Minneapolis Adventures

The Anti-Bride

2008-06-15T10:19:00.005-05:00

I have never been much of a girly girl. When I was little, I spurned the dolls I'd been given in favor of my "wood car," "red car," and vast collection of Matchbox cars. My Korean Barbie, much to my mother's chagrin, was not carefully tended and dressed in her han bok but instead became the bathroom pass for my sophomore world history class.

Perhaps unfortunately it is no different now that IrishTenor and I are engaged and three short months out from our wedding. I got excited about the church, the dress, and the reception venue, but that was about it. And even the dress was chosen as a result of my mother asking me if I would please try on a real wedding gown instead of just ivory cocktail dresses, so she could see me in a wedding dress. It just happened to look so pretty I couldn't help liking it. Nowadays my stock answers to wedding-related questions are:

"Oh, yeah...that..."
"Meh," and,
"Oops. I forgot."

I told my friend KitKat yesterday that I just don't care about the wedding. I care about the day after the wedding and everything after that, but this bride stuff just isn't for me. KitKat said very diplomatically, "Well, that's unusual, but it's not bad. At least your focus is on the marriage and not only one day."

Don't get me wrong, I'm ecstatic at the prospect of marrying IrishTenor. I just find myself puzzled at the assumption that I am enthralled by every detail of planning the actual wedding when in fact the only reason I am looking forward to talking to the florist recommended by IrishTenor's coworker is because she is rumored to be snobby to the point of downright mean, and I find those people entertaining. It is amusing and somewhat perturbing when some friends ask only about my wedding, as though this is the only dimension I will have until after my wedding day.

It reminds me of Kill Bill; Uma Thurman's character doesn't even have a name. She is just The Bride.

I must have a serious lack of credibility

2008-01-30T00:48:00.000-06:00

The other day as I was walking into work, I happened to look at my phone and noticed that I'd missed a call while driving. I listened to the voicemail, which was a bit fuzzy, but I could make out that it was a woman calling from some office in downtown Minneapolis asking about the delivery of some sandwiches. Since I would have hated for her whole office to not get lunch, I decided I should call her back and let her know she had the wrong number.

Me: "Hi, I'm just calling because someone from this number left me a voicemail about some sandwiches, and - "

Woman: "Yes, this is Joan, and I need those sandwiches by 11."

Me: "Well, the thing is, I was calling back to let you know that you have the wrong number. I'm sorry, but I can't help you, and I wanted to make sure - "

Joan: "I need those sandwiches by 11! You'll have them delivered by then."

Me: "I'm very sorry, but this is my personal cell number, and I'm afraid I can't help with any sandwiches."

Joan: "No, I need those sandwiches!"

Me: "I'm sorry, but you have the wrong number. I don't work for a restaurant."

Joan: "No! I need those sandwiches delivered by 11."

Me: "I do not work for a restaurant, I'm afraid you have the wrong number."

Joan: "No, I have the correct number. It's 612-555-5555." [Which oddly enough was my cell number...]

Me: "I'm sorry, but this is my personal cell number. It does not belong to anyone affiliated with a restaurant. I'm sorry but I can't help you."

Joan: "Fine." [slams down the phone]

To this day, I'm both extremely puzzled and extremely entertained by the fact that she simply did not believe me when I said that she called the wrong number.

They shouldn't have elected Him to the Board of Regents.

2007-10-21T21:41:00.000-05:00

IrishTenor's friend NevadaSoprano (reading a banner hung on a sorority house): "Jesus Christ is Lord of the University of Minnesota."

IrishTenor: "I knew someone fucked up was running that shit!"

Oh yeah, and...

2007-10-16T09:06:00.001-05:00

...I'm getting married!

In a little less than a year, I'll be Mrs. IrishTenor.

Unintentional comedy

2007-09-26T16:53:00.000-05:00

I just ran across the best business name ever: Retina Burn Photography.

This is a mystery to me: If you are a professional photographer starting your own studio, why would you give your fledgling business a name that implied that your final product would be at best painful to view?

Fun with survey critiques

2007-09-19T19:33:00.000-05:00

I love my survey methods class.

Question on a survey evaluating service at a hotel in New Orleans: "When you arrived to check in, were you greeted warmly?" (Yes/No)

Classmate: "What if 'greeted warmly' means something different in Minnesota from what it means in New Orleans? Did I get beads?"

Professor (as respondent): "Yes, I was flashed appropriately."

I have no words for this one.

2007-08-12T12:15:00.000-05:00

I was at a bar in Uptown on Friday night, and as I was weaving through the crowd, a creepy-looking Asian guy with glasses and a molestorstache pulled me aside, peered into my face, and asked me, "Are you Asian?"

Note to self

2007-07-17T21:56:00.000-05:00

For future reference:

Do not drop birth control pill into loveseat. If for some foolish reason you do just that, then do not proceed to accidentally jam birth control pill further into bowels of aforementioned loveseat. And do not attempt to recover birth control pill using tweezers. You will not be successful.

Can't buy me love

2007-06-28T18:20:00.000-05:00

Our dysfunctional little blended cat family is slowly settling into an equilibrium of sorts, an unsteady peace largely forged by IrishTenor and his Max D 2000. Thundercat has learned that the presence of the squirt gun precludes approaching Maya or running at her and chasing her under the bed; Zach has learned that he should restrict his countertop foraging to weekdays during regular business hours.

Maya has become somewhat of a redheaded stepchild, although this is partly born of her defensive resistance to playful advances by either of the other cats; she avoids IrishTenor and generally only seeks me out in the mornings after IrishTenor leaves for work and she's been shut in our bedroom while I'm getting ready.

Maya seems to regard IrishTenor with disdain, despite his attempts to befriend her. He was even the only one feeding her for awhile, but cat food was insufficient to win her friendship. The only currency that comes close to being acceptable is people food, but for obvious reason this is a rare commodity in Maya's world. So Maya seems to have no love for IrishTenor.

Case in point:

Last night Maya slithered out from under the end table, and IrishTenor tried to pet her as she walked past. She dodged, but his hand still grazed her back. Maya immediately stopped and began furiously grooming the spot IrishTenor had touched. Then she glared at him and angrily stalked away.

"Not so funny meow, is it."

2007-06-26T07:51:00.000-05:00

This is IrishTenor's new toy, purchased for the express purpose of keeping Thundercat from sitting outside our bedroom door for hours on end, poking her paws underneath to intimidate Maya. He told me when I brought it home - it was the only squirt gun carried by the Target on Excelsior Boulevard and Highway 100 - that this squirt weapon was clearly overdoing it, but he soon came to appreciate its worth.

I came home from work yesterday to find IrishTenor camped out on the living room sofa, his trusty Max D 2000 on the floor by his feet. Thundercat was crouched next to the bedroom door, happily poking her paws underneath. I shook my head, greeted IrishTenor, and set about gathering dirty laundry. I was in the laundry room, loading the washer, when I heard the unmistakable sound of a jet of water hitting a wall, followed by the rapid footsteps of a fleeing kitten.

From the living room, IrishTenor complained, "This water gun isn't very accurate."

"Maybe it's operator error."

IrishTenor appeared in the doorway of the laundry room with the squirt gun. Still laughing at my own joke, I ignored him and took the load of jeans I'd removed from the dryer to our bedroom to fold them.

IrishTenor appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, this time aiming the squirt gun at my clean jeans. Just as I lowered the jeans from in front of my face, the squirt gun went off and a jet of water hit me right in the nose.

I squealed. IrishTenor looked at me, looked at the squirt gun, and decided, "This thing doesn't have such bad aim after all."

Lather, rinse, repeat.

2007-06-04T07:34:00.000-05:00

I suck, and I apologize. I've got nothing. No moving drama, funny or otherwise. No boyfriend drama - knock on wood, but this whole cohabitation thing is way too easy for that. There is not even any feline drama to speak of, unless you count Thundercat's favorite pastime, which involves perching on top of Maya's litterbox and swatting her in the face when she tries to use it.

In general, I get up, go to work, come home and spend time policing cats and relaxing with IrishTenor, go to bed, repeat ad nauseum. This is my life. I took time out on Thursday to be less Asian than Arbusto, and I took time out this weekend to attend CaptainBasketball's high school graduation.

I sat next to TheGoodOne and his girlfriend, TheDoctor. TheGoodOne and I were trying to disguise our hopeless immaturity and behave respectfully, like the driven, successful young adults we pretend we are. Since I was laughing at every speech in all the wrong places and visibly wincing whenever the high school choir tried for a high note, I can't lay any claim to self-restraint or mature behavior. TheDoctor and TheGoodOne were much better at both until the great equalizer came in the form of Karla Kristine Knapper.

K.K.K.

I would take this opportunity to offer an apology to the Knappers if they were sitting anywhere near us, except that I maintain they should have thought before signing the birth certificate. All three of us started chuckling. My brother and I simultaneously made comments to TheDoctor, who was sitting between us, to the effect that we hoped no one gave her a cross as a gift. My brother followed this up with another comment, which I did not hear. TheDoctor laughed and elbowed him. Just as there was a lull in the noise surrounding us, TheGoodOne replied with a very audible, "What?! Everyone needs new sheets for college!"

Discount stores don't negotiate

2007-05-22T07:54:00.001-05:00

On our first trip to the St. Louis Park Super Target:

IrishTenor: "What do you suppose they'll call it when they move to the next level above Super Target?"

"Super Kick-Ass Target?"

"Super-Duper Kick-Ass Take-No-Prisoners Target."

"Rabbits is soooooo stupid." And so are kittens.

2007-05-21T21:48:00.000-05:00

After all, what else do you conclude about a creature who leans near an open flame, takes a long sniff at the candle, and burns the whiskers off one side of her face?

Part 1: A woman who is mean to kittens

One night, IrishTenor and I were hanging out in his apartment with one of the neighbors. The neighbor was laughing at the cats, and I made a comment with the general connotation that Thundercat isn't by any means a feline prodigy. The neighbor laughed harder. IrishTenor said nothing, until the neighbor left.

"Why did you tell Chris the kitten was stupid? She's not stupid! She's just little. She's sweet and gentle and would never call you stupid! She could transport herself to the litterbox when she was only six weeks old! Could you get yourself to the bathroom when you were six weeks old?" And finally, "I just don't know how I feel about a woman who is mean to kittens!"

Part 2: Vindication

IrishTenor and I have just moved into our first apartment together. One evening, I was sitting on our bed reading a book when I noticed that the rug in the bathroom was all messed up. Assuming Thundercat was the culprit, I got up, straightened the rug, and went back to my book.

Two minutes later, I heard a scratching noise and noticed that the rug was again rumpled. I got up again and straightened it, looking around for the kitten. When I didn't see her, I shrugged and returned to reading.

Again, I heard the scratching noise and saw the rug in disarray. No kitten in sight. I was beginning to think that either our new apartment was haunted, or Thundercat had suddenly grown a brain and was hiding - the more plausible option being anybody's guess. I went into the bathroom to straighten the rug, and that was when Thundercat stuck her paw out from underneath the bathroom cabinet. There was a tiny opening leading into the space below the cabinet, and Thundercat had crawled into it and was now struggling to get out.

I reached in and touched fur. I tried to pull her out, but the opening was too small. So I called IrishTenor. I explained what had happened and that I couldn't seem to get Thundercat out from under the cabinet.

IrishTenor's only question upon hearing of Thundercat's predicament was, "Why is she so stupid?"

Resident Samaritan at your service. Warning: Said Samaritan is mediocre at best.

2007-05-06T19:43:00.000-05:00

Today I almost took someone's cat to the animal shelter.

A beautiful fluffy little tortoiseshell and white cat showed up on my doorstep begging for love. She was dirty, matted, and very eager to accept the attention and cat food I offered. Feeling sorry for her, I called my landlord and asked if he recognized her. He said no. Because she was clearly not well attended to, I surmised that she was probably a stray. I called the Humane Society in St. Paul and asked what I should do. They said to feel free to bring her in, they would hold her as a lost pet for five days before starting the evaluation and vet workup to make her adoptable. I took pictures of her, and TheLandlord offered to make up a sign advertising that a stray cat had been brought to the shelter in case anyone was missing their pet.

I lured the cat onto my enclosed front porch and went to the basement for a box. I punched some holes in the side and lined it with an old towel. I then brought the box out to the front porch and attempted to enclose the cat in the box. The cat would not stay in the box despite my repeated attempts to shut her inside. Every time I placed her inside and closed the flaps, the cat would push her way out and stalk around the porch looking miffed. I finally gave up and brought out Maya's carrier and shoved the cat inside. I got her as far as the front seat of my car before she rammed her head against the door of the carrier...which apparently hadn't been securely shut, because the door shot open and the cat shot across the street, across the sidewalk, and into someone's backyard. Two little girls on bicycles screamed and nearly fell over when the cat darted in front of them.

Three twentysomething guys smoking on their front porch helped me find the cat and were able to verify that the cat belonged to their next door neighbor. Had I only managed to properly shut the carrier door, the cat would have ended up at the animal shelter, and the owners would have ended up paying a reclaiming fee plus the $25/day boarding fee to get their cat back. Oops.

I don't have to be funny! I have cute!

2007-04-22T21:20:00.000-05:00

See what I'm saying?

Wanted: Coffee shop to use as a study space. Must have normal clientele.

2007-04-09T21:05:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time, Arbusto introduced me to a certain coffee shop in St. Paul. Over time, it has degenerated from a laidback, pleasant place to study into an indie Twilight Zone. On a mild night, there might simply be a group of noisy and idealistic undergraduates. One night, while sitting in the back room, I kept hearing a strange noise coming from the front part of the coffee shop; it sounded like an unintentional Wookie imitation.

However, the strangest group by far to frequent this coffee shop is the gaggle of women who gather to knit, talk about dismembered pets, and randomly sing "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt."

Tonight, as I sit here trying to enjoy a cup of coffee and a chicken sandwich and focus on my stats project, the knitting group has convened at the next table and is talking loudly amongst themselves. Topics covered tonight have been LiveJournal, how none of them want kids (thank God, we've dodged a bullet), and how one of the women knows someone who BREASTFED A LITTER OF PUPPIES.

I decided I might need to leave and never return.

A friend pointed out that a human breastfeeding puppies is farfetched at best and is probably a physical impossibility.

However:

Apparently someone tried this.
These people associate with that person.
These people are in the same room as me.
I have now had the unfortunate image of a woman breastfeeding poodles seared into my brain.

I might need to leave and never return.

A united front

2007-04-01T19:14:00.000-05:00

Zach, IrishTenor's big orange cat, lives only for his next meal. On most mornings, he will do his best to turn on the cute and con someone into giving him an extra breakfast. This morning was no exception. IrishTenor woke up an hour after I'd fed Zach and Thundercat, and Zach seized the opportunity to try for a second helping.

Zach: "Meow? Meow? Meow? Meow? Meow? ..."

IrishTenor: "SouthernCanadian, did you feed the cats already?"

Me: "Yes, an hour ago."

IrishTenor: "So Zach is lying to me."

Zach (hopefully, upon hearing his name): "Meow?"

Me: "Yes."

IrishTenor (to the cat): "Zach, that's a nice try, but you need to realize something. SouthernCanadian and I have a little thing in our relationship called communication, and she has communicated to me that you have already eaten. You're out of luck."

IrishTenor demonstrates racial awareness

2007-03-29T23:16:00.000-05:00

I brought IrishTenor to my parents' home for the first time in the three years we've been dating. I tend to feel a bit more relaxed and attuned to my off-the-wall side when I'm there, which I demonstrated at breakfast time on Saturday.

Me (constructing a banana penguin, with disturbing alacrity): "Did you know you can make a banana into a penguin?"

IrishTenor: ...

MotherCanadian: ...

Me (making my "penguin" hop and squawk, still with disturbing alacrity): "Waaack waaaack waaaack."

Later

IrishTenor: "Earlier, when you said you were going to make a banana into a penguin, I wanted to ask if you were going to put on a tuxedo."

The most Asian of them all

2007-03-21T19:20:00.000-05:00

Me: "I might get to go to Chicago again sometime!"

Arbusto: "That's cool, what for?"

Me: "I might need to be the Asian."

Arbusto: "You? You're the least Asian person I know! I'm more Asian than you!"

Me: "How are you Asian?"

Arbusto: "Well, let's see. I play Nintendo - "

Me: "Do you watch anime?"

Arbusto: "Yes, and I play World of Warcraft, so that makes me Korean."

Me: "Okay, fine, you are more Asian."

Diplomacy in the workplace

2007-03-12T18:32:00.000-05:00

Me: "I have the National American University jingle in my head."

TestDeveloper: "Please don't sing it. I don't want to know what that is."

Me: "I was hoping you'd know what it was so you could be miserable, too."

TestDeveloper: "No, but I'll think of a different annoying song to put in your head."

Me (whistling): "It's a world of laughter, a world of tears..."

At this point in time, a small foam object came sailing over the wall separating my cube from TestDeveloper's and landed on my keyboard. I can only surmise that said small foam object was aimed at my head.

Lack of coffee causes lack of logic.

2007-02-21T23:11:00.000-06:00

My name is SouthernCanadian, and I am (heavily) addicted to caffeine.

I have spent many months building an impressive tolerance for caffeine and could drink coffee like water. By last week, I was up to 32-48 ounces of coffee per day...until Friday, when the excess coffee may have caused some problems. It is sadly ironic that the only time I have ever vomited in a bar bathroom was after zero glasses of wine and three cups of coffee.

Until Sunday, I thought it was the flu. On Sunday, I took stock of all the hard-to-digest food I'd consumed over the weekend (Saturday: bacon and copious amounts of pizza; Sunday: bagel and copious amounts of pizza) and realized I had been fine until I drank a cup of coffee on Sunday...when I again began to feel nauseous.

Therefore I have sworn off coffee for at least a week, which has been interesting since I rely on coffee for normal levels of alertness. Along with the predictable headache and fatigue, this may have opened the door for some illogical rationalizations.

Case in point:

I usually go to Al's Breakfast on Tuesdays and Thursdays between classes, and I have a standard favorite breakfast: eggs with asparagus and hollandaise, toast, and numerous cups of coffee. On Tuesday it occurred to me that I could clearly not go to Al's because I am not drinking coffee.

So I decided on Blarney, the Irish pub, as an alternative; they have good eggs benedict and a decent bloody mary. The bloody mary is clearly better for me because it is not coffee. Besides, it would be a far better learning experience to read my SAS textbook while tipsy and to go to my regression class while tipsy.

I can only conclude that the absence of coffee from my life is causing logical thought to depart as well. Since they go together and all, and as everyone obviously knows, correlation definitely implies causation.

The birds and the bees...Violinist-style.

2007-02-19T17:21:00.000-06:00

While talking about my adoption...

TheViolinist (to me): "So you don't know your 'real' parents?"

IrishTenor (interjecting, somewhat facetiously): "SouthernCanadian doesn't have parents."

TheViolinist: "So did the pelican bring you?"

What's that tag line about "inappropriate remarks," again?

2007-02-12T23:34:00.000-06:00

I have been working at my current job for nearly a year now and have not had a single moment right out of The Office...until today. I ran upstairs to the vending machine this morning and passed through the break room just in time to overhear the following exchange:

Guy 1: "...although he is a bit bigger than what I normally like."

Guy 2 (staring intently at his sandwich): "I am not even going to ask in what way."

Say goodnight, Gracie.

2007-01-03T20:14:00.001-06:00

After much thought, I have decided to take an extended hiatus from this blog of mine. I am so busy and so preoccupied with school, IrishTenor (all good things, I promise), work, and other concerns that I am simply not feeling inspired to either see the humor inherent to my surroundings or write about it in a way that entertains anyone else. My best bet is to take a break for awhile and perhaps make random, periodic cameos on Arbusto's blog.

Speaking of Arbusto, all of my congratulations, love, and best wishes to one of my very best friends and his lovely now-fiancee Brooklyn. I am so excited for them both and can't wait for them to get married and give Leela all kinds of brothers and sisters...both the feline and canine variety.

IrishTenor, of course, had his own opinions about Arbusto and Brooklyn's engagement and how engagements should occur.

Me (while watching the Bears game on New Year's Eve): "Arbusto and Brooklyn are at that game."
IrishTenor: "He's going to propose to her on the JumboTron."
Me: "He knows better."
"I'm going to propose on the JumboTron."
"You know better."
"Come on."
"No."
"But it's every woman's dream!"
"No."

I'll miss the blog, but I'll be back eventually with stories of my adventures with IrishTenor, TheDesigner, Arbusto, and others.

...or my misanthropic cat.

...or multicultural faux pas.

...or the man at my gym who sings. (On the treadmill. Loudly. In a heinous, off-key falsetto.)

But for now...

Goodnight, Gracie.

On sabbatical

2006-12-27T19:13:00.000-06:00

I'm in academia (sort of), so I use that term loosely. I'm on break, and so is my brain. So far, break has taken my brain and me to my parents' home for Christmas and to work, neither of which is terribly exciting, but it's about all either of us can handle after finals.

So I'll be back when I've had some adventures that don't revolve around other cars, my cursing at the drivers of said other cars, or my desire to commit mean-spirited, passive-aggressive actions toward the aforementioned drivers.

Happy New Year!