No One Asked Me But...

Anyone Know Where Barnes and Noble Could Find a Dictionary?

So that they can look up what "Reserve" means.

About 542 months ago (give or take a couple of months there) I "reserved" two copies of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Don't worry your little heads: I'm not going to spoil the ending. I've had the book now for over 24 hours and I'm only on page 108. Might be a while before I get into spoilage territory. Although there was already this hot make out scene between Harry and Ginny...but nevermind.

Instead of ordering my books online and pine listlessly for the delivery person to show up at my house yesterday, I decided I would reserve two copies (one regular for my sister, and one special edition for myself) at the local B&N and then pick them up on Saturday, July 21st - the day all Potter fans have waited for and secretly dreaded for a very long time. You see, this is the last book. JK Rowling is too busy now sorting out her billion dollars to write any more books for the masses. So she claims this is the last one. And we all have to go into therapy now. Thanks JK!

I skipped the midnight parties, not because I'm too cool, but because I had no one to go with. And I didn't want to look like I was auditioning for a part on Dateline's To Catch a Predator, so I stayed away from all the kiddies in their Potter themed costumes (and the adults as well) and tossed and turned in my bed all night until daylight broke. The bookstore opened at 9am, and I would be there with my Membership card and money in hand.

I was not the only person there. There were many of us. Mostly adults waiting for the store to open. But I felt ok with the crowd whether I was third in line (which I was) or 53rd in line (suckas!) because my books were RESERVED. Meaning they should be bound together by a elastic band with my name blazoned on a sheet of paper...just waiting for me!!

I get up to the counter and I declare my name and asking for me RESERVED copies. The woman heads for the stack of strewn about Potter books behind the counter and I exclaim..."But I have one special edition and one regular edition." She hesitates and yells to the man down the end, "Do we have anymore Special Editions?" My eyes almost bugged out of my head. It's not my problem whether they have anymore or not. It's there's. I RESERVED my copy already. It's supposed to be there. "Luckily" for me there was one special copy left. That's what they said, "You're lucky. We have one left." What the fuck?? Wow, I'm so lucky. Good thing I didn't stroll in at 6 that evening. Someone may have bought the lucky last copy that technically should've already been mine. The book is not cheap: The sticker price is $65, but for us members it's only $40. Still a lot. But what little brats were buying up all the special editions the night before??

So long story short (too late), I got the book I wanted but barely. I'm really disappointed in how B&N handled the whole Harry Potter thing. They should not let people reserve books. Simple as that.

Oh and to make matters even worse, I turned to the back of the book where the special illustrations were (what I paid all that extra moola for) and the page I open up to is one of Hagrid carrying a limp Harry saying "Oh Harry. Oh Harry." Great. So did I just see the ending? IS Harry Potter going to die? God damn special edition book. Blah.

Why I Love Rugby Players: Reason #27

The Associated Press reported today that an Australian gentleman by the name of Ben Czislowski had been suffering from severe headaches, a nasty eye infection and bouts of lethargy for about three months. He started experiencing these symptoms after a rugby match with the Tweed Heads on April 1st, 2007. Apparently he suffered a head wound after an "incident" with opponent Matt Austin, which left Austin with a broken jaw and several missing teeth. But afterward Ben got his head stitched up and was told he was good to go.

Ben then kept playing rugby. For three months. Even with those horrible headaches and yucky eye infection. Now that rugger is a MAN!!

Anyway, last week a doctor found Matt Austin's tooth embedded in his forehead just above his left eye. When Ben got his head stitched up originally, did that doctor (I'm assuming a doctor. Is that silly of me?) didn't notice a tooth staring up at him? Just stitched right over it? Nice. How about Ben? He didn't feel around up there and feel a tooth shaped bump up there or something?

Ben's quote: "I've got the tooth at home, sitting on the bedside table. If he (Austin) wants it back he can have it. I'm keeping it at the moment as proof that it actually happened." 

Is that really proof Ben? Hey, I never said Rugby players were the smartest guys... Anyway, would Austin really want back his tooth??

Why Don't You Listen Next Time, Bitches!

I completely understand that I live in an age where girls are watching their figure more than ever. But believe it or not, there are some of us who aren't. That shouldn't be too shocking because there are plenty of pleasantly plump people walking around. And honestly, I do not pretend to be one of those "healthy" girls. I just sort of live my life the way I want, and order whatever I want.

I have plenty of pet peeves, and I just recently I added a new one to the ever growing list: The help who don't listen. Look, your job isn't that hard. You listen to what I want to order, and then you bring it to me, and then I pay my bill, AND THEN I TIP YOU. (In some cases that is). I hate Diet Coke and I refuse to drink it. However, I LOVE regular fountain coke and I love to order it when I'm in a restaurant. "I'll have a Coke please." 9 out of 10 times they bring me a Diet Coke. Did I mention I HATE Diet Coke? The taste skeevees me out so bad. So then I have to wait for them to come back and be like "Oh hey, I know that every girl is ordering Diet Coke nowadays, but I didn't. So can you bring me the fucking regular Coke I asked for. Write it down if you think you cannot remember. Thanks." Ok, maybe I don't say that. I'm not THAT bitchy. But I want to say that. Instead I have to embarrassingly ask for a regular Coke and feel like a fatty the rest of time I sit at that table. I feel like they are even talking about me at the bar: "See that girl over there? She ordered a regular Coke!" *audible gasps*

And while we're talking about restaurants...here's another thing that annoys me. If I order a water, please don't assume I wanted a lemon in it. Again, with the healthy girls who want a lemon in their water. I don't. I actually like the taste of water. If I wanted lemon water I'd have asked for it. OR I'd order a lemonade. Thanks. At some point in time it became the norm when you ordered a water that meant you wanted lemon with hit. I obviously missed the memo. I think the norm is, if you order a drink, they give you a straw. And that's it. When my water comes with a wedge of lemon, I sigh and then take it out and lay it on the table. Not even on a napkin. I didn't ask for this. Thanks though. I'm not a big fan of tart pulp floating in my water.

And now to a new phenomenon: Dunkin Donuts. I never ever had a problem with my coffee order. Light with sugar. But now all the healthy girls are drinking their coffee with skim milk and Splenda. Good for them. I don't drink coffee that often, but when I do, I want it to NOT taste like coffee. Skim milk? Seriously? It barely lightens the coffee. That's gross.

Just yesterday I went in and ordered this: Medium Iced Hazelnut, Light, Two sugars. Yeah Yeah. Wicked unhealthy. I get it. But I cannot be the only person walking into a Dunkies and ordering coffee that way. The chick behind the counter makes my coffee and puts in on the counter. It's not light at all. I said "That's not light enough. Is that cream??" She's like "No, it's milk."  And I lost it. I said, "I didn't ask for milk" and then proceeded to order my coffee all over again, very loudly.

I'm really happy for all the Diet Coke drinkers and their Skim Milk in coffee counterparts. But I'm just not one of them. If no one drank regular Coke anymore, then I'm sure Coca-Cola would just stop making the product and selling it to establishments. But guess what, I still fucking drink it and I like it. So open up your ears, waitstaff, and bring me what I order, or you will certainly not get a 20% tip from me. 

Let's All Go to the Movies

I went to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix last night. But this post isn’t really about the movie. But rather the people in the actual movie theater. Did some of these people just wake up from a coma? Just get to America? Let me explain.

Yesterday was the opening day of this movie. Whether it’s opening day or opening weekend it’s a good idea to plan accordingly. Especially if you know the movie is going to be drawing large crowds. I purchased my tickets days in advance for the 7pm showing of Phoenix. We arrived at the theater at 6:10pm. I made the decision that we should find seats and then separately go out to buy snacks or empty out the bladder one last time. We took our seats on the end of the row. That’s the beauty of showing up early, you can sit wherever you want!! But I’ll have you know, even at 6:10pm, 50 minutes before the start, the theater was fairly crowded.

So the time passes slowly. Everyone filing in, anxious to see the next installment of our favorite boy wizard.  Mostly all of the seats are taken by 6:40. By 6:45 I heard people walking up to an usher saying “We need 6 seats together.” Not once or twice. But a few times. Or “We need 4 seats together.” I felt like saying “yeah I see six seats together….IN THE FRONT ROW.” So then this poor usher has to shuffle around asking everyone “are those seats taken?” And the answer is always yes, because someone is out getting popcorn or using the bathroom or something. And I’m thinking DID you just wake up from a coma? Where did these people come from? Did they seriously expect to waltz in a mere 10 minutes before the start time and get desirable seats…. All together?? They have to be kidding right? But they all seem incredulous to the fact that they cannot get seats. Even complaining about the front row. Then don’t go to this showing. Wait until the next one. I don’t know what to tell you. But for the people who show up early, the last thing I want to be asked is “is this seat taken” or “can you move down”.

No I won’t fucking move down. Do you know how fucking long I’ve been here. While you were at home on your fucking lazy-boy recliner thinking “hey who wants to go see that Harry Potter movie? I think it’s out now” I was fucking getting my ass here EARLY. You have no right to fucking complain about where your seats are when you stroll in at 6:55 for a 7pm movie ON OPENING DAY. Fuck off. Seriously. Fuck off. You know who you are.

"When There Is Nothing Left To Burn...

You have to set yourself on fire." - from Your Ex-Lover is Dead

"When one burns one's bridges, what a very nice fire it makes." - Dylan Thomas

Roughly seven years ago I fell in love. I didn't know it at the time. And even now...I'm not sure if I can call it that. But something happened. And I've been in love with this man for a very long time now. Even though I was with my ex-husband for a few years there. Didn't matter. There was always something about this guy. Like, if my grandchildren ever came to me and said, "Grandma, tell us about your greatest love affair" it would definitely be about this guy. Just the mere sight of him takes my breath away. Being close to him - I shake. I mumble incoherently. I literally lose myself willingly in those deep dark brown eyes. When he hugged me...forget it. To be in his arms - that has to be the definition of ecstasy. He's so handsome and so strong. I held on to him tight. As tight as possible. Until he had to leave. To go home to his girlfriend and cat.

Oh, did I forget to mention that part? Yeah, the girlfriend. I cannot get mad. While I ran off and got married to the man I thought was Mr. Right, he went on living his life. And met someone. And then I got divorced and we sort of crossed paths again. Very adulterated paths, but still paths nonetheless. And I thought I didn't care about this gf. Well until they moved in together. Look, I don't condone cheating, but let's face it. He was the one with a S.O. not me. I could do whatever I wanted. If he wanted to be unfaithful, then so be it. Secretly I wanted him to leave her. But I didn't say anything for a while. Until one day I just laid it all out there. And he didn't say anything. He sat at the edge of the bed and said nothing.

I sort of have something to say to his girlfriend. I don't know her name so I cannot address her directly. But hey you....don't be mad at him. So he slept with me. So I love him. He doesn't love me. He loves you. I know it's hard to understand. Why would he cheat, you ask, if he loved you? Well first of all, did you not notice your boyfriend is a semi sex addict? Hello. You don't have to know him seven years to figure that out. And pssst....I'm not the only one. Anyway, the reason why I say don't be mad at him is because he never loved me. He never fell into my arms and asked me how my day was. He never came over and cooked me dinner. He never came to me with the problems he couldn't talk about with you. All the things we girls want from a man...he gave me none of it. He gave me sex. Big deal. OK, it's the greatest sex I've ever had in my whole life. I just adore his body. It's so strong in some place and so soft in others. Our bodies fit together. But again, so what? He leaves me to see you and that cat. That friggin' cat. I'm jealous of you. You get to have him. Have a relationship with him (albeit maybe not a fully honest one). Share a bed with him. And probably marry him and have little cute babies with thick brown hair and wonderful full lips like his daddy.

So where was I? Oh yeah, that was all in the past. Like I said I opened my big fat mouth and told him how I felt and he barely said anything. He did make it clear it was only sex. Wow. Imagine having unrequited love, and then actually proclaiming it and then actually living the rejection; not just reading about it. I don't know. What a horrible existence. Weeks later he told me that it's over between us (via Instant Message). I guess he had some sort of revelation (engaged?) and ended it. There is a part of me that thinks (KNOWS) that he'll be back, because while he doesn't admit to loving me, I know he's having that same great sex that I'm having. And how can you stay away? Over those seven years...we still found a way back to one another. And even though I will be settling, I don't care. Just being with him is so intoxicating I'll do anything.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not proud of being the other woman. I'm not happy that I let him get away with cheating. But I loved him, you know? People in love do the craziest things. I even thought about dedicating my book to him. I don't know if I'll ever finish it though. The book, not the dedication. Maybe it would go something like this:

To SJ-

You have inspired me in so many ways. You have lit my soul on fire. And while it hurts immensely to not have you in my life, I must thank you for the times you were there. You awakened my senses. I cannot put into words how I feel about you. I don't envy the brave poets who would even dare try. No words will do it justice. I hope that when we were together my body, my eyes, my touch explained it all.  I miss you terribly and while this book is fiction the way the main character feels about him, is exactly how I feel for you. Obsessed a little? Maybe. Lusted after? Definitely. Hate? Sometimes. Love? Always. No matter what happens I will always be there for you. We both know that. I will not wait. But I will always hope.  I remember looking into your eyes that first time and smiling. I had no idea what I was getting myself into that blustery day on Boylston Street. And even though I've shed a million tears since then, I wouldn't change one single thing about that day and meeting you. I only wish that you would come home to me and our cat.

JM

"Live through this and you won't look back."