Cherry Pie
April 16th, 2007
They’re gone…or rather, they were. This morning, we had roughly 15 minutes of peace. Sweet, beautifully quiet peace full of nothing but warm breezes, (imaginary, Weight Watchers-approved) peach cobbler and mint juleps and vodka and giant blue cheese-stuffed olives and sunshine! Lots of sunshine!
Except it isn’t sunny in the Northeast. No, no. It’s a MONSOON, thankyouverymuch, and flights! Flights are canceled! Everywhere!
My in-laws, they linger beyond their initial departure date. And it’s fine, it’s really fine! Fine! But we’re tired. So very tired, although they’re probably much, much more tired than we are, and this situation is exhausting for everyone involved.
The weekend in a nutshell: Eat. Sleep. Talk. Talk. Talk. Eat. Eat. Eat. Talk. Eat. Talk. Hold baby. Eat. Talk. Pull crap out of dog’s mouth. Talk. Talk. Talk. Eat. Eat. Eat. Talk. Talk. Talk oh my God TALK.
Or, if you’re me, during all of that eating, you’re standing around looking forlornly at things like pizza! Cream cheese! DONUTS! whilst munching sadly on a pathetic little broccoli stalk and wondering why you can’t just suck it up and get fat again already, because at least oh my God AT LEAST your mouth would be full so you could have five minutes without having to talk.
Here’s the thing, though: Truthfully, I enjoy houseguests. I like the process of preparing baskets of wee toiletries and fresh sheets and warm towels and buying a ridiculous amount of breakfast foods that no one ever eats (Eggo waffles! Bagels! Eggs! BACON!), and it’s a little soothing to have a house full of people twittering around at all hours. I can even handle the talking, but after a certain point of being perpetually on like a 60-watt light bulb, you just start to crumble, and it comes out in unexpected ways. You know, like getting in someone else’s car or staring at a calculator and wondering aloud what kind of MIRACULOUS MACHINE is this, one that adds, subtracts and divides without a pencil?
We’re done in that fork-in-eye sense, and the fact that our black Honda Accord up and died a pathetic coughing death this morning left us relatively unscathed, because we’re just too tired to care. Also, the fact that my hair looks vaguely short mullet-esque and is the shade – the exact shade, once again – of Ronald McDonald’s only dawned on me this morning, leaving me with the horrible decision to ponder: do I let Squiggy, he of extreme hair dramatics and weak disposition, fix it, despite the fact that this is his second identical offense? Or do I go somewhere else, risking Squiggy’s eternal ire and potentially damaging clairvoyance and Carrie-like powers? The wrong decision could leave my head a thousand shades of red, either from a pool of blood or a botched color job.
However, I think someone else is going to have to decide, because I’m too tired to do anything but drink a big glass of leftover white zinfandel (my sister in law’s drink of choice) and stare blankly into space.
*Warrant. As I wrote this, I was watching a VH1 “Where Are They Now?” on Celebrity Fit Club contestants, which detailed the weight loss journeys of such iconic figures as Jackee, Gunnar Nelson and former Warrant lead singer Jani Lane who won’t stop singing – you guessed it – Cherry Pie. Not surprisingly, he won’t stop talking about how desperately he wants to move on.
Entry Filed under: Nuttin'
16 Comments Add your own
1. Meepers | April 16th, 2007 at 11:57 pm
Darnit! I was *sure* you’d be following that last post with one titled “She’s Lost Control” and detailing whacky antics with family. But this is even better. I think I’d risk another stylist if he’s done this TWICE already. This is why I flit from one place to the next…
2. Gentry | April 17th, 2007 at 3:50 am
Bacon?!! Bad Jewess!
3. Swistle | April 17th, 2007 at 4:39 am
I’m always Very Nervous about dealing with hairdressers. I tend to go overboard blaming MY OWN SELF for what they did, and begging Their Excellencies to fix it. Like, I might say that MY HAIR had taken/turned their color wrong, and oh dear oh dear did they think they could possibly fix it using all their genius?
Man, I don’t like myself anymore.
4. Claire | April 17th, 2007 at 5:04 am
The calculator as Miraculous Machine? That is awesome. I wish i could steal that line, but i have no idea when something like that would come up in idle coversation. Probably because it never would. Too funny.
5. Sadie | April 17th, 2007 at 5:46 am
Wow, you really must be tired, because neither the death of your car nor the drinking of WHITE ZINFANDEL is phasing you. Impressive.
I would write more, but I have to finish up this ark I am building, here in monsoony New England.
6. TwoBusy | April 17th, 2007 at 6:37 am
Ditto on everything Sadie said.
(White zin? Seriously?)
7. Lawyerish | April 17th, 2007 at 7:09 am
Oh, dear. Someone send help – she’s willingly drinking white zinfandel!
And you must quit Squiggy. I’m sorry, but it’s for the best.
8. Spring | April 17th, 2007 at 7:11 am
“On like a 60-watt bulb.” What a perfect way to describe what it’s like to be around in-laws for more than a few days at a time. I love mine so much, but I have to try super hard not to cuss around them. It’s so tough to go more than 48 hours without a good, cathartic release of word toxins.
9. jonniker | April 17th, 2007 at 7:35 am
Re: white zin. Seriously. Look, I don’t know why anyone is surprised, given that I’m usually drinking refrigerated Target-brand pinot noir. I have a giant, screaming jug of it in the house now, as it’s the only thing my sister-in-law drinks, save for boxed chablis. I’m not saying I’m loving it, but at this point, wine is wine, and it’s all we’ve got.
10. Jamie | April 17th, 2007 at 7:57 am
Ish is right. Squiggy needs to be voted off the island. In the long run, it’s for the best and your hair will thank you.
11. Beth | April 17th, 2007 at 8:33 am
Yep, if a stylist fails you twice (and don’t get me started on all the crazy behavior), it’s over. Surely there are a gabillion qualified stylists to choose from in your county. Just find a photo of yourself in which you really liked your hair, bring that to the new stylist, discuss…and you’ll be looking great.
12. Andrea | April 17th, 2007 at 11:36 am
If a stylist fails you twice, they have no business inflicting damaging clairvoyance and Carrie-like powers onto you. If they fail you twice in the same way, they should hang their head in shame and pay for your first visit to another stylist.
Hey, we should have invited each other to our respective eat.eat.eat.talk.talk.talk. to dos. I could have stood next to you with my carrots and bag of grapes and concentrated on the talk.talk.talk. without stealing longing glances at the little weenies in dough (pigs in a blanket, depending on your region) and the cute little vegetable pizza that was so slathered in cream cheese as to render any caloric reduction null and void. Those little weenies looked so cozy and warm in their dough blankies. I wanted one. Or six. But! I resisted. Hopefully my pants size will reward me. I don’t know how many Sunnys I’ve lost, if even a whole one, but I’m down 10 pounds. Probably because I spent more time talking at my gathering than eating. For once.
13. Danell | April 17th, 2007 at 2:17 pm
baskets of toiletries? fresh sheets? WARM TOWELS??
My preparation for houseguests consists of vacuuming up the largest of the piles of dog hair and making sure there are at least three squares of TP left on the roll in the guest bathroom.
14. Melanie | April 17th, 2007 at 6:04 pm
Ugh. That’s partially why I’m so scared to diet – because where’s my crutch if I do? I have that same symptom if I have people over longer than an hour or two – I want to escape and just be alone for 5 minutes, because the people are too much for me. I’m way too used to solitude.
15. Beth | April 17th, 2007 at 6:35 pm
Hey, I’m coming to visit. We’ll be there tomorrow, save me a waffle.
16. Gentry | April 18th, 2007 at 1:48 am
There is nothing wrong with Zinfandel. But full on refrigeration for a pinot noir is a horrible american cliché that you’re perpetuating. Please don’t say you use ice cubes. Wine is wine. Boxed or bottled. If you like the taste of it, you should drink it. This message brought to you from a certified French person who enjoys a 6€ bottle of wine as much as a €60 one. (If the 6€ one is good…and there are many good, inexpensive wines)
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