 Rolling in Edamame |
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Last night after yoga, which I attended in the attempt to pull myself out of the bog of eternal stench that was yesterday, my sister and I were sitting on the couch enjoying some edamame and some Bachelor when Zuko stuck his nose into the bowl of emptied edamame pods that was sitting on the coffee table, knocked it onto the floor, and rooted around in the strewn about pods like a hog until realizing what I was shouting to him, "Zuko, you don't even like edamame!" was actually true, and then he just lay down in the edamame. He lay down in the edamame and rolled around. On the wet, salty, empty pods of edamame, grounding them into my pretty area rug. I tried to act as horrified as my sister looked, but on the inside, I was laughing my ass off. Zuko was not going to get up until he was satisfied that he had squashed every pod to smithereens, and when he was done, he stood up, shook it off, and ran into his crate like some kind of a circus performer whose star act is to writhe around ecstatically and defiantly in discarded soybean carcasses. And he just wagged his tail expectantly, waiting for the treat he gets when he goes into his crate like a good dog. And of course I gave him one. And I heard my sister silently thanking herself for never even considering moving into the Elizan Zoo of Mania and Despair. Tonight we're having a birthday dinner about two weeks late for my older brother. We're going to a ribs restaurant, I'm not sure why. Who eats ribs in this day and age? Certainly not me. For his gift, I will be making him a copy of the tape of a certain soap opera wedding that took place fifteen years ago because he is as big of a dork as I am and will LOVE IT as much as I do and as much as my friend who unabashedly embraced her own dork love so fervently that she went and bought it on ebay. And let me borrow it. Yay! Seriously -- my brother and I basically loathed each other throughout the vast majority of our adolescent years, and this is the kind of shit that brought us together. We might have almost killed each other on numerous occasions, but every afternoon after school, he and my sister and I would have an hour of tranquil bonding as we sat our asses down in front of the TV and watched the tape of that day's Days episode while eating cheetos and popsicles. Even on Thanksgiving Day at the convent, we would sneak upstairs after lunch and find a nun's bedroom and watch it on her little black and white TV. I am telling you, it was pretty much the only thing he and I had in common for many, many years. So hopefully he will like the tape, and it will bring him back to when he was 15 and I was 13 and he would make me cry daily and I would ask God please not to send him to hell because I was NICE. This weekend there's a big game, apparently, so the tailgating will be happening. I am making purple and gold cookes. Oh yes I am. Because I'm supercool. My friend Shelley and Oprah are telling me that I need to step out of my box. Fighting the impulse to reply, "I've got your box right here," that's what I'm thinking about doing. Not sure how, but thinking about it is a start, I guess. My old roommate Jeannie's father-in-law died, and I showed up at the wake the other night, and our first communication was when she whispered urgently to me, "Hot Single Friend of My Husband's is here," only she used his actual name. Needless to say, Hot Single Friend of Her Husband was indeed there and looking as hot as ever, but he also looked grief-stricken and morose, and upon departure, I saw him lean over to Jeannie and whisper, "Take care of my baby," referring to her husband, his old friend, and I couldn't decide if that was creepy or cute, so I decided to decide that it was cute. So maybe I could do some box-stepping with him, but seeing as he lives one state over, I'm not seeing that happening any time soon. And in some good news to boost this week out of the shitter, the latest Shelleyness Newlyweds recap is up, and it is as straight up brilliant as usual.
© Copyright 2003 elb |
(Can you tell what DVDs I'm making my way through?) |
