Thursday, August 31, 2006
Parenting 101:
First Lesson: Drug Your Children
We were sitting around talking about being tired, and talking about being sick and what worked when you were. Val and his friend were saying that if they worked several 12 hour days in a row and felt tired they would sit around watching TV and drinking Neo-Citran waiting to see who would fall asleep first.
This prompted Matthew to tell a story about this girl who was in med school and was sick and having trouble sleeping, but hadn't really heard of or tried Neo-Citran. Her classmates told her how great it was and how she should try it. It didn't taste bad, but kind of lemony, and as they described it to her she said, "Why, that sounds like Christmas lemonade!"
Her very astute parents gave her and her siblings "Christmas lemonade" in lieu of eggnog every Xmas eve and thus assured themselves a long restful night, with a sensible wake up time Xmas day. And you can bet no creatures were coughing or sniffling either!
First Lesson: Drug Your Children
We were sitting around talking about being tired, and talking about being sick and what worked when you were. Val and his friend were saying that if they worked several 12 hour days in a row and felt tired they would sit around watching TV and drinking Neo-Citran waiting to see who would fall asleep first.
This prompted Matthew to tell a story about this girl who was in med school and was sick and having trouble sleeping, but hadn't really heard of or tried Neo-Citran. Her classmates told her how great it was and how she should try it. It didn't taste bad, but kind of lemony, and as they described it to her she said, "Why, that sounds like Christmas lemonade!"
Her very astute parents gave her and her siblings "Christmas lemonade" in lieu of eggnog every Xmas eve and thus assured themselves a long restful night, with a sensible wake up time Xmas day. And you can bet no creatures were coughing or sniffling either!
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
For Love of the Pole
A lot of craziness has been done in the name of bachelorette parties, and this was no exception. Steph is getting married on August 12th and I, and another co-worker, were invited to the bachelorette.
We were asked to arrive at 6:30 for some pre-drinking before our bus would take us downtown to some clubs. At 7:00 pm there was going to be "an activity." That turned out to be introductory pole dancing lessons. Just what any young suburban woman needs to learn before getting shit-faced and out clubbing.
Since I arrived late I waited and watched the other girls practice the routine while I drank wine and dreaded my own turn. It didn't look too difficult, and the girls seemed to be having a good time. I laughed when Natalie told me that she crawled headfirst into the couch during her turn. Then the instructor turned to me and said that rather than trying to teach me all of the last routine she'd get me to do a new one. I got the first part okay, but when it came time to "fling my left leg around the pole and then go down it like a fireman" (go down like a fireman. Really?) I fell a little short of the mark.
Actually, I pulled the detachable pole away from the ceiling and crashed spectacularly to the floor. The pole hit the large, new television, and my head hit the very solid subwoofer. I lay on the floor, quite stunned and deciding whether or not I needed to cry. All I could remember was that Eddie Murphy sketch where his Aunt Bunny kept falling down the stairs and his mother would say "Go get your Aunt Bunny a towel: she's fallen down the stairs again." The other girls at the party were staring at me and looking horrified. Probably also happy that they weren't clutzy old me.
"Get her some water!"
"Get her some ice!"
Sweet mother of pearl, get her her wine and let her slink off to the corner to be mortified. My God that was embarassing. A few drinks later, however, all was well and everyone was congratulating me for being such a good sport. Apparently I'd missed the safety demonstration where our instructor urged us to "go easy on the pole." Ding Dong!
Won't the boy be surprised when I do a sexy strip tease for him? He'll be even MORE surprised when I end the routine by rendering myself unconscious!
I learned something about myself that night. Something important about limits and about my place in the world. About what it means to be a stripper in this harsh and demanding world - the dedication, the artistry, the physical demands, the bruises and bits of skull and hair left behind at your friends' house. Yes, I learned something all right.
Sadly, because of the concussion, I can't remember what it is...
A lot of craziness has been done in the name of bachelorette parties, and this was no exception. Steph is getting married on August 12th and I, and another co-worker, were invited to the bachelorette.
We were asked to arrive at 6:30 for some pre-drinking before our bus would take us downtown to some clubs. At 7:00 pm there was going to be "an activity." That turned out to be introductory pole dancing lessons. Just what any young suburban woman needs to learn before getting shit-faced and out clubbing.
Since I arrived late I waited and watched the other girls practice the routine while I drank wine and dreaded my own turn. It didn't look too difficult, and the girls seemed to be having a good time. I laughed when Natalie told me that she crawled headfirst into the couch during her turn. Then the instructor turned to me and said that rather than trying to teach me all of the last routine she'd get me to do a new one. I got the first part okay, but when it came time to "fling my left leg around the pole and then go down it like a fireman" (go down like a fireman. Really?) I fell a little short of the mark.
Actually, I pulled the detachable pole away from the ceiling and crashed spectacularly to the floor. The pole hit the large, new television, and my head hit the very solid subwoofer. I lay on the floor, quite stunned and deciding whether or not I needed to cry. All I could remember was that Eddie Murphy sketch where his Aunt Bunny kept falling down the stairs and his mother would say "Go get your Aunt Bunny a towel: she's fallen down the stairs again." The other girls at the party were staring at me and looking horrified. Probably also happy that they weren't clutzy old me.
"Get her some water!"
"Get her some ice!"
Sweet mother of pearl, get her her wine and let her slink off to the corner to be mortified. My God that was embarassing. A few drinks later, however, all was well and everyone was congratulating me for being such a good sport. Apparently I'd missed the safety demonstration where our instructor urged us to "go easy on the pole." Ding Dong!
Won't the boy be surprised when I do a sexy strip tease for him? He'll be even MORE surprised when I end the routine by rendering myself unconscious!
I learned something about myself that night. Something important about limits and about my place in the world. About what it means to be a stripper in this harsh and demanding world - the dedication, the artistry, the physical demands, the bruises and bits of skull and hair left behind at your friends' house. Yes, I learned something all right.
Sadly, because of the concussion, I can't remember what it is...
