Thursday, July 31, 2008


When I was home recently, I went with my sister to the store to buy my niece’s school supplies.

It was a Saturday and we’d been hanging out in the 3-season room, watching the kids play dominos. (Have you ever watched a 4yo boy play with dominos? It’s… interesting.) My parents were going to a retirement luncheon and my sister wanted to go shopping.

Jo: Do you want to go to the store with LMT* and me?
*LMT = Little Miss Thing, my niece
Me: Sure, I guess.
LMT: Yea!!!!
E-man: Me too???
LMT: No!
Me: (rolling my eyes) If you want me to go, he has to go too. Grandma and Grandpa are leaving and he can’t go with them.
LMT: I don’t want HIM to go!
(Ah… smell the sibling rivalry!)
Me: Then what do you suggest we do? (Yes, I realize I was trying to reason with a 6yo…)
LMT: Leave him here!
Me: By himself?
LMT: Yes!
Me: No. If you want me to go, E-man has to go too.
(argument over)
Me: How long is this going to take?
Jo: About an hour and a half.
Me: What?! An hour and half? At Wal-Mart? On a Saturday? No way! Give me the list!
Jo handed me the list.
Me: There’s no reason this should take any longer than 20 minutes.
Jo: What?
Me: I’m serious! Drop me off at the door and come back 20 minutes later and I’ll have everything. An hour and a half… That’s crazy!

My sister rolled her eyes at my mother, who had long since accepted my “unnatural” hatred of shopping.

So my sister drove us to Wal-Mart, which in my opinion is a store conceived in the seventh ring of Hell. I don’t like shopping, and I really don’t like shopping at stores like Wal-Mart, and I especially don’t like shopping at stores like Wal-Mart on a Saturday unless it’s 8am and the store is practically empty.

As we’re driving I notice that my sister is holding her cell phone in one hand and steering with the other. And then I realize that she’s TEXTING. Now, my sister is not a stoopid girl. She does a lot of stoopid things (we ALL do) but she’s not stoopid. Or so I’ve always thought…

Me: Are you out of your mind?! That is the stoopidest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do! Put your phone away and DRIVE!
Jo: You just don’t like it because it’s illegal in Chicago
Me: What!? No. I don’t like it because it’s STOOPID!
Jo: Whatever.
Me: Put it away or let me and the kids out of the car. You’re driving around in 2 tons of glass and steel. PAY ATTENTION TO THE ROAD!!! Put the phone away! There’s nothing you need to say that can’t wait ten minutes!!! There’s nothing to say that’s worth jeopardizing your life and mine and your CHILDREN’s lives!

Laws are being enacted all over the U.S. to make texting while driving illegal. I’m astounded that this is even necessary. When did this trend start??? Are people really that stoopid???

Yes, E. Yes they are.

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Oh deer…

My dad bought a new car last month. A brand new Buick Lucerne with all the bells and whistles: moon-roof, heated steering wheel, and a discreet little alarm that alerts him when he crosses into the next lane without signaling first (This little alarm is getting a lot of play, much to my mother’s eternal vindication!)

It’s really a beautiful car, though not very fuel efficient.

Well… it WAS a beautiful car.

On their way home from a party last night, they hit a deer. Thankfully, no one was hurt (aside from the deer) and the airbags didn’t even deploy.

My poor mother was driving at the time, and she’s just beside herself about it. The front right fender, the hood, and the passenger side door are all crumpled and will all need to be replaced.

I called them this morning and I could almost hear the shrug in my father’s voice. He’ll flip out over a scratch on his bumper, but he doesn’t sweat the big stuff. Like the time I side-swiped a police cruiser… Um… You don’t need to hear that story.


Anyway, I tried to talk to my mother but she refused to come to the phone. I don’t know if she thought I was going to make fun of her or what (Would I do that? Um….) So, I told her through my proxy (Dad) that she shouldn’t let it bother her. It was no one’s fault and even if it were, there’s still no way to go back and undo it. They’re well-insured and the car will be fixed in no time.

“It’ll never be the same!” I heard her lament in the background.

Probably not. But so what? Now it has character.

The funny part, as my dad reminded us gleefully (and this might have contributed to her foul mood) was that this was not the first time this sort of thing had happened to her.

Picture it: 1967, a brand-new Ford Mustang in metallic green. Her first major purchase, paid for with her own money that she earned working at her first real job. (Her father – who was an asshat – grudgingly co-signed the loan but didn’t contribute so much as a nickel) That car was a thing of beauty. When it was a week old, she parked it on the street in front of her job and (wait for it!) it was squished by an 18-wheeler.

She had it fixed but it was never the same.

Poor Mom…

(Is it wrong that I find this pretty funny???)

Tuesday, July 29, 2008


Ugh. I’ve been drag-assing all morning.

I woke up at 4:30am – MORE than enough time to get to the gym by 5am. Yet, somehow, I didn’t make it there until 5:30.

My trainer was there with another client and she smiled when she saw me. I grunted in return.

My usual treadmill had been taken by someone else so I had to find another one that met my requirements: one with a built-in fan and a heart-rate monitor that worked. Most don’t have fans. I need the fan.

I absolutely despise this sort of weather: hot and so humid that I start sweating just from standing still.


I drank a cup of coffee as I was getting ready but I still feel sluggish.

Did I mention: ugh?

Monday, July 28, 2008


Sharon made me run again on Friday. Not a lot, just a couple laps around the track in between the weights she had me doing.

As we were wrapping up and she was directing my stretching, she said something about running again.

“I really hate running,” I told her.

She looked at me blankly for a moment as if this concept were difficult for her to grasp. Someone who doesn’t like running? That’s just un-American! Hating running is like hating ice cream and apple pie (Neither of which I’m a big fan of, btw. I’m more of a cookies and cake kind of girl)

Sharon: But you told me you’ve been running on the treadmill….?
Me: Yeah. But I don’t like it.
Sharon: You don’t even like it but you’ve been doing it? That’s great! You’re really committed!

Uh huh.

I told Sharon when we first started working together that I hate exercise. I remember her giving me an odd look at the time, but she just said: “Some people do.”

I don’t know if she thought I’d somehow change my mind, as if over the course of my 30+ years I’d just never given exercise a chance.

Sometimes she’ll have me do something like the new elliptical machine and say, “I think you’ll like this. It’s really fun!” I think she needs to get out more.

I do it. I hate it, but I do it. I’ve taken the choice away from myself. It’s no longer an optional activity like watching TV or reading Pride and Prejudice for the 100th time. It’s a daily requirement: like going to work.

My weight’s been weird the last few weeks. Lose a pound; Gain a pound; Lose three pounds; Gain a pound and a half… It’s really frustrating.

Overall, though, my “regime” is working. Slowly slowly slowly. But it IS working. I hate it with a burning, seething passion. But it’s working.

Friday, July 25, 2008


It really amazes me how losing ATBT has rocked my world on its ass.

I didn’t realize how much I’ve come to rely on my imaginary friends for debate and levity and support throughout the day. I feel set adrift without our little “playground” to play in.

They are all abstracts to me, these people: “Terri” and “Angelique” and “Nova” and my dearest, darlingest “Rational” and so many others I can’t name them all.

I don’t really KNOW any of them, but they are my friends nonetheless. We all post nearly every day. We notice when one of us is missing. We notice when one of us is cranky. We notice when one of us is particularly flirty or ornery. So, even though we’ve never met, we seem to KNOW one another.

Other posters occasionally get shirty with us, telling us off for “hijacking” the boards, but what do they expect? When you encounter the same people day after day – even in a virtual environment – the natural result is that you get to know one another. And we never tell others that they CAN’T post. The more the merrier if you ask me.

And the advice columns where we all “met” are especially suited to this sort of interaction. In the course of offering our opinions, we share our own experiences and learn about the experiences of others. We get to know one another and have conversations. We let each other into our LIVES. Isn’t that how all friendships develop?

I’m really not sure why our “playground” was bulldozed without warning (Thank you, Terri for that excellent analogy!) but I’m not going to just take it.

We’ll rebuild. And we’ll keep rebuilding.

In the meantime, I’m going to save any stories I write and post them on the Topix Café blog.

I’ll be setting up those of you whose email addresses I know as admins on that blog so that we can at least archive our “stories” somewhere they can’t be killed.

So. Enough of the pity party. ATBT is gone and I’m sad but I’m not going to dwell on it any more today!

Happy Friday Everyone!!! See you in the “garden” while it lasts!

Thursday, July 24, 2008


They shut down our little online soap opera, As the Board Turns.

We lost a lot of really great material.


It really pisses me off.

I figured, OK, maybe we exceded our limit on "abuse reports" or something, because some people have NOTHING better to do than get offended.

So, I created a new one: ATBT - the Reboot

We got about 40 posts in and they yanked that one too.

So, now we're being stealthy. I created a second blog for us to chat on and then created a new forum but didn't post the link in Topix anywhere.

And it has a really boring name.

It's kind of funny, actually. We're all using fake names (Yeah, Nova, I know they can track us by our IPs, but if they were getting complaints based on people who hate me and follow me around reporting "abuse" on my posts, it can't hurt to go in cognito, right?)

I think Tex mentioned it was kind of like a costume party. Or maybe it was John T. ??? It's hard to tell when everyone is using a fake "fake" name. Hee hee!

Anyway, this is really annoying. I hope all my imaginary friends find their way to our new garden.

In the mean time, here's the story I wrote last night and rewrote this morning. They can't censor me here!!!!

"Who are we going to meet, again?" Eneyer asked.
"Man, I'll be glad when you finally get a brain," Nova grumbled.
"A brain?" Eneyer repeated, frowning as he scratched his head and came away with several strands of straw.
Tex led the way up the stairs, his feet clanging with each step.
"Yap yap yap yap!"
"Shush, Rational!" Court said, adjusting her short gingham dress to show a bit more leg.
"Yap yap yap yap!"
Court shoved Rational down into her basket and closed the latch.
"Halt! Who goes there?!" Bellowed Garth, who was wearing a silly green suit and a sour expression.
"We're here to see the Wizard," Court announced.
"The Wizard?!" Garth exclaimed. "Well, I never..."
"Tubal ligation!" Chortled Well, hurrying past on his way to a meeting of the Lollypop Guild.
Garth glared after him and then turned back to the group. "No one sees the Wizard! No one has EVER seen the Wizard! Even I have never seen him!"
"I need a heart!" Tex yelled.
"And - apparently - I need some F ing courage. Which is complete BS btw..." Nova grumbled.
"And I need to get home to see my Auntie Terri and my Uncle John T!" Court said.
"Yap yap yap yap!"
"And Rational needs to go for a walkie so he can make his poopie," Court translated.
"Absolutely not!" Garth declared.
"But the Good Witch Angelique sent us!" Court cried.
"Oh?" said Garth. "Prove it!"
"Um... She gave me these," Court said, ripping open her short gingham dress to reveal a set of Ruby Red La Perla lingerie"
"Blibbidy...." drooled Garth, his eyes bulging.
The rag tag group snuck past him, Tex's feet echoing through the majestic throne room.
WHO DARES DISTURB THE GREAT AND POWERFUL WIZARD OF ODD! a booming voice demanded, shaking the rafters.
The group huddled together, looking afraid, except for Nova. Court elbowed him and gave him a pointed look and he rolled his eyes. He tried to look afraid, but mostly he just looked annoyed.
"It's coming from behind that curtain," Nova said irritably.
"What's a curtain?" asked Eneyer.
"For the love of...!" Nova strode over to the curtain and yanked it aside to reveal Flawless looking completely beautiful and completely unrepenant. RACE was sitting at her feet. He popped a Dove chocolate into her mouth. When the others looked at her accusingly, she just shrugged.
"Now what?!" demanded Nova.
"Ah-ha-ha-ha!" a cackling voice cried out and they looked up to see the Wicked Witch Stina, looking frightfully beautiful on her flying roomba. She cracked her whip, snagging the basket right out of Court's arms. "I have you now, my pretty!" she crooned to Rational.
"Yap yap yap yap!" barked Rational as the Wicked Witch Stina sped away.

(Sorry for making you a dog, Rational my love, but someone had to be Toto!)

"Shall we play a game…?"

It’s the 25th anniversary of WarGames.

Matthew Broderick in his prime. You remember. Cute, plucky little computer geek just trying to hack into the latest and greatest computer games (remember Pong?) inadvertently breaks into the WOPR – the super computer that controls all of the ICBMs in the US.

"Just unplug the goddamn thing! Jesus Christ!"
"That won't work, General. It would interpret a shutdown as the destruction of NORAD. The computers in the silos would carry out their last instructions. They'd launch."
"Mr. McKittrick, after very careful consideration, sir, I've come to the conclusion that your new defense system sucks."
"I don't have to take that, you pig-eyed sack of sh/t."

Hahaha! Man, that dialog is CLASSIC!

And who doesn’t love when MB escapes using a pair of scissors and a telephone diagnostic box???

Loved it!

It’s being shown at theaters all over the country to celebrate the anniversary and several of my friends and I are going tonight.

I totally can’t wait. I’ll pretend I’m a little pre-teen again, crushing on Matthew Broderick while stuffing my face with nachos and diet Coke.

Good times.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

“You ooze sex”

“You ooze sex”

In the history of bad pickup lines, this one has got to top the list.

I mean… seriously.

How many women do you know who want to hear this from a complete stranger?

It was several years ago. My friend Padma and I were in a Tapas restaurant, waiting for our table in the bar, sitting – perched – at one of those high tables that can accommodate standing patrons or people sitting – perching – on high bar chairs. Now, I’m exactly the same height standing as I am sitting in one of those chairs, perhaps even a smidge shorter, but that’s irrelevant.

Padma and I had been there for maybe twenty minutes, and were sipping martinis when this guy walked up to us.

“You ooze sex,” he told me.

Padma almost choked on her drink. I just blinked at him. I had no idea how to react to such a declaration. I mean, yes, I knew I looked cute that night. I was wearing a short skirt and heels and a sweater that showed my girls to their best advantage. But still…

And this guy was OLD.

I mean, not like 80 or anything, but he was definitely on the far side of 55. I was 26 at the time. It would have been different if he’d been a hot, dashing silver fox. But he was all rumpled and oily and icky. He reminded me of my crazy Uncle Bob. Ew! Now, I’m not shallow, but come ON! Is there some sort of pathology common to pervy old men whose feet smell like mayo that they only know how to hit on women half their age? Are they gluttons for punishment or just delusional???

So what do you say when a creepy old man walks up to you and says, “You ooze sex.”???

I wanted to respond with, “Yeah? Well you ooze creep!” But, being the well-raised girl that I am, I forced a smile and said, “Um…. Thank you,” while giving Padma a swift kick.

Padma’s no dummy. She reached across the table to take my hand in both of hers, rubbing her thumbs across my knuckles. Then she looked up at him and said, “You have no idea!” before carrying my hand to her lips.

This, of course, made the guy’s eyes brighten even more.

Thankfully, before he could offer to buy us a drink or worse: make yet another lascivious comment, our table was called.

Wednesday, July 16, 2008


So, walking home from the gym this morning, I passed a cute boy, also dressed in workout clothes. He smiled at me. It was a cute sort of semi-amused smile. I smiled back.

Now, this boy was WAY too young for me. Probably early to mid-twenties. But nothing wrong with a little smiley flirting, right?


I got home and walked into the bathroom. And that's when I caught sight of myself in the mirror.

The entire front of my shirt - from the underside of my breasts down to the middle of my tummy - was one, big, wet blob of SWEAT.


Monday, July 14, 2008


I’ve got a confession to make.

I like Mondays.

I know, right? Who in their right minds actually like Mondays??? I mean, it’s not like it’s payday or donut day or anything cool like that. In fact, there are plenty of things to NOT like about Mondays.

First of all, Monday is the day when I run. /Running is a relatively new thing for me and I really really hate it. (Not as much as I hate the Gauntlet, but it’s a pretty close second!)

Second, Monday is the end of the weekend. Wake up early, drag my ass to the train and stumble into work. Don’t get me wrong, I prefer the weekend to Mondays, but as a weekday, Monday’s really not that bad.

Mondays are kind of like mornings for me. In the morning the day is all fresh and clean – it hasn’t been ruined by all the crap that can occur throughout the course of the day. And Mondays are the same way. The week is a clean slate on Monday, full of possibilities and potential.

Fridays on the other hand…. I hate Fridays. Longest day of the week. The whole day is just one long rehash of the week that preceded it, a holding pattern for the weekend that is waiting…. And that hour from 4pm until 5pm on Fridays…. Torture.

But Mondays…. Mondays make me happy.

Saturday, July 12, 2008


My Aunt Marian found a lump in her breast last month.

She had it biopsied and Bad News: cancer; Good News: VERY EARLY.

They say good things come in threes (congrats Rational & Heather! Who's next???)

But bad things do too. First my dad (who's doing VERY well!) and now my aunt. I hope whatever happens next is a stubbed toe or a fender bender... :(

Aunt Marian is my father's older sister (he's the baby) and not the first in our family to be afflicted. Her mother - my grandmother - had breast cancer before she died, though I don't know if that's what ultimately led to her death - I was less than a year old when we lost her - the last grandchild she got to meet before she died in her 70s. My next cousin was named for her.

Breast cancer runs on my mother's side, too. My maternal grandmother had a lump removed at 30. In theory I should have had my first mammogram at 30 myself, but because I've never been pregnant and have relatively small breasts, it's never been deemed necessary by my doctors.

But at my next physical, I'll be getting my first mammogram and it scares me to death. I'm afraid of the actual test AND of the potential results.

Being a nurse, Aunt Marian opted to have a mascetomy last week. She's in extremely good spirits. On her website her biggest complaint was that even though she lost a breast she somehow managed to GAIN ten pounds while in the hospital for two days! (Makes my whining about one pound seem offensively petty!)

What I found really sweet, though, was that, as I was reading what my other relatives had posted on her website, I noticed that her two daughters-in-law kept calling her "Millie" which I'd never heard anyone call Aunt Marian, ever.

And then I realized it was a play on MIL, the abbreviation we use in cyberspace for "mother-in-law"

How sweet is that!!!!

Anyway, here's wishing you a speedy recovery and a clear pathology Aunt Marian!!! I love you!

"Plateaus Happen"


I gained a pound this week. GAINED. As in "opposite of LOST"

Yes, I wasn't perfect this week: I drank wine and ate cheese with my bookclub; I partied a bit on the 4th. I could totally accept it if I didn't lose any weight this week, but ..... GAINED????

Yes, Rational my love, I KNOW that the scale doesn't matter as much as BMI and inches, but weight is an easy, quantifiable number.

And I don't like the spike on my Excel graph (Yes, I'm a dork, I have a spreadsheet set up to document my weightloss and Yes, I've made a pretty, colorful graph...)

I get that, really, one pound doesn't amount to a whole lot in the grand scheme of things, but it's very very demoralizing.


Sharon was pragmatic: "Plateaus happen" she told me. But I don't WANT them to happen. If I had MY way, my gently-sloping decline would really be a black-diamond ski-slope.


Thursday, July 10, 2008

Topix Cafe


The Topix Cafe is broken! Posting came to screeching halt at about 4pm CDT.

I feel set adrift.... at a loss...

For the last hour at work I had to - ACK! - work!

Oh the horror!


Shirt Twin

I’m in a mood today. I'm just feeling kind of bitchy. And a little flakey. I left the house without my lunch. It's such a pain to find something quick AND healthy in the loop. Grrr..

A woman just started to sit down next to me on the train and then paused and did some weird sort of pointy thing. I pulled out one headphone looked up at her askance, wondering if she wanted my seat.

Which made no sense. There were six still open.

“Nice shirt,” she smiled. We were wearing the exact same shirt. I smiled back, though it nearly cracked my jaw to do so.

Now, I had debated over this shirt half the morning. I’ve had it for a couple months but have never worn it. It’s red, which is a good color on me but this is probably the last time I’ll be able to wear it. It’s a bit loose through the middle despite the darting.

Of course, my shirt-twin is both taller and thinner than me and the shirt looks WAY better on her. I feel like one of those side by side comparisons they sometimes have in the supermarket rags: “Who wore it better?”

Not me.


Monday, July 7, 2008

Stress Relief???

For my birthday last year, my friend Mandy gave me one of those little stress-relief balls. You know the ones I mean: essentially just a balloon filled with sand.

This one was dark blue and shaped like a little dude, complete with arms and legs, a nose, and ears and an insipid little smile.

My job isn't terribly stressful, but I find torturing this little dude to be quite relaxing.

Until, that is, one day several months ago. I was trying to print some things for an important meeting but I was having trouble with our large-format printer. I was becoming increasingly annoyed with the situation and while I waited for the paper to cycle through – again – I grabbed up the little balloon-dude and started pummeling him.

Just as I noticed the paper was coming out crooked – again – I gave balloon-dude's head a good twist and …. HE EXPLODED ALL OVER MY DESK.

I'm pretty sure I said something non-professional at that moment.

Sand gets EVERYWHERE. And the filling inside these little balloon-dudes is not so much sand as a really really fine silica. It got in my meeting notes, in my phone, and – best of all – in my keyboard.

I cleaned up the almighty mess as best I could, even borrowing the vacuum from the janitor. And most of it came up.

Except my keyboard. No amount of canned-air on the planet was going to get this ultra-fine mess out of my keyboard.

So I sucked up my pride and called IT for a new one. They still haven't stopped laughing at me.

Saturday, July 5, 2008

All You Need is Luvs


I have noticed, with alarming frequency, the number of Beatles songs that have been made into commercial jingles lately.

Target morphed "Hello, Goodbye" into "Hello Good Buy" which, while irritating, is kind of quirky.

But the worst of the worst is a horrible cover of "All You Need is Love" batsardized into "All You Need is LUVS."


It's a shame to have such a great song being pissed and shat on.

I give HUGE props to my ugly-sexy-rock-n-roll boyfriend Tom Petty for keeping it real and NOT allowing his great songs to be sacrificed in tribute to the all-mighty Dollar.

Friday, July 4, 2008

The Gauntlet

My trainer made me do the Gauntlet today.

I hate the Gauntlet. It's my least favorite piece of exercise equipment. I mean, it's a wall of moving stairs.
What's not to hate?

Sharon: You should try to do one thing every day that you're afraid of.

Me: It's not fear. It's sheer, abject HATRED.
But I'll do it. I just don't have to be happy about it.

Thursday, July 3, 2008

Nearly Perfect

Today is my kind of day. Sunny and warm without being hot; breezy with low humidity. I’d be content if the temperature never got over 75º. Ever again.

I spent my first summer of grad school in Alaska, tramping through the woods scribbling notes. Aside from the insects and the ever-present worry over bears, moose, and wolves, and my own personal emotional upheaval, it was perfect. Just like today. Sunny and 75º nearly every day. Air-conditioned summer.

I could have done without the loooonng days, though. It was kind of neat at first to leave the bars at 2am and have it still be twilight, but it got old fast. I’ve always been a good sleeper but I found it hard to drop off when the sun was still only halfway to the horizon. The worst part was the that the kids in my apartment complex played outside (loudly and unsupervised) until the sun went down – often after midnight. That’s parenting for you. But that’s what you get when the Army puts you up in public housing…

But I’m not talking about Alaska. I’m talking about the most perfect manifestation of summer in Chicago. The only thing that would make today any better – aside from a hunky cabana boy to bring me pina coladas and nachos (Rational???) – would be if it were Saturday.

Some of my friends get “summer hours” and get released around 3pm in the summer. Not me. Summer is my busiest time. Even if I weren’t crazy-busy, I wouldn’t be able to call in sick today (tempting!!!!) because A) we’ve been dreadfully short-staffed for the past two weeks and B) calling in sick the day before a holiday gets you docked unless you have a doctor’s note. (I’ll talk about all the whiney little children who work in my office and the silly rules we’ve had to implement because of them in a later entry) The rule doesn’t really apply to me since I’m “management” but I’m a grown up. So it’s off to work I go.

Still, it’s perfectly gorgeous outside and I’m all prepared to have a fantastic day today and I wish everyone the same!!! Even you.

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

“Hello, Officer Hottie!”

My good friend Anita and I were at the Taste of Chicago yesterday after work. The crowds weren’t too bad – there were a lot of people as always but the lines were quick.

At one point there was some sort of disturbance at the egg roll place near the SW corner of Jackson and Columbus. As we were walking past there were three mounted cops keeping patrons back (I’m not really sure of the logic of using horses as a conveyance during crowded events but whatever) Anita and I didn’t stay to gawk.

As we were walking East, however, we noticed that there were about a dozen other cops coming from all directions towards the egg roll place. They weren’t running or anything, but clearly they had a mutual destination in mind. And that’s when we saw HIM.

Officer Hottie.

I’m serious. This guy was SMOKING hot. He was six feet tall and muscular but not beefy, and tan with eyes so BLUE you could swim in them.

I smiled stupidly at him and nudged Anita with my elbow, saying, “Hello, Officer Hottie!”
She angled her head to look and her eyes widened.
“Oh my God!” she breathed. “I’ve been bad.”
“Me too. Very very bad!”
“He’d better come arrest us!”

We threw Officer Hottie one last, smoldering, lascivious look and continued on.

For the next twenty minutes we developed a whole back story for Officer Hottie.

He was our best friend’s younger brother. Yeah! As a child he’d been an obnoxious little pest, all knees and elbows, who would follow us EVERYWHERE. Obviously, the little dork had had a wicked crush on us, his sister’s cool, cute friends. But we, being the cruel cruel betches that we were, had tormented him endlessly, ignoring him unless we needed something carried or cleaned up.

But then Officer Hottie had grown up. And boy howdy did he grow up FINE. Suddenly, we were only two in a whole sea of lustful babes trying to tap his perfect ass. He was, of course, overrun with girls panting after him and he had no time for us anymore, which only made him that much more attractive!

And then we started discussing ways in which we might meet Officer Hottie.

“We could pretend to have lost our friend,” Anita suggested.
“Or,” I countered. “One of us could get hurt and need first aid!”
“Ooh! I could demonstrate my new Kung Fu moves for you and ‘accidentally’ break your ankle!” She seemed a little too enthused by this idea.
“We could pretend to be lost tourists! ‘Entschuldigen Sie mich. Wo ist die Bahnhof?’” I dredged up all the high school German I could remember.
Anita grinned, and then, deepening her voice, “’I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t speak Polish’”
“Ma’am!” I exclaimed, outraged. “It’s ‘Miss’ dammit!”
“He doesn’t look very bright.”

In the end, of course, we never found Officer Hottie again, but a part of him will be with us forever.


(I never said I was cool!)