necessarily create any more tension for myself.
Last night, the Dork Lord picked up some beer and cookies (because that is how we roll) and we popped in our weekly Netflix pick for a nice relaxing night in. Ah. Soothing. Only, the movie was The Lovely Bones. And hell, I read the book so I knew (or thought I did) what was coming, but that was one movie I could have done without. By the time we head to bed, we’re deep into conversations about what we’d do if we lost a child or one another and god, I don’t think I could bring myself to throw out your things. Meanwhile, my eye is all twitch, twitch and, I’ve got my hand over my eye to slow the twitching and the Boy stops and looks at me as if he is beginning to wonder if he should reconsider this union entirely because clearly I am either a) a psychopath b) broken or c) about to develop a nasty case of meth mouth.
Sigh. Either love is never having to say, “I swear I’m not a tweaker!” or I’m about to have a lot of time to spend wearing my caftans, sitting alone at a card table learning how to play Bridge.
August 2nd, 2010
I am, as of the last ten days or so, the proud owner of my very own eye twitch. I know, right? Lucky girl. Incidentally, did you know there was a website just for eye twitches? Oh, yes. www.eyetwitching.net. We’re elite. We have our own website.
I visited that fine site on Saturday, after twitching my way through the week, and one by one, nixed the most popular causes of eye twitching from my list of possibles.
Caffeine: I have been, and probably always will be, a one-cup-of-coffee girl. Would I give it up if it turned out that six ounces of home brew was causing this crazy eye flutter? Oh, yes. But I’m gonna go ahead and assume that’s not the case. My caffeine intake is neither recent nor excessive. Unlike, say, my intake of Dexter, MadMen and shhh, Pretty Little Liars. Don’t tell.
Stress: Eh, not so much. I’m working kind of a lot, but I like it and it’s pretty low on the frustration scale. Except for that time when I realized that some disgruntled former employee deleted all the local back-up files for our website. Whee!
Exhaustion: I slept twelve whole hours on Friday night (god, it was glorious) and then nine more beautiful hours on Saturday night. I’m freaking vibrant, dammit!
Dry Eye/Allergies: Negatory.
Neurological Disorders: Uh, um, crap. Let’s not even go there.
Of the list, vision problems seemed a little more likely than the rest. I gave myself a little eye test, though, and everything seemed status quo. One other online resource suggested that mineral deficiencies can be responsible, so I paid a visit to the vitamin aisle and yesterday, with a little help from my friends Magnesium and Potassium, it was so far so good. Until about 5PM. And then, well, then it was super spazzy time. My commute home was like watching a crappy reel-to-reel film. Like Donald Duck in Mathmagic Land or someshit.
Today, we try bananas. And if that doesn’t work, well, my neurological disorder is just gonna have to wait until October when my insurance benefits kick in. God bless America.
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