Almost fully booked*
Drafted 6ish a.m., Christmas morning
It’s back to California for me, my dears. Out here a full two weeks in hopes of shortly becoming sexless in another city. We shall see how the job-hunting goes.
Meanwhile, as for the Christmas-with-family adventures, all ended rather quietly. Yesterday Grandma sent us off with bellies full of split-pea soup and more Better Than Sex Cake (for which I now have the recipe, you’ll be relieved to know; a possible Blog Reader World Series prize, Frasier/Poster Boy?).
The soup reminded me that the last time I had taken in such repast, it was at my mid-week lunch date with Hapless Hesitator (the same day I had a surprise dinner date with Hippie the Groper). God knows he gave it a good try with me — and I even shared my pumpkin pie — but the poor chap hadn’t a chance.
First off, we both had only an hour for lunch, and were working in offices a good 15 blocks or so apart. Initially he suggested the Sony Atrium, ostensibly between us though probably more convenient for him, but we ultimately lunched at the Rock ’n Roll Deli, a tiny, unromantic outfit on the edge of Central Park — and a brisk 15-20 minutes’ walk from my office.
The walk was no skin off my nose (as the grandfolks might say) but did cut our lunch to merely 30 minutes. Once inside, I found Hapless at one of three narrow booths surrounded by boxed and canned and shrink-wrapped goods stacked up to the high ceilings. Perhaps so as to better leer down at the panoply of nearly naked models and wannabes winking and bedroom-eyeing out from the headshots that papered the wall.
Hapless seemed untroubled by this flagrant display of debauchery and dubious virtue, rising to join me at the counter. We peered at the bank of stacked microwaves (four or five at least) and decided our lunch would not be complete without use of such provisions. At his suggestion, I consented to split what he promised would be a sizeable Cuban sandwich. It even came with soup! And we were still in the midst of Hanukkah after all. What better way to say “L’Chaim!” than by choking down greasy pork?
Which the sandwich had much of. But it was fairly good for a lunch I didn’t buy. And, to the Hesitator’s delight, the split-pea soup had flakes of something in it (parsley, perhaps?) which he declared proof that it was “home-made” as it should be. I thought of the dingy counter and microwave multiplex. Yes… Homemade indeed.
Grandma’s version, Friday, was more my idea of homemade soup, but hey, he grew up somewhere southern like Florida. Maybe their standards for soup and cooking are different out there.
The standards that are not different since my last visit are those of the Broadway family (maternal side) regarding Christian virtue. And as is typical in “subtle” family exhortations to piety, there were books to be dispensed.
This time I ’spose I got off easy. Plenty sibling distraction, with the two Marines in attendance, to help my relatives forget that Anna is single, aging, and has not one but two degrees in Religious Studies. God help me if they’d spied the ring! It was bad enough when Brother #1 went and got his ear pierced. Not that Grandpap didn’t make fuss over my midriff, mind you. But he was merely reacting to the unfortunate occurrence of gapping between my shirts and jeans. Not for me, the Marine Corps., he surmised. I was better suited for Naval duty. But a “belly nice girl” nonetheless.
At any rate, my piercing, degrees, and naked left hand managed to squeak by under the radar. The grandparentals doubtless felt secure knowing I am now the possessor of “How to find a godly spouse,” both parts 1 and 2, as recorded on CD for easy listening. And I suppose I might have carefully trailed a couple red herrings here and there …
But these were not enough to forestall the traditional giving of books where other relatives are concerned. The latest additions to my nightstand pile? And the Bride Wore White, some “seven secrets to sexual purity,” and the latest John Piper book, “When I don’t desire God.” Perhaps it’s because you’re desiring something other than white?
Just kidding. Actually, all the immediate Broadway fam and I received the Piper book, so its choice was hardly personal or indictment. I’m always suspicious of people who pen whole bookshelves’ worth of books, but we’ll see what Piper has to say. But don’t worry; I won’t try to sic it on you all as some secret proselytizing BOTtoM-in-disguise. That place is reserved by this month’s/quarter’s special BOTtoM: The Rise of Viagra!
I’m hoping to read a little more on my flight, but with Grandpap deeply immersed in talks of biblical man- and womanhood (the role of women being his favorite topic, as creationism is Dad’s), I wasn’t about to sneak out my blue-and-yellow book. Some fights don’t need to be fought, ya know? I mean, shocking-with-bawdy-book versus impressing-with-crazy-mad-knitting skillz … hard call (makes weighing motion with hands.). Pride and self-preservation won out. ;) It’s all about the public relations and talking points … Which is why I should go into marketing, doncha think? More on that later.
Oh, and if you find this entry less sexually charged than usual, I’ve got my excuse all ready. It’s 6 a.m. Christmas morning and I’m cooped up at the airport. What more can you ask of a girl on three hours’ sleep and one weak latte, exactly? But have no fear:
*Except for New Year’s Eve. Thoughts on how I should spend the holiday? There’s always Craigslist, but still ... Maybe this’ll require consultation with my one-time matchmaker. ;)
It’s back to California for me, my dears. Out here a full two weeks in hopes of shortly becoming sexless in another city. We shall see how the job-hunting goes.
Meanwhile, as for the Christmas-with-family adventures, all ended rather quietly. Yesterday Grandma sent us off with bellies full of split-pea soup and more Better Than Sex Cake (for which I now have the recipe, you’ll be relieved to know; a possible Blog Reader World Series prize, Frasier/Poster Boy?).
The soup reminded me that the last time I had taken in such repast, it was at my mid-week lunch date with Hapless Hesitator (the same day I had a surprise dinner date with Hippie the Groper). God knows he gave it a good try with me — and I even shared my pumpkin pie — but the poor chap hadn’t a chance.
First off, we both had only an hour for lunch, and were working in offices a good 15 blocks or so apart. Initially he suggested the Sony Atrium, ostensibly between us though probably more convenient for him, but we ultimately lunched at the Rock ’n Roll Deli, a tiny, unromantic outfit on the edge of Central Park — and a brisk 15-20 minutes’ walk from my office.
The walk was no skin off my nose (as the grandfolks might say) but did cut our lunch to merely 30 minutes. Once inside, I found Hapless at one of three narrow booths surrounded by boxed and canned and shrink-wrapped goods stacked up to the high ceilings. Perhaps so as to better leer down at the panoply of nearly naked models and wannabes winking and bedroom-eyeing out from the headshots that papered the wall.
Hapless seemed untroubled by this flagrant display of debauchery and dubious virtue, rising to join me at the counter. We peered at the bank of stacked microwaves (four or five at least) and decided our lunch would not be complete without use of such provisions. At his suggestion, I consented to split what he promised would be a sizeable Cuban sandwich. It even came with soup! And we were still in the midst of Hanukkah after all. What better way to say “L’Chaim!” than by choking down greasy pork?
Which the sandwich had much of. But it was fairly good for a lunch I didn’t buy. And, to the Hesitator’s delight, the split-pea soup had flakes of something in it (parsley, perhaps?) which he declared proof that it was “home-made” as it should be. I thought of the dingy counter and microwave multiplex. Yes… Homemade indeed.
Grandma’s version, Friday, was more my idea of homemade soup, but hey, he grew up somewhere southern like Florida. Maybe their standards for soup and cooking are different out there.
The standards that are not different since my last visit are those of the Broadway family (maternal side) regarding Christian virtue. And as is typical in “subtle” family exhortations to piety, there were books to be dispensed.
This time I ’spose I got off easy. Plenty sibling distraction, with the two Marines in attendance, to help my relatives forget that Anna is single, aging, and has not one but two degrees in Religious Studies. God help me if they’d spied the ring! It was bad enough when Brother #1 went and got his ear pierced. Not that Grandpap didn’t make fuss over my midriff, mind you. But he was merely reacting to the unfortunate occurrence of gapping between my shirts and jeans. Not for me, the Marine Corps., he surmised. I was better suited for Naval duty. But a “belly nice girl” nonetheless.
At any rate, my piercing, degrees, and naked left hand managed to squeak by under the radar. The grandparentals doubtless felt secure knowing I am now the possessor of “How to find a godly spouse,” both parts 1 and 2, as recorded on CD for easy listening. And I suppose I might have carefully trailed a couple red herrings here and there …
But these were not enough to forestall the traditional giving of books where other relatives are concerned. The latest additions to my nightstand pile? And the Bride Wore White, some “seven secrets to sexual purity,” and the latest John Piper book, “When I don’t desire God.” Perhaps it’s because you’re desiring something other than white?
Just kidding. Actually, all the immediate Broadway fam and I received the Piper book, so its choice was hardly personal or indictment. I’m always suspicious of people who pen whole bookshelves’ worth of books, but we’ll see what Piper has to say. But don’t worry; I won’t try to sic it on you all as some secret proselytizing BOTtoM-in-disguise. That place is reserved by this month’s/quarter’s special BOTtoM: The Rise of Viagra!
I’m hoping to read a little more on my flight, but with Grandpap deeply immersed in talks of biblical man- and womanhood (the role of women being his favorite topic, as creationism is Dad’s), I wasn’t about to sneak out my blue-and-yellow book. Some fights don’t need to be fought, ya know? I mean, shocking-with-bawdy-book versus impressing-with-crazy-mad-knitting skillz … hard call (makes weighing motion with hands.). Pride and self-preservation won out. ;) It’s all about the public relations and talking points … Which is why I should go into marketing, doncha think? More on that later.
Oh, and if you find this entry less sexually charged than usual, I’ve got my excuse all ready. It’s 6 a.m. Christmas morning and I’m cooped up at the airport. What more can you ask of a girl on three hours’ sleep and one weak latte, exactly? But have no fear:
- That Groovey Geezer sent an email Thursday, and
- With Poster Boy’s endorsement of “working the system,” perhaps I’ll troll the SF Craigslist for movie dates. Strictly for research purposes, of course. But maybe that way I can find an amenable techie eager to cuddle in exchange for huddle-time with my laptop. Which is in dire need of help.
*Except for New Year’s Eve. Thoughts on how I should spend the holiday? There’s always Craigslist, but still ... Maybe this’ll require consultation with my one-time matchmaker. ;)
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