Threesome

So, this last weekend was a teensy bit stressful for me. I had been planning, for some time, a birthday party for Cory who just ushered in his 40th year. And so, as one might assume, I wanted it to be a great evening and, most importantly, for Cory to have fun.

I think I was successful as Cory's hotel bed had six feet in it Saturday night (two of them being his)...and while not, perhaps, a threesome in the traditional sense, I would say that any evening that ends with more people in bed than you had planned is a victory of sorts.

Sorry about the absinthe headache, bro. Happy Birthday!

Sausages!

If this were Kylie, she would be yelling "Chicken, CHICKEN!" and also trying to eat the squirrel that shows up at the end of the video clip. It's so peaceful at our house...which is why I prefer tequila to light beer.



Have a lovely weekend!

Small Game Hunter

My dog Kylie has many, lovely characteristics…for instance, she never poops in the house, sleeps through the night and has the best smelling head on earth. I’m not kidding...that patch of fur between her ears is my own personal nirvana, and if you think I’m crazy, then you’ve never taken a whiff.

What isn’t so lovely, however, is her tendency to hunt and kill small animals. Her current roster looks like this:

3 - rats
1 - hawk
2 - skunks
2 - opossums
2 - squirrels (almost)
1 - crow

A few weeks ago, we had a banner week…two animals over the course of 5 days, which even I find impressive. Not that I like having my backyard littered with carcasses, mind you, but I kind of feel like high-fiving her each time she comes in all excited over her latest conquest. The most unpleasant part, however, is the fact that she completely eviscerates the animals, which, while a nice snack for her, tends to come up later in the form of vomit, sometimes on my feet as she likes to be THIS close when feeling unwell. (After which she looks up at me as though to say “Well, THAT was unpleasant…more for you, though” as I wipe entrails off of my foot).

So today, on our walk, she was off leash and I saw her suddenly take off after what I presume was a bunny, what with all of the frantic hopping and floppy ears. And I thought to myself “Great, I’m going to be late for work because I’m going to have to wrestle a small, woodland creature from my dogs jaws” after which I noted “Who has to THINK these kinds of thoughts before lunch?” Fortunately, her efforts were futile and after some half-hearted clapping and hollering of “Kylie, COME” from me, she returned, tongue hanging down to her knees, exhausted.

I think if Kylie had her way, our entry hall would be an homage to her kills, animal heads mounted on the wall so that when company came over she could lead them through her exploits. And I sometimes wonder, on those days where she doesn’t get a sufficient walk or attention or whatever it is she deems necessary to her happiness, if she doesn’t think “The next time my blond person bends down to sniff my head, I’m seriously going to take her out…I need to add ‘1 - human’ to my list.”

You never know.

Gas

So, one of my clients farted at work today. And this is not an odd occurrence. It happens almost daily, as with people rolling around, hanging upside down and moving muscles they don’t normally, gas escapes. And because I am mature, I at least turn away as I suppress my laughter.

Because honestly, farting is hilarious, and the great equalizer. Everyone does it, some with more verve than others, but at the end of the day, it happens. I have some clients with whom, when they let loose, I can say something like “Wow, that was at LEAST a six on a scale of one to ten!” and we laugh it off. Some blush and say “OH MY GOD EXCUSE ME!” to which I reply “Happens all of the time, no worries.” I’ve found in my years of teaching Pilates that it’s best to address it in some benign way and move on. And don’t mind me if I excuse myself into the bathroom to have a hearty laugh…I’ll be back shortly.

But the worst is when people ignore it. Which, let’s be honest, would probably be the most polite thing to do, but then the fart hangs there, noticeable, calling for a mention, mocking you as you bite your tongue in an effort not to say something totally inappropriate like “IF YOU’RE SICK, GO TO THE HOSPITAL.”

And so today, I had one of my terribly elegant clients, a woman of some age and social status in a difficult position, and while she was holding it, concentrating on her abs, she let one fly. And not only was it audible, it was loud, and LONG. Something like this:

“FFFFFFFFRRRRrrrrrrrrrrpppppppppppT!”

Even Kylie woke from her nap, her ears perking up as though to say “Jesus woman! Pipe DOWN!” She then left her dog bed and moved away as the accompanying smell rose up and out. And I thought “Surely, she will say something, because I cannot” but she didn’t. She came down from her position and moved to the next one, the air around me dense with the sudden stench, my nostrils on fire.

I didn’t know what to do. I actually had to step away from the reformer and get some air before going back in. It was, as Marc calls it, sticky, an unrelenting smell that I was afraid would cling to my clothes for the rest of the day. It made the rest of the hour awkward as I both coughed away my suppressed laughter and prayed that whatever was brewing inside of her wouldn’t come out swinging for a second round as I might die from olfactory overload.

As she left and I was cleaning the equipment, waiting for my next client, I thought “You know, I’ll bet CPA’s never have to deal with this…they don’t have to light candles and waft the air around so that the next person who comes into their office doesn’t think ‘SWEET GOD, WHAT DIED?’ or 'DID YOU JUST SHIT YOURSELF?'” And yet in my professional career, I can put down as a skill, “Deals well with flatulence.”

I need a raise.

Please, no

The one thing I despise about the beginning of summer is how every local radio station starts playing "Red, Red Wine" by the UB40's, CONSTANTLY.

That song makes my ears bleed.

And you're welcome for now having it stuck in your head all day. Join me in this sweet, sweet hell.

Impressions No. 4...

I have, sometimes, an almost uncontrollable urge to hug complete strangers from behind. This usually happens when I see a someone wearing a shirt that hangs just right off of well-formed shoulders, or wearing an appealing sweater, or who has a great walk, or looks downtrodden (when a hug would HELP). And I wonder if I’m the only person that has this impulse, and if perhaps I should be seeking out medical attention for it? Because sometime, somewhere, there will be a guy who drags himself into an emergency room, turn to a nurse and say “Can you please lance this blond woman from my back? I don’t know where she came from, but she won’t let go.”

Friday Perspective

During our flight home this week, the pilot came on speaker and told us that we were flying over Iowa City – we could see the devastation that the floods had wrought out of the airplane windows and I was so struck with sadness over the immense amount of loss I was witnessing. Having watched a grueling amount of CNN while in Italy, I was well aware of what was going on down below, but from our aerial perch, it was shocking what a wide swath of land was covered with water – a view that a TV camera couldn’t possibly provide.

I had one of those moments where I realized that, though I was congested from my ghastly cold, was sitting next to two bratty kids and was on an airplane in which the toilets had stopped flushing two hours into the flight, I really had nothing to complain about. I was coming home to a dry house, my earthly stuff intact, my family well. Those below me were suffering the consequences of Mother Nature’s fury - a hell they hadn't asked for - and were now faced with rebuilding homes and lives…I just can’t imagine.

It put me in a reflective mood. We are all so fortunate given that our troubles, though important and sometimes dire, can at least be assessed and conquered in relative comfort. That most of us have sufficient food on the table and a roof over our heads and don’t need to worry about our basic needs. So here’s to being thankful for the small things and grateful for our challenges, as they are usually surmountable and make us better people.

I’ll crawl off of my soap-box now. Have a marvelous weekend, and happy first day of summer!

Italy Play List...

Whenever I travel, I always seem to create an unofficial play list...songs that I go to over and over on my iPod. Normally, I take the opportunity to listen to new music, uninterrupted, but this time around I found myself going back to some old standbys. Perhaps it was because I was in a reflective mood for most of this trip and wanted my mental soundtrack to be comforting and familiar. Either way, here it is. Don't you judge me.

Ride - Cary Brothers
Viva la Vida - Coldplay
Collie Man - Simply Stoopid
Big Girls Don't Cry - Fergie (shut up, Angie)
Remind Me - Royksopp
World Spins Madly On - The Weepies
Losing a Whole Year - Third Eye Blind
Hide and Seek - Imogen Heap
Rise - Eddie Vedder
Sirens - Angles & Airwaves
Belief - John Mayer
Justify - ATB
Stay or Leave - Dave Matthews Band
Running to Stand Still - U2
Simple Kind of Life - No Doubt
Sunday Morning - Maroon 5
What You Thought You Needed - Jack Johnson

Debater, tomater...

This is the kind of conversation you have when you’re deaf from a head cold…and jet lagged:

Marc: You should have watched The Great Debaters…it was good!
Me: Oh I know…I hope I can buy some at the farmers market this weekend.
Marc: What?
Me: You know, because of the salmonella thing?
Marc: What the hell are you talking about?
Me: Tomatoes…didn’t you see that bit on CNN?
Marc: How did you get from the movie to tomatoes?
Me: What movie?
Marc: The Great Debaters.
Me: OOOHHH – DEBATERS! I thought you said TOMATOES.
Marc: Christ. We need to attach a bullhorn to your ear.
Me: What?

Lake Como Redux

Day 1
Prosecco consumed: 5 glasses
Headache from Prosecco: 1
George sightings: 2, though only adverts
Naps: 1

Day 2
Prosecco consumed: 3 glasses
Headache from Prosecco: 0 - YAY!
George sightings: 0 - BOO!
Dog poop stepped in while wearing sandals: 1 instance
Rain: All afternoon
Naps: 1
CNN watched because of rain: 3 hours. Am caught up on world news.

Day 3
Prosecco consumed: 4 glasses
Headache from Prosecco: 0…either 5 glasses is too many or I’m building up a tolerance
George sightings: 1, only an advert, again
Rain: ALL DAY
Naps: 1
CNN watched: Too many hours to mention. Did you know that Shah Rukh Khan is a major Bollywood star? And that he never kisses in his films? And that he has to get his abs drawn on for scenes in which he is shirtless? Neither did I, but I do now! And so do YOU!

Day 4
Prosecco consumed: 5 glasses
Headache from Prosecco: 0
Headache from massive head-cold that arrived in the night: 1 (let's not blame the Prosecco, shall we? It was purely medicinal at that point)
George sightings: 0
Rain: Incessant
Naps: 2 (morning and afternoon, due to head-cold and general ennui)
Nose blowing: Constant
CNN watched: I will not even tell you, though each time I woke up from sleeping the Shah Rukh Khan special was playing AGAIN. Stupid looping tv.

Despite the above report, Lake Como WAS really lovely, and we hope to return when the sun is actually OUT and we don’t have to leap over puddles and dog poop. I'm also convinced the George didn't want to come out and play because of the weather. Surely, he'll throw out an invitation to the villa when the sun is more obedient. More later, as the jet lag subsides…

Butt really...

I’m excited to report that I can tick off one of my goals of this vacation – I’ve had my behind pinched. And, honestly, I listed that sarcastically, the Italians having that somewhat oblique reputation of excessive machismo. Prior trips have not shown that to be true, so I wasn’t really expecting anything of the sort.

But today, I was having a lovely afternoon by myself. I walked my friend to her art class and then decided to take the long way home. I went and looked at David again, popped into a few shops, gasped over prices, calmed myself down with a glass of wine, had some gelato and then decided I needed a nap and so headed back to our flat. Crossing the Arno is a rather arduous task…the main bridge, the picturesque Ponte Vecchio is somewhat hellish in that it’s crammed with tourists and the aforementioned spatially unaware natives, so I avoided it and trotted down the river to another bridge that was less crowded. Traffic was heavy, and so I was standing at the curb, waiting for the light to change so that I could cross without needing to be sure that my last will and testament was first in order.

And then it happened. The light turned green, and I stepped out into the crosswalk…and simultaneously, I felt a hand on my tush, and a VERY firm squeeze. I jumped forward, yelped, and grabbed my bottom, looking behind me to see a man scooting away on his Vespa, grinning at me and giving me the thumbs up as he sped down the street.

The NERVE. Though I definitely made the day of the tourists who were crossing with me. They certainly hadn’t expected to see THAT on their way around town.

Despite my annoyance, I also feel like he should get extra points for goose-ing me while in motion. That had to take some effort on his part. And balance. I hope it was worth it for him - I had to get an extra helping of gelato just to sooth my jangled nerves.

And, now! Off to find George...

Florence Observations No. 2

1. Have I mentioned that it's humid here? I think I've sweat enough for 10 people this trip. I mean, you would think there would be an end to it, that I would finally just shrivel up and blow into the Arno, but no. My deodorant has been worked to it's maximum and I've performed some version of a strip tease each day, shedding first this layer of clothing and then that until I've had to throw my pashmina over my shoulders so that I could walk around in just my tank top without my bra showing. It's unseemly, how much a person can perspire. My friends daughter wanted to sit on my lap throughout lunch the other day, which was a sort of sweet hell as I was sure I would get up and look as though I had wet my pants, having sweat right through them. She, in the meantime, seemed oblivious, though I'm sure the heat from my body was contributing to her rosy cheeks. We came home and I melted onto the couch, limbs stretched out, praying for a breeze and hoping I wouldn't burn a hole right through the furniture. Let it be known that I don't do well in humidity. Hence why I will never, EVER live in the Midwest again. That, and their appalling winters, but that is another post altogether.

2. I'm still working on finding out what the monks wear under their robes. I was standing next to one while staring at the David the other day and had nearly gathered up the courage to start chatting with him, as he seemed a friendly sort, but he turned to me first and said "Nice ass, no?" which SO THREW ME OFF that I just sat there, mouth agape. He smiled and walked off...I wanted to run after him, grab him around his ankles and say "THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME MY BEST MUSEUM MEMORY EVER! And what are you wearing under there? Anything?"

3. While I might be irritated over the Italians lack of spatial awareness, I do love their zest for food, drink and life and think we could use more of that back at home. Especially the idea of the siesta! Who DOESN'T miss nap time?! And here, they CLOSE DOWN from 1:30-3:30pm! Forget being a world power. Let’s just be well rested.

Mi scusi...no, really, MOVE.

I’m curious as to what type of national offense I will be committing should I decide to bitch slap someone while here in Italy? I’ve become irritated by the lack of spatial awareness; many Italians (and I’ve been here for over a week, so this isn’t just a blanket statement) do NOT move when they are clearly in your way while on the sidewalk, in a store, in the park. They just look at you like “What? You have two legs…walk around me!” And since I’m on vacation and not in the mood to argue with someone whose country I am visiting, I HAVE walked around, sometimes at great, personal risk given the way people drive here and the fact that the average sidewalk is the width of a toothbrush. But I’m getting tired of it…so I’ve just started running over people’s toes with my friends’ daughters stroller. And let me tell YOU, this is immensely satisfying for me and drives my point home more than any “MI SCUSI!!” has thus far, because who is going to yell at an adorable three year old? NO ONE. I’m going to be an awesome mom.

Impressions No. 3...

I promise myself that today, TODAY, I will talk to you if you get on my train and smile at me as you usually do. I will strike up witty conversation – the kind that you will think of later, longingly, over the glass of wine I am sure you end each day with as you lounge in your apartment. In my head, the décor is mid-century modern, and you have a chocolate lab, perhaps, that lolls on the couch. French doors open onto a terrace where, after we know each other better, we will have breakfast and read the op/ed section of the paper out loud, laughing.

And then you DO get on, and I prepare myself, but you are holding the hand of a woman. The kind I hope to become - a woman with a perfect pedicure, shiny hair and lingerie that matches, but is down to earth and kind. She giggles up at you, with her white, white teeth, and I can see that she is happy. But you look at me, and smile, as you usually do. I can’t help but think of that song “Ironic” and the lyrics “It’s like meeting the man of my dreams, and then meeting his beautiful wife.” But I smile back, because I see no ring and one day, I think, she won't be there, and I’ll be brave.

Florence Observations

1) Do monks wear underpants beneath their robes? I would ask but I’m afraid of the eternal consequences that might apply. But I really want to know, so I might risk it.

2) I find it a bit disconcerting that in “Health” portion of the Italian phrase book one of the highlighted sentences is “Please use a new syringe.” (Ho con me la mia siringa, for those of you who must know). Sweet god! What does that say about the medical system? Or are there a lot of heroin users here? Either way, I think I'll just avoid getting sick.

3) It’s funny that this phrase is right next to “You’re a hypochondriac” (E un ipocondriaco). In other wards, suck it up, you high maintenance Americans.

4) Everyone, in each restaurant, has touched my food today.

5) See No. 3.

6) I didn’t expect such extreme humidity. So while I’ve looked rather fashionable (if I do say so myself), my hair has been defying gravity in such a manner that an older gentleman stopped me on my way down the street and said “That’s some hair you’ve got there…” I considered replying that it was better than having NO hair, but then realized he was bald and so held my tongue.

7) Wine is almost obnoxiously cheap, so if you ask me for details of my trip and I say that they are rather hazy, this is why.

8) I wonder if Italians take some perverse pleasure in skirting as close to pedestrians as possible when driving? Perhaps there is some point system I’m not aware of? I’ve been seeing my life flash before my eyes on a regular basis today…I need body armor.

9) People do not pick up their dog poop here. Between watching out for cars, scooters and feces (plus, I suppose, dirty syringes), each step is a potential disaster.

10) Being confronted by so much history around each corner is just amazing. To look up at a house and think “Galileo lived here!” is totally surreal. Tomorrow, I think, we’ll all go to see the David and contemplate its greatness. And the size of his wee, which has caused international debate. I say leave the poor guy alone…he was just about to go and fight a giant, so I think some shrinkage is understandable.

We rent by the hour...

The last time I was in Florence, I was 19 years old. I was studying abroad and had the wide expanse of a month to cavort all over Europe. While details have become somewhat fuzzy over space and time, what I do recall is arriving in Florence by train at 1am with no place to stay. After some phone calls and much gesticulating (which seems to help in Italy, even over the phone), I found a room, and dragged myself and my friend Kari to the hotel.

The man at the reservation desk sat behind a glass wall, the ash of his cigarette extending out an impressive two inches. He peered at me and yelled through the glass, which had no discernible opening "HOW LONG YOU WANT THE ROOM FOR?" I didn't understand what he could possibly mean and screamed back "THE WHOLE NIGHT?" at which he raised his eyebrows, his ash finally falling onto his lap. A slot suddenly extended out from the wall, bearing our key. I stepped backwards, running directly into Kari who had been merely inches off my back, staring in fear at the old men who were sitting in the lobby, leering at her.

We struggled up to the room which offered the most spartan of amenities, if any at all. What stood out, though, were two things. One, was that the shower was in the middle of the room. And it was glass. Kari and I were close, but we both were wondering how we were going to get clean with some semblance of privacy. And the other was that there was this odd rope hanging from the ceiling next to the shower. Kari walked over to it and said "I wonder what this is for?" simultaneously giving it a hearty tug. Two seconds later, the phone rang. We looked at each other, surprised, and Kari said "YOU answer it...this place gives me the creeps." I picked up the receiver, holding it away from my ear as it didn't look particularly clean and said, loudly "YES?"

"ARE YOU ALRIGHT? YOU WANT I SHOULD CALL POLICE?" It was the man from the front desk, his diction somewhat muffled by the cigarette I knew was still in his mouth.

"Um...we're fine, thanks."

"Oh, well you yank on emergency cord. It's what prostitute use if customer is mean."

That was a lot for my little 19 year old brain to absorb. He went on to explain that we shouldn't yank the cord unless we really needed help. I hung up the phone without saying anything else and just stared at it for a while. Kari, looking at me quizzically and said "Well?"

"Well, apparently, we are staying in a brothel and I should only pull on that rope if you're doing a BAD touch. Otherwise, we're good."

We slept with the dresser pushed up against the door that night. And changed hotels in the morning.

Impressions No. 2...

I wondered if it would be awkward in the morning, and it was. You slept, and I slipped out from under the covers without disturbing the sheets, the mattress. You sighed and rolled over, reaching for my side of the bed, and I stepped back, though you couldn’t touch me, and thought “How did I come to be naked in my best friends bed?” The details of the previous evening ran through my head like a grainy film, images skipping in no particular order across my vision.

I showered, my head buried under the stream of hot water, hoping not only to wash away the burden of too much red wine but also that some semblance of clarity would appear, that I would know what to do next. Through the shower curtain, I saw you stirring, sitting up, stretching…a blurry image, a different version of yourself. Someone I didn’t know yet.

I walked back into the bedroom and looked at you, lying on your back with one arm thrown over your face to protect your eyes from the morning light – you moved ever so slightly, exposed your eyes and smiled. I wanted to say “Please, never, ever go away” but what came out was “Well, THAT was interesting” in a voice strangled and not my own. You looked at me quizzically, your hair standing on end from sleep. The effect was comical, but I did not laugh. It was your move since I couldn’t seem to do anything but stand there, rooted to the cold floor, with water dripping slowly down my back from my wet hair. I worried for a fraction of a second that I would ruin the finish on your hardwood floor and that would be the end of everything.

You looked at me in silence, and before I could muster up the courage to ask you what you were thinking, you pulled me down next to you. In a moment, we were back where we were the night before, but this time, as I moved this way and you moved that, it was with purpose, and the familiarity of years of friendship made it easy and like home. And when we were done, both shocked at the ease with which our bodies met, you looked at me, and simply said “Finally.”