I had 2 nicknames in pre-school. They were:
"yum yum" (mir-ium)
and
"cry baby" (self-explanitory.)
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Jesus and Julius
Unfortunately, we just had some near drownings in the tub due to the vulgar hilarity of Caroline's bubble time confession.
Thank GOD i'm a lifeguard. Insert whistle blow.
How can we ever follow this up?
GOD, SERIOUSLY, PUT IT AWAY GORODE...
Ladies, Ladies...it seems some of us are malcontent with BubbleTea as the drink of choice for B-Time...but let's relax, we all know that our SECOND FAVORITE drink of choice is the Orange Julius...(merep, an image of the Julius, please?)
Anywayzzz...bathroom talk is not just something our mom's used to reprimand us for when we were 5 and playing with our poops in the toilette...(anyone? anyone?)...even as adults we have our freudian moments...and mine occurred quite recently. however, girlzz, i warn you: this story is for anyone but the faint of heart. if you define bathroom talk as "arguing over what loofah to use during the MereP rub down" then i caution you to avert your eyes and web-browsers NOW.
I shall GO ON...
It was sunday. I had enjoyed a large spicey italian sausage on a roll. Not moments later, I was eating a full course meal and drinking wine at the first meeting of my bookclub. What I ate is, at best, irrelevant. What I did is, no doubt, punishable. I left the restaurant and drove in my car North on FDR. Knowing I needed to get gas, I decided to try my luck just over the GW bridge in dirty jersey . As I'm on the telephone with MereP, it hits me that I need to crap. It also hits me that I haven't done so in quite some time. It's Midnight...there's traffic...my stomache is about to explode. I start sweating. The words coming out of MereP's mouth begin to mean nothing as I try and steer my car to the closest exit. The pain, ladies, the pain...reinforcement why giving labor is about as appealing as a root canal without the laughing gas. I get off at a random exit and begin driving down a daunting boulevard (think Eerie Blvd, 'Cuse style). I can't hold it any longer. Frantically looking around for some form of salvation I see a Dunkin Donuts with a 24hr Sign...but NO! 24 hr DRIVE THRU!! FOILED!
Then it happened...
There are moments in life when you realize just how amazingly clever you are. How if you were homeless for 48 hours in the amazon maybe, just maybe, you'd actually be able to survive on pure improvisation of your surroudnings. There are also moments in life when desperate times call for desperate measures.
My salvation came in the form of a semi-empty bubbletea cup. It sat staring at me on my center console. Without a moment's thought, I threw out the remaining tapioca "pearls"...squatted in the darkest shadow my car cast on the Dunkin Donuts parking lot..and crapped. I crapped into the bubble tea cup. It happened so quickly...it was like a first kiss where you're nervous, flustered, anxious...and then all of a sudden it happens and you're both relieved it's over, but also excited! Yes, I was excited! Excited that I could begin my drive back to the city pain free. However...the story gets a tad gloomier: there was no trash around. I left the poop in the bubbletea container on the cement parking lot next to Dunkin Donuts. New light has been shed on the creation "coffee coolata".
I have little shame. It took an entire work day to realize this story is too ... juicy...to keep to myself.
I know ask you, is it a coincidence the drink of choice #1 for B-Time is BubbleTea?
I think what I did, that night, in that parking lot, only adds validation to the legacy of "dirty jersey".
Anywayzzz...bathroom talk is not just something our mom's used to reprimand us for when we were 5 and playing with our poops in the toilette...(anyone? anyone?)...even as adults we have our freudian moments...and mine occurred quite recently. however, girlzz, i warn you: this story is for anyone but the faint of heart. if you define bathroom talk as "arguing over what loofah to use during the MereP rub down" then i caution you to avert your eyes and web-browsers NOW.
I shall GO ON...
It was sunday. I had enjoyed a large spicey italian sausage on a roll. Not moments later, I was eating a full course meal and drinking wine at the first meeting of my bookclub. What I ate is, at best, irrelevant. What I did is, no doubt, punishable. I left the restaurant and drove in my car North on FDR. Knowing I needed to get gas, I decided to try my luck just over the GW bridge in dirty jersey . As I'm on the telephone with MereP, it hits me that I need to crap. It also hits me that I haven't done so in quite some time. It's Midnight...there's traffic...my stomache is about to explode. I start sweating. The words coming out of MereP's mouth begin to mean nothing as I try and steer my car to the closest exit. The pain, ladies, the pain...reinforcement why giving labor is about as appealing as a root canal without the laughing gas. I get off at a random exit and begin driving down a daunting boulevard (think Eerie Blvd, 'Cuse style). I can't hold it any longer. Frantically looking around for some form of salvation I see a Dunkin Donuts with a 24hr Sign...but NO! 24 hr DRIVE THRU!! FOILED!
Then it happened...
There are moments in life when you realize just how amazingly clever you are. How if you were homeless for 48 hours in the amazon maybe, just maybe, you'd actually be able to survive on pure improvisation of your surroudnings. There are also moments in life when desperate times call for desperate measures.
My salvation came in the form of a semi-empty bubbletea cup. It sat staring at me on my center console. Without a moment's thought, I threw out the remaining tapioca "pearls"...squatted in the darkest shadow my car cast on the Dunkin Donuts parking lot..and crapped. I crapped into the bubble tea cup. It happened so quickly...it was like a first kiss where you're nervous, flustered, anxious...and then all of a sudden it happens and you're both relieved it's over, but also excited! Yes, I was excited! Excited that I could begin my drive back to the city pain free. However...the story gets a tad gloomier: there was no trash around. I left the poop in the bubbletea container on the cement parking lot next to Dunkin Donuts. New light has been shed on the creation "coffee coolata".
I have little shame. It took an entire work day to realize this story is too ... juicy...to keep to myself.
I know ask you, is it a coincidence the drink of choice #1 for B-Time is BubbleTea?
I think what I did, that night, in that parking lot, only adds validation to the legacy of "dirty jersey".
The Wheels on the Bus
Let me continue on this spearmint-scented bubble-filled journey through crack addicts and pillow face attacks and take us through a new land- a land where children run amok, chaos ensues, harassment is commonplace and traumatic memories are inevitable.
Ladies and gentlemen, I speak of The Land of the Yellow School Bus.
Yes, the bus. A childhood institution. Like most children, I started riding the bus in Kindergarten and rode it until I was 16 and we could all start rolling up to school in our new (used) cars, pumping sweet jams.
Now, I have many memories of the bus, 91% which are bad. The other 9% aren't even good necessarily (I don't have a sweet bus make-out story or anything) - they just aren't associated with shame and horror.
Here a few tasty bits:
Once, I got on the bus and this kid Stuart (who later went to Juvie) was like "Holy Hell. Look at that girl's glasses. She looks like a fat crazy grandmother" (I believe have mentioned my huge, bright blue glasses with highlights of red and yellow spray paint. I may provide you all with a picture when the time is right) I immediately begged my parents for contacts, and ceased wearing my glasses until I got them, which resulted in a lot of bumping into things and falling down.
Later on, in fifth grade, we had this lady bus driver who drove us to gym class. And she was, well, a total bitch. We hated her. And one day, she was yelling at us for being hooligans and she totally flicked us off! The nerve!! So, thinking we'd show her- the entire class reported her to the principal. The next day as we conspiratorially giggled and prepared for the grand apology and respect we so thought we deserved, she very stoically informed us that her pointer finger, as well as her ring finger, were in fact, missing. So, while she had been upset - it was her intention to point, not to offend with a vulgar gesture. Uh, whoops. Scratch that Principal Baum. We're good here.
And finally, the most traumatizing of all bus stories...There were some boys on my bus in middle school who used to play a game called..."Stick Shift" or "Race Car Driver." Ah, I still involuntarily cringe and shudder with the thought. Now, I'm not sure if the name of this game is self-explanatory - but it basically involved one of many popular (and very classy) middle school males sitting in the backseat of the bus, and well, using his penis as the stick shift to his imaginary race car. Now, the hilarity of this game revolved around what happened when the other schemers would find an unsuspecting female (often, me) and say "Hey Meredith, Jeff wants to talk to you." So gullible little awkward Meredith would waddle to the back of the bus to see what Popular Jeff wanted, and you can imagine her shock and horror when she discovered what awaited her there. And, its funny, because you'd think the kid exposing himself would be the one who would be embarrassed - but the laughs, points and jokes that always followed my unfortunate discoveries were enough to make me sit in the front seat next to the fingerless lady.
*Side note, Popular Jeff is now the married father of two.
I'm so happy to be back in the tub. Caroline, have you been working out? Those fingers are looking fine. Let me loofah them for you.
Ladies and gentlemen, I speak of The Land of the Yellow School Bus.
Yes, the bus. A childhood institution. Like most children, I started riding the bus in Kindergarten and rode it until I was 16 and we could all start rolling up to school in our new (used) cars, pumping sweet jams.
Now, I have many memories of the bus, 91% which are bad. The other 9% aren't even good necessarily (I don't have a sweet bus make-out story or anything) - they just aren't associated with shame and horror.
Here a few tasty bits:
Once, I got on the bus and this kid Stuart (who later went to Juvie) was like "Holy Hell. Look at that girl's glasses. She looks like a fat crazy grandmother" (I believe have mentioned my huge, bright blue glasses with highlights of red and yellow spray paint. I may provide you all with a picture when the time is right) I immediately begged my parents for contacts, and ceased wearing my glasses until I got them, which resulted in a lot of bumping into things and falling down.
Later on, in fifth grade, we had this lady bus driver who drove us to gym class. And she was, well, a total bitch. We hated her. And one day, she was yelling at us for being hooligans and she totally flicked us off! The nerve!! So, thinking we'd show her- the entire class reported her to the principal. The next day as we conspiratorially giggled and prepared for the grand apology and respect we so thought we deserved, she very stoically informed us that her pointer finger, as well as her ring finger, were in fact, missing. So, while she had been upset - it was her intention to point, not to offend with a vulgar gesture. Uh, whoops. Scratch that Principal Baum. We're good here.
And finally, the most traumatizing of all bus stories...There were some boys on my bus in middle school who used to play a game called..."Stick Shift" or "Race Car Driver." Ah, I still involuntarily cringe and shudder with the thought. Now, I'm not sure if the name of this game is self-explanatory - but it basically involved one of many popular (and very classy) middle school males sitting in the backseat of the bus, and well, using his penis as the stick shift to his imaginary race car. Now, the hilarity of this game revolved around what happened when the other schemers would find an unsuspecting female (often, me) and say "Hey Meredith, Jeff wants to talk to you." So gullible little awkward Meredith would waddle to the back of the bus to see what Popular Jeff wanted, and you can imagine her shock and horror when she discovered what awaited her there. And, its funny, because you'd think the kid exposing himself would be the one who would be embarrassed - but the laughs, points and jokes that always followed my unfortunate discoveries were enough to make me sit in the front seat next to the fingerless lady.
*Side note, Popular Jeff is now the married father of two.
I'm so happy to be back in the tub. Caroline, have you been working out? Those fingers are looking fine. Let me loofah them for you.
Bubble Tea Endorsement
On this day I would like to officially announce that Bubble Tea is the official drink of the Bubble Time Bathers.Not only is this drink milky, delicious and full of chewy little tapioca bubbles that fill your mouth with joy, but the bubble tea container (see diagram) itself saved the life of one of our Bathtime VIPs.
We endorse this product. (Shut it, Miriam)
Monday, May 7, 2007
Pillow to the Face
Miriam: Thank you to you, Mr. B and Mr. B's crack for re-inflating Bubble Time.
I will also try to teach a life lesson. That lesson is: Don't ever be the first person to fall asleep at a sleepover. And don't be the second person to fall asleep at a sleepover either. And most certainly not the third.
I learned this lesson the hard way. Megan was having a sleepover for her birthday. She invited all of the girls in the 3rd grade class at St. Monica's over to her house, which meant about 10 people. Small school. In this small school, I played the part of the shy bookworm (think Baby-sitter's Club, not Kafka) who could spend an entire religion class deciding whether to use the purple crayon or the blue crayon to color St. Francis' robes. I never liked sleepovers because they were a sham: They claimed to bring sleep, but all they really brought were hours of idle chatter, hard floors and face-licking dogs that would trample you and your sleeping bag. Now, don't get me wrong; I loved a good game of "Light as a Feather/Stiff as a Board" as much as the next person. I just would've preferred to play it at my house and then wish everyone a goodnight as I scurried off to my own bed.
But I went to Megan's, and for the most part, it was fun. We ate pizza, played games and talked about the two biggest studs in the 3rd grade - Brian and Michael. During our round of Truth or Dare, Meredith, one of the girls in the circle of sleeping bags, fell asleep. Someone decided to play a prank on her, so Megan grabbed a tube of toothpaste from her bathroom and squirted a giant blob into Meredith's hand. Meredith rolled over and got it in her hair. We all laughed. I laughed. Tricia fell asleep next. She got shaving cream in her hand. We laughed again. Then shortly after, I fell asleep.
I was half conscious and tucked into my sleeping bag with my back to the floor when I heard voices. Something had startled me awake, but I was too tired to open my eyes to see what it was. "Do it again!" said one voice.
"No, you do it this time," whispered another.
I thought I was dreaming, and I must've shifted in my sleeping bag.
"Guys, she's waking up!" hissed another voice. "DO IT NOW!"
I felt a woosh of air above my head, and I cracked my eye. The only thing I could see without my glasses on in the pitch-black room was something coming toward my face that seemed to move in slow motion. The second it hit, I passed out.
When I woke up the next morning, Meredith was trying to wash the toothpaste out of her hair. Tricia was complaining about the shaving cream on her pillow. I felt groggy. I told everyone about the weird dream I had about something hitting me in the face. Erin, Helene and all of the other stay-awakers giggled. "You were awake??" said Megan.
"Yeah, why?" I asked.
"We totally hit you with pillows!!!" Megan said. "We thought you were asleep!!!"
So, let this be a lesson to you all: In the order of sleepover pranks, it goes toothpaste, shaving cream and then a pillow to the face. Choose your timing wisely.
I will also try to teach a life lesson. That lesson is: Don't ever be the first person to fall asleep at a sleepover. And don't be the second person to fall asleep at a sleepover either. And most certainly not the third.
I learned this lesson the hard way. Megan was having a sleepover for her birthday. She invited all of the girls in the 3rd grade class at St. Monica's over to her house, which meant about 10 people. Small school. In this small school, I played the part of the shy bookworm (think Baby-sitter's Club, not Kafka) who could spend an entire religion class deciding whether to use the purple crayon or the blue crayon to color St. Francis' robes. I never liked sleepovers because they were a sham: They claimed to bring sleep, but all they really brought were hours of idle chatter, hard floors and face-licking dogs that would trample you and your sleeping bag. Now, don't get me wrong; I loved a good game of "Light as a Feather/Stiff as a Board" as much as the next person. I just would've preferred to play it at my house and then wish everyone a goodnight as I scurried off to my own bed.
But I went to Megan's, and for the most part, it was fun. We ate pizza, played games and talked about the two biggest studs in the 3rd grade - Brian and Michael. During our round of Truth or Dare, Meredith, one of the girls in the circle of sleeping bags, fell asleep. Someone decided to play a prank on her, so Megan grabbed a tube of toothpaste from her bathroom and squirted a giant blob into Meredith's hand. Meredith rolled over and got it in her hair. We all laughed. I laughed. Tricia fell asleep next. She got shaving cream in her hand. We laughed again. Then shortly after, I fell asleep.
I was half conscious and tucked into my sleeping bag with my back to the floor when I heard voices. Something had startled me awake, but I was too tired to open my eyes to see what it was. "Do it again!" said one voice.
"No, you do it this time," whispered another.
I thought I was dreaming, and I must've shifted in my sleeping bag.
"Guys, she's waking up!" hissed another voice. "DO IT NOW!"
I felt a woosh of air above my head, and I cracked my eye. The only thing I could see without my glasses on in the pitch-black room was something coming toward my face that seemed to move in slow motion. The second it hit, I passed out.
When I woke up the next morning, Meredith was trying to wash the toothpaste out of her hair. Tricia was complaining about the shaving cream on her pillow. I felt groggy. I told everyone about the weird dream I had about something hitting me in the face. Erin, Helene and all of the other stay-awakers giggled. "You were awake??" said Megan.
"Yeah, why?" I asked.
"We totally hit you with pillows!!!" Megan said. "We thought you were asleep!!!"
So, let this be a lesson to you all: In the order of sleepover pranks, it goes toothpaste, shaving cream and then a pillow to the face. Choose your timing wisely.
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