A Delightful Discovery

Brett made me exercise and it was awful.

We jumped and squatted and kicked and lunged. We stretched, we leapt, we skipped and we swung our arms in large circles. And as I rolled onto my side in agony after the last of a body-folding crunch, he shouted, “Finished!”

I let out a groan of contempt, rolled onto my back, and opened one eye. He stood there, looming over me, not an ounce of pity on his face. “That was awful.” I panted out at him. “You do that every day?”

“Get up.” he said.

“But it’s nice down here.” I replied, patting the warm cement as though it was a velvet cushion atop  a chaise lounge. I was pretending that the parking lot I was laying in was a cool mountain stream, carrying me down river to a blissful basin with waterfalls and lily pads.

“Can you hear the trickle, Brett? Do you see the baby deer? I can’t feel my teeth.” I noted. “Do you think all the blood left my gums and my teeth are gonna drop out like roofing shingles in a big storm? You know, twice I year I dream that all of my teeth fall out. Do you get that? What do you think that means? I also have a reoccurring dream of playing Hide and Seek with some Redcoats but if they find me they stab me with their bayonets. I really hate that dream.” I told him. “We should go get ice-cream.” I added.

“Laura, that was the warm up.” he said pleasantly.

“WHAT!” I shouted. A jolt of adrenaline shot through my arms.

The kid went on to make me jog, sprint, and run bleachers. I really disliked him for that period of time. And runnin’ bleachers, well now that’ll make ya puke. 

So, what do you think comes after an intense workout following an extensive exercisacal dry spell? Yes. Extreme tightness, often in areas you didn’t know existed, like the squishy top side of your elbow or an area deep inside where your legs hook on. Even laughing hurts and I like to think I laugh so much that nearly no intentional ab-workout could make the slightest dent in wearing out my giggle muscles. But boy does it all hurt.

I waddled to Mom and Dad’s the next day and told Mom all about it. As an avid Apathetic Exerciser herself, Mom listened in horror. A look of distress contorted her feminine face. “But please Mom I need help! It all hurts so much. Mush me! Please mush me!” I said, offering her various limbs to squeeze and mash. The mushing didn’t help. In fact, it hurt. I thought long and hard about what I needed. What sensation could make it all better. And then it came to me.

A rolling pin. The perfect amount of mush pressure fluidity with an easy-to-use handle. 

“Roll me Mama!” I said.

I laid on my belly and braced myself. Somehow I just knew this would be great.

The first roll up my thigh made me scream with laughter. Mom stopped suddenly after my sharp inhale but when my hiccupy cackle followed, Mom too started to chuckle. With every roll of the pin I would howl with laughter and Mom would respond in kind. It felt so good but boy did it tickle. “Ma, you’ve gotta try this.” I said. I climbed up and Mom dutifully took my place. I rolled up the back of her leg. “Waaahoooo!!!” she shouted and we both laughed and laughed. “Do my back.” she said so I rolled the pin sideways across her shoulder blade. “Yaahwooo!!” she exclaimed. We were in hysterics. “Do me. Do me!” And we switched again. Back and forth until Dad came in.

“Dad! You have to try this!”

Dad very reluctantly laid on the ground. Mom and I waited with delighted anticipation. I hovered over him and finally rolled the pin up the back of his thigh. He had almost no reaction.  I did it again. “Isn’t it great?” I asked.

Dad did not enjoy the rolling pin like Mom and I did. He was surprisingly put off by the concept and very embarrassed that the two of us so casually sat upon each other and rolled out various body parts. He stated that he doesn’t want anyone to know we do this. So I imagine he’ll love to see this.

I even gave ole Budds a quick rolling and he groaned with delight, looking back at me silently when I would stop. I think we're on to something here. We thought of all sorts of people who would enjoy this. 

Hey Honbons, y'all were first on the list. Go on. Give it a try.

Big Lu Goes to D.C.

And Big Lu forgot her camera's memory card and couldn't take a single artsy picture!
Big Lu is still mad about it.

We drove my trusty 4Runner up on a Saturday, spent a few days wandering around town and then finally celebrated Brett's Dad's retirement with a bunch of government folks and Bigwigs of a variety that I'm not sure I understand. "You're in charge of what?" I asked a fella named Doug, who somehow manages everything that is shipped in and out of this country. "Oh." I said, "That's cool. I like, decorate weddings."

This was my first trip to D.C. and as a proud, previous resident, Brett played the part of the informative though lackadaisical tour guide. We rented little red bikes and rode all over the chunk of town that accommodates all those important monuments and that big white house.
We had perfect weather and a number of noteworthy meals. I befriended the cutest little rat in the metro and picked out my favorite area of town. It's Adam's Morgan, in case you were wondering. Not Georgetown like you probably guessed. Also, the traffic there is sensational.

I've decided D.C. is an ok place. I liked it much more than the few other U.S. cities I've visited. Mostly because it was so bright and the landscaping is so lovely. They get an A+ on greenery in that town. It is currently cherry blossom season and an abundance of tulips was an unexpected surprise. In addition to the insult of not being able to photograph all the loveliness, almost every building of note was wrapped in scaffolding. For instance, here's the Capital Building.

What else did we do? Oh we saw the National Cathedral, endured an overly historic tour of the National Portrait gallery and visited the depressing building that Brett used to work in. I was secretly elated to have to go through a metal detector before they let us in. It felt so serious and governmenty.
We sat down at Ole Abe's feet and asked him about life, we drank lots of coffee and had a few afternoon naps. Oh and I had the best darn french toast to date! I keep thinking about it.

So, here's the White House but more importantly, those grandiose tulips. They were the size of my fist!

Here we have the National Cathedral,

your average sidewalk garden,

 the photo-averse tour guide,

and one of two unimpressed cats we stayed with.

Thats it. Those are my six pictures of D.C. 

And I just now noticed the Snapple in my sidewalk flowers shot. 

I'm appalled with myself. 

Tisk tisk Big Lu. 

The most interesting part was the Bigwig Party. I was curious about these rare and elusive D.C. creatures, folks with important job titles and things to change up there in the Nation's Capital. It all sounds so important and impressive but really they're all just folks who, in my opinion, got sucked into a really awful life of paperwork and status. I could never accept the life that these people lead and yet some of them don't even realize it happened. Or maybe they like it, I guess. 

Some of the Bigwigs met me, talked to me for a few minutes, and then realized I was of no use or importance and so politely moved on. I pitied these Bigwigs, for they're so deep into a swirling vortex of lifelessness that they aren't even interested in a conversation of no consequence. Other Bigwigs delighted in my simple bumpkin comments and became thoroughly invested in the silly stories I told them about my own inconsequential life. 

"Wait, she said what?" a group of three said in unison as I told them about the girls I work with.

They would leave me to go mingle with their friends for a while and then circle back around. 

"So I've been thinking about it..." Doug said, squeezing past co-workers with a tiny plate of shrimp in his hand. "She's never going to change. Not with that pig-nosed boyfriend hanging around."

"That's what I told her." I said earnestly and I received a sympathetic head shake from someone's executive assistant. The collective exhaustion on their faces really tickled me.

What good sports, those silly Bigwigs. I kind of miss them a little.

Venues and Culottes

A few days ago Ellen and I found ourselves with a free afternoon and a hankering for junk food. A new cupcake place has opened in what we affectionally call the Ghetto Mall up in West Ashley, or West Ashtray as Ellen calls it. So we headed out to the second home of our teenage days, insisting on visiting the same stores we perused when we were sixteen. It was here in one of these stores as we gazed up at sequined crop-tops and neon mini-skirts, it occurred to Ellen that "maybe I shouldn't still shop here."
"You still shop here?" I asked judgmentally as an eleven year old in a tube top sauntered by, a Starbucks cup with a long green straw filling both of her small, unseasoned hands.

We found ridiculous outfits to try on and like little girls we squeezed into formal dresses, hippy shrouds, and an assortment of getups we would never debut. Ellen chose to try on what they call a 'romper' which is what us old folks used to call culottes. It did look kind of cute on the hanger and as I shimmied into some assuredly unbefitting business wear, I heard a hearty guffaw from Ellen's dressing room followed by an outraged gasp.
"Laura you have to see this." she said with haste. "I look like a member of the Vontrapp family!"

"The VonTrapps Visit Bermuda." I titled it and thus an off-Broadway, Guy Family Cinematic Concoction was born.

In other news, my current state of anonymous shuttle driver of Middle Eastern decent and junior member of a small construction company specializing in making things look girly and effortless, has me bruised, sore, seriously angry and running up quite the gasoline bill. The last two weeks have been so awful that I almost just walked out once. And except for the spontaneous abandoning of my SCAD dorm before sundown and that one day in biology class where lunch was more appealing than a lecture on invisible floating bits with colorful globs inside, I ain't no walker outer. A quitter, yes. But not a walker outer. Those guys are the worst.

We recently had a wedding tear down that was so awful and nearly impossible that my Old Man himself came to help out. While he was by far the sweatiest (and hairiest) member of the decor team that night, he sure saved the day. "Thank goodness Papa Union was there!" one girl said. 

"We should like, buy him some wine or something."

"OMG! Champagne and OJ."

"Uh, whatever. He doesn't seem like the mimosa type."

"Oh. Yeah. But we should totally go to brunch tomorrow."

"Oh totally for sure! T.B.T. to brunch at Fuel last Sat. Hilar!"

"Haha! So hilar!"

"Hahaha!!"

"No but really. We should like, by him like a loaf of bread, but like, good bread you know? Like banana nut."

"Omg I love banana nut!"

"OMG me too! We're like soul sisters!"

"We should SnapChat this! Here, get in this selfie... hashtag soulsistazz!!!"

"HAHA!!"

"Hahahaha!! So cute. Put it on Insta!"

"We're totally crazy. Laura do you think we're crazy?"

This is a word for word conversation that took place as we walked to our cars at the end of that night. While I did not see Dad particularly enjoying a gift of champagne or even a moist loaf of banana nut, I looked past all this and focused on the good intentions of them wanting to give him a Thank You gift and told them that "yes, you are crazy" but I added "in a fun way." to make them feel pleased with themselves. 

This is because last week when one of them got back together with her on-again off-again, verbally abusive and pig-nosed boyfriend, I told her she was a deranged masochist with questionable taste and she later told me she could see me happily working at Trader Joe's for the rest of my life because I'm so "earthy and nice." I smiled and told her that was the nicest backhanded compliment I've ever gotten and she was genuinely pleased with herself. Then began a conversation of my being a flowerchild and they decided that is the reason that "Laura has a lot of hot guys in her life." 

"It's because she's low maintenance." the insulting one said. "Like she doesn't bother dressing up or doing her hair." 

I looked up from crafting boutonnieres and stared blankly into space.

"That's like, a total good thing." another quickly said to me, for fear I was offended.

"And also I'm just super shallow." a third one stated. 

"OMG! You know who is so so so shallow??"

And then we learned all about Kristen M. from Comm 205 and her weekend habits, minimal wardrobe, and physical flaws. I feel bad for Kristen M.

Have I exhausted y'all yet? 

The best part of this job, I've decided, are the venues. Most are so lovely and I like to imagine gathering all my favorite people in these places for a big barbecue and bonfire. In this gorgeous hallway we'd play numerous rounds of Shanghai. On this lawn I'd sit with my aunts and sip lemonade while we work on our next Leisure Club venture. This porch would be my porch and I'd sit in a rocking chair with my gaggle of dogs and various farm animals and look out at my field of tomato plants and watermelons, the smell of jasmine circling in the air.

Setting up temporary fantasy-lands for people keeps me in a constant dreamy state... 

and then one of the girls turns on her Britney Spears playlist and they all glom together and "just dance" for a few minutes. Waving their hands and pursing their lips. "Britney is my girl!" they will say, singing wildly and sending my imaginary farm animals running for cover, polluting such a gorgeous fantasy.

Easter

For Easter we had lunch at Grandma's and then we took pictures with a rabbit made of straw.

Eggplant and Mint Green Ribbon

For the first time in sometime now, I've found myself mentally present and completely free on a week night. The only thing distracting me now is my most recent pint of Ben & Jerry's. It sure is refreshing. Being free, I mean. Not the ice cream. The ice cream in fact feels like a shackle of sorts. An addiction. A creamy tether to a portly future in sensible shoes.

I'm free to think about things. Big things as you can see. Lately I've been thinking about eggplant. I have one in my fridge right now. I bought it just to experiment with. I've read about eggplant bacon, drooled over Baba Ganoush, and heard about Ari's sensational eggplant and goat cheese concoction. I just can't decide what to do about my eggplant.

Today I drove a total of 80 miles around town looking for mint green ribbon, three inches thick. I left the office close to 1:00 and though I was to be off work at 4:00, I found myself driving around at 5:30, completely enraged and still looking for mint green ribbon, three inches thick. No one anywhere has mint green ribbon. And when I came close to purchasing a soft sage green ribbon, three inches thick, my boss told me she needed 66 yards of it. Sixty-six yards.
"That's more than half a football field." I told her.
"Yes." she replied, as though most people buy this much ribbon.
"If I buy out the store" I said with confidence, "we'll have twelve feet."

She told me to forget it. Can you believe that? Four and a half hours and 80 miles later, just "forget it." I'd started my afternoon ribbon hunt optimistically, patiently waiting at traffic lights and mulling over my eggplant options, determining that Baba Ganoush might be too large an undertaking for a Monday night. By 2:30 I'd become heated that my thirty-minute errand had still not been completed and that I had made my way into Berkley county though I had tons to do back at the warehouse. "I'll just roast the eggplant." I told myself, feeling impatient and uninterested in creativity. By 4:30 I was blowing my horn at pedestrians and throwing my hands up in disgust at neighboring drivers. "Well you can forget about eggplant tonight!" I told myself, taking out my ribbon rage on my excitement for a culinary treat.

This week we have an inordinate amount of events. The entire company is in a frenzy about it though I can see no real reason for this. Events are quite routine for us after all. But the frenzy has people on edge and snapping at others. This morning I witnessed lots of sharp glances, eye rolling, and walking into rooms to find people whispering about the people in the next office. My calm demeanor has no place in the office this week. As the fifth and least important member of our decor team of five, my especially logical insights and stellar organizational skills are being ignored in favor of an accusatory panic and the slipshod execution of tasks I definitely suggested we start last week when the girls were too busy discussing who looked most like a tramp at the latest sorority formal.

So I'm trying to hang out in the background for now. I prepped my two events last week. I'll let everyone fuss over their events and stand by quietly making flower arrangements and thinking about my eggplant.
I can't let the mint green ribbons of this week get me down.