Wow, I got a lot of emails about the last fight post, all of them angry, lecturing, or just plain condescending. Sorry to upset you kind readers.
So, in an effort to lighten the mood here at lada land a bit, a joke:
Hillary Clinton and John McCain are stuck in a life boat in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Who is saved?
...
...
America!
Ha!
Wait, I suppose a political joke might make more people angry. Don't email me angry people.
101 Things to do (or don't) before you die - #42:
Do be friends with your ex.
Don't wait idly.
- lada goes fish
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
The First Fight (S.o.E.)
I am absolutely ridiculous.
(That is going to be the only intelligent sentence in this entire post. I give you fair warning.)
I have never been in a fight. I have never taken a punch, nor thrown one, and I have often wondered what it feels like to take a swing at someone’s face. Well, this being the Summer of Experiences, I decided to find out.
A couple of my most bad-ass, guy friends took me out the other night with one goal in mind: bar fight. (Well, two goals actually, the first goal was to drink beer, which was kind of necessary if we were going to accomplish the second goal: bar fight.) We headed to this dive bar in a poorly lit strip mall, ordered a round, and settled in for the night to see what would happen. An hour or so after arriving, my friend Chip found a perfect target - a complete tool of a guy wearing a cowboy hat, designer fashionably-ripped jeans, pointy toe boots, and overpowering cologne.
Over the next several hours (as I was trying to build up some liquid courage) my two friends laid a pretty good pre-fight foundation. They made fun of the guy about his hat, talked a lot of shit over a couple games of pool, and in general, got the guy pretty ticked off at us. At one point, Cowboy started bitching and Chip said to him, “Quit whining and take your skirt off.”
The target was primed.
The end of the night found all of us out on the bar’s patio. It was late and I figured that it was about time things went down; I had Abe* on my left and Chip on my right and we were ready. I started talking and being rather snotty to Cowboy and he told me I should go back to New York where I came from. I decided to blow this comment way out of proportion and started yelling in his face about not being from New York. Did I look like I was from New York? Did I fucking sound like I was from New York? Shut your filthy mouth about me being from New York, asshole! (Since I am clearly not from the South, New York would normally be a legitimate and inoffensive guess, but hey, I was trying to pick a fight.)
So Cowboy did not appreciate my excessive yelling; he was pissed and told me he was going to pour his beer on my head. I responded by putting a cigarette out on the leg of his fancy jeans. He stood then, got right up in my face (I’m going to guess about 6’2” to my impressive 5’6”), and continued to make threatening noises. At that point, my good friend Chip stepped forward. He gave me this long look followed by a condescending pat on the back to calm me down, and then he took my beer away from me. The Cowboy completely forgotten, I rounded on Chip. How dare he - after all of our planning, after all of my nervousness, after all the how-to-throw-a-decent-punch-and-not-break-your-hand lessons, after I had made a fool of myself in front of a lot of people by yelling nonsense about not being from New York – now that we were a hairsbreadth away from actually throwing down, he was going to take my beer (implying that I had had too much to drink) and give me a soothing pat on the back! I ignored the Cowboy, called Chip an asshole, spun on my heel, and left.
Well, for those of you who know guy code, you probably realize what an idiot I am. For those who don’t know the code, I will explain what took me about an hour and a couple late night angry/confused/apologetic conversations to fully understand:
1. The long look he gave me meant, “You can do this!” not, “Behave yourself.”
2. The pat on my shoulder was not to calm me down, it was meant as encouragement. It said, “We are here and we’ve got your back.”
3. The taking of my beer was not to imply that I had had enough to drink, it was to free up my hand so I could more easily swing.
Damn. After all that, I gave up a golden opportunity to check “get into a fight” off my list of things to do during this Summer of Experiences, and all because of some misinterpreted pre-fight signals. Is there a “Man Code for Dummies” book out there that I can study? It was a hell of an interesting evening nonetheless, I just sometimes I wish I weren’t such a dumb, frightened girl.
101 Things to do (or don't) before you die - #41:
Do go to a shooting range and actually hit the target.
Don't make tuna salad with mayonnaise.
- lada is so hot, she will make you sexist
*a.k.a. Surfer Boy
(That is going to be the only intelligent sentence in this entire post. I give you fair warning.)
I have never been in a fight. I have never taken a punch, nor thrown one, and I have often wondered what it feels like to take a swing at someone’s face. Well, this being the Summer of Experiences, I decided to find out.
A couple of my most bad-ass, guy friends took me out the other night with one goal in mind: bar fight. (Well, two goals actually, the first goal was to drink beer, which was kind of necessary if we were going to accomplish the second goal: bar fight.) We headed to this dive bar in a poorly lit strip mall, ordered a round, and settled in for the night to see what would happen. An hour or so after arriving, my friend Chip found a perfect target - a complete tool of a guy wearing a cowboy hat, designer fashionably-ripped jeans, pointy toe boots, and overpowering cologne.
Over the next several hours (as I was trying to build up some liquid courage) my two friends laid a pretty good pre-fight foundation. They made fun of the guy about his hat, talked a lot of shit over a couple games of pool, and in general, got the guy pretty ticked off at us. At one point, Cowboy started bitching and Chip said to him, “Quit whining and take your skirt off.”
The target was primed.
The end of the night found all of us out on the bar’s patio. It was late and I figured that it was about time things went down; I had Abe* on my left and Chip on my right and we were ready. I started talking and being rather snotty to Cowboy and he told me I should go back to New York where I came from. I decided to blow this comment way out of proportion and started yelling in his face about not being from New York. Did I look like I was from New York? Did I fucking sound like I was from New York? Shut your filthy mouth about me being from New York, asshole! (Since I am clearly not from the South, New York would normally be a legitimate and inoffensive guess, but hey, I was trying to pick a fight.)
So Cowboy did not appreciate my excessive yelling; he was pissed and told me he was going to pour his beer on my head. I responded by putting a cigarette out on the leg of his fancy jeans. He stood then, got right up in my face (I’m going to guess about 6’2” to my impressive 5’6”), and continued to make threatening noises. At that point, my good friend Chip stepped forward. He gave me this long look followed by a condescending pat on the back to calm me down, and then he took my beer away from me. The Cowboy completely forgotten, I rounded on Chip. How dare he - after all of our planning, after all of my nervousness, after all the how-to-throw-a-decent-punch-and-not-break-your-hand lessons, after I had made a fool of myself in front of a lot of people by yelling nonsense about not being from New York – now that we were a hairsbreadth away from actually throwing down, he was going to take my beer (implying that I had had too much to drink) and give me a soothing pat on the back! I ignored the Cowboy, called Chip an asshole, spun on my heel, and left.
Well, for those of you who know guy code, you probably realize what an idiot I am. For those who don’t know the code, I will explain what took me about an hour and a couple late night angry/confused/apologetic conversations to fully understand:
1. The long look he gave me meant, “You can do this!” not, “Behave yourself.”
2. The pat on my shoulder was not to calm me down, it was meant as encouragement. It said, “We are here and we’ve got your back.”
3. The taking of my beer was not to imply that I had had enough to drink, it was to free up my hand so I could more easily swing.
Damn. After all that, I gave up a golden opportunity to check “get into a fight” off my list of things to do during this Summer of Experiences, and all because of some misinterpreted pre-fight signals. Is there a “Man Code for Dummies” book out there that I can study? It was a hell of an interesting evening nonetheless, I just sometimes I wish I weren’t such a dumb, frightened girl.
101 Things to do (or don't) before you die - #41:
Do go to a shooting range and actually hit the target.
Don't make tuna salad with mayonnaise.
- lada is so hot, she will make you sexist
*a.k.a. Surfer Boy
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Mommie
There have been a lot of beautiful things written about mothers – they have been eloquent, poetic, profound and touching. I am not even going to try and compete with what others have already written so well. I will just say, this is why I love you:
The Beatles / the greatest Halloween costumes ever / row-butt / cross-stitching / the drives to Cincinnati / My Fair Lady / Joseph / The Lion King / Cats / Les Misérables / Wicked / The Nutcracker / The Blue Man Group / Second City / poodle skirts and fuzzy white coats / burnt Thanksgiving turkeys / "Hay is for horses, we all know that, but Karen can't remember 'cause her brain is flat!" / the organ, the accordion, and the xylophone / I am Sam and smeared mascara / shoes and more shoes / the night I found out Santa wasn’t real / Trivial Pursuits / daily trips to John’s Apple Market / The infamous story of the iron that was not actually left on / The Dark Crystal / thrift store shopping / boyfriends and the Chili’s curse / "We love you DiAnne, oh yes we do, we don’t love anyone as much as you" / the weekend cleaning list / Sheryl Crow / Travis / Eric Clapton / Paul McCartney / The Wombles! / Fam-damn-ly / cold pork chops / "We loved you enough to let you go even though we couldn’t, as parents, actually let you go" / Nightmare before Christmas / Sundays at the cathedral / painting our nails / crabapple bread from the tree in the backyard / black cars, black cat, black clothes / writing thank you notes 101 / boo bear and boober fraggle / "You should just see if they will give you a deal for a second car…"/ unicorns on the curtains / King’s Island / The Book of Bedtime Stories (and the traveling doughnut) / an awesome Mental Health Day starring James and the Giant Peach / St. Nick stockings / the first day of school / John Lennon onesies / earmuffs...
There are countless more. And countless more to come.
Happy Mother's Day to the women who is truly a saint.
101 Things to do (or don't) before you die - #40:
Do get a free upgrade on a plane.
Don’t expect all art to be pretty.
- lada will meet the Letter People; lada will visit the family
The Beatles / the greatest Halloween costumes ever / row-butt / cross-stitching / the drives to Cincinnati / My Fair Lady / Joseph / The Lion King / Cats / Les Misérables / Wicked / The Nutcracker / The Blue Man Group / Second City / poodle skirts and fuzzy white coats / burnt Thanksgiving turkeys / "Hay is for horses, we all know that, but Karen can't remember 'cause her brain is flat!" / the organ, the accordion, and the xylophone / I am Sam and smeared mascara / shoes and more shoes / the night I found out Santa wasn’t real / Trivial Pursuits / daily trips to John’s Apple Market / The infamous story of the iron that was not actually left on / The Dark Crystal / thrift store shopping / boyfriends and the Chili’s curse / "We love you DiAnne, oh yes we do, we don’t love anyone as much as you" / the weekend cleaning list / Sheryl Crow / Travis / Eric Clapton / Paul McCartney / The Wombles! / Fam-damn-ly / cold pork chops / "We loved you enough to let you go even though we couldn’t, as parents, actually let you go" / Nightmare before Christmas / Sundays at the cathedral / painting our nails / crabapple bread from the tree in the backyard / black cars, black cat, black clothes / writing thank you notes 101 / boo bear and boober fraggle / "You should just see if they will give you a deal for a second car…"/ unicorns on the curtains / King’s Island / The Book of Bedtime Stories (and the traveling doughnut) / an awesome Mental Health Day starring James and the Giant Peach / St. Nick stockings / the first day of school / John Lennon onesies / earmuffs...
There are countless more. And countless more to come.
Happy Mother's Day to the women who is truly a saint.
101 Things to do (or don't) before you die - #40:
Do get a free upgrade on a plane.
Don’t expect all art to be pretty.
- lada will meet the Letter People; lada will visit the family
Monday, May 05, 2008
¿Qué?
Es otro Cinco de Mayo...
(La clase de la lengua en Perú no es hasta Junio, tan éste va a ser corto y dulce.)
Quiero dar las gracias a todos mis amigos y familia (y los muchachos) que me han ayudado últimamente. He sido egoísta y molesto y soy agradecido para su comprensión y paciencia. Yo corazón usted quien hacen mi vida hermosa.
¡Salud!
101 Cosas que hacer (o no) antes de morir - #39:
Vaya a las razas de perros.
No deja una batería de coche muerta ser una inconveniencia.
- lada prefiere la torta encima muerte
(La clase de la lengua en Perú no es hasta Junio, tan éste va a ser corto y dulce.)
Quiero dar las gracias a todos mis amigos y familia (y los muchachos) que me han ayudado últimamente. He sido egoísta y molesto y soy agradecido para su comprensión y paciencia. Yo corazón usted quien hacen mi vida hermosa.
¡Salud!
101 Cosas que hacer (o no) antes de morir - #39:
Vaya a las razas de perros.
No deja una batería de coche muerta ser una inconveniencia.
- lada prefiere la torta encima muerte
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