Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Promotional Pens

Ever wonder about pens? Promotional pens?

Trapped outside my store, waiting for the locksmith (stupid fucking gate) and I’m writing with this pen from the Marshall Environmental Group

Why do I have this pen?

I have no idea when I could have encountered anyone from the Marshall Environmental Group.

I doubt when Mr. Marshall ordered these, a malcontent manager scribbling in a Batman Notebook was the foreseen destiny.

I wonder how many people have pens from companies they know nothing about, and do not care to know anything about?

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

This is my son.

His name is Samuel David.

Samuel after this guy, who once saved my husband's life, and David after my father.

God, he's Beautiful.

Friday, August 26, 2005

I wrote this last month, but only got to type it today.

On the Red Line

I’m back. I almost cried when I saw the Citgo sign.

Where to today? Park, I think. Get the blanket down and people watch. Then lunch. I want to hit Q.Market, check out zoinks! Harvard, maybe? I haven’t been to the North End in a while. Or Newbury Street.

Frog Pond

Every season is my favorite in this city. I picked a good day. It’s hot, but there’s a cool breeze, so lots of people are out. Little kids are everywhere, shrieking as they run around the fountain. They get yelled at by the lifeguards. Not so much yelled at as intercom'd at.

Man, she’s a downer. I love how they always end these long lists of strictness with “and have a nice day.”

I can’t wait to come here with my kids.

I love seeing people who are just sitting. Not reading, not conversing, just taking the Summer in.

Little girl walks by in a sun dress and flip flops. She’s 3 or 4. “This is the best day of the whole summer!” She says, for no particular reason. I turned to smile at her, but she doesn’t notice because she is focusing on walking in a very straight line on a sidewalk crack. “Yup.” her Dad (I assume) says. I catch his eye and he grins. People love it when strangers notice how cute their kids are.

I’m not hungry, but I know I should eat soon. I just don’t want to leave this spot.

I love tourists! I’m not a native to Boston, but I’m not a tourist, either. I guess that’s why I can think they’re so cute as they listen to the guy dressed as

o h c o o l b r e e z e

Paul Revere with rapt attention. Him I pity, though. He must be melting!

Hunh. There is a giant inflatable army man walking through the park. Why didn’t I bring my camera?

Schlepp around Downtown Crossing. Finagle myself a bagel.

Retreat to the air conditioning of Borders for a while.

Read Hot Mama. I like how it used to be thought that we pregnant women were magical, goddess-like, all because of the mystery of our biology. I really wish we could go back to that. I mean, we’re pretty damn sexy with our soft skin, full breasts and curvy bellies. We’re making life, how much does that kick ass!

Quincy Market

zoinks! is gone. Dammit dammit dammit. That was their last store. I so wanted them to make it.

It hasn’t ruined the day, though.

I think I’ll go home now. I may spend more time driving in and out of the city today than actually in it. So do not care. Worth it!

I’m hot and tired and sweaty, but very very content.

Home to a cool shower.

Thursday, August 11, 2005

Sitting in my husband's Passat, I had a horrible thought.

Are we yuppies?

We can't be. We're two cool kids just out of college, newlyweds. We have a headless Kenny doll! How many yuppies have a headless Kenny doll?

My husband pointed out that we are Whole Foods shopping, Mac owning, VW driving adults. We are not "just out of college", we left in 2001, and have been married for four years. We're about to become parents.

I stood in the kitchen with my fingers in my ears, wearing my GeeKISSexy T shirt, yelling "Yuppies are lame, we're cool! Yuppies are lame, we're cool!" over and over. It's not like we're planning to name our kid Connor or Sienna (not that I'm judging).

We're still renting! I work in retail! I read comic books! I have Strong Bad and Teen Girl Squad bumper stickers on my Golf! Half of my friends are covered with piercing and tattoos!


Hm. Looking at that statement...even if I am not a yuppie, I may still be lame.

Friday, August 05, 2005


It happened on Tuesday, but I have hesitated to write about it. Her hips gave out and she couldn't move. Mom said she was shaking in pain, and the vet said there was nothing they could do. It was excruciating for my parents, but there was no way they could let her live paralyzed and in pain.

There are so many people who don't take the death of pets seriously. She had been in my life longer than my sister. Fourteen years. We knew it would happen soon. For some reason (something I must ask God about when I get to heaven) our best friends age seven years faster than we do.

When we got her, I was twelve. My parents took me into a room wriggling with pembroke welsh corgi puppies. Mom pointed out the one she had decided on. She was so small, I could cup her in my two hands. A tiny ball of fuzz (the same color as my hair). I sat down and picked her up. She stuck out her little tongue and gave me a doggie grin. Their tails are docked at birth because of back problems. She couldn't wag her tail, so her entire lower half was wagging. She was so soft, I cuddled her next to my face, and she gave me kisses. Then she peed on my knees.

Two years later, our nine year old cat died. The cat became patient with Molly's constant licking of the top of his head. Towards the end of our cat's life, he looked like Billy Idol. Molly wandered around the house for days, confused, looking for her favorite playmate.

Four years later, we brought my sister home, and Molly seemed to think that she was hers. She licked her face "clean" every time we put the baby on the floor. She paced around her when she was playing on the floor, and sniffed anyone, even me and my parents when we tried to get close to her.

Two and a half years ago, my parents had a lot of guests for Christmas, so my husband and I slept on the pull out couch in the den. Molly came in one morning when I was up watching cartoons with my sister. Husband was still asleep. She hopped up on the couch and squirmed through the sheets and blankets until she was snuggled up next to his head on the pillow. She put her nose right to his, as if she wanted to see how long before he realized a dog was breathing in his face. My sister and I raced for the camera. It's one of my parents' favorite pictures.

When my father was away in Iraq, she was so depressed. She looked up at his recliner every day, then back at us. We tried to explain it to her, but she didn't understand. She was afraid he'd gone the same way as the cat. She was hugely relieved when he came back for ten days leave. She was fine after he left again. She knew he'd come back. He said one day over the phone "If anything happens to her while I'm gone, please don't tell me. I can't handle it."

Her bark was so loud and deep, guests were always shocked every time they entered the house and saw this teeny little dog. She barked every time the phone rang for fourteen years. Corgis are bred to be cattle herders, and she always walked around the perimeter of a room when people were in it. Making sure everyone was accounted for.

She loved us so much. We loved her. I hope she knew how much.