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Posts Tagged ‘Beer and wine’

She wants a wee

Posted in Cultural differences, Travel, tagged , , , , , , , , , on February 6, 2018| 10 Comments »

Dear Brits,

I love you. You know I do. As I recently found out thanks to the results from the Ancestry DNA kit, I have at least 18 percent of you in my system (the geography nerd in me is a little confused by how Scotland and Wales are somehow marked separately from Great Britain, though). Look here:

Anyway, I’ve always been an anglophile, thanks to my burning desire for Adam Ant.

So when I needed time away to complete a project I’ve been procrastinating on for a year and a half, I chose your chilly, tea-soaked environs. Thankfully, I had a Delta voucher, vacation time available, and two long-time friends who live within 20 minutes of each other.

These are a few of my favorite things:

1. The pubs. Within a one-block radius in Uttoxeter, for example, I worked on my project at The Black Swan, The Old Swan, The Old Star, Ye Olde Talbot and The Vault. The Guinness was spectacular at all.

2. Coffee. I have no shits to give about tea (sorry), but you have proper coffee. I love that you feel free to order cappuccino at all times of the day.

3. Friendliness. You love Americans like mothers love their weird, wayward sons. I was a source of curiosity in every pub I visited to write. Many of you wanted to know what I thought about Donald Trump. (I try not to think about him.) Many of you were pleased at my beer of choice. Every pub played American music, which amused the crap out of me as I am the biggest fan of the Second British Invasion.

4. The TV. No one does television better than you. There is no way anyone else (except maybe the Dutch) would have given the world “Naked Attraction.” The promo line? “A daring dating series that starts where some good dates might end — naked.”

It’s not pixelated at 10 p.m. on a weeknight. I’m shocked. And hooked.

5. The language. I’m tickled at your phrases. The terms of endearment alone sold me (“Duck,” “Shug,” “Love”). I’m definitely “sorted” at the moment. I’m using “straightaway” instead of “now.” I’m in love with “posh” (the word, not the Spice Girl).

I could listen to you all day. And did:

“She wants a wee!” — said by Man One to Man Two as I was trying to slide past Man Two to get to the ladies room.

“We’ve replaced you with someone far more attractive. You weren’t doing your job, so we’ve sacked you.” — Man Three to Man Four as I was sitting in his seat at the pub.

6. Your bluntness. Take this sign, for example.

Harsh. I feel sorry for the Simon Howie haggis. They can dream, I guess.

Anyway, thank you for being you. I hope to see you again soon.

Tra!
Beth

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Dispatches from the pool: Episode 3

Posted in Apartment life, tagged , , , , , , , on August 2, 2017| Leave a Comment »

EPISODE 3: Rated PG-13 for Near Nudity and Coarse Language

EXT. APARTMENT COMPLEX POOL – LATE AFTERNOON

Two groups of six HARDBODIES each have taken over two corners of the pool. The scent of testosterone is more pungent than chlorine. TWO OTHER COUPLES lounge at the other corners. Each couple basks in the Atlanta sun, oiled up like Thanksgiving turkeys.


DOMINIC and GIDEON and THEIR LESS-SWOLLEN-AND-RASHY MOTHER enter the pool area. They are joined by FATHER, no less a hardbody than the 12 mentioned above. However, the appearance of MOTHER and FATHER in the pool area raises the median age by at least 15 years.

MOTHER and FATHER survey the pool area with dismay. BLINDINGLY WHITE MOTHER needs shade.* They head to the covered area with the plush furniture. DOMINIC and GIDEON are reluctant to get in the water with so many people there (i.e., potential victims for which they will get in trouble for splashing). They sit on the plush furniture and contemplate their next moves.

HARDBODY GROUP NO. 1 starts talking about leaving to go to dinner.

FRATTY GUY NO. 1
I’m down for whatever.

HAIR-TOSSING GIRL NO. 1
We should eat. They are expecting us there by 7.

FRATTY GUY NO. 1
I’m down for whatever.

HAIR-TOSSING GIRL NO. 2
I could eat. Should we go get pizza?

FRATTY GUY NO. 1
I’m down for whatever.

HARDBODY GROUP NO. 1 exits.

Conversation amount and volume increase within HARDBODY GROUP NO. 2 out of earshot of MOTHER. They exit.

DOMINIC and GIDEON jump into the pool. FATHER goes to work out (of course). MOTHER sips her beer and pretends to read about TRUMP in The New Yorker (but really just looks at the cartoons).

SPLASHING commences.

MOTHER spots BASTED TURKEY LADY NO. 1 looking around the pool as if to say, “Where are these children’s parents?” She murmurs disapproval to BASTED TURKEY MAN NO. 1. MOTHER sits calmly waiting for THE BASTEDS NO. 1 to see her. BASTED LADY finally does. Her pinched, angry face relaxes slightly.

TWO RUBENESQUE WOMEN carrying large floats, a massive bag of Outback takeout, and an also-oversized speaker enter the pool area. They commence eating. After their meal, they remove their cover-ups to get into the pool. RUBENS NO. 1 is wearing a bathing suit with a keyhole cleavage opening in the front. There is at least a foot of cleavage.

SMALLER-BREASTED MOTHER wonders if she is breaking a rule by not being busty in the pool area, as large teats appear to be the norm.

FATHER returns from his alone time in the gym.

Despite the fact that music already is playing over the speakers in the pool area, RUBENS NO. 2 begins to play loud hip-hop music on her speaker.

MUSIC
F— them! F— her! The b—- can s— my d—! (and similar).

FATHER and MOTHER look at each other in alarm. Such language is to be heard in the privacy of the home via the many action movies they like to watch as a family. It certainly cannot be heard out in the wild. They are outraged. FATHER and MOTHER give the RUBENS TWINS pointed looks. RUBENS NO. 1 notices their distress and nudges RUBENS NO. 2, who changes the song.

MOTHER and FATHER run out of beer in the cooler. MOTHER decides it is time to go make dinner.

She exits.

Moments later, FATHER, DOMINIC and GIDEON exit.

(END OF SCENE)

 

*EXTREMELY PALE MOTHER visited the Dominican Republic last year on a cruise. She put on 50 SPF, a one-piece bathing suit plus hat and cover-up. She stayed in the shade of a building all day and STILL got burned. On her stomach. True story.

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Dispatches from the pool: Episode 2

Posted in Apartment life, tagged , , , , , , on July 28, 2017| Leave a Comment »

EPISODE 2: Respect My Authoritah

EXT. APARTMENT COMPLEX POOL – LATE AFTERNOON

STRANGE WOMAN lounges by the pool, barely paying attention to her two daughters, who appear to be around six and eight years old. The earbuds she is wearing indicate she is listening to music.

DOMINIC and GIDEON and THEIR STILL-UNHAPPY-IN-HER-BATHING-SUIT MOTHER WHO IS BEGINNING TO WONDER IF SHE HAS A HORRIBLE DISEASE THAT IS CAUSING HER TO HAVE CONSISTENTLY SWOLLEN ANKLES AND A WEIRD ARM RASH enter the pool.

DOMINIC
Let’s play Friday the 13th! I’ll be Jason.

GIDEON
OK.

DOMINIC (to girls in the pool)
Do you want to play?

GIRL NO. 1
OK.

GIRL NO. 2 (apparently named Jo Jo) ignores DOMINIC.

GIRL NO. 1
Jo Jo!

STRANGE WOMAN
Jo Jo!

JO JO
OK.

SPLASHING commences.

MOTHER tries to read a magazine in the lounge chair across the pool from STRANGE WOMAN. MOTHER is unable to read said magazine because STRANGE WOMAN is dancing in her chair and singing along with her music. STRANGE WOMAN is not a gifted vocalist.

A MAN IN A TOO-TIGHT BUTTON-DOWN SHIRT enters the pool area, pulling a wagon filled with THREE SMALL BOYS. His LARGE-BOSOMED WIFE follows. They position themselves directly across the shallow area from MOTHER.

DOMINIC (to BOY NO. 1, the oldest)
Do you want to play?

BOY NO. 1
No. I can’t.

The WAGON BOYS play together in the shallow end in front of MOTHER. There’s plenty of whining with no response from their parents.

A MAN and a WOMAN carrying the largest pool floats sold on the open market enter the pool area. They set up camp at the far end of the pool to MOTHER’s left.

STUFFED SHIRT stands up and begins walking around the pool area while playing on his phone. MOTHER sips her thermos full of cider and watches SHIRT track a pacing circuit in front of her. Her blood boils as he repeatedly walks within one foot of the end of her lounge chair. ANGRY MOTHER marvels at the fact that there is an entire pool area, but SHIRT feels the need to be all up in her grill. BOSOM strikes up a conversation with WANNABE MARIAH CAREY while SHIRT continues to pace.

MOTHER runs out of both patience and cider.

MOTHER (to DOMINIC and GIDEON)
Let’s go.

They exit.

(END OF SCENE)

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Dispatches from the pool: Episode 1

Posted in Apartment life, tagged , , , , , on July 27, 2017| 1 Comment »

Dear Readers,

Part of the joy of living in an apartment complex (even temporarily) is taking advantage of the pool.

Enjoy these missives from our adventures.

Love and kisses,
Beth

EPISODE 1: Is this Sun City?

EXT. COMPLEX POOL – LATE AFTERNOON

Two elderly women tan their already leathery bodies on lounge chairs. A girl of about six years old plays with a pool noodle in the shallow end.

DOMINIC and GIDEON and THEIR STURDY MOTHER WHO IS NOT HAPPY IN HER BATHING SUIT (OR SKIN, FOR THAT MATTER) enter the pool.

DOMINIC
Let’s play Friday the 13th! I’ll be Jason.

GIDEON
OK.

SPLASHING commences. MOTHER drifts close to ELDERLY WOMAN NO. 1.

MOTHER
Is there a hot tub?

MOTHER emphasizes “tub” as in the SNL The Love-ahs sketch with Rachel Dratch and Will Ferrell. ELDERLY WOMAN NO. 1 does not appear to notice the affectation.

ELDERLY WOMAN NO. 1
No.

ELDERLY WOMAN NO. 2 has been listening to the exchange. She chimes in from the other side of the pool.

ELDERLY WOMAN NO. 2
There should be!

MOTHER nods. She drifts to the pool steps, exits the pool, and parks herself in the lounge chair with her thermos full of beer.

DOMINIC and GIDEON continue their game for another hour while MOTHER texts her friend BRIAN about PRINCE CARL of SWEDEN and SEBASTIAN BEAUPIERRE THEROUX. (Another scene for another day.)

Eventually, the three exit the pool area.

(END OF SCENE)

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Grand Theft Autumn/Where is the Fall?*

Posted in Random, tagged , , on November 6, 2015| Leave a Comment »

image

What’s this? An alien life form?

Dear Fall,

So I noticed that we haven’t seen you yet this year. I don’t want to make you feel guilty or anything, but some of us rely on you for relief from that asshat Summer.

Summer always overstays his welcome, as far as I’m concerned. He makes me sweat. He likes girls in those gross high-waisted booty shorts. He’s great with the kids, but is a bore when they go back to school.

It’s November. You were supposed to be here Sept. 23. Winter has already booked his visit for Dec. 22. If you are running late, though, I guess Winter is too. I don’t really care about Winter. Sorry, not sorry.

Fall, it’s your visit I look forward to every year. When you come, I get to wear sweaters, boots and maybe even a jaunty scarf. I get to make soups, stews and hearty pies. I get to stock up on bocks, stouts and porters. I can’t do that with Summer hanging around in his half-shirt yelling, “More Bud Light!”

Summer goes shopping.

Summer goes shopping.

So Fall, please get your act together. I hear you may show up Sunday. Let’s hope so. Summer just cranked up Nelly’s “Hot in Herre” … again.

Wish you were here,
Beth

*Apologies to Fall Out Boy

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Ruminations on aging gracelessly

Posted in Random, tagged , , , on May 14, 2015| 3 Comments »

The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.
— Robert Frost

Dear Life:

I want to register a complaint: I’m not happy to be aging. Don’t get me wrong — It’s definitely better than the alternative of death. (I’m fully aware that the non-aging circumstance of Adaline only exists on screen.)

Just when I feel like I am mentally hitting my prime, my body begins to betray me. A list of complaints:

1. Wrinkles
When did this crow land on my face? What is happening to me? I went to see a plastic surgeon to discuss removing a weird vein on my leg. My leg! But he took one look at my face and said, “You need Botox. You probably should consider a forehead lift.” Gee, thanks.

2. Crepey skin
Whose zombie hands are these? I use sunscreen and plenty of potions to keep my paws supple.  Why do they look like this?

Peach3. Slower metabolism
There’s more of me than there should be. It would be easily remedied with regular visits to the gym. Ain’t nobody got time for that. So I’m on what I call my Cruise Diet. (So called because I did it last year in preparation for our summer cruise. I didn’t want anyone to see me on deck and try to throw me back in the water.) You may ask, “What is this diet?” Think of everything you like to eat and drink. Yeah, well, you can’t have any of it. No dairy, sugar, pasta, grains or alcoholic beverages. I’m reduced to eating grass clippings and palm fronds. It works, though.

4. Jacked-up joints
Last weekend, I was peacefully curled up on the couch enjoying a marathon of recorded episodes of “The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon” (’cause this gal can’t stay up that late). I stood up to get some unsweetened tea (the only thing I can drink besides water) and my hip gave out. That’s a WTF moment if I’ve ever had one. I had to laugh. It’s not funny, though. Not really.

5. Memories
Last week, I actually started a sentence with, “Back in my day.” Good GOD! What have I become? I remember a world without cable, remotes, computers and cellphones. Excuse me while I retrieve my walker.

I’m at that point where I know I’m too old for certain clothes (crop tops), certain activities (climbing on top of the dryer to reach something on the top shelf in the laundry room) and certain people (no Nathan Kress — yes, Freddie from iCarly — unless he hunts cougars).

The wisest are the most annoyed at the loss of time.
— Dante Alighieri

So thanks, Life. Thanks for giving me the wisdom to realize how good my 20s were.

Yours in dismay,
Granny Beth

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Celebrity spotting: Home edition

Posted in Random, tagged , , , on December 10, 2014| 2 Comments »

Photo by Eric Ray Davidson for EW

Photo by Eric Ray Davidson for EW

Dear Jason Bateman, Charlie Day and Jason Sudeikis,

I read with interest the piece Anthony Breznican wrote about you and “Horrible Bosses 2” for the Nov. 28 issue of Entertainment Weekly. Breznican apparently conducted the interview on the rooftop of the Beverly Hilton Hotel. I stayed at that remarkable hotel for one night in October. When I saw the location, I had four thoughts:

  1. I didn’t know the Beverly Hilton had a rooftop terrace.
  2. I still feel oily for taking a photo of the room number of the suite where Whitney Houston died.
  3. It would have been great to see you in the lobby when I was there instead of Fred Willard — not that he isn’t fantastic in his own right.
  4. It’s probably best I didn’t because I might have run over and dorkily asked you all over to my house for dinner and a round of Cards Against Humanity.

When I told Eddie about all that, he fixated on No. 4 and said:

Oooh … can we invite Pharrell and Shaq too?

In theory, this is a great idea: Hang out with celebrities at our house. In reality, if this were to happen, I might have a panic attack similar to the one I had when Eddie threatened to invite his buddy Bobby Deen for dinner. I like to cook, but I’m not sure I want to cook for a chef. (Just thinking about it makes me want to breathe into a paper bag.)

Also, my friend Ken Griner said it is usually a mistake to meet your idols because sometimes they turn out to be jerks.

I can’t imagine that would be the case with you three. I’m willing to take my chances, potential for panic notwithstanding.

If you are interested, have your people call my people. “My people” being me, of course. Nothing rarefied here.

We’ll have fun, I promise.

Awaiting your RSVP,
Beth

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Adventures in babysitting

Posted in Parenting, tagged , , , , on July 7, 2013| 2 Comments »

Dear New Babysitter:

I hope we didn’t scare you when we peeled out of the driveway without a backward glance. We just couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Yes, I know you had only known three of us (Eggy, Sophia and me) for five minutes. I’m not sure you knew their daughter’s name. Had you even laid eyes on our youngest? I don’t even know where he was when you arrived.

We love our kids, of course. Really. But we need those moments where we are Beth, Eddie, Eggy and Sophia and not Mama, Daddy, Daddy and Mama.

Here’s what we heard all day:
“Mama, I’m hungry. I’m so hungry, Mama!”
“He won’t let me have the bow and arrows. He’s had them all day!”
“He’s being a jerk to me! He called me ‘stupid.'”

This is what we wanted to hear:
“Would you like an appetizer with that?”
“What kind of drink would you like?”
“Would you like a refill?”

Thanks to you, we were able to have adult conversations while we sipped martinis, ate delicious food (made more delicious by the fact that someone else cooked the meal), and watched Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy cement their homance.

No one badgered us to get him a drink/feed her/play with him/get her Merida dress/mediate a fight/find a Bey Blade/get a Bandaid/put on Netflix/let him watch “Spongebob,” etc.

We tried not to leave you with too much to do. We made sure they were bathed and fed. Bedtime was on you. All you had to do was keep them alive until we got home.

You did and they were. Thank you.

From the bottom of our jaded, frazzled, exhausted little hearts, we thank you.

Sincerely,
Beth

babysit

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To Paula Deen the Butter Queen

Posted in Politics, Random, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on June 27, 2013| 8 Comments »

Paula in happier days

Dear Paula Deen:

I know you are going through a rough time right now. Even with the chaos in Texas (go Wendy!) and the Supreme Court decision on that stupid Defense of Marriage Act (you know how I feel about that), you are still in the spotlight.

By all accounts (from people who know you, worked for you, still work for you, were raised by you, etc.) you are not racist by definition. Hard-driving, stubborn and raunchy, perhaps, but not racist. The plaintiff in that year-old lawsuit (who is white, surprisingly) even admits she never heard you make racist remarks.

It’s never OK to use THAT word (or any derogatory word like that). But I’m willing to cut you some slack on a 30-year-old mistake. (Especially as you apologized. Repeatedly.)

I mean, let’s be honest here: Who hasn’t had some tragic lapses in judgment? Let’s look at some of the decades-old moments for which I need to atone:

  1. St. Patrick’s Day 1993
  2. Fancy Dress 1989
  3. That one time at drama camp …
  4. Dating the dude from Macy’s receiving department (My dad’s observation: “Doesn’t that guy own any shirts with sleeves?”)
  5. This dress:Prom 1985 (It’s no wonder I don’t have a stitch of lace in my closet now. I reached my Designated Lace Quota in 1985.)
  6. This hair: '80s hair(Aqua Net was my best friend.)
  7. While we’re at it, this hair too: Blonde ambition(The ill-advised blonde ambition phase. What the what?)
  8. Being a mean girl to a nice boy who asked me to a dance. And not being a mean girl to a not-so-nice boy who asked me to a different dance. (That boy ended up talking through dinner about all the times in his life he had barfed. I sure know how to pick ’em.)
  9. Not buying that house on Jones Street.
  10. Allowing Neil the Cockatiel to escape the dorm suite I shared with his mom.

I’m sure I’ve committed many more sins than I can remember right now. We all have regrets. We all don’t have to fess up to them in a deposition.

Good luck with everything. You know how people are when they decide to make someone a scapegoat. If you need a personal pick-me-up, read a blog post by Michael Twitty, a fellow who addresses the real problem in an eloquent way.

It’s not all about you; it’s about pervasive, systemic racism. It’s about the real challenges people who are not white face. And white people don’t see and understand these challenges precisely because they are white. (Contrary to common conservative thought, we all can’t get where we want to go through hard work. We are not all born equal.)

We need to get to a point as a nation where difference doesn’t come with judgment. My kids see difference in skin color, but they don’t attach “good” or “bad” labels to that difference.

For example, Dominic noticed that one of his camp counselors, a black woman, was married to a white man. I said that I hoped that didn’t bother him because his daddy and I are an interracial couple too.

Gideon piped up and said, “Oh I know. You are really white and Daddy is brown.”

Dominic replied, “Daddy’s not brown. He’s tan.”

(Note that photo in No. 7 up there and decide for yourself.)

Difference is good.* Judgment is bad.

But I think you know that.

Yours in love of buttery goodness,
Beth

* How boring would it be if we were all the same?

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Note to the Back Bay boor

Posted in Random, tagged , , on March 18, 2013| 2 Comments »

Brownstone Boston

Dear Sean, patron of the Boston bar Brownstone:

I admire your confidence as a single man out on the town. However, I’d like to give you a couple of tips:

1. It is almost always a waste of time to approach two women who are clearly engaged in a serious discussion.

Julia and I hadn’t seen each other in a year. We had to catch up. We saw you staring at us across the counter two feet away, but we did not make eye contact with you for a reason.

2. You are asking for trouble if you try to insert yourself anyway.

I admit that it was an ingenious move to leave your drink on the other side of the counter, then reach through us to retrieve it. Yes, we had to pay attention to you. It was not the kind of attention you wanted, though.

3. Don’t put your coat on top of the coat on the chair of one of the women you want to pick up.

Julia didn’t know you. She didn’t want your nasty coat on top of hers.

4. Come up with better compliments than “I like your glasses” and “I like your curls.”

That’s it? That’s all you had?

5. Dipping is gross.

And if you ARE going to dip, don’t take the wad out of your mouth and stuff it in your pocket when one of the women makes fun of you for dipping. That’s even more disgusting.

6. If women tell you they are gay, that is a clear sign they are not into you.

They may be gay, or they may be heterosexual women claiming to be gay to get you to leave. Either way, they are clearly not an option for you.

Brownstone Boston

See that counter between the pillars? That’s the scene of the crime.

The moment you went to get another drink, we seized our opportunity to escape. I hope you appreciate these tips (and the fact that I brought you your coat before we left).

Better luck next time!
Beth

P.S. If you bear a strong resemblance to Joran van der Sloot, so much the worse for you.

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