Where does the good go

Archive for December, 2006

An Ode to Cherry Pepsi

Friday, December 29th, 2006 by Dawn Summers

You taste like Pepsi, but with a hint of cherry
That makes you very
Dawn Summers Age 27

Cause Dawn Summers loves audience participation

Thursday, December 28th, 2006 by Dawn Summers

What were the best Clareified posts of 2006?

And yes, this is an invitation to plug your name into the blog search engine and read all the posts about yourself. (Egomaniac.)

The winner will get a bloggy good prize.

Let’s get a good clean comment war going!

Is it 2007 yet?

Wednesday, December 27th, 2006 by Dawn Summers

No? Man…I’ve had quite an eventful past couple of days, nothing interesting, but hey, if you’re still coming to this blog after I posted that inane conversation with F-train, you really are easy to please, so here goes.
My friends and the most adorable, genius baby in all the world came by for a visit. Here’s a picture:


I mean, honestly!

Her parents got lost on the way over, so young Princess Leia fell into a lengthy nap that she was not pleased to be awakened from. This resulted in grumpy Leia…then she became Leia no pants after the her pants-are-wet-but-Dawn-doesn’t-have-a-dryer incident.

Now, the first time Leia came for a visit I was woefully unprepared. We had to make do with a wacky stroller pushing game and playing with rubber duckies I got from a baby shower that I went to a few months ago. But this time I was ready! I bought a couple of toys on my home from Christmas dinner and rounded up the ducks! I also had my camera. She really has the most expressive face ever.
Of course, she did not like the camera at first, so all the early shots involve pouting and tears.
Her parents tried to get her to say my name.
“Come on, Leia, say “Dawn”…say “hi Aunt Dawn.” Dawn was almost your name!”
“Yeah, it was like 82nd on the list,” her mother added.
“Oh, don’t worry, Leia. I still call you Dawn,” I replied.
All efforts failed. However, I am fairly sure that she named one of the rubber ducks, Dawn. So. There’s that.
We ordered pizza, cause she really really seemed to like it the last time. Plus, the poor bastards live in Maryland and well, who knows when the last time they had anything remotely resembling New York pizza.
The funniest was when Polo was all “no, give her some of your slice, she’s already eaten half of mine.”
No dice.
“Waaa…my baby ate my pizza! Give it to her!”
“Yes, dear.”
They are so cute.
He got her back later though when we were playing Scrabble and she kept drawing bad tiles and pouting.
That’s when he sang her the “baby on the bus goes wa wa wa” song. Hilarious. They really should make a sitcom about them.
Alas, my undefeated at Scrabble in my house days are over. Marco managed to a 45 point play on his first go and I became too preoccupied with finding a bingo, to recover. I did manage to beat Lola again. But really, I beat her sooo many times (read:twice) that she’s hardly an accomplishment.
Much like Fisch has become.
Leia was totally into the tiles and I can’t wait for her to start playing, I will be looking for challenge by then.
Leia somehow managed to turn on my ipod speakers. She put on NSYNC’s bye bye bye and her father was dismayed at her musical selection. His spirits were lifted, however, when she doubled back less than a minute later to turn the volume waaay down.
“Yes! Good, Leia! It is too loud! Good girl!”
I laughed.
She then asked for a glass of “agua,” leading me to despair that all the world is bilingual, but me.
I gave her the water and walked back to the kitchen.
Before I had crossed the threshold, I heard a splash in the livingroom.
I poked my head back in and her parents were calming sitting at the kitchen table, while their only child was surrounded by a puddle of water.
“Ah, Aunt Dawn has just learned a valuable lesson about giving a baby a full glass of water,” her father said laughing as I mopped up the spill with my mounds of paper towels.
I laughed.
We finished up the game and they headed home, I watched some TV and then decided to go play a little in Manhattan.
I had an insane game and ended the night with Fisch being the voice of reason telling me to leave while I was ahead…which, you know, if you knew him, is funny.
Anyway, I leave for vacation tomorrow.
I may or may not continue posting these fascinatingly inciteful tomes, but have a good end of year and a happy start to 2007.
Peace out.
Oh yeah, that’s right. I took it old school.
That movie sucked by the way.

President Ford dies

Wednesday, December 27th, 2006 by Dawn Summers

Carter, Bush tremble.

Happy Boxing Day

Tuesday, December 26th, 2006 by Dawn Summers

How cute am I?

More shots from Christmas Dinner…

Stupid Yao Ming

Tuesday, December 26th, 2006 by Dawn Summers

It appears that I was first in my fantasy basketball league all season. And then:

The Rockets initially said Yao had only suffered a bone bruise. Now, Jones said he hopes the injury will not require surgery. Without Yao, the Rockets lost to the Clippers 98-93. The injury ruins the best start of Yao’s career. He was averaging 27 points and nine rebounds – both career bests – and had topped 30 points in four consecutive games before scoring 22 in Friday’s 97-78 victory at San Antonio.


Of course, this wouldn’t have happened if he wasn’t on my team…so…there’s that.

The most wonderful time…of the year!

Tuesday, December 26th, 2006 by Dawn Summers

“What do Jews eat,” my mother asked me a couple of days ago.
I laughed. I knew this tone all too well.
The first time my friends from Georgia stayed at our house for Thanksgiving, it was all “what do people from the South eat?” And when I invited my best college friends over…”what do Chinese people eat.”
But I wasn’t bringing anyone with me to Christmas dinner, so I was curious.
“Celia’s nephew is bringing his girlfriend and she’s Jewish! What do they eat?”
“Ham…lots and lots of ham.”
“Don’t be a smartass. You know a lot of Jewish people. Ask Karol”
“um…well, she’s very busy these days, plus she eats bacon, so I don’t think she can help you any…oh, but my friend Fisch eats Kraft cheese slices right out of the wrapper. He’s Jewish.”
“Fisch? What kind of name is that?”
“Uh…the one of his names that I can pronounce.”
I hung up with her absolutely convinced that this was going to be the best Christmas dinner ever. Cause either one of two things were going to happen: my mom was either going to go overboard trying to prepare Jewish food or she was going to get stubborn and insist that her guests eat whatever she makes and like it.
And really, either would make for good blogging, let me tell ya.
I decided to take a day off my vow to be the peace I want to see in the world (it has been going swimmingly, by the way, even though the world has been trying incessantly to provoke me).
Indeed, the utmost reason I was going to my mom’s Christmas dinner was to take as many swipes at the meal as I could before she threw something hard and heavy at my head.
Petty? Perhaps, but I learned from the best. Namely, my mom.
When I arrived she was reboiling a roast because she didn’t like the way the original sauce tasted.
“Ew, that looks disgusting! Are you serving that to…people?” (That’s one!)
I made guacamole and filled the cooler with ice, while my mom’s friend, also named Dawn, cleaned the kitchen and the living room.
“I smell something burning,” I said a few minutes later.
“Oh, crap! The meatballs.”
“Tsk tsk…burned meatballs…that’s not too appetizing for appetizers…” (HA! That’s two!)
Number two earned me a glare. I looked away.
I set the table with the appetizers and my guacamole and put the yams and lasagna in the oven to warm.
I noticed a glazed ham sitting on the back burner and assumed she had gone for the culturally insensitive dinner.
Ahh, option two. This is going to be the Thanksgiving where my cousin brought his vegetarian wife dinner of 1991 all over again.
I started drinking.
My mother plugged in the wok and started to stir-fry some vegetables, the whole place filled with smoke.
“Did you burn the vegetables to go with the burned meatballs?”
Oops…too many, too fast…what was I thinking??? At least if I waited till guests arrived, I’d have some protection.
Stupid, stupid non-thinking things through completely Dawn.
Number three got me yelled at within an inch of my life, but no physical damage, so we’ll call this a win and a valuable lesson learned.
We put on carols and aired the apartment out. My mom and other Dawn changed their clothes and I got online for a bit.
Before long, the guests had arrived.
My mom’s friend Celia is your typical Southern black woman. She grew up in Charlotte and had three boys. We used to go to her house every year for at least one holiday or other. She was always hugging you, pinching cheeks and calling the kids sweetheart and honey.
Yah, so pretty much little Dawn’s nightmare.
“Look lady, nobody hugs anybody in my house or says they love you, unless someone has died or is getting on a plane. Has someone died? Then why are you touching me?” little Dawn would think as loudly as she could while standing stiffly with her arms at her side being tossed and pinched in suffocating embraces.
Celia had not changed.
I opened the door and was immediately locked in her arms…well, best as her 4’9, 116 pounds (soaking wet), seventy-year-old arms could lock me.
“oh my god! Dawn you are all grown up!”
Let.Me.Go. Yeah, turns out she could still lock pretty good. I can’t breathe.
Her husband also hugged and kissed me.
I went to shake her nephew’s hand, but no. Hug number three.
Well, for sure the Jewish lady — nooo, why with the kissing?
I offered everyone soda or beer, when the nephew, whose name is James asked for red wine, “if you have any.”
Oh. We have any.
Years ago, my mom insisted that she wanted a case of wine and a wine rack for her house.
The conversation went something like this:
“I want a case of wine and a wine rack.”
“But, mother, you do not drink wine.”
“Ok, I will see what I can do.”
Karol introduced me to her wine guy and I spent a couple of hundred dollars on this wine cellar.
My mother never opened a single bottle.
So I pulled out a bottle of red and this fancy schmancy bottle opener my mom had bought.
I fiddled with the thing for a good ten minutes before throwing in the towel.
“Uh, James, here’s the bottle and the bottle opener… make it work.”
He gave me one of those “no problem little lady” smiles and set about getting himself a glass of wine.
His girlfriend, whose name was either Jane or looked like a Jane and thus, whom we will call Jane, actually didn’t seem to have any dietary restrictions at all. She ate the soup, which quite obviously had pork in it and ate many of the appetizers without question. And then she said:
“I’d like to have a glass of the wine I brought.”
Of course, no one quite heard the second part, so I said “oh, James just opened the red.”
“No, it’s a white wine. I put it on the table.”
“Oh, ok,” I said.
I was just about to ask James to open the white – with his bottle opener using expertise – when Jane makes her first mistake of the night.
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want to keep the white for yourselves?”
That everyone hears quite clearly.
Now, here’s the thing about my mom. She crazy. Especially, when it comes to making sure everyone knows that she doesn’t need anything from anyone ever. Cause she’s not poor. So fuck you very much.
“No, we have lots of white wine. Dawn go get more bottles of white wine to show her.”
Oh jeez.
“No, mom. Don’t think that’s necessary.”
”Dawn get them!”
I bring three bottles to offer Jane.
“No, no…I…” her face is flush, “anything is fine.”
I put the three back and get the bottle that she brought. James opens it and the unpleasantness of the parade of white wines seems quickly forgotten.
Then Jane says this: “Oh, Celia said Dawn works for a law firm too, is she a paralegal or a secretary?”
This begets the parade of Dawn’s Ivy League diplomas.
I hang my head.
Jane and James then get into it when she insists that he get off his cell phone, which has been stapled to his ear for the better part of an hour.
In the meantime, Jane is chatting me up with questions like “was law school in New York hard?” (she had apparently gone to law school in California for a semester, but dropped out.) “did I still live with my mom?” “what was I doing with my vacation?” When I told her I was going to AC, she said I must talk to James about it, cause he goes all the time.
Before I could interject that I too have been there once or twice, she tapped him on the shoulder and said “honey, Dawn is going to AC.”
He hung up his call and started to tell me that he knows women like the slots, but that he usually goes to play poker.
I was intrigued.
“Really? What kind of poker?”
“Texas Hold ‘em,” he says “I play at the 2/4 tables at Harrah’s, but I wouldn’t recommend you start out playing poker down there,” he then offered to teach me.
“No thanks. I don’t think my mother would like me playing poker,” I respond.
Of course, later that night, after I polished off a couple of bottles of the best of 1999, I told him I was playing in the Showboat tournament on Thursday.
He then whispered to me, in a most inappropriately suggestive tone, that we could get together “to practice” before then.
“uhh…thanks. I’m good 2-4 boy.”
Dinner was pretty good and I think Jane warmed her way into my mom’s good graces with the effusive praise of dinner.
By dessert, no one could move anymore. We sat around listening to carols and wondering why we thought one more spoon of stuffing was a good idea.
Ok, that was me.
When Celia and her family left, I did triple duty to avoid the James full on disgusting kiss on the mouth. I will be washing my nose with antibacterial soap for days! Days!
Dude, I know female poker players are hot- but come on, your girl is right there.
When the guests were gone, my mom and I called the fam in Panama and watched the video of my cousin’s quincenera (a party Latin families throw for their girls when they turn fifteen. I had mine two years ago. Go figure.)
I am currently lying in the sofa that has replaced my bed and fighting the effects of a crapload of alcohol.
See: Meaning, True of

I flickr; he flickrs

Monday, December 25th, 2006 by Dawn Summers

Not very well, but I do it.

He flickrs much better.

Thanks to…

Monday, December 25th, 2006 by Dawn Summers

Dawn 2

for remembering that the true meaning of Christmas is gifts for Dawn.

We may possibly thank Karol in the Spring. To be continued.

I feel bad…doo doo doo doo

Monday, December 25th, 2006 by Dawn Summers

James Brown, the “Godfather of Soul,” whose rasping vocals and revolutionary rhythms made him a founder of rap, funk and disco, died early Monday, his agent said. He was 73.

James Brown dead.