Clareified

Where does the good go

Archive for July, 2006

REST IN THE WEST

Monday, July 31st, 2006 by Dawn Summers

REST IN THE WEST

Macaroni has a very funny “how we met” story.
I don’t remember all of it, but it goes something like this:
“Hi I’m Macaroni!”
Sullen, half-asleep, one eighth as enthusiastic girl looks up and nods.
“Hey.”
“What’s your name? What section are you in? Isn’t New York just ever soooo crazy??”
“Uh…Dawn. Ginsburg and no, I’m from here.”
“You’re from New York???!! That’s so cool. I’m from Las Vegas. This is my first time here, could you show me around?”
And here, I like to picture myself pulling the rim of my hat just across my eyes and exhaling my last cigarette drag.
“Sure kid.”
She promises to leave her contact info in my folder at school.
And she does.
I, however, do not contact her, do not show her around, in fact, and never speak to her again for six months.
And that meeting goes something like:
“Hey, I’m Dawn.”
“Yeah, I know. We met during the first week in school…I left you my contact info and never heard from you again.”
“Oh…that was you? Uh…sorry…I was sick/forgot/was kidnapped by aliens?”
Macaroni turns out, much nicer than me, forgave me my transgressions and we became bestest of friends for the next two years.
Then there was the ugliness over New Year’s aboard the Jamaican fishing boat where someone may have threatened to throw the other one overboard and we didn’t speak for some time.
It was that tense Winter that I got to know pearatty and through her, Rick Blaine and then managed to weasel myself into Kaz’s Buffy watching circle and there met F-train.
It’s funny to think that I didn’t hang out with my favorite people from law school until my last semester; that had I been less violent, I might never have gotten to know them at all.
But, we did meet; and as I grabbed a Hefeweizen from the tin tub filled with ice, they all gathered in pearatty’s backyard to sing me happy birthday in the glow of the ice cream cake covered in 27 flaming candles. Oh, my…thirty will be a veritable two alarmer.
It was seriously a mini law school reunion: Pearatty, Mr. Pearatty, Curious and his fiancée, Rick Blaine and Ilsa, F-train (who vacillated between insisting that since this was my third party, I must be 30 by now and begging for the resurrection after “three such horrible days.” Beat.Him.With.My.Shoe.), Macaroni (while we weren’t as close as before, we did recover from the ‘boat incident’) and her fiance!
Then, well after sundown, I got my first real surprise of my surprise party: KAZ and Tito!
At my second birthday party, she told me that she wasn’t going to be able to go out to California for my West Coast shin dig.
I gave her the patented Dawn Summers protruding lip pout.
And then I upped the offensive.
I sent her an hypnotic instant message on Wednesday: “You are getting sleepy…sleepy…you have an overwhelming desire to go to LA this weekend…You must go to LA this weekend…LA…this weekend…when I count to five you will not remember this IM…but you will want to go to LA this weekend. One…two…three…four…five.”
She IM’d back:
“Man I have this crazy desire to go to LA.”
“Huh…really? That’s strange; I guess you should go then!”
But she wasn’t going.
Oh well.
Saturday morning, as I sat still for my sisyphusian nail polishing, pearatty got a phone call.
“She’s getting a manicure,” was all I heard before she got up and left the parlor.
When I thought my stupid nails had finished drying, I followed her outside.
“Who was that? Mr. pearatty?”
“Yes, yup…that was Mr. Pearatty.”
mmm…
“No it wasn’t!…was that Kaz? Is Kaz in LA?”
“Kaz? No. Is she coming? I thought you said she wasn’t coming…”
“Yeah…she said she couldn’t come. Even though I checked the dates with her before picking it!”
We’re back to pouting and have forgotten the suspicious call about me.
Then when F-train arrives at the party –delicious Krispy Kremes in tow—he promptly asks if Kaz is there yet.
“What? Kaz is in LA?!” I say.
“Shut up,” he answers, flipping me the bird.
“What? Why are you flipping me off?? Is she here?”
“She replied on evite that she was coming didn’t she,” he says surlyly. (Is that a word? No…cause it should be…a word to aptly describe all things F-train.)
“No..she said she couldn’t come…”
He gives me the finger. Again. Surlyly.
I shrug my shoulders and make my way over to Rick, Curious and Shelly.
I tell them about idiotically reporting my car stolen and we swap tales of finding “lost” cars.
I am not alone…although no one else managed to involve police…Sigh.
I show them my smudged manicure and tell them how pearatty tried to get me to lick my thumb to smooth out the polish!
This is my now famous “pearatty eats nail polish” story.
When Kaz and Tito finally arrive, and I give pearatty my finger pointing “LIAR!” accusation, F-train says “oh, this was supposed to be a surprise?”
“I told you I was surprising her!”
“No, you didn’t,” he replies before going into his sad roommate left all along tale of woe. “In fact, I pretty much had to come to LA to see you!”
Then he told her that the cat hates her and wishes her ill.
“The cat would never wish me ill,” Kaz says, taking the opportunity to give F-train her own version of the finger pointing “Liar!”
Those crazy kids and their face eating homicidal feline.
I was about to say that the Kaz/F-train cat was the most vicious evil cat in the world, when visions of the Rick/Ilsa flying bat cat came flying back to memory.
“I take it back! I would take their cat everyday and twice on Sundays over the flying demon cat!”
“Hey, it’s not “our” cat. It’s my cat,” F-train corrects.
I laugh.
And that’s why Kaz is putting the cat out on the street when I kill him.
Ilsa and Rick also flew into LA that Saturday to come to the party (Ok…I gotta say, every time I type the word party I feel like Meryl Streep in The Hours…)
“We looked everywhere for a Scrabble dictionary, but couldn’t find one anywhere.”
Oh My God, they fly here from San Francisco, show up first to my party and now are apologizing for not getting me a gift?
Love them.
“But don’t worry, we ordered it for you online…so you’ll get it, we just don’t have it with us.”
Wait.
They flew here from San Francisco, show up first to my party, got me a gift, but are apologizing for not being able to give it to me right now?
Seriously. Love. Them. (But not their cat. Cat’s evil as all get out.)
(And they got me a swiveling Scrabble board! Now…I just have to find someone to play with me since Kaz has vowed that she won’t play with me or F-train anymore.)
Turns out Ilsa has bartending training, so when I told her about my “adult drink” search…she jiggered up a vodka gimlet.
Mmm…tasty. We like. We like.
Mr. pearatty tried to get in on the game too with a strange concoction of strawberry daiquiri mix and something roses and vodka. It was not good.
Why, why would he try to kill me?
Sure I have co-opted his backyard for my own surprise party and got him in trouble for not hanging the Japanese tea lights and would force him to wake up early and take me to the airport…ok…the motive is clearer now…
By the time everyone had arrived, the night air had cooled to a manageable 89 degrees. F-train and Kaz told them about my party in Brooklyn.
“Fisch is actually a good looking guy,” he said.
The next day when Macaroni asked if F-train was gay and if the guy he came with was his boyfriend, I resisted the impulse to say “no, but I might have to set him up with Karol’s poker hero when I get back to NY.”
Ok. I didn’t resist.
Macaroni’s fiancé Dan assured us that he will not have anything to do with Macaroni’s baby shower and we laughed at the fact that he and Macaroni’s monogrammed towels will say “VD.”
HAHAHAHAHAHHAHA.
Curious and I, who worked together on the law school newspaper decided that we should collaborate on a script and become Hollywood power brokers!
Oh, how I wish.
Ah, the whole night was like a scene from a movie. Backyards are awesome. Although we could do without the crickets and threat of bears.
Those are less awesome.
I became grill master…although Macaroni was in charge of the corn grilling.
When she took them off the grill in under ten minutes, I decided to get a guinea pig to do the taste test.
F-train passed.
Rick took the challenge.
“What?” he said between swallows, “It’s fine.”
I didn’t trust his tone.
“Here, have a corn,” I said to the guy F-train came with, “I don’t trust, Blaine.”
“Like he’s going to lie to you, just so you will eat raw corn…yeah, actually he would,” F-train says.
“I totally would,” Rick confirms.
Bastards.
Later when Macaroni poses her question of the “too hairy bridesmaid” (about which Karol cannot believe that she is the only one who would kick the girl out of her wedding.) Rick mentions that since his younger brother is a really good looking guy, he had to break the kid’s nose before letting him be the best man at his wedding.
We laugh.
Cause he’s kidding.
Right…hmmm….
And so there you have it…one girl and her birthday season.
Her too short birthday season.

GO DAWN, IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY…AGAIN

Monday, July 31st, 2006 by Dawn Summers

GO DAWN, IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY…AGAIN

“Are you sure two pasta dishes are enough?”
“Yes,” Pi replied for the nineteenth time, “we’ll also have salad and garlic bread and cheese.”
I wasn’t convinced. Nevermind that Pi throws dinner parties every week and has done so for like the last fifteen years.
“Can we also make chicken parm?”
She sighed.
“Fine, you have to buy chicken breasts.”
“I can do that.”
And I could too…but my mom wanted to come with.
“Mom wanted to come with,” that will heretofore be my standard answer to why I bought 19 pounds of chicken breasts for twenty people, even though there are already two pasta dishes, garlic bread AND cheese.
Of course, Pi was totally right. There wasn’t even room on the table for the chick parm and if memory serves, we only ended up making eight pieces or so –leaving 18 pounds three ounces of unused chicken in my refrigerator.
But the party was awesome.
Alceste was first to arrive. Ah, death threats – nothing beats ‘em. Pi – who had “volunteered” to cook (ok, those pictures from college are officially destroyed! –ed.) wasn’t quite done, so we put Alceste to work setting up the cheese platter.
Of course, he became entranced with the “Bra” cheese Pi had picked out.
Seriously, how come men are in all the positions of authority?
How?
Except for Alceste the first couple of hours were chock full of the old college gang – and their wives and unborn children (man, am I a slacker in the game of life…but for owning my apartment and a car, I would seriously, be in remedial living right about now.)
There wasn’t that much talking because the food was sooo awesome — but I did manage to put my plate down long enough to take swigs of the Sangria –also handmade by Pi.
“Did I ever tell you about the Sangria we made for happy hour at the News,” Chris asked his wife.
She said no.
Years ago, when we were in college and working on the student newspaper, TPTB decided that to keep us happily slaving away without wages on a daily paper, they would provide us with free Dominoes pizza and unlimited Poland Spring water from a cooler.
(To this day I will not, cannot, must not eat nor drink either of those things.)
And every Friday one pair of editors or reporters would sponsor a happy hour.
For his happy hour, Chris and my Scrabble guru friend Lola, had a Sangria themed happy hour.
They made like three gallons of the stuff and replaced the Poland Spring water with SANGRIA!!!
Oh what a glorious night…unfortunately for months afterward all the Poland Spring water had the faintest taste of wine to it.
“That must have been great,” Chris’ wife said at the story’s end.
“You’d think so,” I sighed, “but no…it was more like vaguely remembering a time when you were happy as you grind your way through the darkest days of your life.”
I did my standard pitch to Chris and his wife to have the baby –should she be a girl—to be named after me.
(Later that night Lee Stevens would provide me with graphics and charts demonstrating that while Dawn was a easy to pronounce and spell popular name, it was not sooo popular that should you lose little Dawn at the mall…calling out her name would be usueless. Unfortunately, this picth has not yet produced a bona fide namesake.)
The Arc Builder – our overlord and master on the daily paper – also came by with his wife.
Some of my favorite memories of college involved chatting away with Arc Builder and Chris about politics and affirmative action, fictitious cousin Vito and vengeance. Arc Builder is still the only person in all the world that is better than I at vengeance planning.
I would say more, but if I did, I just know that one day I’d use my credit card at the gas pump and be taken into custody by Homeland Security. And as I languish away the rest of my days at Guantanamo, I may not figure out how he did it, I’d just know that he did.
Somehow Arc Builder and I got to talking about the tax deduction on my mortgage.
“Nah, I don’t think I’ll be able to deduct anything because of the AMT.”
“No, don’t worry. I’ve been paying the AMT for years and you still get to deduct the interest…it’s one of the exceptions.”
“Wow…really…good. I hate the AMT and everything it stands for.”
After a bit more discussion about the tax code and how it crushes the barely rich, I laughed.
“hmmm…who knew that one day we’d be talking about paying too much taxes…we’re practically Republicans!”
Unfortunately, with my duties as host, I didn’t get much time to talk to his wife, but I heard that Karol gracefully made apologies for my absence and managed make her feel very welcome with the delicately phrased:
“Oh, you work for so and so? Dawn hates him!”
Awesome.
My law school friends made their way over to the NC by like nine o’ clock.
F-train greeting me with ye old “I cannot believe I have to celebrate your birthday again.”
Kaz, taking a page from the Karol playbook, presented me with a CD of songs that will not make the baby Jesus cry.
By now I had consumed about half a pitches of sangria, ¾ of a mint julep, and two beers and was making my way through the Lemondrop…protestations of “I have never been drunk in my life,” has increased to about four per hour.
“I love when she says that as she’s slurring her words,” Karol adds.
“I’ve nevvvveeerrr beeeenn duuuunnnk….assskkkk meeee annyythiiinnn.”
“I don’t know who that’s supposed to be, but shut it.”
Around ten, we cut open the “Housewarming/birthday cake.”
Turns out I left the candles on my desk at work, so it went unlit and Dawn was a sad panda.
However, in keeping with my birthday of unconventional happy birthday songs, we got in a few choruses of ‘happy birthday to you (and housewarming) happy birthday to you (and housewarming’ which made me giggle like the schoolgirl that I am.
I collected quite the bounty of looterific birthday gifts – rfom fancy coffee makers to cartoon DVDs and scented candles.
When Fisch came it was looking like a poker game might happen. As I made my rounds, I stealthily scoped out any poker players in the group…Chris and Rdan were the only ones who even said “sorta, kinda, maybe.” So twas not to be.
“Hey, Dawn…you have a blog, so you might know the answer to this.”
“I do have a blog…”
“Ok…say you are dating a girl with a blog and you check it out…however, she doesn’t know that you know that she has a blog, can she tell that you read it?”
Uhhh….Karol!
“Why don’t you want her to know that you read her blog? I always want people reading my blog.”
“Yeah, but your blog is different. You don’t write about your personal life.”
“That’s true,” says Kaz who suddenly materialized from nowhere, “she just writes about her friend’s personal lives.”
Ohhhh snap!
On the exact opposite end of the blogs and dating spectrum, moments later I was cornered by a giddy Smurfette saying
“Don’t tell him, Dawn!”
What now?
“Come on…tell me.”
Apparently, Smurfette’s boyfriend, the very lovely and able to find forks in a pinch, Jon, found out that she used to have a blog and wanted to know the name of it.
“Ahh…well, Jon…what’s it worth to you?”
“Umm…I’ll do all the dishes…”
“Ok..good start…but I have a dishwasher…”
“Ok..I’ll clean up and do all the dishes!”
“No we’re talking…ok smurfette..I have an offer to clean up and do dishes…what are you offering?”
Of course, as the bidding proceeded, it dawned on me that I could not for the life of me remember what Smurfette’s blog address was…in fact, I didn’t remember until this very moment while typing the incident.
Caveat Emptor, as they say.
At night’s end, I said goodbye to people I see every week, once a month, once a year and haven’t seen in what seems like a lifetime. Karol aka satan tried to drag me down to Atlantic City, but I was too full of cake and sangria to be moved.
We played a Russian card game that her friend pheeelepopok made up and she cheated her way to a quick victory.
I still had pounds of lasagna and baked ziti, not to mention frozen chicken and half a sheet of birthday/housewarming cake.
It had been a good night and I promised to be less of a recluse in my 27th year.
Make new friends, indeed, but definitely keep the old…they’re pretty much gold too.

STOP GAP POSTING

Monday, July 31st, 2006 by Dawn Summers

STOP GAP POSTING

I can’t believe July is over already.
I wait forever and ever for birthday season and just when I am settling in and becoming accustomed to being showered with gifts and affection, it’s August!
Bah.
Next year, we’ll have to do two months!
I promised some longer posting about my two main birthday parties.
I promise a lot of things.
I don’t know, I’ve got writer’s block or something like it. Lazyitis. Crushedatworkamania.
Take your pick.
But I can usually write my way out it, so I am trying.

In the meantime, I saw a great movie this weekend: “In America” by the guy who directed the Fifty cent movie.

Very touching, I laughed and laughed at this line:

“You don’t ask for help in America. You demand it. Trick-or-treat- you don’t ask, you threaten.”

Ah, tis true.

Also the girl I went to high school with has a great post over on her site.

DEAR DAWN 2

Monday, July 31st, 2006 by Dawn Summers

DEAR DAWN 2

Be afraid, be very afraid.

A SATURDAY MORNING WISH

Saturday, July 29th, 2006 by Dawn Summers

A SATURDAY MORNING WISH

To the person that crushed a cigarette out on my balcony, and left it there, may you die the death of one million syphilitic red ants.

HOLEY MOLEY

Friday, July 28th, 2006 by Dawn Summers

HOLEY MOLEY

132 dead from California heat.

HOW DO YOU SAY ‘BUSTED’ IN ARAMAIC?

Friday, July 28th, 2006 by Dawn Summers

HOW DO YOU SAY ‘BUSTED’ IN ARAMAIC?

Mel Gibson arrested for DUI.

CONVERSATION OF YESTERDAY

Friday, July 28th, 2006 by Dawn Summers

CONVERSATION OF YESTERDAY

GIWTHSW: You need a manicure.
Me: I just got a manicure four days ago.
GIWTHSW: Mmm. Been doing a lot of digging have we?

NOT SO RANDOM THOUGHT

Friday, July 28th, 2006 by Dawn Summers

NOT SO RANDOM THOUGHT

Why is “Republican Party” the first choice listed on the voter registration card? We almost had one of those “I was young and stupid” moments to explain during my 2024 presidential campaign.

SUMMER IN THE CITY

Friday, July 28th, 2006 by Dawn Summers

SUMMER IN THE CITY

She was 5 feet 2 inches, weighed 105 pounds, and was wearing a white miniskirt with a black halter top.

Her body was found at 4:30 a.m. yesterday inside the trash bin in a parking lot in the shadow of two 24-story buildings at Park Avenue and West Broadway in West New York. From there, the trail led two blocks away to the Park Avenue Motel, at 60 48th Street in Weehawken, where witnesses said Ms. Moore was seen at 5:20 a.m. Tuesday, and where investigators believe she was beaten and strangled.

About three hours earlier, Ms. Moore and her friend, Tara Keenan, 18, left the nightclub, the Guest House on West 27th Street in Chelsea in Manhattan, and found that Ms. Keenan’s red Dodge sedan had been towed from a “no standing” zone nearby, officials said. The women tracked it more than 10 blocks to the Police Department’s impound lot, at 38th Street and 12th Avenue on the Far West Side.

But tow lot attendants refused to give Ms. Keenan the car because she appeared to be intoxicated, the police said. Ms. Keenan then passed out, collapsing, and the attendants called for an ambulance. The lot workers also called officers to the scene because another apparently inebriated woman, who was not with Ms. Moore and Ms. Keenan, was there trying to retrieve her car and was becoming ill, the authorities said.

Ms. Moore went to use the tow lot’s bathroom. About 3 a.m., just before the ambulance arrived and with officers there attending to the two ill women, Ms. Moore apparently left the bathroom, slipped by all the authorities and simply walked off unnoticed, the police said.