Bon Voyage

Umm, maybe you shouldn't look at the front page, Ray told me last month as he dropped the Sunday New York Times on the table.

But it was impossible to miss. Above the fold was the listing Costa Concordia, which had run aground off the coast of Italy, killing at least 32.

The photo was striking, otherwordly in it's incongruity. A gigantic vessel, capsized - misplaced in its ocean home.

Ray had been trying to convince me to go on a cruise for months. This wasn't going to help.

The only thing I thought sounded cool about a cruise was being at sea. To be a speck in the ocean on a ship carrying the population of a small town of people.

The rest, eh.

Buffet food, families, fake night clubs. "Exploring" touristy ports in depressed areas where fancy boaters get their hair braided by locals. No thanks.

But Ray, who's never met a boat or a port he didn't like, stood firm. He fed me homemade bread pudding and plied me with tales of abundant sunshine, shades of blue I've never seen and all the fruit I can eat.

Envisioning myself sitting in the sun reading magazines classic literature surrounded by the endless ocean and pyramids of strawberries by my side, I relented.

And in spite of my months of hesitation and resistance, I am excited. People keep asking me where I am going, phhsst. Who cares where I'm going… someplace tropical. The real thrill is I'm going to be on a giant boat!

I went deep sea fishing a few years ago and could have cared less about the fishing. Surrounded by water on a big fishing boat, it was beautiful. The water was perfectly clear and there were gorgeous blue fish in skools all around us. I idly ate cheese and peanut butter crackers and pretended to fish while I daydreamed of being first mate to fishing boat captain... Ernest Hemingway.

My reverie came to a crashing halt when our shark bait finally got a nibble and the actual boat captains - neither of whom were strappingly handsome like the young Hemingway - sprang into action.

Given that my mind was everywhere but on that boat, I panicked when the captain strapped a fighting harness around my waist and excitedly exclaimed, "It's big a one!"

I started exclaiming too.

"Isn't there someone more qualified?! I don't think I'm big enough to reel it in!"

I envisioned myself tumbling head over heals off the side of the boat, right into the mouth of Jaws. Being bitten or eaten by a shark I could probably handle, but I DID NOT want to see it's big dead eyes or scary pointy razor teeth. Yuck. 

My hesitation caused the boat to lose the fish and everyone was disappointed. Everyone but me, that is.

I calmly wiped the orange cracker dust off of my mouth with something like: "I said I didn't want to. If you'd have listened you'd have that big fish ... It was probably a tire anyway," I quietly added.

But I digress. The best part of the whole thing was being in the middle of the ocean. So look out cruise, I'm practically an enlisted Navy boatsman. (Or whatever they're called.)

I'm sure the ruggedly handsome captain of our ship (Jacques Cousteau, in my head) and myself will thoroughly enjoy the seafaring next week. We are explorers, Jacques and me.

I hope he likes magazines and strawberries.

Yee-Ouch

Last week I fell down these stairs at my apartment and slid down three steps on my shins. My legs got pinned between me and the staircase and as I slid painfully down the narrow, wood stairwell with my ankles twisted underneath me I thought, "Oh no! My running career!"

Because that is what is keeping me from being a great runner. Falling down the steps. If it weren't for that, Boston, y'all!

Minus some minor swelling and tenderness, I was totally fine. Which is the real bitch of the whole thing.

Not that I wanted to be hurt, but why is it you can tumble down some steps and not have a single bruise to show for your pain and humiliation, but you can end up with a giant bruise on your arm or somewhere and have no idea where it came from. Like the incident involved in actual bruising was so inconsequential you can't even remember it, but BAM, fall down the steps and nothing.

If there is a God and I get to heaven I'm going to ask him what kinda horseshit this is.

A Story About Subway - Eat Fresh

It's been the best of times, it's been the worst of times.

In the best of times, the new Subway at the UC College of Medicine is a delicious, warm, veggie-packed sandwich of goodness when the cafeteria has sucky lunches or soggy, greasy paninis.

In the worst of times it is baked bread temptation as I'm going to the gym, so that all I can think about while I'm running five minute miles on the treadmill and performing ridiculous reps of unassisted chin-ups is the thought of warm baked bread housing cheese and bacon.

Conveniently/horribly, my gym is located directly under the Subway.

The other problem is that the Boss Man is completely obsessed with Subway, yet he refuses to go over there himself. Instead he hovers around my desk several times a week demanding sandwiches and throwing $5 bills at me, and when that doesn't work he litters my desk with photos of Subway's "endless creations."





He's very subtle.

It's no surprise then that I go there so much that the staff calls me hon and sweetie. Ok. They call everyone that. But I think they like me better because I am nicer and I always know what I want right away.

The sandwich makers are all pretty nice. But my favorite is the dude who works there who calls me "miss."

What would you like, miss? Miss, do you want this toasted? Do you want jalepenos, miss?

He's probably in his late 20s, early 30s... and I am totally in love with him.

He's not like, "Whoa! Works at Subway and is totally doable!" He's more like, "Nice guy who works at Subway who calls me miss and is therefore totally lovable." (Every guy's worst nightmare, right? To be loveable, but not doable. Ouch.)

You know how in the Princess Bride when Wesley tells Buttercup "as you wish," but what he is really saying is "I love you" to her?

It's just like that with me and Subway Guy. He's all, "Would you like cucumber... because you're awesome, miss." And I'm all, "I would love some cucumber... but not as much as I love you."

Sure, on the surface it seems like I'm just ordering a sandwich and he's making it, but there is actually A LOT going on there... in my head.

I'm always getting attached to these random, peripheral characters in my life who have no idea the little roles they play in my imagination. I'm sure if he knew Subway Guy would be like, "Umm... here's Betty. She'll be making your sandwiches from now on. Ya freak."

And I'd weep into my bag of Baked Barbecue Lays.

You can't see him in this photo, but you can probably feel our bond.

My ♥ Belongs To New Edition

I'm only just now recovering from the awesomeness hangover I've had since Tuesday night.

For the last two days various New Edition and K-Ci & Jo Jo songs have been on hot rotation in my head. It's like a New Edition Pandora station in there, and it's as kick-ass as you'd imagine.

Everyone I know, including my poor, down trodden coworkers, have heard the story of my New Edition concert experience like, four times. With dance moves. Because, oh my god you guys, it was soooooo good.

We had a blast. Ninety minutes of dancing, singing, and hollering. And that was me. New Edition still has the moves, the sound and the slinky boy band R&B sex appeal they always had.

They came out on stage and I heard the beat to If Isn't Love and suddenly they were dancing just like they do in the video(!!!!) only on stage in matching suits(!!!!) and I'm not gonna lie, I went total 8th grade in there. Bouncing, screaming, singing. (It's singing when it's at the top of your lungs with everyone else, right?) I'd have probably let a few excited tears slip down my face if Ray hadn't been there.

I seriously almost needed to breathe into a paper bag I was so excited.

They threw it down on all the hits, Candy Girl, Cool It Now, Mr. Telephone Man ... and I picked it up and wiped it all over my face.

Bobby Brown wasn't there of course - We missed you Bobby B! - but NE made their boy proud without missing a beat or a dance step. Johnny Gil filled in for him saying he'd try to do Bobby justice but not to make fun him when he couldn't do Bobby's dance moves. But he sang My Prerogative and Roni like they were his own. They dedicated the show to Whitney and signed "I Heart Bobby Brown" posters for the crowd.

They each performed some of their solo stuff as well, which I loved. Ralph Tresvant had everyone at US Bank Arena singing his hit Sensitivity. Johnny Gill performed his panty-dropper My My My (what's up, Johnny, no Rub You the Right Way?)

But let me tell you, you don't know what living is until you hear the lyric, "Never trust a big butt and smile," live. BBD brought the house down with Poison. (Poison!) (Some how they chose When Will I See You Smile Again over Do Me, but whatever fellas.)

My favorite moment was the laid back, backwards-skate slow-jam, Can You Stand the Rain. I fell in love with strangers. I sang awkwardly to Ray. I stared with longing at the stage while I practically grew 80s mall hair and failed math class.

In my head I'm still singing in dancing in section 110, row O, seat 2.

My plan at the beginning of the night was to get Ray drunk so he'd have more fun. I was worried about him because over Nada tacos before the show I realized that Ray had absolutely clue who New Edition is other than the dudes who sang Candy Girl and Mr. Telephone Man.

"One of them is Bobby Brown, right? And another one is... Nick Lachey?"

Oh. My. God.

I crunched salsa and chips as loud as I could into my mouth to pretend I wasn't hearing what I was hearing. So I decided I'd get him drunk. Everyone has more fun when they're drunk!

But in the process I got kinda drunk too, making myself even more uninhibited and more boy band crazy. Oops.

Honestly, when it comes down to it... give me some R&B crooners, a cute boy to buy me a beer and a concert t-shirt (oh yes, and I'm wearing it to work tomorrow) and I'm pretty much the happiest girl on the planet.

It was the best Valentines ever. And I'm sure for Ray too.

I recorded Can You Stand the Rain with my phone. So if you're interested in hearing me ruin a perfectly awesome New Edition song with occasional screams and singing out of tune (and who wouldn't), you can watch it.

Seven Things

1. In case you missed it, the Giants won the Super Bowl, thanks to my dad's TV. Guess the jinx wasn't lifted after all. Curses.


2. Remember about 5 months ago when I was reading Anna Karenina?

Yeah well, I still am. And even though it's taking me forever, not because it's a long book but because it always takes me forever because I'm a lazy reader, it's really good.

That's right, that classic by Tolstoy is a terrific read. You heard it here first, folks.



Cassius loves it too.


3. Watching the Komen Foundation's PR meltdown is... kinda awesome, isn't it?

I want to be disappointed in them because I like to think organizations that make it their mission to eradicate breast cancer are above the political fray and kowtowing. But they're not. Not even close.

I think ol' Komen has been Krazy for a while.



Shop for the cure, y'all. Fried chicken! Batteries! Yogurt! Toilet paper! Perfume!

Gah. We're all "aware." Thanks.

Every October I find myself in the uncomfortable position of being anti the pink tinting that happens across the US. Too much tas-tas and boobies and pink ribbon teddy bear sloganeering and not enough of the very real shit that does down with cancer and its treatment.

Now ringleader Karen Handel has resigned. Meh. You can't just blame Handel when everyone else (Brinker, I'm looking at you) signed off.

But the question remains - Is restoring their ties to Planned Parenthood and severing them with Handel what Komen believes is right, or what they thought they should do PR-wise?

Either way, think before you pink, y'all.

4. I know all the cool kids are watching Downton Abbey these days, but the Wonder Years (best show EVER) is on The Hub every week night. Set those DVRs immediately for Kevin and Winnie, 60s strife, war and peace and coming of age.



P.S. Every love you've ever known pales in comparison to Kevin's love for Winnie. Fact. So don't even try. It is unparalleled.

5. I haven't had as much time to write lately because hell froze over and that deal I made with the devil to preserve my youth and vitality has come to fruition.

Which is to say instead of spending my evenings sitting on the couch like it's my job I've been doing that thing where you get your heart rate up and sweat and lift heavy things and run around like a crazy person.

"Exercise," I believe, is what the health officials call it. 

Weights. Running. Pilates. Yoga. Barre. Most days since like, November.

I don't know what switch flipped inside the motivation part of my brain, but I'm going with it until it switches back. *cue LMFAO, 'I work ouuuuut.'

Yeah, so I've been working out. Then I've been going home and mining the brownie pieces out of the Chocolate Fudge Brownie Ben & Jerry's, thereby undoing everything good I just did. I'm a winner.



6. I'm gonna be straight floatin' on a boat soon.

I've always been anti-cruise. More like terrified, really… by the people who cruise, I mean; not the boats or the water or being at sea.

Now I guess I will be one of those terrifyingly spoiled people climbing a rock wall on a ship, demanding booze, constant stimulation and attention from the staff.

Contrived "fun," woo hoo! (Also see: New Years Eve, birthdays, Las Vegas.)

But, I was told there would be cake all the fruit I can eat. So... I'm really excited about it now that it's planned.



I'm taking T-Pain.

7. I feel bad about about the dead polar bears who must be littering the Arctic right now with their thawing bodies, but hasn't winter been great?



At first I wanted it to blizzard at least once so I could call into work "trapped" and go sled in the park across the street - you can sled right into a drainage ditch - but now I don't even want that anymore.

That little bit of snow we got this morning was juuuust perfect.

Stage Direction: More Shirtlessness

I saw Ides of March, the political thriller where George Clooney and Ryan Gosling attempt to out-hott one another, sometimes in Cincinnati.

It's a pretty good movie, but it could have been spectacular. My thoughts to Clooney, who wrote, directed and starred:

• Ryan Gosling did not have one shirtless scene. Not even during the love scene. Seriously? Bullshit, Clooney. You did that so he wouldn't out-shine you.

• You also didn't have a shirtless scene. Clooney! What the hell is your problem?! This could have easily been added in. Picture it: Gov Mike Morris (that'd be you, George) as presidential hopeful relieves stress by running through Sawyer Park, shirtless. See, easy.

• Cincinnati looked great on the big screen, but I'd have preferred more. "The Oakley Women's Center" got the most play, and that's probably not even a real place. I don't know what I was doing exactly when you were filming, but my guess is that I was in my very cool Cincinnati apartment and was totally available for b-roll. Just sayin'.

I also saw Crazy, Stupid, Love recently, which is a funny and entertaining movie about the messiness of love, marriage, infidelity and new romance, also staring Ryan Gosling. But guess what, Goz gets shirtless in this one.



BOOM.

Rounding out my Clooney/Gosling movie watching season was The Descendents, starring George Clooney once again.



Damn this is a good movie. So nuanced, bittersweet and heartfelt that I didn't even need a gratuitous shirtless scene. I enjoyed all of the surreal, comic-tragic but ordinary moments in this movie. And there are a lot of them.

And Shailene Woodley, the girl who plays Clooney's foul-mouth, rebellious teen daughter, is phenomenal.

Bigger, Deffer... Badder

Four years ago when the Patriots played the Giants in Super Bowl XLII, my dad traded-up my parents' 40 inch picture tube TV (I think it even had a dial on it) to 52 inches of pure flatscreen high-defness.

When Brady crushed the Giants, my dad was going to see every pass in all it's plasma glory. 

But somehow, Eli Manning handed suave boy Brady his ass. No one could believe it, least of all my dad.

"I got a big screen TV to better see my team get whooped," my dad said.

He told me the next season that whenever he watched the Patriots play on his new big screen, they'd lose. But whenever he'd watch them on the small, crappy TV in the den, they'd win.

"It's my TV's fault whenever they lose," he said. "It's jinxed. It's not doing right by Brady."

The jinx was forcing him to choose between comfort and his team winning.

(This could also be why the Bengals, my dad's number one favorite team, lost the playoff game recently. He always watches them on the big screen.)

But last weekend my dad decided the tide has turned since that crushing Super Bowl defeat of 2008. The curse, he says, has lifted, thanks to Tim Tebow.

Sunday after the Steelers/Broncos game I called him to see if he watched that 80-yard OT touchdown run. We were both disgusted.

"I've heard all I care to hear about of ol' Tim Tebone," my dad said. "It's gonna be Tebone time on Saturday I'll tell ya, Brady's gonna show that boy how to play some ball, now. He's gonna look up and SNAP, touchdown!"

We continued to find new ways to massacre Tebow's name.

"I'm sick ol' Tim Teboner myself," I said. "It makes me want him to lose. Badly."

And no win would be sweeter, especially for my dad, than to watch Brady take the wind of out everyone's annoying Tebow sails.

But given the flatscreen's curse on Brady, I asked my dad where he will watch the game.

We have to provide the best outcome for our national nightmare of Tebow Mania to be over, I reminded him.

"On the big TV. Brady wouldn't let me down two times in a row like that," he said.

Hmmm... I'll be out Tebowing making snow angels just in case.