Conversations Archives
Tourist attractions
11:16 pm | 0 | Shorts | Conversations, Places, The Man
Recently got this email from my number one husband:
Here’s to hoping the next seven days fly by…
Sixteen days and counting
10:36 am | 0 | Shorts | Conversations, Places, The Man
When I fly to Frankfurt I have to bring both C’s luggage and my luggage with me. This morning he sent me the following email regarding packing:
Stupidest Question of the Week
12:17 pm | 1 | Shorts | Conversations
Lady: Does this elevator go to the other floors?
In my head: No, it just shoots you into outer space like the one in the Wonka Factory.
Bathtub
8:06 pm | 1 | Shorts | Conversations
When I get real sad I go to a club, drink enough beer to fill a bathtub. — Women’s room graffiti at Rudyard’s in Houston
Hello. Is it me you’re looking for?
6:20 pm | 6 | Shorts | Conversations
Met a girl at the dog park today. She asked my name and replied with I know you!
Oh yeah, how?
From your blog!
That’s never happened to me before. Hello, Cortney.
Too bad that dog park smelled like and was covered in shit. Humans, there is a poop scoop law in Houston you know.
Not in a good way
10:44 am | 1 | Blog | Conversations
Clyde Daniel’s is the asshole of all asshole’s, and not in a good way — Women’s room graffiti at the Engine Room in Houston
Bachelorette Party: Day 11
4:18 pm | 2 | Blog | Conversations, Girly
Despite the fact that I have tons of wonderful friends coming out of the woodwork with offers to take me out to dinner or distract me with Elvis Costello tickets, I’m still having a difficult time adjusting to life sans C, at least for the time being.
The other night, after spending several hours taking advantage of my friend Steven’s high-speed Internet access to redesign this site, I went home at midnight and decided to watch a movie.
I fixed myself some food, curled up on the couch and turned on the DVD player. Nothing.
I grabbed one of our four remotes (four!) and pressed the “DVD” button. Nothing.
Another remote, another “DVD” button. More nothing.
I spent about 45 minutes frantically trying to get the DVD player to work. I could hear the opening titles song, 30 seconds of it, on a loop, playing over and over and over again, as if to taunt me, but no picture. Only the repetitive sound of Brittanie going mad.
I got so frustrated that I wanted to find the heaviest remote and throw it at our ginormous flat-screen hellaciously expensive high-definition television. But instead, all I did was start sobbing.
These are the types of things that usually get me very, very worked up. It runs in the family. In fact, two Christmases ago I remember a very similar incident during which my non-technology savvy dad was trying to set up their brand new DVD player and, unable to figure it out, stormed out of the house in a disgruntled fury. The fact that my stepmom and I were cracking up laughing the whole time didn’t help matters.
Typically, however, C the zen master is able to take control and make everything better, giving me time to simmer down.
Now that he’s in Korea, though, I’m out of control.
A couple of mornings ago I decided I wanted to try to call him and wish him goodnight. So I dialed the number I had, but it didn’t go through. I tried a couple of different times, dialing 1 first, then dialing 0 first. No luck. So finally, frustrated as usual, I dialed the operator.
“Hi. I’m having difficulty trying to place an international phone call from Houston to South Korea.” Although I was extremely stressed out, I was actually holding it together here, and asked in my sweetest and most polite voice.
“What’s your long distance carrier?” the operator said in a tone even more exasperated than I felt.
“Umm, I don’t know.”
“Do you want me to connect you to I Don’t Know long distance?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I can connect you to I’m Not Sure long distance.”
“What? WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?”
“Ma’am, those are all names of long distance carriers.”
You men and your size thing
6:27 pm | Comments Off | Blog | Conversations, The Man
My friend Lance, the e-mailing genius, the part-time photographer, the man who will be photographing my wedding, sent me another e-mail yesterday. The text in parenthesis was added by me so the e-mail makes a little more sense:
“hey ding-dong, i was planning on going (to the Y) tomorrow night after work but i may be going to a “gentlemens club” to take some photos for my hempstead rd project. ill let you know tomorrow morning. hows life minus a (future husband’s last name redacted)? we should sell his tv and buy a fucking helicopter. if you get lonely come over and have a drink. that soundtrack (“The Life Aquatic”) is the bananas, annie has it.
When C and I first started dating, one of our very first dates was a “movie night” at his house. We both love old movies and artsy films, and he subscribes to Netflix, so much of our time together in the following months was spent on his couch in front of his TV. I had been to his house before, but this was the first time we had really planned a night in. I think he cooked something, and I’m positive he mixed some rum drinks.
As we sat down on the couch, he turned to me, in all seriousness, waved his arm in the general direction of his six-foot-tall flat-screened high-definition television, and said “You know, there’s only one TV on the market right now that’s bigger than this one.”
That right there sealed the deal, folks.
She’s filing her nails while they drag the lake
10:54 am | Comments Off | Blog | Conversations, Listening
The following phone conversation took place two weeks ago:
“Hey Steven, Elvis Costello is coming to town. Wanna go?”
“Yeah, but I don’t have an extra $70 lying around to buy tickets.”
“Damn. Uh, neither do I. Oh well.”
Then I got a phone call yesterday afternoon.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing. I just got done with a run and I’m sitting here at the park trying to cool off.”
“Go home and take a shower.”
“What?”
“Go home and take a shower. You, me, Linda and Kenny are going to see Elvis Costello for free, courtesy of KPFT.”
My friends are the best friends in the world.
A collection of completely random and unorganized thoughts that do not merit their own independent posts
5:51 pm | Comments Off | Blog | Conversations
The following comments may or may not have been overheard either in my workplace or during private conversations in recent months. That’s right, I eavesdrop. ALL THE TIME!
— “I’m not going to have you wearing shitty-ass shoes at your wedding,” said by my wonderful stepmother, after making me promise to call them and ask for money for afore-mentioned wedding in the case that I need it.
— “I don’t call you to BS, so I’d appreciate it if you called me back when I leave you a message,” said by my publisher into the phone shortly after reprimanding me for not being polite enough to readers when they call me to complain about a story they wish I hadn’t written.
— “If he gives me a good angle we’ll do a story. What — does he want me to just write about his dojo?” Sounds really dirty, huh. Spoken by my editor after receiving an annoying phone call from one of the thousands of people who think their everyday lives merit an entire story in the newspaper. Most of the time these people own completely unoriginal businesses and want publicity. One word: advertise.
— “Anybody wanna try some of my cheese?” Okay, I said that one during lunch yesterday.
— Also, the head of advertising, a 50-something white woman, recently attacked the only black girl in the house, a recent college graduate, by talking about how hot black men’s posteriors are, punctuated with “Right! Right!?”
Other things not necessarily of note:
My friend Lance called me at work the other day.
“Hey, I have free tickets to this movie preview and I wanted to know if you want to go with me.”
I was busy so I was only kind of half listening to him. “Hmm. What’s the movie?”
“’Sausage.’”
“’SAUSAGE?!?’”
“No, you dummy! ‘Hostage.’”
“Oh.”
Vocabulary
Lance also coined a new phrase, thanks to a song on Gwen Stefani’s horribly horrible new CD. Since I’m trying to cut back on the sailor-like vocabulary, every time I want to say something is the shizzle! I’m now going to say it’s the bananas.
Bob also coined a new word: Vietnails. Synonyms are Japanails or Chinails. I don’t think you really need me to tell you the definition, but suffice it to say that before my wedding I’m going to get my Vietnails done.
My favorite word right now is screwvenir. That’s what you take when you leave the house after having noncommittal intercourse with someone.