Fairytale of Shea Stadium

Dear Glob,

It was a warm and breezy August summer day. Our New York Mets were playing the Colorado Rockies in a game honoring the ’86 championship team. It was the summer I finally decided to give baseball a chance, and in an attempt to sway my allegiance towards one New York team, the Whale promised to take me to my first game at Shea Stadium. Keeping true to his word, the Whale and I headed into the city for a night of good old Boozy fun, unaware of the Ghosts from the Past sitting in the backseat…

Our adventure began in Brooklyn, where we met up with the Whale’s old friend, Jeff K. After being outfitted in an oversized bright orange Delgado T-Shirt, Jeff K. walked me through a “make your own disposable 3 plastic-bag lined cooler” demonstration as the Whale gathered together our massive array of food supplies. Beer and Bags in hand, we hopped on the G train and transferred to the 7 onwards to Willets Point-Shea Stadium. As the train neared the station, I caught my first glimpse of ballpark. A good sized crowd of Mets-garbed fans had already arrived for the game as we exited the station and made our way to the parking lot. Jeff K. picked out an unsuspicious corner, and we stashed our beer and food stuffs underneath a car marking our turf. Around us, other fans laid out chairs next to their opened car trunks and occasionally walked over to speculate on who from the ’86 team would receive the biggest rouse from the crowd. Avoiding dirty looks from a pair of patrolling cops, Jeff K. passed us beer disguised in red cups as the Whale and I puffed on cigars and snacked on Pork Rinds.

After watching Jeff K. unsuccessfully pawn off his extra tickets [Tickets, you need Tickets], we stashed the last of the beer underneath “our car” and woozily headed into stadium. Walking through a sea of Orange and Blue, we settled into our seats just in time for the introduction of the ’86 championship Mets. All riled up from the presence of the old time heroes, the crowd geared up for Game Time. First at bat for the Mets is Jose Reyes. Immediately, the crowd started up the first of many “JOSE, JOSE, JOSE, JOSE… JOSE, JOSE!” chants. This is where I feel Mets fans have one up on Yankee fans: the Jose chant. It’s easy, catchy, and fun as all bloody hell to sing when you’re amid hundreds of drunken sports fans.

“JOSE, JOSE, JOSE, JOSE… JOSE, JOSE!”

This is when things get a little fuzzy… Okay fine, I admit it - I had a beer or 10 too many and ended up passing out for a good 6 innings or so. When I finally woke up, it was the bottom of the 8^th and the Mets were whooping the Rockies by 2 runs. Besides a couple of more rounds of beer, which was obvious by the state both the Whale and Jeff K. were in, I had apparently also missed out on a spirited chase around Shea to catch Mr. Met. In the end, the Mets pulled off a win against the Rockies 7 to 4, and we joyously marched out of the stadium all the while singing, “JOSE, JOSE, JOSE, JOSE… JOSE, JOSE!”

Once again we ended up in the parking lot to finish off the last of beers still underneath “our car.” People honked horns as they exited, saluting the win and adding to our “JOSE, JOSE, JOSE, JOSE… JOSE, JOSE!” fervor. In the midst of all the singing, the Whale started to feel nostalgic and changed his tune to The Pogues’s “Fairytale of New York.” I don’t know exactly what kind of memories this song evokes for the Whale; only that P. once mentioned that while homesick on the plains of Mongolia, the Whale would sing this song to cheer himself up. Soon the Whale and I both began to butcher our way through the song, while Jeff K. and others watched from afar looking at us like we had lost our minds. The Whale and I, still revved up with seasonally early Christmas spirit, continued our spotty drunken rendition when a group of guys headed towards our corner. As the real owners of “our car,” they unlocked the doors and began to pile in. One of them lingered for a couple of seconds, watching the Whale and I repeating the same chorus, the only one we knew, over and over again… Next thing you know, to the Whale’s and my great surprise and delight, the owner of “our car” rolled down all his windows and started blasting the real version of “Fairytale of New York” on his car’s stereo. I can’t speak for the Whale, but even though I personally didn’t have any childhood memories attached to this song, I was filled with vivid joy and remembrance as the song burst through the near empty parking lot. The Whale and I sang and danced like madmen until the song came to an end. Afterwards we all shook hands and exchanged thanks for the unexpected serenade. Jeff K., the Whale, and I all waved farewell as the car and moment drove away.

It was Christmas eve, Babe
In the drunk tank
An old man said to me, won’t see another one

Sooner or later we all got back on the subway, when the Whale began his campaign to get off in Woodside for a visit to his old neighborhood bar, the Donegal Tavern. Jeff K. explained to me that once after another similar tailgating/Mets game night, the Whale went on and on about this bar, not letting up until all of them agreed to follow him around the street of Queens. On seeing the determined look in his eyes, Jeff K. and I loyally jumped off at the 51^st-Woodside station.

Absolutely positive he knew where he was going, we walked through the darken streets, passing the 108^th Precinct and other landmarks of the Whale’s past. Lighthearted and happy, Jeff K. and I listened to the Whale share stories of his childhood and of the people who lived in this Irish enclave of Queens. Suddenly our mood shifted as a cold wind sobered up the final remnants of our earlier buzz. We arrived too late. The Donegal Tavern had closed down.

In Memory of The Donegal Tavern

The Whale dejectedly peered through the gate, whispering how all the Irish had left the area. Jeff K. and I watched the Whale stare into the deserted bar, both of us at a complete loss of words. After a moment of silence, the Whale led us to his house right beside the Tavern. We walked into the Whale’s backyard and in the misty light from the dim streetlight I pictured a little Whale enjoying a warm summer night together with his Mom and Dad many moons ago.

The Whale's first house

We somberly walked back to the subway. Jeff K. broke the silence and passed around a bag of Skittles, offering “something sweet” amidst the sourness of disappointment. The Whale was inconsolable as he stood by himself on the subway platform, staring down at what remained of his now estranged old neighborhood. We boarded the next train and soon parted ways; Jeff K. and the Whale back to Brooklyn, and I to Rockland. Now by myself, I had a chance to digest exactly what happened on this very long roller coaster of a night; From cigars, carousing and caroling to lost souls wandering the streets of Woodside in search of the past, this night revealed to me a side of the Whale I had only heard about: An unruly, rebellious Whale growing up in a blue collar immigrant family, living amongst the fellow Irish in Woodside, Queens.

The boys of the NYPD choir
Were singing Galway bay
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas Day

To the Whale on Christmas from your Secret Santa: Thank you for bringing me on this night of drunken tomfoolery and heart-wrenching/warming memories. Although I only had the opportunity to meet Sam just once, this Fairytale night gave me a better glimpse and feeling of family we never had a chance to know. Thank you for becoming a part of our crazy family… I hope we’ll do.

Pre-Buzz: Haunted

Dear Glob,

If this comment posted by the Whale doesn't have you calling publishers to pick up his manuscript, I must question your literary taste:

Once years ago (and this is one of the very few "real" things that made its way into Haunted) -- I was in the Port Authority very, very late at night, a little drunk, and I called home so my father wouldn't worry. I called home, and somehow the lines got crossed, and this man picked up, and kept asking where I was, a woman picked up and frantically asked me if I was okay, where was I, etc. Even in my state I figured out that this wasn't my house, and these people thought I was their lost son--and I was sort of lost myself at that time; like three lost souls converging in the night.

Can't WAIT!

I am the World's biggest Chump

Dear Blog,

Knicks won in Double Overtime, 111 to 109. My favorite Knick, David Lee, comlpeted a HUGE play to win the game with o.1 seconds left on the clock.

I was there... and I wasn't.

And that's all I have to say about that.

A Day in the Life of Ramona Quimby, Age 8

Dear Glob,

IMPORTANT NOTE: This post was written before my family and I ventured into the city, and I became the world's biggest chump. Right now, Rockland really sucks! Whomp whomp...

Here's my original post anyway:

Today I went into the office so hungry I almost fainted. Since I work in Suburbia-land, I would have to drive somewhere in order to buy something and, of course, delivery is out of the question. I woozily made my way into our kitchen, hoping to scrounge up something to eat. Inside our freezer was a box of Eggo Waffles with "Kathy" written in black marker across the front. Kathy is our Accountant, who although is a very nice woman, I wouldn’t feel comfortable catching me chowing down on her food. I hovered near the refrigerator, weighing the pro and cons of feeling better to being branded a thief. “Leggo my Eggo, new Girl!” Just as I was about to give up and eat some sugar packets, I heard someone calling from the front desk. It was a vendor and, more importantly, my personal savior, bringing us hot Egg Sandwiches and Muffins in appreciation for our continued business over the year. Seriously, it was the Best.Egg.Sandwich.Ever.

After I survived my near death morning experience, I once again began to answer phone with dedication and efficiency. Everything was running smoothly, until this word for word phone call:

I pick up the phone
Speaker (in an angry voice): I know you’re cheating on me! You…
Me (interrupting in my sing-song Receptionist voice): Happy Holidays, Bright All Electric!
Speaker (stuttering): Why… I… er… Sorry wrong number.

People are so weird.

Lunchtime was spent with Father, Tito V. and Little Brother at Mongolian Grill. This is one of my most favorite restaurants in Rockland, where you get to “Make your own Noodle Bowl.” Since I don’t know the meaning of portion control, I load my bowl with way to much food, eat everything and immediately feel nauseous. I had to spend the rest of the day at the office with my pants unbuttoned. I hope nobody noticed.

The rest of the afternoon was spent on GChat, having delightful conversations that had me cracking up all day long. I just snorted remembering one in particular, but alas they cannot be shared with the public by request of one of my readers. Hey, I don’t want to anyone in my *loyal readership* to be _fired_ :(|) because of something I post.*

On the way home, I finally took a break from 106.7 Lite-FM playing Christmas Carols you can sing-a-long to marathon which means playing the same damn songs all day long making me want to shoot myself… and switched it to 101.1 – the Jack (whatever that means). I’ve never listened to this station before but, whoa, I had a great streak of songs driving down 303:

Somebody to Love, by Queen
Manic Monday, by the Bangles
While my Guitar Gently Weeps, by the Beatles
Thunder Road, by Bruce Springsteen

I don’t know if I am just starved for music that doesn’t have sleigh bells somewhere in the background, but this was the Best.Set.of.Songs.Ever.

When I get home, I look on the kitchen table and see this “Holiday Teddy Bear in a Bag.” Little Brother was sent on an errand by Father to buy a $20 gift certificate at the Cheesecake Factory in the Mall. When he went to the cashier, she mentioned that for $5 more, he would get this Special Edition Cheesecake Factory “Holiday Teddy Bear in a Bag.” After thinking long and hard, Little Brother spent the extra cash with the woman on line behind him prompting, “Go for it!” Laughing at him and his story, explaining how this was for Father’s Secret Santa (or more PC, Secret Snowflake) gift where you were only suppose to spend $20, Little Brother just shrugged his shoulders and said, “It was a good deal.”

... Then Father came home and we left on our trip to NYC ...

Man, I'm so bummed. So many glob worthy things happened after this initial post... Gah, another day when I'm not #%U!)U!_ UF#)O

We are the Champions

It took this long. Three long months into the season. But it finally happened. My first New York Knicks home win in my first year as a season ticket holder.

Huzzah!!!

Back in August, I convinced my fellow SAP to buy a half plan for the upcoming Knicks season. Historically, season tickets at MSG were impossible to obtain, having your name on a waitlist only to be entered into the Lottery for the mere chance to purchase a coveted two-thousand dollar seat. As every New Yorker who even remotely follows the NBA would know, for the past couple of years we have sadly watched Isaiah Thomas dig our beloved Knicks into the ground with one bad trade after another. C’mon Starbury and Stevie Franchise on the same team!??! It is in this slump that a mere mortal such as I had the opportunity to invest big bucks in a team that has very little going for them. Although I had set myself up for a lot disappointment, my overly competitive streak is always gunning for a win.

My bridge and tunnel status does not allow me the luxury to go to every game, hence SAP and I sold a lot of tickets to games we had no real interest in seeing. For example, the Washington Wizards game when the Knicks had their first home win... Gah. Basically all the games I decided I wanted to see were the Big Name Contenders: Wade and the Heat, LeBron and the Cavs, Yao Ming and Tracy on the Rockets. No wonder I always leave each game drunk and unhappy. So tonight, of all nights, when I was expecting, EXPECTING another loss, we came out with a win. And not just any win. A HUGE win in overtime at the buzzer.

Quick recap: Knicks were down 16 to 38 at the end of the first quarter. With David Lee grabbing an all time high 20 rebounds, the Knicks lead during halftime. We kept the lead through the third, when the Nervous Silence swept the crowd. Usually the fourth quarter is when all the fans finally get into the game, following the Jumbo-tron’s prompts of “DEFENSE” and “LETS GO KNICKS!” I dejectedly sat in my seat as Starbury missed a free throw and Okur hit a big three, sending the game into overtime… The Knicks continued to taunt the crowd, leading up to the final seconds. Again(!) Okurs makes another HUGE three and the Jazz take a one point lead with three seconds left in the game. What happens next still has my head spinning…

Starbury drives the ball up the court and is able to complete an uncontested lay up at the buzzer!!! Knicks win 97 to 96!!! And the crowd goes WILD!!! AHAHAHHH!

I haven’t posted in awhile. I am tired. I have an important 2nd interview tomorrow morning at 8:30am. This win doesn't at all mean that they are going to make the playoffs. All my drunk ass wants to do now is put on my pajamas and crawl into bed. But here I am, blogging what I hope in the morning is a somewhat coherent post… Because the Knicks have finally made me, ME, feel like a winner.

"Country Home, Take me home
To the place I belong
NEW YORK CITY"

The NBA… its FANNNNNTASTIC!

Merry Christmas Charlie Brown!

Dear Glob,

I remember one especially cool year when the Adults gathered us Kids in a room and told us to chant what we wanted most of all for Christmas. Little Chewie closed her eyes, balled her hands into tight fists, and repetitively whispered, “I want a Scrub-a-dub-doggy. I want a Scrub-a-dub-doggy.” After a minute of feverish wishing and hoping, Santa came through the front door with a big sack of presents. One by one, he called each Kid by name, handing them a personalized gift. When Chewie’s name was called, she ran up excitedly for her special gift, and underneath the magical wrapping paper was the much sought after Scrub-a-dub-doggy! “Wow… Cool, Cool! How did he know!?!?!” Little Chewie thought in amazement. Although this Scrub-a-dub-doggy was one of my most memorable Christmas gifts, one in particular still holds a special place in my heart…

As pre-Christmas ritual, Mojo and I would crawl underneath the branches of our tree in search for our gifts. Once we found one with our name on the tag, we would shake, poke and prod the box, each speculating on what could be inside. Through the eyes of Little Mojo and Little Chewie, the bigger the box the better the present. Usually the bigger gifts were for bigger people, like the year we gave Father a Compact Disc player, but Little Chewie never gave up hope as Little Mojo and she diligently checked each present. One year, Little Chewie noticed a nicely wrapped Big Box in our Yaya, Neila’s room. It was on the top shelf of a very high bookshelf, far from the reach of a curious Little Chewie. Everyday she would look in Neila’s room to see if the Big Box had been moved under the tree, but it would irritatingly remain fixed atop what might as well have been Mt. Everest. After furtively trying to reach the Big Box a couple of times, Little Chewie gave up, assuming it wouldn’t be for her anyway. Come Christmas Eve, the Family opened all their gifts in the usual state of frenzy and excitement. When all the gifts were distributed and unwrapped, Little Chewie looked around to see who had received the elusive Big Box. Not seeing it among the other opened presents, Little Chewie decided to ask Mother and Neila about the missing gift. At first, Mother and Neila were confused and had Little Chewie lead them to Neila’s room to point out the Big Box. Mother stood on the bed and, with ease, lifted the Big Box off the shelf. Much to her surprise, Mother then said, “Why, this is for you Chewie. Merry Christmas!”

Inside was something she had not requested, or even thought she ever wanted. It was a Talking Snoopy. Keeping in line with Mother’s no brand name frivolties, Talking Snoopy was Teddy Ruxpin’s unknown less successful spin-off. Like Teddy, Talking Snoopy wiggled his ears and nose as he read and sang songs along with an accompanying book. After the first story Talking Snoopy read to Little Chewie, they became inseparable. Eventually Little Chewie knew all the books and songs by heart. P. and Mojo quickly picked up on this development, and soon incorporated various Talking Snoopy songs into their famous “Sister Shows.*” Sadly, Little Chewie played with her beloved Talking Snoopy so often that it soon broke and faded into obscurity; Forgotten Again.

One year in college, my friend searched high and low on Ebay for a working Talking Snoopy after hearing this very same story, but unfortunately Worlds of Wonder had discontinued the toy and eventually went out of business in 1988. Talking Snoopy is now a rare collectors’ item, but will live forever in the memory of Little Chewie and others who were lucky enough to have him as a trusty companion and friend. Amazing how I still remember the lyrics to this entire song, but I believe Charlie Brown says, or sings, it best in this song excerpt from one of Talking Snoopy’s many books:

“Oh Snoopy, you’re such a friend to me
And nobody else knows what it means
To have you by me, whenever I feel blue
It’s good to know that you will be there…

Oh Snoopy, you make me feel secure
I'll hold you in my arms and you’ll be
The one and only Snoopy for me!”

*Interested parties need only ask and I’ll happily put on a tape of one of our shows. Being the Diva that I am, I have nothing to hide.

All Aboard the Holiday Express!

Dear Glob,

A couple of Holiday seasons ago, I was in the city running errands. After a long day of shopping and Starbuck coffee in the festive red cups, I hopped into the 14^th Street A/C/E station on my way back to Rockland. Although the MTA isn’t known for its punctuality, this particular train was taking a stubbornly long time to arrive. As a typical impatient New Yorker, I hovered at the edge of the platform, leaning forward every couple of minutes hoping to see the headlights of the next arriving train. Cold and tired from the day’s hustle and bustle, I perked up immediately upon hearing an unusually high pitched whistle echoing through the subway tunnels. People soon began to gather along the platform, and out of habit I leaned forward once again to steal an early glimpse of our train. To my surprise, instead of the everyday gritty metallic subway car, an old fashion wood paneled train began to enter the station. I quickly took a step back, afraid I having a holiday hallucination, but the Christmas train kept a’coming, blowing its festive high pitched whistle. As the first car came closer, I noticed a big wreath hanging from its windshield and a conductor, wearing a Polar Express-like blue uniform, waving happily to us passengers on the platform. The following cars were adorn with bright red bows and sparkling lights, all with the same beautiful golden brown paneling as the first. Swept up with the Spirit of Christmas, I waved back to the other conductors thinking I was the luckiest girl in the world to catch a ride on the Holiday Express, albeit a bit weird and random. Much to my dismay, the train never slowed its pace and with one last friendly “Toot Toot” of farewell, the train whizzed past the station, not admitting any passengers aboard. I stood there dumbstruck watching the train and all its Christmas cheer disappear into the darkness.

I don’t know exactly when I snapped out of my trance, but I quickly looked around to make sure someone else had witnessed this feat of Holiday Magic. People all around were rubbing their eyes in disbelief, shocked at what had just happened. I locked eyes with an elderly woman next to me who nodded her head in confirmation that she too had seen the Phantom Holiday Train. On noticing the disappointment in my face, she offered me a little shrug of condolence, suggesting that maybe next time the Christmas train rolled along, we would have seats in the first car... And not only would we have comfy seats cushioned with down, the conductors would also be passing out steaming cups of eggnog as children took turns sounding the high pitched whistle. A choir of passengers would sing all of our holiday requests, as we happily enjoyed the long journey up North... Our shared reverie was soon disturbed by a screeching A express train coming to a halt. Sadly, I waved goodbye to the old lady and boarded the train back to reality. Once I got home, I tried to tell anyone who would listen about my otherworldly subway experience, but everyone rolled their eyes with doubt and dismissed my story as another silly Chewie fantasy.

Years later, I was walking into a subway station when I saw it – a poster with a picture of the same Holiday Train from so long ago. The poster advertised when and where the train would make an appearance and offered rides to passengers who happened to be there at the right time and place. I knew people wouldn’t believe me without hard cold proof, so I ripped the poster down and brought it back to my apartment. My then roommate, Tree, finally conceded to the truth of my Christmas Train story, and allowed me frame and hang the poster in our living room as testament to its existence. Yes, it felt good to be vindicated, but a part of me genuinely enjoyed the time when everyone thought I was crazy… and I believed it was magic.

The Chewie who Remembered Christmas

Dear Glob,

Today we not only received our very first Christmas Card, but also purchased our 2006 Merry Christmas Tree. It has been as while since I had put real effort into Christmas. For the past couple of years I was too involved with work to accompany my Parents on the annual Christmas Tree shopping extravaganza. I had an almost Grinch-like annoyance towards the tradition, complaining about all the extra vacuuming and post-Holiday clean up. Last year I even told my Parents that the Tree was a waste of time, and if they bought one, I would have nothing to do with it. It’s not like I hated Christmas, quite the opposite; I was just so burnt out and miserable from working crazy 80+ hour weeks to think about Trees and such...

And the more Chewie thought
of the mess it would bring
The more Chewie thought,
"I must stop this whole thing!
"Why I’m too tired to vacuum
those pine needles now!
I MUST stop this Tree from coming!
...But HOW?"

But whatever the reason,
Lack of sleep or the cleaning,
Chewie decided this Christmas would have a lot more meaning.

...So after dinner, and a lot of whining from Little Chewie, Father, Mother and I headed to Lowes to buy this year’s Christmas Tree. Intoxicated by the smell of pine, we all split up and flocked towards our own favorite section of trees. Father immediately took a liking to a beautiful Noble fir with branches full of thick green needles. Drawing my attention away from a pretty Douglas fir, I watched as Father shook his tree to reveal its perfect Christmas Tree shape. Instantaneously, we were both hooked. On seeing what section we were in, Mother looked hesitant as she walked over. Being the most reasonable of us three, Mother had carefully read the pricing sign before allowing herself to become attached to one particular tree. As fate would have it, Father’s picturesque Noble fir turned out to be double the amount of all of the other trees in the lot. Father continued to fight for his tree, while Mother pointed out its imperfections. In addition to being a bit pricey, the tree was on the short side and had a slight bald spot near the very top. Finally admitting to these faults, we sadly set the tree aside. I became discouraged; maybe this whole Tree thing wasn’t worth the effort and disappointment. I was half heartedly browsing through another row, when Mother pulled a tall Balsam fir from behind a stack of trees. Reluctantly I headed over to where Father and Mother were inspecting the new tree, not expecting it to live up to our earlier Noble fir, but as soon as its branches began to unfold, I knew in my heart that we had found “The One…”

And what happened then?
Well in Rockland they say
That Chewie's young heart
Remembered that day!
And the minute her heart revealed memories of old
The spirit of Christmas began to unfold
And she helped carry the tree with the utmost of care...
And she...
Chewie HERSELF!
Volunteered to vacuum the stairs!

And Chewie thought of something she hadn’t before,
What if Christmas depends on the effort and “chores,”
Then maybe Christmas would mean a lot more!

Rally Troops! Bring your Cheer!
No more excuses should we all hear!

All of our plans, let’s do them NOW,
And not ask who, when and how.
Welcome Christmas while we stand,
Heart to heart and hand in hand.

Would you like fries with that?

Dear Glob,

First day jitters suck. Once again my temp agency has me on assignment, this time at "Bright All" Electric fulfilling all their phone answering desires, hopes and dreams. I know that I am perfectly capable of answering and directing phone calls, but every time the phone rings I get this tightness at the back of my throat and all the common sense in the world goes down the drain.

My first obstacle is what to say when I answer the phone. The president has asked the staff to answer every call with a holiday greeting. I, being the spaz that I am, cannot decide on a just one, Season’s Greetings, Bright All Electric(!) or Bright All Electric, Happy Holidays(!). I spent the entire morning trying out each variation: Greeting then Bright All Electric, Bright All Electric then Greeting, how about starting off with a “Hello,” or adding “How may I help you?” or “One moment please” at the end… With all this mumbo jumbo floating around in my head, when I’m not concentrating I pick up the phone with a flustered combination: “Seasons, er, Bright All Electric… Happy Holidays! How may I… Eh, excuse me?”

If I make it past the greeting stage, then it’s on to a pretty straightforward switchboard, with 4 Orbits (or hold buttons, but Orbit is much cooler – “Excuse me, Mr. President? Story Musgrave is holding on Orbit 1.”) and a voicemail button. I say “straightforward,” but combined with the 80% chance that I’ll screw up the greeting, by the time I get to the pushing buttons part I’m already disoriented by my earlier flub. Sheesh.

Here’s my self-calculated efficiency rating for today:

Flubbed Greetings: aforementioned 80%
Dropped calls: 25%
Wrong extensions: 30% (usually mixing up the 2 Howards, one of whom is our President, eek)
Missed calls: 40%

Not too bad for my first stint as a receptionist. Seeing as I excel in the workplace, in no time I’ll be running at top shape and be named New Employee of the Month. Cocky, aren’t I?

To finish things off, I leave you with an excerpt from a Gchat conversation with my buddy, Emcee, about my first day of work:

Emcee: You should answer the phone with an accent
Emcee: like British
Me: I would if no one was around to hear me answering the telly
Me: ‘ello, ‘appy ‘olidays from bright ull electric!
Emcee: heheeehe
Emcee: or French
Emcee: ello happy holidaze from zee bright all EE lektrique
Me: hahahah Oui!

Man, work without Gchat would be like overtime without DVR. Wordmasters, hooo!

We are Family

Dear Glob,

I have a big Family. Listed in age order, there’s:
Father
Mother
Big Sister 1, P.
Big Sister 2, Mojo
Me (Chewie)
Little Brother

I’ve always felt that my Family would be excellent contestants on Family Feud. After the fact that we would have to duke it out on which 5 would represent Team Trout, we would be unstoppable! Our blazing competitive streak would always ensure us victory… that and our nasty trash talking and do whatever it takes to WIN attitudes.

To be honest, it’s not really fair to assign these attributes to everyone in my Family, when it’s usually only P. and I arguing about the Uno house rules while Mojo and Little Brother just want to get on with the game. I guess Mother Nature made sure to equally distribute certain personality traits to keep the Family from killing each other over a game of Monopoly. Delving deeper into the issue, there are more strange alternating characteristics weaved into my family’s genetics:

Father is right handed.
Mother is left handed.
P. writes with the right hand.
Mojo writes with the left.
Chewie is always right!
Little Brother’s always left.

Spooky, huh? But the symmetry doesn’t end there:

Father’s blood type is O+.
Mother’s is A+.
P. can only receive blood from a group O individual.
Mojo can receive blood from individuals of groups of A and O.
Chewie’s blood serum contains IgM antibodies against A and B antigens.
Little Brother has the A antigen on the surface of his Red Blood Cells.

And it gets way better. When it comes to boozing:

Father is a champ.
Mother is a cheap date.
P. was won over by the Whale when he sent her a case of Guinness via the US Postal service.
Mojo gets krunky after a glass of Sauvignon Blanc – Woohooo!
Hello, my name is Chewie [“Hi Chewie!”] and I’m an alcoholic.
Little Brother takes Pepcid AC to avoid the Asian Blush. <--- CLICK HERE!

I know I usually never encourage reader to press on links, but, trust me, this one is worth it. Alcohol flush reaction... What kind of a DNA mutation is that? If evolution had any sense of humor, it would have given Asians a cool super power, like bending time and space, instead of stupid red faces.

It's the most BUNderful time of the year!

Dear Glob,

Today was the long awaited "Bun Bash." In the midst of all the hectic revelry and screaming at the top of my lungs singing, I have developed a slight case of laryngitis... So in the spirit of my new Mime status, here is a picture blog of the party mayhem:

On the Menu:
CinnaBUNs and, as described by pinky the cat, "Roast Pork Buns,
Roast Pork Buns, One a penny, two a penny, Roast Pork Buns"

The Whale recites a Poem for the Bun:

Camerado, I give you my hand!
I give you my love more precious than money,
I give you myself before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?
excerpt from "Song of the open Road" by Walt Whitman

Guess the size of the Oven! Estimates ranged from 26 in. (aka people being nice - lame) to 60 in. (Ok, so I was way off).

In the end, P. measured in at exactly 39 inches. Luna J. came through with big the win, although I suspect she used her Doula magic to somehow cheat.







P. and the Whale decided to keep the gender of the Bun a secret, so guests contributed Name Suggestions for each possibility:

Sample Boy Names - Wesley, Charile, Fintan, Amhairghin (pronounced Ah-var-in), Padraig, Che, John Paul George Ringo, Miko

Sample Girl Names - Perpetua, Clarissa, Giselle, Sarielle, Mijin, Eoife (pronounced Ee-fah), Cassidy, Miko

Sample Pirate Names - Jack Sparrow, Sinbad, Magellan, Flinty McGee, Holmesy, Dread Pirate Roberts, Captain Miko

Name that Baby!

Can you guess who this amazingly super cool banged girl is?

Hint: Her name rhymes with Dyork.

The wall of "Design Your Own Onesie" creations

Print reads: Offspring of the Whale. "It Blows"

Some other notable favorites not worthy of the "extreme close up" priority:
1) I can't Read!
2) What happens at Lola's, stays at Lola's
3) If you think I'm cute, check out my brother (with a picture of a basset hound)
4) I've got a [Whale drawing] of a Dad
5) Obama '08

And, naturally, I saved the best for last (mine):

How's that for reversal of stereotypes? Funny, when P. and the Whale dine out, food runners usually place the hamburger and fries in front of the Herbivore and the goat cheese salad in front of the Carnivore. Geez, don't you know that when you assume you make an Ass out of U and Me?

Throughout the course of the day, there was...

Dancin' and Jammin'!

Balloonin' and Spoonin'!

And everyone had a "Bun"derful time! Oh dear... Bun, please come soon. We're all waiting for you with bated breath.

Supermarket Sweep!

Dear Glob,

My roommate (aka Mother) is a bad influence. Today she feigned sickness to come home 2 hours earlier, and also plans to take tomorrow off with the same weird excuse that her "bones ache." Sheesh, how am I ever suppose to learn good work habits with her in the house? Anyway since she was home early, we decided to go on a Shoprite run to buy foodstuffs for the upcoming soiree...

The Bun Bash: a Party
shamelessly abusing the
"There's a Bun in the oven"
theme to the point of overkill
Saturday, Dec. 2 @ 1pm

...I love going to the grocery with Mother, especially nowadays when I get put whatever the hell I want in the cart, no questions asked!!! When we were a young family, Mother would keep us on a tight budget, not allowing us brand named frivolities. Instead of Coco Puffs, we would have Coco Comets. We played with Maxie in lieu of Barbie. And when we pleaded for Fruit Roll Ups, Mother brushed us off with the same dreaded word: "Someday..." This was a frequent occurrence:

Little Chewie: Mommy, can I have a Happy Meal?
Mother: Someday...
Little Chewie: Sad meal, sad meal.*

Soon all 4 of us grew up, and Mother began to indulge us with all of our childhood fancies. Oh joy and rapture unforeseen! Not only did we have Fruit Roll Ups, but our pantry usually contained at least 3 boxes of different flavors to accommodate each kid's preference. In the event that more than one of us were partial to Shockin' Rockin' Red Razzberry, Mother would even make sure to stock up to avoid sibling squabbles. This amazing development has turned into one of my worst vices, and I constantly have to hold myself back from buying Little Chewie cravings.

Sadly as I grew older, my body/taste buds drastically changed. I now know that I can't eat McDonald's without feeling a little bit woozy, and that Geno's pizza just doesn't taste as good as it did before. So today as walked through the cereal isle, I tried to ignore Little Chewie's fond memories of Fruity Pebbles, because I know I'd probably have one bowl, be disappointed and let the barely eaten box grow stale. And I hate wasting food.

Little Chewie: But we rarely got to eat Fruity Pebbles back in the day. Sad meal, sad meal.

Yes, I know Little Chewie. This is the reason I can't wait for the next generation of Buns to arrive so I can spoil them silly with the hyperactive sugar filled food of my youth... and, of course, so I can once again relive a bowl of Fruity Pebbles with Little Chewie.





*Although all of this "depravity" is indeed true, I still believe I had the most rich and wonderful childhood experience. Thanks Parents!