Victory

Things you should know before heading to the newly re-opened movie theater on Victory Drive:

1. There is no marquee or indication outside that it is a movie theater, so it's hard to find.
2. They don't play previews, so get there early. If you are late, you'll miss part of the movie - not just the Fanta commercial.
3. When you sit down, it's all cushiony goodness and leg room
4. They haven't quite figured out how to frame the film so you don't get distracted by the boom mike. Or the correct volume.
5. The seats smell like salty ham.

Leftovers

When you live alone, it’s inevitable that food gets chucked out more often than you’d like. Sometimes it’s the fresh produce you can’t eat before it rots. Or the fact that a carton of milk is never finished so much as the last portion spoils and gets dumped down the sink. Or maybe after six days of carrot & mushroom loaf you simply can’t take anymore, you’ll go mental and there will be consequences.

If you are prone to experimentation, the misfits of the fridge* might get thrown together in a casserole. I tried to pull this off with the leftovers from fondue night, hoping to resuscitate a lovely meal. Trust me – you don’t want to experience what happens when $15 bucks worth of cheese goes to the dark side.

*Not unlike The Misfits of Science

Bustin' Makes Me Feel Good

For years I have noticed and complained heartily about the slutty Halloween costumes. To those who perpetuate it: where’s your self-respect? Even more important, where is your imagination? The media has finally picked up on this – er, situation. Yesterday there was a feature on the Today show about it, and Jane magazine had a recent article as well. Plus, last year on How I Met Your Mother it was acknowledged in a running joke that made me fluff up with a self-righteous finally! (Stop it. It’s a good show. Who can resist the charms of Neil Patrick Harris? Not this Frisky Biscuit!)

Halloween 2006 was no different. In Savannah, the sluts were out in full force. There were a few exceptions, my favorite being the girl dressed as Sweet Tea standing outside the Lady & Sons. She had two ginormous tea bags draped over her shoulders, sandwich board style, plus a halo. It took me a minute to figure out, and that is exactly the kind of costume I admire. Scary ones are fine too – it’s traditional after all. When someone is funny or clever, it rocks my shorts. Like the Joe Dirt wandering around, towing a red wagon that contained a meteor. Dude, you may not have been hot by current standards. But your creativity with that meteor and your confidence in owning that mullet was foxier than any of the French maids, slutty devils, or “slutty sluts”out there.

Mostly it’s women working the skimpy costume angle. There never seems to be anyone dressed in the male equivalent of a stripper. No Chippendale’s guys, loincloth boys, or lumberjacks (not that I fancy those types in particular; this is simply an example). Maybe men have trouble dreaming up hunky costume ideas. If you do want to go that route, my advice is this: Mr. Darcy in the wet shirt. Ladies will commence with the swooning.

It’s ridiculous to abuse the one day each year we can reject all that pressure to look perfect. Halloween is when we need to let go of vanity and show off our obsessions - for 80’s cartoons, or Sci-Fi movies, or musicians. You’ll still get attention, and this time it will be from people who recognize your awesome creative skills. That is a big improvement over the sloppy catcalls and easy leers from slow-thinking drunks. I’ve always thought a sense of humor was the most attractive quality a person could have.

Last year I wanted so bad to be a member of Team Zissou, but procrastination prevented the follow-through. And then last night on Broughton Street, I actually saw a group of three people dressed in Zissou gear. Not the Speedo, but the red caps and blue track suits were so on. A few years ago I came up with the idea of dressing Lady Buttercup as Slim Good Doggie, but I failed anatomy in college so it’s likely I won’t pull that one off either. I have a surplus of costume ideas (kept on a list, of course) and I’ll probably never get to be all of them. But I love knowing that none involve looking like rubbish. In Halloweens past, I’ve been a Ghostbuster, Hulk Hogan, and The Bowler from Mystery Men. But my favorite costume: a Fraggle. Take that.

The Pause

In case no one has noticed, I’ve been taking a break. And it feels good. It feels like the end of a school term and suddenly the constant homework thoughts are no longer hanging over my head. Since all of my posts are written in the evenings – after work, the gym, errands, laundry, etc. - it’s nice to have a little free time. I’ve actually managed to watch a few sitcoms and go shopping and do crafty stuff. Tomorrow I’m fixing dinner with Owen, and Thursday I’m going to hang out with some friends. Plus, it’s Fall! I can be outside without suffocating, and can take Lady Buttercup on long walks and to the pumpkin patch.

The other confession is I’ve found a way to do some writing for my regular job. So I’m getting paid and get to use my real name, which stretches me in a different but very satisfying way. I don’t think I’m ready to give up the blog, but I am re-evaluating how much time I want to devote to it. Because let’s face it: there may be a few decent posts, but many are simply filler so that fresh content can be delivered. I started it so that I could get in the habit of writing, and maybe evolve towards something more substantial. And I certainly can’t imagine keeping this going forever.

But then.

It only takes something semi-interesting to happen and I get that surge of energy propelling me to WRITE IT DOWN. Especially if there is some Mr. T news or a marginally interesting incident or story to pass along. Like the dream I had last night. I was swimming in a huge tank with Anna Nicole Smith’s baby, and Shamu smooshes his face up against the glass partition because he likes us and wants to swim together. So I open the divider and Shamu is swimming underneath us, until I freak out at how big he is and have to scram.

Also, I wonder if anyone else watched My Name Is Earl last Thursday, because that was totally Amy Sedaris playing the cat lady. Then the very next night I was driving back from Statesboro and Natasha was reading me excerpts from Amy Sedaris’ new book that I didn’t even know about – it’s called I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence. How can I not make sure people know about it, and that it has her cheese ball recipes?

Or I could mention the choco chip cookies I made that were slightly over baked. I prefer soft and chewy cookies, but it didn’t stop me from noshing out on the crunchy ones until I’d scraped up the roof of my mouth.

The obvious solution is balance – a little for me, a little for the blog, and everyone’s happy. Balance is a big deal for me, whether it’s relationships or food or how I spend my time. To expect to spend each evening trying to post isn’t what I want. I’d sort of turned this into an obligation for myself, which took the joy out of it. So. I’m going to post only when the writing gushes out of me faster than I can keep up. Or when I crave that excitement that comes with seeing my thoughts typed out. So that means I’ll have less going on here, but maybe it will be the next phase: to focus on quality.

Add It Up

In spite of my recent daily struggle with migraines, over the weekend I still made it around to:

1. Cupcake Happy Hour: Brilliant idea from the baking wizards at Back in the Day Bakery
2. Wiener Dog Races: one of my favorite Savannah traditions
3. Bianca's cozy birthday dinner: where we feasted on shrimp fritters, cheese, grit cakes, crab cakes, and... cake cake
4. Found the occasion to wear both pairs of my new earrings

Food is Good

Lately I’ve taken to emailing my sister URGENT UPDATES about food I’ve just eaten. Typical big sister routine, trying to create an indignant fluster of frustration in the little sister. I like it when I find new ways to carry on the picking-on tradition. Ways that compensate for the fact that she lives in Maine and I live in Georgia and there’s no way I can rearrange all her furniture while she’s at work then just sit there all, “What? Is something the matter?”

Today it was, “I just ate an entire slab of Wensleydale cheese. It was so close to the end that wrapping up 3 bites seemed pointless. Besides, I had to accomplish something today or else I’d feel like a failure.” Yesterday it was the peanut butter and celery sandwich I had for lunch. Yep, you read that right – peanut butter and celery sandwich. Crunchy and delicious, without the sugar crash of jelly. (Now you want to try it too, eh?) Then there was that brutal week of daily tofu dog with black bean chili lunches. Sacrifices were made, all to keep the younger sister entertained. It’s important to keep the irritation techniques fresh, for both our sakes.

Fall in New England

While fall is beautiful everywhere, I recently decided that New England is my favorite place to spend fall. The Mainers celebrate fall by having a Maine-style fair. What's different from the normal fair? Well, some things are quite similar... You'll see the strength test and funnel cake (which yankees call 'fried dough'). But, everything at the fair is organically grown, and the food options are much more bohemian than at your typical fair. I saw pie cones, Bog Jooce (made with cranberries), tea pops, and many other delicious treats. The vegetable contest was my favorite event of the day. Here are some gourgeous organic gourds:


And this was the winner in the 'vegetable oddity' category:

To make fall even more special, I recently spotted these wild turkeys at work:

Biscuity Goodness

Wrapping up Biscuit Month, I have just a few more crumbs to share. I've shamefully neglected my British biscuit devotees - a serious offense when one realizes that their biscuits are what we call cookies. Even more so that while the Brits are famous for their cuppa tea, you'll find the loyal biscuit by it's side. Proof of this lies with the Biscuit Appreciation Society. Oh, if only I could join; I admire their brilliant cause. And I want to get my mitts on their biscuits.

I don't know if they make biscuits, but The Biscuit Factory is self described as "Britain's biggest original art store". So that sounds all right too. They probably serve biscuits in the restaurant. If not, they could turn to United Biscuits, makers of the famous McVitie's. Homemade biscuits are never a bad idea, either. The Royal Naval Museum shares a traditional recipe for "Ship's Biscuits" for the history buffs. No worries for the scientists, there are enough biscuits to go around for you as well. Bookish types should probably check out the Biscuit Press or Biscuits O'Bryan, the cowboy poet.

For some Aussie flavor, you can see what happens when biscuits go wrong. Mango biscuits? No thank you. But perhaps you'd like to try the ANZAC biscuits?

If you've stuck around to the end of this post wherein I've dropped all of my biscuit trivia on you, then I'm guessing you've exhausted all other Internet time-wasting options for the day. I hope for your sake it's time to go home. Clearly biscuits are premium with other people besides me, and these hopeless cases of biscuit lovers might tempt me to do some more research.

Hoot

A conversation between sisters:

Ramona: I'm thinking about being an owl for Halloween.
Natasha:With feathers and brown tights or something?
Ramona: Yeah! And some kind of Mardi Gras mask for the face.
Natasha: Or you could just wear a paper bag over your head.

Medieval Kids

I had no idea the Medieval Festival was really just a kiddie event, and my perpetually sweet boyfriend accompanied me anyway. It was quite lame, entirely too hot, and inexplicably there were heads hanging from some of the trees. So we recouped and went to see the Rembrandt etchings and have gelato. Much better. And in typical Savannah fashion, we saw something quirky downtown: the Cinderella pumpkin carriage.

Some Wee Details

1. Have you seen the Sock Monkey Dress? It looks like it has tumors. Or is straight from a horror movie set.

2. I really thought I saw Sarah Vowell on a TV show called "Six Degrees". I love her books, so an investigation ensued - and it was her!

3. Yes, this is about Mr. T (again). So what? His new show "I Pity the Fool" starts October 11th on TV Land. He is going to "teach some fools some basic rules", so I suggest you check this link out for a preview.

Get Down On It

Oh man, I’m happy. Fall is here! The light is turning golden, nights are cool, and soon I’ll be able to throw all my windows open and breathe deeply of the fresh air. Autumn is when I feel most like myself, my Ramona-ness peaking in a splendid whirl of decorating, baking, being outside, and getting stuff done. No matter what city I’m living in, autumn makes everything look and smell better. There is so much to look forward to, like Oktoberfest, fall festivals, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and enjoying frisky walks. The crisp cool air clears my head and amps up my energy, and suddenly I feel more alive, creative, and optimistic.

The clothes are so much cuter too – boots, scarves, sweaters and jackets all make their brilliant comeback. I have this list of meals I’m craving to cook but can’t be bothered to make in hot weather. Risotto, casseroles, chili, fondue, potato-broccoli-cheese soup, and homemade sweets are heading my way. Plus the Borat movie, and new episodes of TV shows.

Even though the leaves don’t change much in Savannah, I have a few beauties I keep my eye on. And acorns! I love acorns. When I’m walking, there is a compelling need to crush acorns for that satisfying feel and sound. I have to get an equal number for each foot too, stepping exaggeratedly to keep it even. Add a few acorns for my pocket, to later find their way into a mason jar, and I’m content. Fall - it’s just so good in every way.

Noodle Salad, Britcoms, Pirates

1. I’m the type of person who will pick up notes found lying on the ground. Or from a garbage can, if it’s on the top and doesn’t have greasy food stuck to it. It can’t be helped – the discarded words need to be read one last time, by an impartial scholar, to verify that yes, it really should be in the rubbish bin. My latest discovery was a typed note found in a parking lot. The content of the note: “Best wishes for a happy life together! Love, Tom, Sue, Lindsey, and Amy Smith”. Okay, nothing interesting there. But then it goes on to say, “P.S. Good times Noodle Salad”.

That whole last sentence is so mysterious – is “Noodle Salad” someone’s nickname since it is capitalized? Or did they send the newlyweds a dish to serve noodle salad in, while having some good times eating it? I like it; what could have been generic has lasted 3 days on my desk, and it’s still funny.

2. If you have devoured both seasons of The Office (British version), then you probably need a new Britcom. The best way to cope with the longing for some fresh humour is Little Britain. Owen and I are rationing this one, it is that good. Lots of new catchphrases – I dare anyone to not walk around going “Eeerrrhhh, Eeewwrrhhh, EEEEEWAAHHRRAHH!” spontaneously, robustly, and frequently after watching. Also, it’s terribly hard to resist responding to my co-workers with, “Computer says no-oh”. But that’s what Lady Buttercup is for. Now go throw an entire loaf of bread at some ducks.

3. Owen and I went to a concert in Forsyth Park Saturday night. It was Sister Hazel. Just goes to show that if it’s free and you can take your dog to it, the whole matter of taste and standards matters a wee bit less.

4. Ahoy, Mateys! September 19^th is International Talk Like a Pirate Day. Get the most out of it and enjoy annoying your loved ones – I know I will. Arrggh!

5. Oh, and War Eagle – you know!

Biscuits & Gravy

Hey biscuit fans! The Biscuits & Gravy Quarterly ought to keep you busy for awhile. Then you can check out the presidential pardon. You know, if you feel like it or whatever. Still want to get your biscuit freak on? Then head on over to King Biscuit for even more of a media blitz.

That'll do.

Hot Biscuits

Childhood visits with my Alabama grandparents guaranteed I would hear five of my favorite words: Hot biscuits in the oven! Hot biscuits in the oven! Joyfully sung on summer mornings to bribe sleepy kids out of bed, the thought of my Grandma’s biscuits motivated me every time. I’m convinced we woke up so sweetly and easily for Grandma because of the savory aroma of biscuits drifting into our subconscious just before waking. Suddenly, grumpiness was traded in for excitement, and one of my favorite memories was born. When our parents collected us at the end of the week, they were always informed with a wink that it was no trouble getting us out of bed. I’m not sure if the parents knew exactly what the trick was, but there must have been some suspicion.

Biscuits have always been special to my family, showing up as part of the happy memories of holidays or breaks from the routine. Natasha and I were lucky to have a Yankee father who quickly adapted to the pleasures of Southern food. When we were kids, it was our father who drove us to Catholic school each morning. Every now and then, he would wake us up earlier than usual and take us to breakfast at Hardees. They had these huge, delicious biscuits, and we enjoyed that warm biscuit buzz for the rest of the day. On a particularly good streak one winter, our father also bought us the Shirt Tales stuffed animals. The Shirt Tales became synonymous with biscuit mornings at Hardees, until an ex-boyfriend’s dog soiled that association by humping Pammy the panda.

The biscuits we bake now are sometimes a bit healthier, but OH MY! Butter on a biscuit is the ultimate breakfast pleasure. If Mumsly is rolling out the dough, it's probably wheat flour with a sprinkling of flax, sesame, and poppy seeds. I kind of have a thing for cheese grits too, but me and biscuits go way, way back. Pretty much every weekend these days starts with a frozen biscuit – the ones by Mary B’s or White Lily are actually quite good. I suppose now the supreme way to wake up is to a rainy day where I don’t have to be anywhere. But I still make sure to get my biscuits.

If Biscuits Played Instruments

Most of us find the homey, comforting associations of a lovely biscuit irresitible. Whether it's a cookie and a cup of tea in the U.K., or the flaky, buttery breakfast of Southerners, biscuits are universally adored. So much so that people might name their band after them.

If the Frisky Biscuit had a house band, there are at least three candidates based on their name alone. For the bluegrass fan, there is The Biscuit Burners. "Fiery Mountain Music", or biscuit gluttons honoring their favorite food? For the jam band junkies, The Disco Biscuits won't harsh your mellow. Meh. How about something a little more hardcore for the punky metal types - the Gorilla Biscuits? Something tells me Lady Buttercup won't approve.

None of these suit The Frisky Biscuit exactly (we're a bit more alternative over here), but the search continues.

Somebody’s Fool

When it comes to making sure the children stay in school and don’t do drugs, Mr. T is no fool. As far as celebrity causes go, Mr. T is so heartfelt and genuine that you don’t want to let him down. In the words of Mr. T, “You don’t have to be famous to get respect. You just have to be somebody”.

As soon as I saw that the Sentient Bean* was offering a viewing of Mr. T’s Be Somebody, or Be Somebody’s Fool, I knew I couldn’t miss it. Oh, yes. This was a delight beyond what I was expecting. If I told you Mr. T wore short shorts and Punky Brewster socks, you would watch for that alone, right? Plus, you get some embarrassingly awkward break dancing, raps about treating your mother right, and exercising with a bag of popcorn. Let’s not forget the fascinating presence of a pre-Black Eyed Peas Fergie and a pre-train wreck Bobby Brown. Also, music by Ice T!

Don’t find yourself in an “Absoludicrous” situation. You can “Recoup” by watching it on Google Video. Gather the kids around and get a glass of milk, because you don’t even need a cocktail for this to make you high.

* The Sentient Bean is the Savannah version of the Black White and Red Theater for all you Gilmore Girls fans.

The Biscuit Bullet

For your biscuit rations today, a little urban legend called the Biscuit Bullet. This one involves a can of biscuits exploding in a car and getting stuck to the back of a woman's head. She hears a bang, feels the impact of something, and mistakes the dough for her brains. I think the lesson here is to just not eat canned biscuits.

The Eurotrash Cousin

Fusion food – I’m on to you. Don’t think we haven’t noticed. If you were able to do one thing well, you wouldn’t have to invent yourself a distracting, sexy name. Preening for attention from well meaning and innocent diners, your flashy style masks your lack of substance.

Every time, it’s the same sneaky hustle. First you come on too strong with those sweet words promising luscious decadence. Full of potential and delight, a glance at what you offer starts off with words like “fresh king prawns” or “tender, juicy chicken”.

Then you make that inappropriate pass, a wrong turn towards Crazyville. A few minutes in and suddenly you’re all, “basted with a cilantro-fig-peppercorn chutney and accompanied with grilled beets. Served with a glass of buttermilk”. Sure, sometimes it’s the dill mayonnaise mashed potatoes, or the eggplant, avocado and raisin couscous. But I think you look ridiculous. Who decided you were such hot stuff?

Baseball Biscuits

Biscuits are soooo good, they even have a baseball team named after them: the Montgomery Biscuits. Check out that pat of butter for a tongue! I wonder if they serve biscuits at the games.

More gushing from Natasha Dylan

Bob Dylan is a chameleon. After watching years of video footage (yes, I am that obsessed), I knew this. He rarely plays a song the same way twice. If you attend a Dylan show expecting him to play ‘Rainy Day Woman’ as it appears on ‘Blonde on Blonde’, you will be disappointed. However, if you expect to see a consummate performer present a twist on his American classics, you will be in for a treat. When Wildflower and I saw him, he played the keyboard, not your classic harmonica/guitar combo. He was backed by a band and performed songs mostly from ‘Love and Theft’ and ‘Blonde on Blonde’ with a bit of a honky tonk twist. He played my favorite, ‘Just Like a Woman’, and he also played ‘Like a Rolling Stone’ and ‘Rainy Day Woman’ back to back as an encore. Bob showed a rare display of interaction with the audience by pointing at us and smiling mischievously every time he sang the chorus… Everybody must get stoned. We get it Bob, and I for one, love you as always.

Mmmmm.....biscuits

Did you know that September is National Biscuit Month? Oh yes. The very mention of biscuits creates a trance-like fixation on those fluffy, golden Southern breads. But I also like that in the U.K., a biscuit is a cookie - one of my other passions. And since September is (conveniently) Shameless Promotion Month, The Frisky Biscuit will be in full-on biscuit trivia mode. If its related to biscuits, I'll be all over it.

First up, a vacation to the City of Biscuits. Fantastic, eh?

Nervous Noshing

For someone who thinks about food as often as I do, it’s odd how infrequently I write about it. Big events – whether stressful or celebratory, spent with friends and family or on one’s own – involve planning the menu. While following the progress of Tropical Storm Ernesto, my mind has also been sorting out what to nibble on. Hurricanes call for deli food. The power may go out and it’ll be too hot for cooking anyway. Two decades of living in Panama City and dealing with storms taught me what to stock in my cooler:

Blueberry muffins with crumbles of sugar on top
Tuna salad sandwiches
Hard boiled eggs
Grapes, apples, carrots*
Celery sticks with scoops of peanut butter
Chips and salsa
Chocolate chip cookies
Cheese straws
Beer

*the stress snacking triumvirate

She's a Very Freaky Girl

Friday night, Owen and I were faced with that age-old dilemma of deciding where to eat. Being the little list-maker that I am, the solution was obvious: write out the pros and cons so the decision can be verified as scientifically accurate. And it totally worked.

Owen: “Well, Thai food is always good”.
Ramona: “Yeah, but according to the list, that place has sucky beer and no cocktails. If we go to Red Lobster, they have cheese biscuits and a possible Ben Affleck sighting.”
Owen: “That should be on the cons list.”

And so on. We decided on Italian, because carbs are delicious and this frisky biscuit needed a drink.

After acing the decision making portion of the evening, the movie theater tested our negotiation skills. In the lobby was an 8 foot tall cutout of Borat, deemed essential for a full and satisfying life. We managed to barter with the movie theater manager for Borat in exchange for a case of beer – after the movie comes out. Actually, Owen did most of the work while I put my patented charming smile and robust head nodding move into action. We were the invincible.

Little Miss Sunshine was so good – unpredictable and different, with a kooky family along the lines of a Wes Anderson film. The little girl in the movie just makes my heart ache she is so adorable. Kids with glasses are especially cute. The whole film was moving and funny, and there was a fabulous surprising scene that was almost hard to watch. I’ll say no more about that, but you’ll see. It couldn’t have been more perfectly delightful. I loved this movie; it may be my favorite movie of the summer.

Saturday brought a phone call where all of a sudden I found myself riding around in a convertible with some hippies. That would be my aunt and uncle, who are very sweet but their bohemian ways mystify me. I don’t know them well and hadn’t seen them in 3 years, so that can be awkward. When I answered the phone at 9 that morning (NINE A.M.!), my aunt says, “We’re in Savannah until tomorrow. Pause. My mother-in-law is sick, and we’re trying to figure out what to do with ourselves today. PAUSE.”

So, a few hours later I’ve taken them down to River Street and I’m watching my aunt figure out which belly dancing outfit to buy. She offered to buy me one too, saying “I bet your boyfriend would like it”. Sorry, Owen but I declined due to my chronic case of teenaged-fashioned embarrassment. I also found out how my aunt and uncle met, while they were students at Auburn. They were each out for a walk, and my uncle’s FERRET attacked my aunt’s dog. Well then.

My Boyfriend Bob

The first time I missed a Bob Dylan concert was in 1997. I was a D.J. at WEGL in Auburn, AL while they were hosting a Dylan concert ticket give-away. While I was studying and listening to the radio, WEGL announced that the next caller would receive Dylan tickets. Since I was an employee and disqualified, I immediately called Lord Haggis so he could win the tickets instead (and, of course invite me along). WEGL usually only had about two listeners at any give time, so Lord Haggis easily won. Like a fool, though, I decided to make some extra cash working my minimum wage job and skipped the concert. Since then, I’ve missed at least a half a dozen opportunities to see my one true love perform live. Most recently, Ramona invited me to see him perform in Savannah. Neither of us attended, and we were horrified to find out that we’d also missed out on seeing Luke Wilson who had been at the concert. Luke Wilson! This is truly sad, because, even though I’ve seen many mediocre artists in concert including Billy Joel and George Michael, I’ve consistently missed seeing a true music legend. This weekend, I’ll finally see Bob Dylan perform live. Let’s hope I don’t come up with any lame excuses to miss the concert, like having to shelve books at the library.

Now Twice as Frisky!

Allow me to introduce Natasha Dylan. Natasha will be joining The Frisky Biscuit as our New England Adventure Correspondent. She is also my sister, so already you love her.

Natasha's beat covers Yankee mysticisms - canned bread! Redemption Centers! - embarassing stories about herself, and anecdotes about how cool her big sister is. She also has an unhealthy fascination with a certain folk singer, which she will be posting about soon.

Be sweet!

Sleuthing

Are there any amateur Nancy Drew types out there? Because I really want to find out what is going on in my apartment building.

As I was leaving for work this morning, there was an ambulance and police car parked outside. I saw four police officers, including one with "K-9 UNIT" on the back of his uniform. Oddly, neither me nor Lady Buttercup ever heard any sirens.

When I was back home for lunch the police car was still there, with the addition of a police SUV. Then I saw an officer leave from the other side of the building, carrying a file box. This was 5 hours later!

There has been nothing on the news, but Lady Buttercup is working the case. All very mysterious and nerve-rattling, indeed.

Eating Cupcakes, Frisky Biscuit Style

The technique guaranteed to maximize frosting-to-cake ratios.

Do this or else

Renting sometimes feels like living in a college dorm, complete with intrusions, inconveniences, and rules and the power trippers who enforce them. The complex where I rent is viciously uptight and growing increasingly fascist.

Take for example their favorite method of showing appreciation to their customers: leaving memos on everyone’s door. Here are some excerpts from the love letters sent out over the past few months:

“We have scheduled a pool party for this Saturday. You may stop by the office to register and receive your pool passes. The pool will be closed to those who have not registered. Pool passes will be mandatory for all residents after the pool party.” Fun! The warmest parties always make you wear arm bands…or else.

“…you can expect our staff to be diligent in reminding you where you can walk your pet.” What, so I’m supposed to make Lady Buttercup stop mid-squat if it’s on the unapproved grass? Way to unravel all those years of careful housebreaking, geniuses.

“Anyone found in the pool or on the sundeck after hours will be fined $250 for 1^st offense and $500 for second. If you are leasing you will be subject to eviction for a violation in addition to the fine.” I haven’t had a curfew since I was 18 – I’d forgotten how it felt to be cowering in your room after 10 PM!

“SEASON of the FROGS: The season also means that our amphibious friends migrate around the property. Please drive carefully and do your best to avoid them on the roads.” Do they really think people try to run over frogs on purpose?

“VEHICLES: We have received a few challenges to the ticket process. One person wrote questioning the speed limits. Another wanted to confront the staff member who wrote the ticket.” I’m wondering how people who work at an apartment complex decided all of a sudden they can write out tickets and fines for driving over 14 mph. Seriously! Are you law enforcement officers too?

The bits I listed aren’t even the full extent of regulations and scolding that goes on in my homestead either. Unfortunately it has gotten worse and more bizarre since renewing my lease a few months back. Clearly I’m getting too old to do this whole renting thing much longer. We also have Lady Buttercup’s dignity and happiness to consider.

Premium

It’s likely I’m the last person under 40 to catch onto the awesomeness that is the iPod. Before my sister got one, I scoffed at the idea that there was any need for such a gadget in my life. I never had a Walkman, and thought all those people walking around wearing earphones seemed aloof and haughty. But oh, I fell in love – instantly.

Like any smitten kitten, I could gush endlessly. Which is more beautiful – the simplicity of having all your music so well contained and available, or the fact that it keeps the undesirables from talking to you? Plus, it helps me contain my rage. When people are watching that crummy Dr. Phil at the gym, I can now override my hateful scowls. At the airport, it makes me feel calm and comfortable in my private little bubble. Another sweet iPod move for my lazy ass is to listen to music in bed – without having to get up to turn it off.

The first little treat I downloaded was the brilliant Ricky Gervais podcast. Really, he is just fantastic. Now that I’m a greedy iPod fiend, my only disappointment is that not everything I imagine downloading is available. I’m pining for the new OK Go video “Here it goes again”. Which, if you haven’t seen, you must do so immediately. All the cool kids are doing it.

ATL Gate D21

Once again, The Frisky Biscuit presents that inappropriate topic – the public washroom. Specifically: the Atlanta airport, Gate D21, ladies room. It was while washing my hands there that I suddenly heard someone singing “Row Your Boat”. Like any sensible person, I looked around for the source of the disturbance so I could throw her a weird look. But everyone’s behavior seemed normal, and the song soon ended.

It didn’t take long, and another voice began singing “Row Your Boat”. How nutty! Who is that? I thought to myself. And then, in rounds, another voice piped in. A male voice. Now I was mildly outraged – who the hell let a man in here, and why is he singing?!

After a few more suspicious glances, confirming that no one was singing, or had a ventriloquist’s dummy, or was a man, I realized what was going on. It was actually an audio recording coming from overhead speakers. Mystery solved. I’m guessing it was a tool to promote thorough hand washing, but I’m not ruling out Candid Camera style prank.

Meeting the Family, Pemberley Style

The weekend after I returned from Maine, my parents and sister came to Savannah for a visit. This was it – my chance to introduce Owen to my family. These occasions can be nerve racking for everyone involved, but I knew that the Pemberleys would adore Owen as much as I do. After all, he is funny, kind, has lovely manners, and looks like a blue-eyed John Cusack.

As the link for this event, it was my job to keep the conversation going and make sure everyone was comfortable. It went quite well, but there were a few um….incidents. I don’t want to name names, but various members of the Pemberley family caused the following things to happen:

-A near tipping over of the table at lunch

-Unfolding the sun visor for the car so that it smacked Owen in the face

-A nosebleed

-Accepting a $1 dare to eat an entire forkful of raw onions

Actually, I don’t think Natasha will mind me saying that she is the onion eating hero. It ended up being the icebreaker that fed jokes for the rest of the afternoon. All in all, a fairly typical Pemberley outing. Well done!

The Moose and the Whale

The two weeks I spent in Maine were busy – basically we covered the entire state of Maine and did every summer activity imaginable. As soon as I stepped off the plane, content and unsuspecting after a lunch of clam chowder and crab cakes, Natasha put me to work at her job. And for those of you who’ve never been to Maine, those of you from the south who understand how air conditioning is as basic a need as water – most businesses and homes up there don’t have AC. Or if they do, it’s a whiny little window unit that is about as effective as cooling your house by leaving the fridge door open. So we suffered, a little, but totally worth it since Natasha is endlessly fun and entertaining.

Aside from that little glitch of being unreasonably hot every day, Maine is gorgeous. There were hikes – the first one outside a cute little harbor town called Camden. That hike ended when we got drenched in a sudden downpour, sliding and scooting our soggy asses back downhill, all the while keeping an eye out for this group of little girls on a summer camp hike that were behind us. They got back down safely, making us determined not to complain.

Two days were spent in Bar Harbor and Acadia, simply the most gorgeous place in Maine. The coast has rocky cliffs and lush green trees, the air is fresh, and there are lobster boats and yachts nestled next to each other in the water. The hike Natasha took me on, called The Beehive, ended up giving me a bit of a fright. Naïve and trusting, once we got up there and I pulled myself up on the first set of iron rungs on the ledges of cliffs, I knew I needed to do more research next time. It was one of those hikes that once you get started, there is really no way back and you just have to keep moving forward. Glad I was to finish that one! But we made up for it with delicious meals at Café This Way and a posh hotel.

The second day in Bar Harbor was for whale watching, and we saw two humpback whales. You have to really bundle up for this trip, as it gets bitter cold and damp out at sea (plus don’t forget the Dramamine). But when those two humpback whales surfaced next to the boat, hearing their gentle breath and knowing that most people will never get this close to such an amazing creature – it was incredible. I love them. They come up several times, with 4 – 6 minutes between each breath, before finally diving deep, letting you watch their tail slide under. It was astonishing how gorgeous these creatures are.

We also made a stop at the Great Maine Lumberjack Show. It was cheezy but decent, watching log rolling and tree climbing. Plus, fans of Survivor would be interested to know it was hosted by Timber Tina. Word is she was the first person voted off in a recent season. I liked her; she was enthusiastic about Maine and about training women to compete in lumberjack sports. Plus, when Natasha and I walked in, she gave us an appraising look-over like she was thinking now those two I could make lumberjacks out of.

We spent one day in Freeport taking kayaking lessons. The kayaking is nice and all, but very gear intensive. After you put on the borrowed wet suit (still damp from the previous day’s wearer, and smelling of a stray animal), the wool socks, neoprene shoes, life vest, kayaking skirt, hat, sunscreen, sunglasses, and bug spray, then you have to haul the kayak and paddle and other necessities out to the water. There is a lot of preparation before you even get in the water, and even though I’m glad I tried it, it is not the sport for me. I’d rather just go for a swim or a walk, but I guess I’m a simpleton that way. Freeport has great shopping, though, so I’ll go back for that next time.

One other thing we were determined to accomplish was to see a moose. To do this, we had heard the one of the best places was Baxter State Park. This park is where the Appalachian Trail ends, at Mt. Katahdin (which Natasha intends to climb at some point in her residency there). So we did yet another day trip there, and took peanut butter sandwiches and clementines for a hike around a lake. As we sat there noshing and realizing that the beautiful location made it the finest lunch ever, a moose came out of the woods on the opposite side. We watched her quietly for about half an hour, making it yet another amazing wild animal encounter. Afterwards, we discussed how that moose reminded us of the show Northern Exposure and how Sally loves Fleishman. Awesome.

The people in Maine are much more reserved than what I’m used to. You can’t just go up to strangers in the grocery store and talk to them like you do in the south. But then again, they do sell bottles of liquor in grocery stores. And if you buy a six-pack of beer (which they have many excellent regional varieties), you can mix and match whatever bottles you want. Delightful! Create your own sampler. They also have a licorice flavored soda called Moxie, and Humpty Dumpty potato chips.

Bangor has this look and feel about it that when I visit, I sometimes look around expecting the kids from The Goonies to be riding by on their bicycles. Then there is Stephen King, who lives there and based the fictional town of Derry, Maine from his book It on Bangor. In fact, across the street from Natasha’s house sits the Standpipe. Literally – you look out her bedroom window and the Standpipe is her neighbor. That is where Pennywise the clown did some evil stuff. You can actually walk to Stephen King’s house from where she lives too, and he has iron gates on his property that are shaped like spider webs. Oh yes, spooky.

She Summers in Maine

Y'all, I am tired. Like final exams tired, except without the sense of accomplishment and completion. Otherwise it's the same - messy apartment, errands unfinished, empty fridge, and careless grooming. There is also the absence of a sense of humor, a touch of snarkiness, and the short temper. Working hard has caught up with me.

So I'm going on vacation. To Maine. I get to spend two weeks with my favorite person in the world, my sister. We have outdoorsy adventures planned, homecooked meals to savor, and new kitchen dancing moves to show off. Expect posts (if any) to be overly enamoured of fresh air and chowdah.

The Gold

Sad news for those of us who prefer our Mr. T with gold chains. According to an AP story, Mr. T decided to put away his gold chains after seeing the effects of Hurricane Katrina.

Last time I wrote about Mr. T, I received two emails letting me know he has a new show coming to TV Land this fall. The name of that show you ask? "I Pity the Fool". This is where Mr. T gets to use his skills and give advice to troubled people. As Mr. T explains, "Yes, I am qualified to beat people up. But I am pretty intelligent".

Something tells me a lot of fools are going to be told to stay in school and don't do drugs. This is going to be awesome, I just know it!

A Very Cruel Joke

Here is the transcript from a message on my answering machine today:

"This is Zell Miller asking you to vote for my friend Ralph Reed..."

Delete! Cancelling my landline has suddenly moved up a few notches on my to-do list.

Lots of fun, but no time to write

Catching up on events from the past week:

Where I Proved Myself to be Jumpier than an 80 Year Old
On July 4th, I was injured during a fireworks incident. Okay, so that sounds worse than it is, but better than calling it the rosebush incident. During a home fireworks display that suddenly got bigger than I expected, I leaned too far back in my chair. If not for Victoria using her superhero strength to catch me, I would have cracked my head on the wall of her building. Instead, I scraped my nose on a rosebush. Her grandmother, on the other hand, just stayed calm while some of us (ahem) are screaming and flailing about.

When Coworkers Discovered Why I’m Smiling So Much Lately
My 33rd birthday was last week, and the day started with the phone calls I was expecting:
6:30 AM - received birthday call from my parents
6:54 AM - received birthday call from my sister
And wait, what’s this? A 7:15 AM call from Owen, wishing me a happy birthday. Hello, boyfriend! Later that day, I received a double flower delivery. My work colleagues have seen me get flowers before, but only from my parents. They were nearly as excited as I was to finally be getting flowers at work from a sweetheart.

How I Broke Up With Chocolate Martinis
Tasty, yes. But also deadly. This year, I thought I could pull off a fling with chocolate martinis while beer had his back turned. It so backfired - the day after I took the chocolate martinis for a night on the town, the thought of booze or chocolate was repulsive. Best to avoid something that makes me not want chocolate. Besides, beer loves me and never lets me down.

Getting the Upgrade
Recently I had to retire my trusty flask. And by retire, I mean chuck it out. Apparently, if you don’t finish the contents of your flask, you have to empty it or it will rust. But this just meant that I was able to get a lovelier flask from Victoria and Nicole, one that is lighter and has an attached cap. So next time I’m at a concert or the beach, losing the cap won’t even be an issue.

Oh, and while I dislike sharing my birthday with Sylvester Stallone, Nancy Reagan, 50 Cent, and the current president, it is also the same day for the Dalai Lama. Which I think puts my birthday universe quite in balance, eh?

Lady Buttercup Decides to Redecorate
Okay, I get it. You hate the vertical blinds. But seriously, tearing them down on a Greenie induced rampage doesn’t help matters.

Werewolves or Spontaneous Combustion?

It is so hot in Savannah that people are spontaneously combusting. While driving today, I saw a pair of mens shoes, a black shirt, and some gray dress slacks - with a belt through the loops - in the middle of the road. This morning, Owen and I were walking in Forsyth Park and noticed some clothing draped across a shrub. Upon closer inspection, it was a shredded pair of boxer briefs. So either people are getting overheated and flinging their clothes off, or we've got a werewolf on the loose. Because wolverines are known to rip off their underpants before racing off to hunt down their prey.

I haven't let all this stop me from baking not one, but two cakes. A double chocolate rum cake and a Guinness chocolate cake. Yum yum yummy!

Veg

Certain bits of information stay with us forever. Even though my memory is lousy, for some reason I have retained the waitressing shorthand from my first job. I started working at Po Folks when I was 16 years old, and had to learn abbreviations for their "vegetables" to write down on the ticket that goes to the kitchen. For example, rice with gravy was "RG" and mashed potatoes were "MP". I still can't drive by a BP gas station without translating automatically in my head to "baked potato".

The other thing that has really stayed with me from that first job was when one of the other waitresses got a little fried in the brain. The rumor was that she had a bad dose of acid (though Panama City alone can make a person a bit wonky). Anyway, there was a sundae that kids could order that had a scoop of vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup, and a cherry on top. So this waitress, returning to work after her bad acid trip, had to make one of the kiddie sundaes. She gets it all ready, and walks out of the kitchen, except she put a cherry tomato on top instead of a cherry. And that reason alone, my friends, is why I never wanted to try acid. Or ice cream with tomatoes.

Who are these people?

Spotted at dentist's office today: Man stretched out on sofa, sleeping. His cowboy boots were sitting like neglected companions on the floor beside him. He was making quite a ruckus with his breathing - not unlike Big Bird's woob, woob, woob, wooooo

John Cusack turns 40

I adore John Cusack. People in my age group have grown up alongside him, watching his movies. Tomorrow - June 28th - is John Cusack’s 40th birthday. In honor of that, I present my High Fidelity -style Top 5 Favorite Scenes with John Cusack:

1. In Better Off Dead (my favorite Christmas movie), Lane Meyer gets a crap job at Pig Burgers. There’s this whole mad scientist fantasy sequence, kicked off with some awesome maniacal laughter. Then as Van Halen’s song “Everybody Wants Some” plays, claymation hamburgers and fries come to life! The boy hamburger and the girl hamburger (the girl had eyelashes, duh!) start dancing together, lady french fries are sunbathing around a fryer of oil. That scene is so delightful, even robots approve.

2. The scene in Say Anything where Lloyd Dobbler and Diane are in the car and they are making out. He is all shaky and vulnerable, and has this look on his face that always made me swoon.

3. Sixteen Candles finds John Cusack playing one of Anthony Michael Hall’s geek friends. At the end of the raging party, we assumed the geeks got their asses kicked by the jocks. But then a car of jocks pulls up outside a house, they get out and open the trunk, and inside is John Cusack and the other guy. They just lay there in the trunk and wait to be gently picked up rather than climb out. And the other guy even scoots over near the edge to be helpful after John Cusack is lifted to safety. Hilarious!

4. Here is one from High Fidelity. When Tim Robbins comes into the record store, it looks like the guys all kick his ass. They even pull the air conditioner out of the wall and put the smackdown on that girlfriend- thieving hippie! Except, it ends up being what he imagines doing while just standing there. Who hasn’t fantasized about just once letting your rage overpower reason and play out like that?

5. The first part of the high school reunion in Grosse Pointe Blank. John Cusack is talking with a woman, and she asks him to hold her baby. The baby - who is the World’s Most Perfectly Gorgeous Baby - and John Cusack have this moment where they look at each other. Melts my heart every time.

Bachelor Number Four

Hearing about other people’s dating and relationship stories fascinates me. The dishy details are either relatable because I recognize my own similar mishaps, or they give me something to hope for. Knowing that other people have setbacks and humiliations makes me feel like part of a community rather than a freakish anomaly. Alternately, after seeing people struggle and think they’ll never meet anyone, only to find happiness - well, that pretty much encourages me to get right back out there and make an ass of myself.

I’ve nearly avoided getting into this topic on the blog. I had put an embargo on the subject of dating, thinking it was better to spare the other person’s feelings. After all, I wouldn’t like it if I stumbled across something written about me, so I didn’t want to do that to anyone I had a date with. But then again, I write under a pseudonym. I’m not in the habit of telling my dates that I even have a blog. Dating foibles are one of my special talents. Most importantly, why am I protecting these guys? They certainly didn’t have my best interests in mind. It almost seems unfair to withhold the funny or crummy stories that could help someone else suffering a bout of dating distress.

So. A review of what fate has sent me in 2006. The first guy I went out with decided to email me after our first (dinner only) date. The fact that I never gave him my email address wasn’t a deterrent - he simply looked me up on my office’s web page. Except he emailed the other Ramona - a message that said, “Hey Ramona, I had a great time with you last night”. Thanks for that. Lovely of you to remember my last name. I don’t know how it feels to be a married 60-something woman and get an email like that, but I have a pretty good guess that it doesn’t reflect well on me.

The next guy I went out with this year talked exclusively about himself and the secret society he was a member of. He told me it was his birthday the next day, so I offered him a birthday hug at the end of our date. He took this as his chance, and started grinding on me in the parking lot outside Macaroni Grill. Immediately I pushed him off and blurted out, “I said you could have a birthday hug, not a birthday hump!”

Not wanting to give up on dating and move straight into the Golden Girls house just yet, I tried again. This time it was with someone I met on the Hollis and Rae set (juicy, I know!)We went out a few times, even though we had nothing in common. I smugly congratulated myself on being open to dating outside my type. And where did that end up? With me sitting on my couch one night, dressed and ready to go, for a date that never showed up. How did I find myself, at age 32, actually getting stood up? By an uneducated, Republican, bald waiter no less. Clearly I was bewitched by the glamour and excitement of filming a tv pilot, because there is no reasonable explanation for this.

After a confidence wrecker like that, I could have given up and taken a dating hiatus. But then something good happened. I’ve met an actual nice guy - he makes me laugh, he brings me flowers and chocolates, he gives me shoulder rubs. After a string of seriously bad dates, having a nice boyfriend is even sweeter. And because the lousy dates were part of the path to something lovely, I know I’ve earned this and will savor it.

So there you have it. We all have setbacks; it’s okay to take some time off. But you have to keep getting out there, say hi to the cute stranger, and don’t give up on yourself. Don’t let things harsh your mellow too long, because it’s up to you to enjoy your life and make something happen.

A Night Out with Natasha

Mad Libs are cool (especially on road trips). If you fancy a diversion today, try the special Frisky Biscuit edition created lovingly for you readers - all 3 of you! Number a piece of paper from 1 to 11, make up the required words, then scroll down. Fill in the words at their corresponding location, and enjoy your creation. Don’t peek ahead, you clever minx!

1. Adjective
2. Beverage
3. Place
4. Adjective
5. Exclamation (or naughty curse word)
6. Verb
7. Item of Clothing
8. Noun
9. Body Part
10. Adverb
11. Bodily fluid










Drinks Night

Your day has been rubbish, and then one of your (1.) ___________ friends called. “Let’s go out and drink some (2.)____________. I heard (3.) _______________ has some (4.)__________ hotties” said Anna. You think to yourself (5.) ____________! while you get ready to (6.) _______ downtown. Hmmmm....I wonder if I should wear (7.) __________ and bring my (8.) __________. When you arrive at the pub it is packed. There is an empty couch, and your group heads straight to it. As you are settling in, you put your (9.) ___________ on the couch. You (10.) ____________ jump up, realizing why the couch was empty. You’ve just sat in (11.) ____________!

The Frisky Biscuit Endorses

Summer is all about chasing down the fun times that remind you of being young and free. It is also the time to prevent the heat from maliciously penetrating your soul and ruining the simple pleasures you have earned. In honor of the first day of summer, here are some recommended activities to keep you occupied in case heat haze decreases your ability to think of something to do. These are Frisky Biscuit tested and proven to bring contentment, whether on a date or with a group of your favorite scamps and ne’er-do-wells:

-Swimming at night - even if you have to jump a fence to gain access
-Visit the local psychic for a palm or Tarot card reading
-Go see some live music
-Take your iPod, a six-pack of beer, and your favorite make-out partner outside under the guise of “star gazing”
-Find a movie theater that has food and beer; or an outdoor movie or drive-in
-Watch a local theater production, then sneak out for ice cream or gelato before it ends
-Try Moroccan food & watch the belly dancing
-Go to an aquarium
-Hit the casino, but only bring $20 bucks
-Find out if the local museums or libraries have any special events or concerts
-Go to the beach at night (bring beer)
-Re-live the days of Pac-Man fever and go to a video arcade
-Take some ballroom dance classes*
-Go to an amusement park
-A boat ride at night - especially on the 4th of July
-Doze off while reading trashy celebrity gossip magazines
-Go to the movies frequently; even if the movie is crummy, at least you can soak up some good air conditioning
-Host a board game night; you’ll probably want to have some margaritas too
-Borrow a handwriting analysis book, and figure out the secret traits of your friends
-Try something you’ve always wanted to do, like surfing or a hot air balloon ride
-Get obsessed with a new craft - maybe homemade postcards, or something with glue, pompoms and googly eyes - as long as it is oh-so summer camp 1980
-Eat lots of watermelon



*Gentlemen - this is a popular place for single ladies

It calls for dirty looks

Things I do not fancy:

When people leave the bathroom without washing their hands
That alcohol isn’t sold on Sundays at the grocery store
When people wear flip flops in the winter
Walking through cigarette smoke
People licking their fingers while you are eating
Migraines
Heavy fragrances you can smell after the person has left, especially when they smell like a poodle
Those Idiots/Dummies books (so insulting and negative)
When people let doors close behind them rather than holding them open
People hating on books they’ve never even read
Accidently picking out bad pieces of fruit and having to throw it away
Cleaning the shower
Folks who touch food they don’t intend to eat

Southern Signs

Anyone who has driven through the rural South is well acquainted with the various roadside eccentricities. When Natasha and I were students at Auburn, our drive home to Panama City took us along a stretch of Highway 231. The first time we saw it, our disbelief set off a debate that lasted for the rest of the journey. It was the first of several advertisements leading to a junkyard “zoo” by the side of the highway.

Ramona: No way it actually said that!
Natasha: But it did; we both saw it.
Ramona: But how...?
Natasha: I don’t know.

It was a sign with five unforgettable words: SEE GIANT RAT EATIN’ FROGS.

For years it was our running joke; a bizarre diversion from a routine drive. We discussed the possibilities.

Natasha: What exactly do you think goes on there?
Ramona: I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure I can’t handle seeing it.
Natasha: Do you think they have scheduled feeding times so the public can watch?
Ramona: Probably. But I’m still not stopping.

Most puzzling of all is the question of what they were hoping to entice people to observe. Is it a giant rat who is eating some frogs? Or giant frogs who devour a rat (rat eatin’ frogs)? Because the hillbilly message is unclear. One thing we did know is that watching a deranged chow-down like that would be gross. We never did investigate. As with many of life’s mysteries, finding out might spoil the innocent sense of wonderment.

Juror #10

For the past 2 days, I’ve had jury duty. It’s kind of exciting, and something I’ve long been curious about. Yes, that sounds geeky. So what? I had looked forward to it partly because of the new spectrum of people watching opportunities. Though airports are still my favorite place for that pastime, the Chatham County Courthouse did not disappoint.

During the jury selection process on the first day, there was actually a guy who had to ask, “What is a spouse?”. Oh dear. Of course, I was stuck sitting next to an enormous man who cycled through an entire repertoire of disgusting noises - robustly audible scratching, sneezing, coughing, chortling, sniffling, labored breathing, and phlegm collecting that was so mighty, it vibrated the wooden bench we were sitting on.

Instead of sending a jury summons, the “invitation no one wants to get”, maybe they just need to put a different spin on it. Perhaps if it was marketed as an exciting vacation from your everyday life, people wouldn’t be so grouchy when they report for jury duty. Unless they already know better. It was interesting, in the way that getting out of the office and seeing what other people do all day feels like a school field trip.

How about sending something like, “The exclusive privilege of consorting with the glamorous citizens of Chatham County, Georgia awaits you. Settle into the sumptuous decor lovingly designed in multiple shades of brown - so retro its ahead of its time. Indulge yourself with the fabulous expense account of $10 dollars, from a check made out to BEARER. Experience the full entertainment value offered with our state of the art film screening. Sample the delicacies of our world class menu, available in the chic lounge on the first floor. Appreciate the culture and soothing melodies of Kenny G music each time the attorneys approach the bench. Oh yes, this special opportunity cannot be missed!”

During the trial today, I kept thinking of the time Mumsly served on a jury. It was for an assault case. A woman’s ex-husband had spit (spat?) on her current husband, and took the issue to court. Only in Panama City, folks.

bright copper kettles

Here are some things I fancy:

White sheets
Tea with milk and sugar
Cold weather
Beck's dancing
Tulips and hydrangeas
Throwing stuff away
Board games - especially Clue
Dogs; dog snouts
Purses - like some women are with shoes, I can never have too many purses
Gravel paths and driveways
Kisses where the man touches the woman's face with his hand
Postcards
The sound a fresh jar of nuts makes when you open it
Being scared of zombies
Beauty products that smell like buttercream and chocolate
Beer, especially Bass and Guinness
Having a good laugh
Riding trains when traveling
Herb gardens
The smell of barbeque even though I'm a vegetarian
Blue Dog
Being prepared
Being surprised
Mr. T
Those quizzes people email around, revealing personality quirks
Auburn football
Hiding surprises in people's homes, luggage, desks
Clean new books
British slang
Rainy days when you can stay home
Kilts
Dark chocolate
Halloween
The years when my age is an even number
When people step on the scale at the grocery store but forget they are still holding their bags
Having plenty to look forward to

How to have a fun, sexy time*

I like to test the waters when I’m on a date. To have a Frisky time, there needs to be an icebreaker so you both can relax and any stiff interview vibes can dissipate. Or, you can disqualify one more person in the world from the candidate pool. After 17 years of dating, what the hell, right? It’s not like I’ll permanently spoil anything. Might as well be myself and have an authentic interaction.
So anyway, I might blurt out something like this: "These mashed potatoes are so good, I want to make out with them!"**
Let’s figure out which is the reaction I’d appreciate from my date:
a.) Laugh genuinely, take a gulp of beer, then throw me some twinkly eye contact
b.) Say, "Yeah, girl, I’ll watch that"
c.) Grimace uncomfortably and start looking around the room for an exit strategy
d.) In a British accent say, "I want to make out with you my darling". If you’re not British, fake it.
Now lads - you’ve just got to be ready for these things. A sense of humor is my favorite quality in a person. I need to know that you’re laid back enough - that you’re man enough - to not feel threatened. If you can’t get on board with the silliness, lets not waste each other’s time.
The results are:
a.) This is fine, because it shows an appreciation of my sense of humor.
b.) This one is a perv.
c.) Takes things too literally. My adorableness has been wasted on you.
d.) The best response, because it proves you can throw it right back. Or it means you are British, in which case I probably already love you.
*blatant Arrested Development reference
**(or some other spontaneous comment)

Freaks, The strangers who approach me are

There must be some quality in my demeanor or appearance that invites strangers to apprehend me, and then practically explode with some unexpected weirdness. Maybe its because they see me and Lady Buttercup out walking so often that they feel they know us. That we are such a familiar sight they decide to stop us and give a detailed monologue about ...whatever. It happens so frequently - I’m held hostage while listening politely to someone’s outburst - that when I see certain people coming I duck behind buildings to avoid them. There is even one who drives beside me, windows rolled down and still talking, while I’m just skulking home. Later, when I’m released back to my squandered free time, I always wonder what the hell just happened. You hardly know me and you are talking about this?
Take this recent encounter, from a neighbor I’d only nodded hello to before:
Neighbor: My cat - you’ve seen him. He’s like my son. But after I had him for a like a year, you know, he started acting all hyper and was waking me up and stuff.
Ramona: Ah
Neighbor: So I called the vet. And the vet said to me, ‘Well Sammy, remember when you were a teenager and your hormones made you all excited and you felt different?’ Oh yeahhh...I remember that! Whoooo! So the vet says, That is what your cat is going through. We’ll give him the operation and he should calm down’.
Ramona: Um
Neighbor: Now the cat is bringing me dead snakes and stuff. So I called the vet and asked why. I know the cat thinks it’s a present, but why can’t he bring me a ribeye or something?
Ramona: Oh my hell.

Book Report

I've just started reading Amy Krouse Rosenthal's Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life, and it is delightful. I can barely sit still while reading it - the urge to try out her ideas strikes insistently and frequently. For example, Rosenthal describes a diversion she enjoyed for almost a year, where she would leave spare change in an envelope in a public place. Whoever finds the change was to spend it on some small treat - and write on the enclosed postcard what they did with the money. She even got several postcards back! I also like the book because the writing is so exquisite that she reminds me how magical and special the smallest gestures and experiences can be. Plus, there are lists! And Dave Eggers style illustrations! The way she has organized and categorized influential moments in her life, well, I love it. Good stuff. It is always a promising sign when you start reading a book and you become immediately more alert and aware, so you can savor every bit.

Kitchen Dancing

Although I was advised not to, I did it anyway. I cooked dinner for someone. It was stuff I was already making for myself, and it turned out fine. No Bridget Jones style aspirations and resulting fiascos here. Just vodka penne, vegetarian chicken parmesan, gorilla salad, and brownies. Did you catch that? Gorilla salad? While I’m forbidden from discussing the exact details of gorilla salad, I can say it is spinach leaves with strawberries, blueberries, and pecans snuggled in. I suppose I could mention it was introduced to me at a party where someone wore a gorilla suit. And that the decorating theme for the party, inexplicably, was "bananas". So you might not get the idea, but again, I can say nothing else about it. Right then.
Natasha was concerned because I’ve tried this before. I would invite someone over for dinner, over think it and get stressed out, finally crumbling under the pressure and cancelling. I’d evolved a bit and started ordering pizza instead of begging off, no doubt leaving my guest confused about: a) why I bothered; and b) why I was frazzled and disheveled.
My culinary wizardry paid off: it turns out my dinner companion is an Ali G fan. Just like me. Which means I got to borrow Season 1, where I discovered the delights of Ice Cream Gloves and Borat in Savannah. I LOVE that Borat came to see a Sand Gnats game, and that Sacha Baron Cohen was in my town. He also went to UAT as Bruno, and the people there were the nastiest of any I think Bruno has encountered. Typical.
The cooking success can be attributed to one thing: Kitchen Dancing. While the vodka sauce was simmering and the pasta was somersaulting underwater, I was Kitchen Dancing. Kitchen Dancing is the way you dance when there is some good cooking going on and you are giddy with the anticipation of eating something yummy. Kitchen Dancing is the way you dance when no one is watching. Or it is also the way you dance when with really good friends, and you are trying to show off your best goofy skills, just to make each other laugh. Kitchen Dancing is performed by people who don’t take themselves too seriously. It is the purest dance form - simply full-on joy minus the self-consciousness of dancing in public. Oh yes. My moves are premium.

Cats Hate Me

Okay, so I’m an admitted dog person. I do love animals, I just happen to understand dogs the best. My mom and sister are allergic to cats, so I’ve never lived with one. Consequently, I get it wrong - my interactions with cats are as haltingly awkward as a geeky teen at a school dance. I’ve tried to play on their terms. I let them approach me, I use a soothing voice, I let them rub the sides of their face against my motionless, placating arm. I used to draw a fierce Garfield.
Every now and then, I babysit cats for a neighbor or friend. As far as I can tell, the results are mixed I don’t mind helping out, because I am keenly aware of how hard being a single pet owner can sometimes be. There was one cat I looked after for what should have been two days. Except her owner had a serious car accident, leaving her hospitalized and forcing me into a bigger commitment than I wanted. This cat hated me. She would swipe furiously at my legs as I walked by with her food. She hissed and jumped out at me. One time I even called my mom, sobbing, after getting my ass kicked by a 8 pound furball of fury. But I got over it, because on the opposite end of kitty behavior are Victoria’s cats and Nicole’s cats, gentle and affectionate.
This weekend I’m in charge of three new cats while my neighbor is out of town. They are sweet, and one is an incredible fluffers. But they are all under investigation for Feline Naughtiness. Someone (ahem) knocked over a vase of flowers. Thanks a lot! I loved cleaning up broken glass first thing in the morning. Especially when I still had to face the litter box. GAG. I’ll be sending Lady Buttercup to sort you lot out if you don’t behave. Let that be a warning to you.

Packing Heat & Standing on Your Feet

Good news is always welcome. In the past few days, two friends have gotten the jobs they wanted more than any other. So congratulations Victoria and Nicole! I have to say it’s especially good to move on when you’ve despised your job for as long as Victoria has. Plus, she gets to carry a gun. That is fierce, people.

Bathroom Report

Have you ever had a favorite public restroom? I know I’m not supposed to talk about it, but some bathrooms are so memorable and different that it’s actually kind of fun to go in there. Natasha has always been a fearless explorer of public restrooms - I can’t think of a single restaurant we’ve eaten in that she didn’t inspect the bathroom. She dependably returns with a report on the soap and paper situation. One of my best blackmail photos of Natasha is one of her emerging from a public, freestanding toilet in the middle of downtown Glasgow. It was basically an upgraded porta-toilet that you had to pay to use, but she said it was clean and there was a sink and everything.
In Athens, Georgia, my favorite ladies room was in the horticulture building on campus. It had one huge, half-circle shaped sink instead of a few individual sinks. The best part: to turn the water on, there was a foot pedal. Completely satisfies my germophobe tendencies by not having to touch any handles.
I only used the loo at Durty Nellie’s pub in Ireland once, but I’ll never forget it. The wall behind the toilet had a window, just slightly propped open, with a view of the most lusciously green countryside. After drinking Guinness in a smoky, stifling pub, the bathroom was a fresh and airy respite.
Panama City has an Indian restaurant with thoughtful details in the restroom. They have a mouthwash dispenser with little plastic cups, and the towels are thick and generous. I also like to find pay phones in the bathroom, for those pre-cell phone times when you might have to sneak away and call a friend during a dreadful date. I also like the posh restrooms with fancy little soaps and fresh flowers.
There is a new bathroom at work, and it already feels like an oasis. There is a window next to the sink so you get the natural light. It has a full length mirror near the door so you can make sure you have a graceful exit. Plus, the door pushes out so you can skip that whole paper-towel-hands routine on the door handle. Hell yes.

Vegas for Hillbillies

I saw a woman in Kroeger wearing a t-shirt that said, "What happens in Panama stays in Panama". And yes, it was airbrushed.

The Little Yellow House

The past few weeks that I’ve spent apartment hunting have resulted in a few conclusions. The first is that things haven’t quite worked out according to plan. Mr. Right has yet to materialize, and somehow (at age 32) I’ve managed to find myself still single, still renting.
The places I’ve been looking at - let’s just say real estate listings are astoundingly deceptive. It illustrates perfectly how language can be shaped or manipulated to serve someone’s purpose, revealing only what the writers want you to know. If I could rewrite the listing for some of the places I’ve looked at, this is what they should say:
-The little yellow house next to the meth lab
-Enjoy winters spent crouched, shivering, in front of space heaters
-So far out in the country that you’ll never again get a date to pick you up
-That funky smell that trails you everywhere will soon be identified as your clothes, once they’ve hung inside the rotting closets
And so on. Victoria and I saw an actual drug deal, in broad daylight, just down the street from one of the places we looked at. There was a dude standing in the middle of the street who handed a baggie to someone sitting in a car. How we avoided screaming as we sped out of there is amazing.
I tend to be a trust your instincts kind of person. I’m not entirely sure I would like living downtown - it has all the drawbacks of living in a big city. Traffic, a longer commute, no parking, street noise, not feeling safe. As Natasha pointed out, we just aren’t big city girls. It is time to face it - I like having a dishwasher and knowing I can walk to my car without getting jacked. While people are scrambling to make the rent to live downtown so they can stumble home with their go cup, I’m able to go home for lunch and sleep later in the mornings. I'm not ready to buy a home yet also.
So for now, I’ve decided stay put and rent a little longer. Where I’m living suits me, and even though it will soon be sold as a condo I’m not kicked out yet. Besides, this buys me some time so I’m not giving up on my dreams: the dream of owning a home that suits my taste exactly, the dream of living somewhere that has four seasons, the dream of living in the same town as my sister, the dream of living in England for awhile, the dream of buying a home with the man I love and want to share my life with. And that little self-preserving voice that keeps saying resist...resist....resist.

Foam Fingers

Last Thursday I went to see They Might Be Giants with Bianca Vanderhooten and her brother and sister-in-law. Other than the novelty songs that I remember from college, I haven’t listened to They Might Be Giants a great deal, and wasn’t especially excited. But Anna had told me they were a fun concert, and I hate to miss good live music.
As I was waiting for the Vanderhootens, I watched a guy remove his flip-flop. There was a hole in the bottom, and he stuck his finger through the hole and was casually swinging the flip-flop back and forth. The smoke machine output had seeped all the way into the lobby of the Lucas Theatre. In addition to the usual concert fare of t-shirts and cds, They Might Be Giants foam fingers were for sale. Quite a few people were wearing their band t-shirts, not even worried about looking cool. Or maybe they haven’t seen High Fidelity. The place started to smell a bit like infrequent bathers and feet, and I began planning my excuse to duck out early.
The opening act was a guy that was wandering around the theatre prior to the show, and I had this feeling he was related to the band. He turned out to be a ukulele player called Michael Levitan (no idea on the spelling), who sang earnestly about his unlucky love life. He was quite charming, even though at first I was concerned about his gray polyester pants being too short.
As soon as the show started, the Vanderhootens began mixing cocktails from their traveling kit of mini bottles. We didn’t plan this out, but I had also brought my flask. Clearly I’ve chosen wisely on the concert companions. Just as I was pouring the vodka, an usher walked by and I jerked my hands up and inadvertently dropped the cap of my flask right into my drink. So now I have an open flask in my purse, the cap sunk to the depths of a vodka and ice, and I’m trying to discretely balance it all in my lap. After I’ve gotten myself pulled together I notice the correct way to mix drinks. Put the cup on the floor, set your bag in front of it for privacy, and then lean over to pour the drink, as if you were merely sorting through your bag for something. Ah, to watch experienced pros in action.
The concert, by the way, was fun and unpredictable. For a band that’s been around for 20 years or so, they are still creating new sounds rather than just riding on their standard issue hits. They gave us clear and simple instructions on what was expected from the audience. The first half of the show we were asked to sit in our seats while they played new songs, written about each of the venues on their last tour. The guys were cute and funny and the range of their music was broader than I’d thought.
Our instructions for the second half were to stand up, and the audience flooded to the front of the stage. The energy picked up from polite listening to lively (yet awkward) hopping and flailing. We got confettied, we watched cell phone displays sway like fireflies, and the Vanderhootens and I got tipsy. What I liked best about They Might Be Giants is they seemed humble, appreciative, and connected to their roots. They were generous with their enthusiasm, playful, and don’t seem jaded after all these years.

Observe Closely the Listmaker

I feel the need for lists lately - in abundance. Already I’m a devoted and energetic listmaker, and this tendency has been churning overtime. Lists are good for approaching life changes and big events, and soon I expect to be moving house. Lists allow me to feel more control by seeing things laid out in a sensible scheme. They also alleviate mind clutter when I’m daydreaming about things I can’t afford or accomplish just yet. It kicks off the process of going from unprepared and anxious to confident and ready.
I was born to make lists, and can claim having many a listmaker in the family. We believe in the power of the list. We enjoy the soothing satisfaction of crossing items off. Few topics are immune to my interest in sorting, ordering, and connecting them in a list. When I get excited about something - like cute chefs on tv or choice names for dogs - a list is the fastest way to collect my thoughts before they evaporate. It’s a race against time to document my obsessions rather than suffer the consequences of trying to remember what I was thinking about. Writing it out in sentences and paragraphs slows me down and ensures I’ll forget something.
As someone who likes to be prepared, I look at a list and it just makes sense to me. It is succinct and light and not overly ornamental. When I look back at my journal I can see at a glance what I was obsessing over at that time - be it baked goods or my health. So a list of items to send in a care package to kids in college one day is actually me beginning to think about what kind of parent I’d like to be (if life brings that to me). Apparently the kind who sends quarters for the laundry, beauty products, and brownies. It is a method of capturing what my younger self dreamed about for my older self.
My favorite New Year’s tradition is to create a list of everything I can look forward to in the coming year, from the big excitement of concerts and vacations to the small delights like new bath towels or movies coming out. It is a remedy for the post holiday blues.
There is a book - 14,000 Things To Be Happy About - entirely in list format. Page after page of a list of simple pleasant things, such as the sound of walking over gravel or the sensation of someone playing with your hair. Reading just a few pages puts things in perspective.
Some of my favorite lists are not useful or practical. These lists serve no purpose other than to make me feel I’ve accomplished something or set things in order. Or sometimes a random thought crosses my path, and it becomes a list. Like this one that I’ve titled American Women Married to British Men:
-Gwyneth Paltrow & Chris Martin
-Liv Tyler & Royston Langdon
-Madonna & Guy Ritchie
-Gwen Stefani & Gavin Rossdale
-Jennifer Connelly & Paul Bettany

The Universal Appeal of Mr. T

I have always appreciated Mr T - he is such a unique character. His fierceness, his style, and those catchphrases - I love it. Ever since the days of the A-Team, I was fascinated with how he could say whatever he wanted and back it up. He is the complete opposite of me, except for the scowls.

I’ve actually read Mr. T’s autobiography. My favorite photo is one of him with Nancy Reagan, because it is bizarre and random. A couple of years ago, I ran across an item that I was contractually obligated to bring into my possession: a keychain called "Mr. T In Your Pocket". It has six buttons, each corresponding to a Mr. T catchphrase that he recorded. Push one button, and it says, "QUIT YOUR JIBBA-JABBA". Another one says, "DON'T GIVE ME NO BACK TALK, SUCKA!". Victoria left that one on a friend’s voice mail, and all he heard was the end of the message and thought someone phoned him up and called him a cocksucker. That wasn’t just someone Fool, that was Mr. T.!

This delightful toy came with an order form where you could get two free Mr. T stickers. And you know I sent off for those. I gave one to Natasha, and saved mine for the longest time while trying to figure out how Mr. T could be of service. He finally took his place of honor on the back of a pristine new clipboard I bought for work. I convinced Natasha of the brilliance of doing the same, thinking that someone would notice at least one of us and be secretly pleased that such cool people walk around with Mr. T clipboards.

Today, it happened. One of Natasha’s colleagues came up to her and said, "Oh wow, you really do have Mr. T on your clipboard!"

The word is out, people.

Sidewalk Art? Or Distress Signal?

I wish I knew the story behind this piece of sidewalk art! This was my favorite, because of the funny.

Yay! Another Weekend Potpourri!

The thing I like best about living in Savannah is there is always something interesting going on. People have been known to decline weekend road trips from fear of missing out on something. If there isn’t a festival, event, or concert to attend, there is no shortage of places to explore and kooky people to talk to.

On Saturday, I did a bit of “volunteer” work at an MS Walk with some friends. What I contributed, the best I can figure, was to volunteer a few sarcastic jokes about my usefulness. Anyway, Victoria and I did have fun creating a marvelous banana sculpture and making fun of the donated cookies that were close to their expiration date.

As a reward for our good citizen behavior, we had a slice of pizza at Vinnie's – the answer to all the yummy yet cheap eats cravings downtown. We also stopped by Leopold’s, an old-timey ice cream parlor for milkshakes. The owner of Leopold’s is also a movie producer, who worked on Mission Impossible III. Which I won’t be seeing, by the way. Does anyone still like Tom Cruise, or has he turned absolutely everyone off?

SCAD also had the Sidewalk Arts Festival at Forsyth Park. The students and alumni create works of art in chalk on the sidewalk, and many of them were surprisingly gorgeous. They start work at 11 am, and I believe the chalk art gets washed away after the festival ends at 5 pm. The brief amount enjoyment time is because graffiti in the historic district is banned. Oh well, it’s pretty while it lasted. Next weekend is the doggie carnival, and Forsyth Park will transform itself again for the day.

I wish I could report that I had the nerve to go see the band Captured By Robots. The name is intriguing, and a description in the local paper called it a punk band with one guy who built a bunch of hydraulic robots to round out the band. He programs the robots ahead of time to play drums, horns, etc. Until I went to their web site, I was expecting it to be a Mystery Science Theater 3000 style band. But then the chains, the disemboweled t-shirt, and the heavy metal vibe scared me. Looks like someone went a little nutty in at Spencer’s Gifts. I’m too pure hearted for that.

Has anyone seen the Fatboy Slim video with Christopher Walken? It starts with him sitting quietly in a chair, it’s not obvious yet where things are going, and then he does this twitch. That’s when I start hoping please dance, please. Then, YES! He busts out with joy, pure and simple. I love seeing a video for the first time, because of the surprise factor. Videos can be so free form, they have permission to go to nonsensical, wild, and magical places.

I’m having a bit of a lie-in today – I’ve got my junk food and my British movies. Every now and then I need a day to myself where I don’t go anywhere or have to rush off and be somewhere at a certain time, and I’m overdue. How do I know it’s time for a full day off? Usually it’s when I’ve been in a bad, humorless mood for a while, or do a bunch of clumsy dumb stuff. Like cutting my face on a washcloth, leaving a bona-fide pirate gash on my cheek. Yeah, I can’t figure that one out either.