Grand misuse of the word "Fair"

I think we need to stop using "fair" to describe events that don't include the following:

- Shetland ponies

- baby ducks on a slide

- janky carnival rides

- funnel cake

- pig races

- fried butter

Really. If these things are not in evidence, you do not get to call it a fair. I'm talking about your "Job Fair" or "Health Fair" or in my case, "Benefits Fair." It's open enrollment week and I'm stupid enough to want to make some changes to my health insurance, so I'm forced to go to the "fair" to get my stupid questions answered. Stupid.

The "fair" was held in the gym on one of the indoor basketball courts. Festive! To make it even nicer, they'd laid out some grey plastic to protect the wooden floors. The various representative tables we waaaaaay spaced out, I guess to keep the reps from coming together and plotting a rebellion? Anyway, it was pretty bleak. There was a healthy snack table set up right in the dead center of the court so if you wanted to scam a snack you had to do the long walk of shame into the middle of the mostly-empty space. Damn.

Of course there was no music and very few people and as you walked from table to table the reps would give you a dimly hopeful, but haunted look, only to be disappointed when you didn't want to discuss short-term disability or your 401k. It was terrible.

There was no deep-fried butter, but I did get some helpful information, some free hand sanitizer, a tiny pill box and a chair massage. That last thing almost made up for the lack of ponies, actually, because I jacked up my shoulder last night lifting weights and he kneaded the crap out of it. My only worry was that a stray basketball from the next court over was going to bounce over and thwack me in the head like a wack-a-mole game. Which might have made it a real fair, now that I think about it.

Automated: The good, the bad, the ugly.

Oh man. Yesterday I felt like I lived in the Jetson household or something. My mother gave me her Roomba Scheduler ™ after I coyly said, "You know...if you ever get tired of that thing..." and the next thing I knew she'd loaded me up with a dusty armful of Roomba equipment and I was on my way. She has an actual human person clean for her (Zoila?) so she didn't need or use the Roomba anymore. Score!

I dusted it off, ordered some new filters and figured out how to program it. There is no sound on earth more joyous than the sound of your robot vacuum cleaner starting up all by itself. It sings a little song! Then, while you laze on the couch watching Ferris Bueller's Day Off, your robotic mollusk just tootles around and does all the housework for you. It's GRAND.

Kenny loves it too but points out that the company that makes Roomba also makes warfare robots for the military, so we should keep a close eye on it in case it decides to turn on us when the man vs robot uprising happens.

I was thinking about naming it Norman. Or maybe Doodlebug. Something like that.

Here's what's great about living in the south:

It's November and it's sunny and 75 degrees outside today. It felt like late spring, but with lots of autumn leaves, giving the woods a completely beautiful golden glow:


The leaves also soften the trail and make it slippery, so it's a slightly different type of riding than in midsummer, but still, short sleeve biking! I'll take it.


We started out with a fairly large group and eventually it became four of us - Paula and Frank and me and Kenny.


We got to check out the newly-rehabbed lake in Forest Hill, which looks amazing. The lake was originally a big focus in the park, but in recent years had been allowed to dry up and trees and brush took over. This past year a team worked diligently to dredge out all the dirt and junk and refill it. You can see before and after photos here. It's going to look freaking fantastic next spring. I'm really happy the park is getting the love it deserves.

Anyway, the ride was great. The weather was great. Now I'm going to sit on my ass awhile and watch my Roomba vacuum. Man, I love that robot, even if it is secretly collecting information for the Man vs Robot takeover.

Teenage Humiliation: fresh as the day it was born.

Oh God. Do you ever have one of those moments where you're saying something really stupid and you have a kind of out-of-body experience where you think, Wow, I'm really embarrassed for that person talking. and then you realize, HEY. THAT'S ME.

So, I just got back from the grocery store. I looked good, hair freshly done, cute outfit, feeling okay. In Richmond you just never know who you'll run into at the grocery store, so best to be looking awesome if possible. Anyway, I saw this guy in passing and I was all, wow, that looked just like the Punk Rock Pirate.

Time to back up a bit, I guess. I spent my entire freshman year of college completely, crazy, stupid, embarrassingly besotted with this guy Woodrow. All my friends knew it, he knew it and his best friend, who was kind of a dick, also knew it. His best friend was named Chris, but we all called him the Punk Rock Pirate, because that's what he looked like. We didn't mean it to be a compliment.

Woodrow was not a dick luckily and suffered my longing gazes with an ease I can only imagine came with a long history of, "it's okay, I'm used to it." (Seriously, if you could have seen this guy you would understand. Think Johnny Depp during his 21 Jump Street days. Hubba)

Anyway, Woodrow and I eventually became friends after my friend Ashley couldn't take it anymore and forced me to talk to him. It seemed cruel at the time but in retrospect it was probably for the best. He was a nice guy but the Punk Rock Pirate only ever just tolerated me.

SO, I'm in the grocery store and I see the Punk Rock Pirate. Or at least, I think it's him. He got in line behind me and I got a good look and was all, DAMN. TOTALLY HIM. So I said,

"Hey! I know you, right?"

What I should have said was nothing.

Oh, it gets worse. He looked at me blankly and said,

"Oh really? From where?"

My smooth reply,

"You know, from back in the day - the Village, VCU. You're Chris, right?"

"Uhh, yeah. What's your name?"

At this point I should have just stopped, fled or perhaps made fun of him by telling him we used to call him the Punk Rock Pirate. But no. Why stop at the humiliation of not even being remembered at all? NO. It was past the point of return because I said,

"I'm Adrien. You remember, I had a big crush on your friend Woodrow for my entire freshman year?"

Dawning recognition,

"Oooh, okay... I think I remember you."

Dying inside,

"Hahaha, it was my horrible claim to fame."

WTF, Adrien. What does that even mean?

"Uhh, yeah I guess."

"OKAYWELLBYETHEN!"

And I fled. Please kids, the next time you're in this situation remember, YOU CAN SAY NOTHING.



*No names have been changed in this entry because, really, what's the point?

Because who doesn't like (goth) stuff?

Wow, I'm not even a week in and I'm already backing away from my promise to tell you "little stories" and shit. But, today is Friday and I like Friday for all it's possibilities. A whole weekend awaits! To help your wait move on a little faster, I'm gonna make Friday the day I tell you about Stuff I Like. Here goes:

Urban Decay 24/7 eyeliner. This is the shit. Now, I know, I know, Urban Decay is that gothy brand that's all about the glitter and whatnot, but I am already a complete slave to the Primer Potion and now I love the 24/7 liner just as much. Sure, they have crazy glam-rock colors, but they also have subtle shimmery taupe and plum and brown. I recently got the taupe-y color called Underground:

And man, I love this stuff. You put it on, smudge it a bit and then it sets and stays for the entire freaking day. And it makes my brown eyes look real pretty. That's all I ask, really.

Russell Brand. Oh my God, where has he been all my life? I remember being simultaneously confused-by and amused-with him while watching Forgetting Sarah Marshall but recently we rented Russell Brand in New York City and...wow. No words. Just rent it, put the kids to bed (and close the door. And lock it.) and watch it. Give him a few minutes because at first you're like, "Uh. Um, dude. What?" and the next thing you know you're crying with laughter and simultaneously trying to figure out how to email him. I even watched the DVD Special Features and I never do that.

Her Fearful Symmetry. I finished reading this a week or two ago and it's still hanging with me. Just a really lovely and dark modern ghost story - it starts out kind of normal and just spirals down in to weird in a really terrific way. Read it immediately.

Somehow this has become the goth edition of Stuff I Like. In that case, can I talk about my new boots? I found them on eBay for a ridiculously tiny amount of money because the seller had no idea they retail for $600 new. They are made of the softest glove leather and fit me like they were custom made:


That's right, nerds! Those are perfect boots. PERFECT. I apologize to eBay for all the besmirching I did yesterday because these boots are now in my life. (However, the stupid auction questions continue. Oh my baby Jesus do people ask stupid questions.)

That's all. Come back tomorrow for more fun and excitement.

Another groundbreaking observation.

eBay is just so damn weird. I mean, shit yeah, I buy a lot of stuff from eBay and make out like a bandit. $600 Brazilian glove-soft leather boots for $80? Hell yeah. The best vintage jewelry pliers I've ever owned for $3.00? And stupid stuff, like Roomba filters and iPod adapters for pennies! I love to buy on eBay and I used to love to sell, but selling now sucks. The fees are higher, you can't (as a seller) leave negative feedback and now the kids are treating it like it's a store. You're expected to have a return policy these days. Hell, if I wanted the thing back I wouldn't be selling is on freaking eBay. Also, you're expected to jump through hoops, model shit and patient answer dumb questions.

And oh, the dumb questions. Take, for example, the question I got about a pair of boots I'm selling:

Any chance you could get a picture of the boots with jeans tucked in just so I could get a rough look of what it looks like on?

Well, huh. Let me think about that CREEPY BOOT FETISH PERSON. Or, if you're not a creepy fetish person, why not do what the rest of us do and use your imagination?

I also got this question:

Do you know what the calf size is?

Well, yes. Yes I do. Please see the section called "description." Now, look for the words "calf measurement" and I think you'll find what you're looking for.

I also sold a bag recently and wrote at length about how the only visible wear was on the corners. I included giant color photos of the corners, just to be clear. Though apparently, not clear enough:

in your photos there is some wear shown on the bag. I cannot tell where the wear is located on the bag. Is it in a bottom corner? I am guessing that is the the location. Is it noticeable from the front or rear?

Oh, sigh. HEAVY SIGH.

Nine Years

Nine years ago today I woke up and got dressed and ate breakfast and married my husband. I remember not being nervous at all because why would I be? I was marrying the best guy in the world and it was the surest thing I'd ever done in my life. Nine years later (or thirteen and a half, depending on how you look at it), I can say the best decision I ever made was to gather up the courage to call him up and ask him out on a date.

For your enjoyment, here's a blurry iPhone photo of the wedding picture I have on my desk:

We got married in my sister's living room - a tiny ceremony with only our closest friends and family. Afterwards my most excellent friend Ashley provided a beautiful reception with hot tea, and treats and bowls of white Jordan almonds. There were hydrangeas on the mantelpiece, thanks to her and I love that image even now. I was hopeless back then when it came to any kind of decoration but thankfully I have my Ashley and she made it look effortless. Still does, in fact. I think if I thank her one more time, though, she'll kill me dead. Now that's what I call a friend.

So there you go. Nine years of marriage and in the words of my friend Emily, "I like him pretty good."

PS. In case you want more dirty squash action, please to read this.