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You like me! Of course, you probably don't know me very well.

Posts Tagged ‘love’

this one time?

Saturday, July 3rd, 2010

I realize that it’s Saturday. Saturday, July 3rd. The Saturday of a three day weekend.

I’m not sure why you’re reading this, but bless you.

I am bound and determined to finish telling you, Biscottis, about the sailing trip, before I forget it all.

Now that I’ve gotten the whole ‘I hate boats the way Maida loves whateverthefuck is hiding under my strawberries that’s requiring her to DIG THEM ALL UP’ thing out of the way, let me continue with the actual stories.

Guess how many times I had to yell her name to get her to look up like this. No, guess.

Crockett and I got in Tuesday afternoon and didn’t meet up with Cap’n Dave and Rachel and Baby Cap’n until Wednesday night. In the spirit of me-being-the-one-who-plans-ahead, I made reservations at this little place called Galleon House in Charlotte Amalie.

I picked it less because I found it to be the most charming or the best deal and more because it was the only place I was able to reserve using a major travel website. Charlotte Amelie is America, but not AMERICA America (you know what I mean, don’t lie) and so picking a place that wasn’t recognized by the Internets seemed unnecessarily risky.

It turned out to be freaking adorable. When we first got to our room, I strongly associated it with a patio that they’d built walls around and put a bed in. Outdoor tiling on the floor, palmyfrondythings hanging into our balcony – basically the kind of tropical fabulousness you want your first night in town. Had it been several nights, I probably would have enjoyed a little more poshness, but there was a pool, breakfast, and a showoff lizard.

Also, gunshots. No, really. Somewhere below the hotel.

The lizard that enjoyed having his photo taken. Not pictured: gunshots.

Charlotte Amalie is not just a hotbed of lizard gang activity. (In retrospect, I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out earlier. Look at how shifty that guy looks! I’m pretty sure that blue is actually his gang color.) Charlotte Amalie is a major port for cruise ships, and most of the activity during the day is focused around the up to 8 ships that come into town with up to 6000 people each. That’s an entire city that descends at 9 am and leaves at 5 pm.

As much as Crockett and I would have loved to hang around and make cruisey friends, we decided to catch our ferry to Road Town. Which, since it’s like TWENTY MINUTES AWAY, is clearly a different country, requiring passports and declarations and body cavity searches and very uncomfortable interrogations that involved shining lights in our faces and asking us why we’d ever consider going sailing since anyone looking at me could see that I would clearly be seasick*.

After that, we needed painkillers.

Of course, I had to break through a haha sexism is so FUNNY barrier before I could get mine.

The red text says "Note that #4's are not normally sold to ladies unless they insist, or are accompanied by a captain or a man". #4's are the strongest drink. Ha. Aha ha. Ha. Damn funny amirite.

I'll show you, Pusser's Rum people.

After this, I pretty much had to take a nap.

#4’s are strong.

Not cause I’m a lady. They just are.

*The only part of this that happened was the passport/declaration part. The British Virgin Islands people were very nice.

P.S. You may notice that all the posts that I wrote now say they’re written by biscuit rather than emmanation. People call me biscuit, so I decided to make the change. Well, some people. Ok, two people, but I’m embracing it. Biscuit it is.

Back in the US, back in the US, back in the USVI

Wednesday, June 30th, 2010

I’m sitting in our hotel room in St. Thomas, waiting for Crockett to find food more appealing than both of us laying on the bed in the air-conditioning wearing nothing but… Well, nothing.
Clearly, it’s going to be a few minutes.
Tomorrow, I fly home. I am so fucking excited, you guys. So excited. I’ll get to see my puppies and my house and my bed and my cauliflowers that I’m growing even though I don’t really like cauliflower and am mostly growing because I like how it looks like brains coming up out of a leafy center.
Wait, what’s that you say? There’s no beach in Colorado?
Surely there must be one or two. I mean, I never looked before because I was unaware of how glorious a beach can be, so there’s probably one right up the street from my house and I just never noticed. Right?
New plan. Someone (Kim? Star?) put the puppies in a carryon and get your ass down here.
And if you think of it, bring my cauliflower.

a lot of face

Tuesday, June 15th, 2010

I’m feeling much better now. I had some coffee and I told several people about my elaborate plans to ditch my job, disguise Cloey and Maida as babies (because babies are allowed everywhere and puppies aren’t – what’s that about, seriously?*), and travel the world waiting tables and drawing really really good drawings for tourists when I run out of money.

*Is it because people aren’t allergic to babies? Because Cloey, at least, is hypoallergenic. And Maida is so cute that allergies don’t matter. Argument SHOT DOWN.

The other day, Star and I went shopping because she needed more grown up style clothes and I never turn down a shopping trip. We got free samples of Clinique foundation which is kind of ridiculous because neither of us wear foundation, but the girl giving the samples was adorable and we caved. After that? We were standing in line and I told Star that my face felt weird, meaning where the cute girl had put a smidge of foundation. Then Star pointed out that if I wanted to put on more foundation, I had plenty.

However, the words we actually said were these:

“My face feels funny.”

“Well, you have a lot.”

A lot of face? Hhahahahahhahahahaha. I DO have a lot of face, I’ve always thought that. No dainty little face for me.

When Cloey and Maida and I are travelling the world waiting tables etc, I’m going to learn how to say ‘you have a lot of face’ in every language. You never know when such a useful phrase is going to come in handy.

the best show you’re probably not watching

Tuesday, June 8th, 2010

I mean, you might be. If you were the kind of person who watched Lifetime. Not that I’m the kind of person who watches Lifetime…. except this show. And Project Runway (which blew like one of those whales that has a blow hole last season). And if I were an Army wife I would SO watch Army Wives… but Crockett is a rocket scientist, not a soldier, and I ain’t his wife. Although if he was in the Army, I probably would be, because otherwise the Army would basically ignore me and that would suck. And if he had a vagina (second post in a row that I used the word vagina – win) then it would go WAY worse for us, but I would love him anyway.

I digress.

Are you watching Drop Dead Diva?

If not, start. The season 2 premiere was last Saturday* so you just need a Season 1 primer and you’ll be good to go – and go you should.

The first season started with Deb, an engaged, thin, blond, kind of stupid in the way they obviously want you to notice  model. Deb, on her way to an audition, gets into a car accident and dies. While in heaven, she’s consulting with an angel and while he’s distracted by her beauty, she pushes a big red button and lo-and-behold, she’s reanimated – in Jane’s body. Jane is the woman in the picture above. Deb is the woman pictured below.

Jane is not thin, not blond, not stupid, and definitely not a model. Jane is a plus size lawyer who can quote Shakespeare and the finer points of complicated Lifetime style law, and she died the same day as Deb. Apparently, the big red button Deb pushed was the ‘put me in the body of someone who can teach me a lesson’ button. While the whole concept seemed a little trite, man alive did they do it well. Jane’s memories (sort of) stick with Deb – she knows the law (which is good because she continues to work as a lawyer), but she doesn’t recognize Jane’s mother. She doesn’t remember Jane’s exes, and she’s still in love with Deb’s fiancé. Deb’s fiancé, in a cruel twist of fate, works at the same law firm as Jane.

Sounds complicated, and it is. Jane (which is what we now call Deb, to avoid confusion) spends the majority of Season 1 trying to figure it out. Her assistant thinks she has amnesia from the accident, and helps her fill in her gaps. Jane reaches out to Deb’s best friend  Stacy (a tall unbELIEvably gorgeous model that thinks Canada is our ‘friendly neighbor to the south’) and explains the whole thing. With those two and a guardian angel – the guy who let Deb push the button – Jane manages to make her life work. Mostly.

She defends those who need defending. She takes care of those that need care. She starts to actually dress for her figure, which considering that she’s a former model who gained 10+ sizes in 30 seconds is pretty impressive. Jane looks better than she ever has, because Deb cares more than Jane ever did. She pines for her ex-fiancé who has no idea she is who she is.

The first season did focus quite a bit on Jane’s weight. We were shown that she has a donut every morning, that she craves foods that she never craved as Deb, and there is a truly great scene when she’s looking at bras and discovering that without her supermodel form they’re a lot harder to find and definitely not as pretty. In an early scene, Jane orders a mojito and Stacy sends it back, telling Jane she wants a rum with club soda and two Splenda. They soon discover Jane is the size she is and the diet goes the way of the dodo, but those were some of the most painful scenes. There was less health-at-every-size attitude towards those episodes, and some of them sort of implied that Jane was plus size because she ate a donut every morning.

Now, though, it’s just about Jane. Yes, there are issues with men seeing her a a friend rather than a romantic interest – but she also gets to sing and dance with Paula Abdul. She does not dress to hide her figure, she dresses to look like a sexy woman. She helps people and is a good friend and is so freaking lovable she’ll be your new role model. She’s wonderful and this show is wonderful.

I’m done gushing. But seriously, people. If you liked Ally McBeal, or if you like Grey’s, or if you like things that are awesome, just watch it**. You won’t regret it.

* Yeah, Saturdays. Whatever, like you don’t have Tivo. If you don’t, you can watch it on

**Drop Dead Diva in no way asked me to write this. I assume you know that, seeing as how the only people who have ever even noticed my lil old blog are the people at Pom Wonderful (which I may or may not be drinking mixed with vodka as I write because dude, they sent me a full case and seriously, it is pretty freaking tasty), but it never hurts to double check. Drop Dead Diva has the emmanation seal of approval.

You are hypnotized by my Brooke Elliott eyes. You want to watch Drop Dead Diva.

helpful discussions

Friday, June 4th, 2010

me: I can’t believe you’re leaving me for four whole days.

Crockett: Could you be laying on the guilt any thicker right now?

me: It’s not real guilt, it’s pretend guilt.

Crockett: Well it feels like real guilt.

me: It’s you that’s leaving for four days. Would it kill you to say you’re going to miss me?

Crockett: I’m going to miss you.

me: I’m not going to miss you. I’m going to have ladies nights and stuff.

Crockett: Oh, ok. I’m not going to miss you either.




me: I can’t believe you’re leaving me for four whole days.