Monday, October 03, 2005


madge: "that's right! your esophagus is soaking in it!"

i know i'm so behind on updating. here's a recap of the weekend!

dinner at aunt x's: dinner ended up being rather entertaining. aunt x's daughter also joined us and we four enjoyed very lively if lengthy repast. there was a great deal of full-volume crosstalk and a lot of pohhh-poh-poh-pohing about my father's insane wife's antics. we looked at some pictures and took some, too. saw our front door from her back porch window and cursed at the flock of lovebirds held captive there trying to chime in with our discussion. as we left, they lavished many compliments on casey and, as is wont for greek immigrants to do, even ptou-soued him. yes, greek people do pretend to spit on babies, brides, and the very fortunate. no, they don't actually spit on people like my big fat greek wedding.

that night, i could not sleep from the raging t.g.s i was suffering. not toxic shock syndrome; toxic garlic syndrome! i'm not using cloves of garlic as some ecologically-sound, sustainable tampon. i'm saying the delightful vegetarian fare my sweet thea prepared was virtually translucent for all the pureed garlic in it. laying in bed, i had visions of detatching my entire tongue and placing it in a bowl of palmolive.

saturday night's alright: friday, we treated our sour stomachs to bubble tea and mac-'n'-cheese and, on saturday, worked on the garden. i planted one hundred daffodil bulbs and casey strung up snake lights around the arbor for our pizza party with dina, riccardo, and nicole. too much canned special export was drunk [cack!] and many, many s'mores were eaten. we got in a few rounds of fusion frenzy on the xbox and before we knew it, it was 1:30a! my right arm started to ache and burn-- i seem to have strained something in my wrist from digging.

christening: the ceremony seemed almost as if conducted at an el-stop. one small shift of people arrived on time. people stood and walked in and out, carrying squalling toddlers by the arm, oblivious to the encantations. others milled about to get a better view as the priest swiftly performed his rites. the most southerly cousins sauntered in, mumbling sotto voce about the drive all the way up to the north shore while sliding into pews. some more members of the immediate family [including fire-aunt and uncle, the grandparents!] arrived mid- to post-ceremony, joining the small cluster of people who believe it really does take eight adults to change a toddler into a christening suit. despite the lack of focus, it was cool: the priest's sermon incorporated some etymology lessons on the words charisma and enthusiastic. he explained the symbolism of the water, the vessel, the olive oil, etc. i was pretty damn riveted. nonetheless, do i see a baby vinaigrette in my future? not so much.

ladies who lunch: afterward, the luncheon was okay. i think the waitstaff was rock-paper-scissoring to see who would have to go tend to the circus of eleventy rugrats scampering about underfoot of a half dozen very boisterous, assertive women. the fire-aunt again acted as though she sees me so infrequently that she doesn't recognize me [i have seen her more in the last three months than i usually do in five years] and remind me yet again that she doesn't like my hair black so don't dye my hair black again ever never she doesn't like it yuck. the last time my hair was "dark brown" [according to the bottle], it was 1997, guys. when i scrambled for my keys in a fervent attempt to flee the scene, she bellowed exhortations to keep in touch, bouncing the grandchild she refuses to call by her given, very modern american name. i took a step towards the door and cheerily chirped, "okay!" and she screeched, "oh, yeah? it's always 'okay' -- when?! huh?!" i replied, "how about you? how 'bout when are you gonna keep in touch?" realizing i got her there, she reached up and wrapped her tanned bejeweled arms around my neck for a boa-constricting hug with a hissing, snake-like laugh.

learning what 'hanging out' means: spent the evening babysitting snuggly, green-pooping lickey and marveling at c.j.'s knowledge of which racecar numbers correlate to which nascar drivers. we explained that mom and dad were coming home later, but we came over to hang out with him, and he asked, "what's hanging, queso?"

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