A Valentine Carol

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Spinning and salsa con queso

I meant to blog last night, but I consumed a lot of red wine instead.  I took the train home and thought the snow was "so pretty".  Like I have never seen snow before.  I took pictures of the snow with my phone. I don't know if acting like Annie Leibovitz led me to take the wrong turn.  I walked the distance to my apartment from Mass. Ave and when I looked up, I realized I was not at my apartment. I turned one street too early. This morning, I woke up and was embarrassed that I took pictures of my Uggs in the snow and deleted all seven pictures.  Now, I wish I hadn't.

I called Gram tonight.  She was sleeping.  At 6:53.  Maybe she turned in early because she is so excited that I am coming home this weekend.  I have a card for her and need to buy her some candy.  I am hoping that the Cadbury creme eggs are out in stores.  Those are her favorites.  A complete no-no for diabetics, but I am not sure how diabetic Gram is.  She can eat a half gallon of ice cream without a trip to the hospital.  It runs in the family.  Speaking of gluttons, I am proud to say that for the first time in a while, I have not had Tostitos with salsa con queso for dinner this week.  Judge all you want.  I don't care. It is delicious.  I know it's not the most balanced dinner, so I have had wheat pasta instead.  I did have my salsa con queso meal as an hor d'ouvre on Tuesday. 

I am getting my Maid of Honor dress for Meggie's wedding on Saturday. I don't know if Maid of Honor is supposed to be capitalized, but I think it should be.  In anticipation of my measurements being taken, I tried to up my gym time this week.  I took a spinning class on Tuesday.  Seth asked if men took the class.  When I told him they did, he asked if they had testicles.  I am not sure and I think it would be rude to ask.  "Those shorts are awfully tight, do you have balls?"  I don't think that question would be well received.  The morning after spinning, I was walking to the train and I wondered what I had done the night before.  I was fairly certain I was the victim of a gang rape. 

I am so looking forward to my weekend home. My kids really miss me.  My parents too.  I have to call Bill Lang tonight and tell him my meal request.  Oh, and Gram will be meeting Webbie Debbie.  I am so curious as to what she'll think. Tune in next week.

Here's video of Gram.  Maybe she's tired from singing.

Step off.

One minute and 47 seconds.  That was the length of tonight's phone call with Gram.  I was able to squeeze the following out of her.  Her room is so hot, she could blow up. Dominic is gone.  She doesn't know where he is.  She has no other boyfriends.  Lastly, she still hasn't found a stamp. Apparently, she talks to Kathy for longer lengths of time.  My mom informed me that the woman with whom Gram bumped walkers is still hogging the phone and pushing Gram around.  I will be sure to have Gram point her out to me during our next visit.  Then I will tell her to "Step off."  I will say that because it worked when my sister did that to some brat at my birthday party at a roller skating rink.  Meaghan wheeled over with her horrific bangs and told the mean girl to step off. Most kids were in roller blades, but not the Lang girls.  However, Meaghan was taller, so the little wench listened. I remember watching from the other side of the rink silently cheering my sister on.  Meaghan had street cred at age 11.

Again, since Gram gets off the phone faster than I drink a beer, I have to talk about myself.  I was telling my friend Seth about the day I learned the word whore.  Growing up, we lived on a street with a lot of families.  Across the street, a family moved in with a son who was probably 11 when I was nine.  He was not well-behaved like my sister and I.  One time we drove by his house and he flipped my mom off.  She put the car in park and ran after him.  She chased him into his backyard.  I can't remember the outcome, but I know he was terrified of her from then on.  On a day prior to the chase, Meaghan and I were sitting outside on the front porch waiting for dinner to be ready.  Gary walked over.  We didn't like him because he smelled like trash day.  He walked up to me (I was eight or nine), smacked me in the forehead and called me a whore.  I was upset he hit me. I hadn't a clue what whore meant.  I thought maybe pretty or funny.  Meaghan told him to step off, while I kept whining, "WHAT'S A WHORE?"  She told me she wasn't going to tell me and not to ask our parents.  Dad called us in for dinner.  Growing up, we ate dinner by candlelight, while Bill Lang read trivia from National Geographic cards.  If it wasn't trivia, we were quizzed on our United States placemats, and we had to name the capital of every state. It's a wonder I was bullied. After Dad asked a question, I decided to change the subject. I said, "What's a whore?"  Bill Lang looked up from the trivia card and asked where I heard that word.  I told him the source.  Ma and Pa Lang were most likely relieved I hadn't overheard them use the word. They then explained a whore was an unflattering term for a woman. For those of you who were curious.

I don't think Gary bothered us much after that. Thankfully I didn't ask Gram what whore meant.  She never would have told me.  I once asked Gram what a condo was, but said condom instead.  She refused to answer. 

Here's some video of Gram during her last visit.  Ordering me around.