Where does the good go

Hit of the season

I used to blog a lot from my rocking chair. But last year I decided to replace the rocking chair with an elliptical cross trainer. So now I don’t blog from there anymore. Nor do I elliptical cross train, mind you.
I once referred to the week between Christmas and New Year’s as “mythical.” “Oh, that must have been the mythical week between Christmas and New Year’s,” I’d say. It just goes so fast, nobody’s really doing anything but making New Year’s plans or playing with their Christmas gifts. We are currently listening to Emmylou Harris!
Anyway, there is so much I wanted to do in the mythical week, I wanted to do a year’s end 2008 list, I wanted to blog about the Jews for Christmas Party, a “one nice thing I’ll say about President Bush” post, my wacky Christmas dinner, which included a cameo by New York’s Finest…or Bravest…evidently eight minutes was a good response time, so I owe the Mayor an apology and the rest of you can feel free to sick in the hood all you want. Anyway, I’m leaving tomorrow for “Canada”, so none of that is going to happen. However, I didn’t want the year to end without blogging about my trip to Nevada/Utah, so here we are in our relocated rocking chair looking for inspiration. Emphasis on Spire.
So when last we left off, I had weaseled my way into the Jakes’ Bette Midler vacation. Emphasis on Easel. Wow that word does not look right. (It is. –Ed.)
The show was Sunday night, so I met up with the Jakes at Spago for “preshow snack.” We had pizza, which despite my being raised a New York pizza snob, was not entirely horrible. (Although on my return trip to Vegas a few weeks later, I refused to eat pizza at all. “There’s no point,” I said disappointing Alceste and KJ and forcing them to yet another dinner at Subway’s. Yes, yes, that Subway’s.)
I think I have a picture of us at Spago’s.
Me and the Jakes (I think I look more like dad.)
Oh, see the outfit? The purpleness? I brought a bunch of suits and dresses with me so I texted Karol beforehand to get her opinion on which one I should choose. Her opinion was that I could not wear anything but a purple suit to see Bette Midler. And then she called me the gayest. I promptly told our parents on her and Jake replied “yeah, Bette Midler is pretty gay. I wouldn’t come to this show with less than two women.”
Okay, since I have a picture of dinner, ergo, therefore, I have a camera. Unfortunately, Bette Midler does not allow cameras at her show. (I have NO idea why. SHE ALLOWS IPHONES!!!) Anyway, I wasn’t sure what they’d do to me or my camera. But I hella wasn’t going to miss the show or lose my $6,000,000 camera which I bought just to spite Karol…although now she has a $12,000,000 camera, so vaffles for me. Except I’ve already seen her drop it in spectacular smashy smashy fashion, so, on second thought, vaffles for her.
I had a teeny tiny purse with me, so it wouldn’t fit in there…besides, that probably the first place they’d look!
Then Mrs Jake came up with a brilliant plan.
“Hide it in your bra!”
Dude, I do as I’m told.
I secured it away, fixed my shirt and reported for spot check.
“Does it look bumpy?”
“Only in the normal ways.”
Awesome. (Note to self: Way less blogging about my cleavage in ’09)
Of course, as the line snaked toward the entrance I saw the big hole in my plan…metal detectors. Big shiny ones at every entrance. No way was I getting away with this and I certainly didn’t want to subject my frontal area to any extensive questioning and/our investigating.
So when I got to the door I told the lady I had a camera and she made me check it. In spite and protest of this decision, I took a picture with my camera phone in the show. Fuck you, Bette.
(What? My picture taking sucks and I was using a blackberry, give me a break.)
The show was very funny. It’s basically Bette singing and dancing, but she’s got three main backup dancer girls – who were all black—and before I could say anything about them, so mentioned that she had found them all at County and picked them because they had the lowest bail. She did a bunch of short bits (one where she, just to prove that Karol is never wrong about people, gave a shout out to all “her gays” in the audience. “Me, Cher and Elton in one theater…this is like church for you people now.”) the bits were good. I liked her “old lady” bit. She was all, “yeah I’ve been doing Soph for thirty years, she started out as “fifty” then “sixty” now, I think she’s dead.” But one bit, where she plays a mermaid looking for work in showbiz, was beyond bizarre. So, she’s a mermaid. And she sings, but doesn’t dance, cause she’s a mermaid. Mermaid don’t have legs. So when she finally gets her own show in Vegas, she has to roll around the stage and then…just when that was beginning to get uncomfortable…they put her in a wheelchair and she literally ROLLS around onstage. BUT NO! That’s not the end, ALL THE BACKUP DANCERS are put in wheelchairs too AND THEY ROLL AROUND THE STAGE.
I woulda taken a picture…but you know.
After the show, we went to dinner at Bradley Ogden. Mrs. Jake often mocks me because all I ever order is steak. Pretty much if there’s steak on the menu, I will find it and order it.
So, at Bradley Ogden I totally blew her mind and ordered butternut squash soup and like some kind of fish…I don’t remember the name…though I probably still have the menu somewhere…why oh why do I save EVERYTHING?? Well, turns out there is a reason I order steak every time…because you can’t mess it up. It’s delicious. Then you cook it. MORE DELICIOUS. Butternut squash soup on the other hand. BLEECCCHHH. I actually now believe you can’t mess up butternut squash soup because it’s gross. Then you cook it. MORE GROSS. EEWWWWWWWW.
I was showing the Jakes some of my ballerina days pictures that I posted on facebook and Mrs. Jake asked me if “I still dance.” Yes, yes I do. Except instead of looking like this:
Now my dancing looks like this:
dancer2 (That’s me and Robert George at the Jewcy Christmas party. Karol dubs this: the only two black people in New York who can’t dance. That’s right, Robert. She said. Go get her.)
I want to say I went home after the Bradley Ogden dinner. (And by home I mean the Tropicana Hotel, where I spent two weeks in June and upon telling the checkin lady that I was staying two weeks, she was all “whoa…TWO WEEKS? What the hell? She was evidently confused by an apparently no job having guest staying at a hotel.) Anyhoo, so I want to say I went straight back to the hotel and got a good night’s sleep before meeting the Jakes for breakfast and our trip to the Liberace museum on Monday morning. But if I said that, you’d ask about the unresponded to text from Jake at around 10 am asking if I wanted to meet them for breakfast. Or the unresponded to text from Jake at 11 am saying they were going to Spago for breakfast and I could meet them there if I wanted. Or the unresponded to text from Jake at noon…well, you get the picture. Somebody made me go play poker and I didn’t get up until 1 and wrote back to say that I was hopping in the shower and could meet them at the museum, if they had already left breakfast. Jake wrote back to say they were still at Spago’s but the museum was closed on Mondays. He then added that I could go shopping with Mrs. Jake if I wanted to.
Now, for those of you who know me, well, shopping’s just not my thing. I hate shopping. The walking, the looking, the deciding, the paying. Ick! So I didn’t want to go, but they totally knew my lazy waking up at 1 self had no other plans, so I couldn’t figure out how to say no. I wanted to be polite and wholly inoffensive, so I texted Karol (look, I was groggy and just woke up.) She didn’t respond. As the minutes ticked away I knew I had to answer, so I came up with the most polite inoffensive thing I could think of:
Aw man! It’s closed?! Boo. No thanks on the shopping…I only shop when forced to at gunpoint. See you at dinner!
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, THAT was my most polite and inoffensive decline. Later, that afternoon when I relayed the exchange to Karol she was all “you said what?! What did they say back?”
Uh…nothing…is that bad?
Of course, since Mrs. Jake totally rules, she was not at all offended, and found it funny and read it aloud to others.
Dinner was at “Picasso.” So named for the Spanish dude with the paintings. The whole place was covered with the stuff. Dinner was awesome. I had Mrs. Jake singing Fergie’s Glamorous at the table! (I had posted the video when I left for my “high life with the Jakes,” trip. She was table dancing to it too! I was giggling and giggling.
We all agreed that the Bush/Paulson bailout plan was redonkculous…though I could totally see Jake wishing he could call it the “Obama bailout” Hee heee. You can’t. Bush. Alllll Bush! HAHAHAHA
For some reason I had been the following the Bills game and so I asked the waiter to keep me updated (you can do that in fancy restaurants. When I went to Subway’s with Kearns, I asked about the Saints game and the guy totally blank stared me.) BTW, Jake informed me that when Obama’s President all our fancy meals will be at Subway’s. Yes, that’s Subway’s. Though, he’s already taken me to Burger King and it’s still totally George Bush’s America.
The waiter was all nice and when the game was over he quietly whispered “I’m sorry, miss. They lost.”
“Who lost? The Bills?” (hahahah that was before I was a true football fan. Of course, now I know the answer to that question is always…)
I smiled at him. “It’s okay, I was rooting for the other guys.”
As the evening went on and maybe one or three sex on the beaches were involved (Note to self: seriously, find a drink that doesn’t cause you to stick your fingers in your ears to order.) I was looking around and said:
“Picasso’s paintings suck.”
And right before I “did my oops, was that my outside voice or my inside voice,” Jake agreed with me! As did Mrs. Jake. Whew. I’m not banned. (Texas April was in a twitter conversation today about how much Dylan sucks. I assume Bob, cause Jakob rizzocks. It had the same kind of “I know you’re not supposed to say this, but…” feel to it, which is why I mentioned it.)
Anyway, I told the Jakes I was meeting my friend for drinks after, Mrs. Jake said “friend,” with that hopeful tone I hear ALL the time in my Brooklyn mom’s voice.
“No, just a friend…and barely that…more like an assface that I met in law school and his girlfriend who I only like in comparison to Karol.”
She remained skeptical, so I agreed to take them to meet him. When I got there G-train was there with CK and a couple of Asians. (Oooh, buuurn. Did I just call CK not Asian? I did. But she’ll never get this far in my post, so I’m good.)
Wouldn’t you know, the artist formerly known as assface was so charming! I totally wanted to be like “I swear, he’s never like this. I don’t know who this person is frankly…he’s a dick. Trust me!”
I did not like it. Not ONE BIT. Plus, he lives so close to the Jakes now…he’s so going to try to steal my Jakes!
I actually didn’t play poker that night. I swear. I really didn’t. I did stay out till the CKs (the Gaytrains?) were tired and left the Bellagio with them around 3. It was DESERTED. I’ve NEVER seen a casino in Vegas like this:
What economic downturn, indeed.
Totally proofed by how up and ready I was when the Jakes picked me up in the morning. IN A MERCEDES SL 5 trillion!!
(Do they go up that high? I know the Bush bailout plan does, but do the Mercedes’?)
Our first stop was the Liberace museum.
I used to watch his show with my mom when I was a kid, so I was so psyched to see all the costumes and rings!! He had china made by the people that only make China for royalty!!! Like Britney Spears can’t even get a set, but Liberace? YUP!
The tour guide was SO into Liberace, she kept calling him “Lee.” “Lee this and Lee that and Lee DID NOT DIE OF AIDS, thank you very much.” They had this dude come out and play on Lee’s piano for us and he was all “I got chills sitting there. This is the last piano Liberace ever played on.”
(So you dinguses screw it up by having that turdrocket play on it? He kept saying if we bought a ticket to his $40 concert it would be amazing because he does sketches of the audience WITH THE PIANO. A PIANO SKETCH! FOR FORTY DOLLARS!!! Fully comfortable now with the Jakes, I openly snorted. I’ll piano sketch you for forty dollars! Oh yeah, another funny part of dinner, Mrs. Jake told me that Jake totally hates people! And I was all “ME TOO!” And then Jake and I agreed not to speak to each other on Thursday. We penciled it in.)
We started our drive to Utah and made a stopover on an Indian reservation. They had etchings on the face of the rock…I used to know the name…maybe magnesium?
So I thought if we walked to the end of it I would find the meaning of life. I didn’t. I found sand. Lots and lots of sand.
The stuff was EVERYWHERE! But mostly in Mrs. Jake’s right shoe.
Back to the Mercedes and it was “Utah or bust!” We stopped in Arizona to stock up on liquor and get some foodstuffs, but then it was UTAH!
My first time in the Mormon state (Is that what they call it? Or do they just put that on the plates?)
The Jakes’ place was amazingly beautiful, though after staying with them in Montana, I didn’t expect anything less. I won’t post pictures of the house (lest F-train try to find it) but this was INSIDE THEIR HOUSE:
INSIDE! Well, outside, but inside…you know what I mean!
When we got inside the house and I was oohing and aahing Jake put a foolish challenge to me:
“Can you find the TV?”
Not only did I find it in under a minute, I programmed their TV with all my shows for that week. Mrs. Jake was “I didn’t know we had that?”
“Jake knew I would be here to visit one day.”
(I am apparently also the only LAWYER ever allowed in Jake’s house. Mostly because I’m clearly his favorite. I’m just saying THREE pictures in the newsletter, people. THREE!)
We stayed in that night. Mrs. Jake and I watched Law&Order: SVU and we made plans to go “play Scrabble with her friends.”
(My exact instructions from Jake were “you’ve got to kill those guys in Scrabble.” Yes sir. “He later remorsefully texted me “be merciful.” HAHAHHAAHAHA. I really am awesome at Scrabble. (Yes, we have a tournament in two days which I’m sure will disabuse us of this notion, but for now. Did I mention that I beat Woody in Scrabble? Wait, you do know I have a Scrabble blog, right?)
The next morning I woke up bright and early to go play golf with Mrs. Jake at the Ladies Golf lesson.
Things out in Lake George are pretty segregated. I mean with respect to men and women. Obviously, there are no black people.
So I met the ladies in the golf lesson circle and then went out with Mrs. Jake for eight holes. I decided to spare everyone the humiliation of watching me try to play golf and I just hung out in the cart…recovering spare balls and texting pictures of myself to my facebook page. What? Isn’t that what everyone does on a beautiful 70 degree day out on the golf course?
That night we had dinner at the club. The main dining room was full, so we got put in the spillover room by ourselves. Which suited Jake and I just fine! But Mrs. Jake made us got sit at a big table in the main dining hall with another family of three that were sitting their by themselves.
Jake and I were all “peeeeppplleeee??? Dooo weee hhaavvveeee tooooooo?”
Yes. Yes we did.
My favorite part was when the people asked Jake how he knew me and he was all “Oh, we met out in New York three years ago.”
And they were like “for what?”
And he was like “um…she writes for a site…well, he friend writes for a site and I read that site and then I started reading her site and…fine…FINE WE MET ON THE INTERNET! Are you happy now!??!”
I laughed and laughed and laughed.
“I hate saying we met on the internet!”
I was still laughing.
I think this was the night I told everyone I was a professional poker player. The men seemed to think this was cool. And Jake promises poker on my next visit out to Utah.
(The next night I told everyone I was a professional Scrabble player. The women seemed to think this was cool. The third night I told everyone I was a lawyer. No one thought that was cool.)
After dinner we had a lecture on bees. A Bee lecture. Which I ironically gave an A. I wish I could relate all the bee facts I learned, but I confess they have been replaced with all the Patriots stats that I’ve learned…though…I do recall most bees live like two weeks max. And they all serve this lazy ass queen that never leaves the hive, she just knocks out worker bees that serve her and then die. Afterward we got to taste various honeys – like natural honey versus processed versus some other kind. I learned I do not like honey. Oh, I think we might have also learned that contrary to popular opinion, bees are not dying. Though, if you are thinking of starting up a beekeeping business, stay away from highways. Oh and if you find a hive of bees in your power box or basement, just go ahead and kill them, nobody wants your bees.
After the bee lecture, Mrs. Jake and I went over to her friend’s house to play Scrabble.
I report on those results here.
We didn’t leave till like two or three in the morning, so we had to borrow a flashlight to walk back to our house (Editors note: Yes: “our house” –Ed.) because they don’t allow street lamps because of the light pollution.
(I actually saw the Big Dipper for the first time, rather than just saying that I see the Big Dipper, as has been the case.)
The next day, I went for a hike with Jake. Oh…do I have to put hike in quotes if I didn’t leave the passenger seat of the car? Except to take pictures of me looking like I’m hiking?
(I am wearing that T-shirt Ironically.)
I think this was the day Jake took me to Costco so that I could go look for Mormons like on the TV show, though he said I could not take pictures of them. But then we didn’t see any at all. I think they knew I was SO going to take pictures of them. Wily Mormons.
On our way back I stocked up on much needed supplies.
On facebook, I captioned this photo “I am what would happen if seven year olds had their own money.”
I was also going to say “ugh, I can’t believe I ATE all of this” but then I remembered that I found half of one of those caramello bars melted in my jeans when I got back to New York. So, yeah, I’m totally good.
Mrs. Jake caught me eating popcorn in front of the TV the next day for breakfast and she was like “young lady, we have milk and eggs in the kitchen!” And I was all “buusstteed!”
But then Jake declared in front of the TV to be a no nagging zone, so I escaped unharmed!
That night we went to a fancy wine tasting. Where we tasted wine. I’m not even going to pretend that I remember anything that was said about the wine, but because Mary life tilts me, I figure I’ll life tilt Tae by saying that while I liked the whites, I didn’t enjoy the reds:
red red wine
It was a small group –oh AND ALL OF THEM VOTED OBAMA! I had my “That One ‘08” sweatshirt with me and Jake was all “don’t let anybody catch you wearing that out here,” but EVERYONE loved it! St. George is Obama country, baby!
Join us, Jake, jooiiinnn usssssss.
I had one “oops, was that my outside voice or my inside voice moment,” when at the end of a discussion about the democratic primary, this elderly lady at the table said “well, Hillary can run in eight years,” and I insta snorted and said “she’ll be 71! That’s too old.” And she was all “excuse me?” And I was all “uuh…I mean…like…well…um…look at McCain. America just doesn’t like old. It’s not me. It’s AMERICA. They’re the jerks.”
The next day I think I played Scrabble the whole day. Actually, the women at the club play in like groups of threes, so I requested to be the fourth in both games. Years ago I was watching Akeelah and the Bee and there’s this scene where the jerky kid in the movie lays out ten Scrabble boards and proceeds to play ten simultaneous games of Scrabble. THAT WAS ME! Except it was two. And I came in second in both games. The first because I missed an easy bingo of anisole, which would have let me go out and I would have gotten the points for everyone’s tiles instead of losing by two when someone else went out and the second game because Mrs. Jakes friend from across the street triple triple with devalues for 135 points. In four person games, it’s the little things.
I won all the other games though when I was just playing in the three person games. SHUT UP. I’ll play you to the death! Not in wordscraper though. I’ll whap you, you you Ugarles. Oops. Sorry, wrong blog.
We had dinner at Applebee’s…maybe…one of those “casual cuisine” places and then we went home and watched “Bailey of the Wampole” a British comedy series about a lawyer in England…like part Agatha Christie part Night Court…it was good and Jake’s sending me the DVDs. And no, I didn’t just include this paragraph to remind him. While we sat on the couch and watched TV, Mrs. Jake slaved away baking cookies and setting the place up for the big day.
Hmmm..what else….ahh yes! The Tea Party. On my last day Mrs. Jake threw me a tea party. The golf ladies and some other ladies came over to my house (Editor’s Note: what?) where we enjoyed the madelines Mrs. Jake had baked.
She had tried to enlist my help with the baking, but I warned her about my “cooking skills.” (as I type, I have my balcony door open to let the smoke from my hamburger cooking escape the apartment.)
She brought in proper help the next day and the tea was a big hit.
Ladies Tea Party
I’m drinking tea!!
At some point Jake texted me that he was overlooking some cliff somewhere and I realized…heeeyyy….where IS Jake? To which he replied…dude, just told you overlooking some cliff somewhere. To which I replied “And hiding from all the ladies in the house!”
To which he replied “yeah that too.”
After the tea, I insisted that everyone stay and play Scrabble. I really wanted to beat this one Asian lady again. I dubbed her my nemesis, but she opted to play in the non Dawn game. Then they tried to get me to switch to Boggle. Pshaw, the Q and the U are TOGETHER on one block?? No way, man. Boggle is for babies who don’t know their uless q words.
Send it to Dawn circa 1985. (I was four, for those of you doing the math at home.)
Anyway, on the drive to the airport Mrs. Jake was telling Jake about how great the tea party was and Jake goes “HA! Then why was Dawn texting me for help?”
I texted him “YOU RAT!”
He checked his phone and read my text aloud “She called me a rat.”
I texted him:
He read that aloud too.
They dropped me off at the shuttle and I said goodbye to Mrs. Jake and Double rat and got on board the shuttle.
And so it was that Dawn Summers, Obama voting professional poker and Scrabble player/lawyer became the hit of the season in Utah.

14 Responses to “Hit of the season”

  1. Petitedov Says:

    I love stake and hate honey too.

  2. BWoP Says:

    I don’t care if you called me not Asian.

    Just don’t call me one of the Gaytrains.

  3. Karol Says:

    Robert is a fine dancer. Don’t drag him down to your rhythm-less level.

  4. Jordan Says:

    It’s not Bailey of the Wompole, it’s Rumpole of the Bailey, with Rumpole being the main character. It’s based on a book series, which is great, by the way. Enjoy.

  5. pearatty Says:

    I don’t like people either. I’ve always considered that the basis for our friendship.

  6. Mary Says:

    hahaha – Bailey of the Wampole – hahaha. I like that the Jakes are sending you some quality tv shows to watch. You know, there is a whole series of Miss Marple mysteries produced by ITV starring Geraldine McEwan – you would probably enjoy those as well.

  7. Ari Says:

    This post had nothing to do with me – how boring.

  8. Jake Says:

    St George was certainly glad to see you. By coming to the city, the black population was doubled. St George now calls itself the Black Capital of Utah.

    Excellent writing. The sentences that mentioned me were especially well written.

  9. Dawn Summers Says:

    Double rat!

  10. Gerard Says:

    Robert can dance. He just can’t do it without injuring innocent bystanders.

    Holy crap, this was a long blog post, even by your standards.

    Is it like a year-in-review thing?

  11. pearatty Says:

    That’s awesome — we should make Dawn recap all her long posts in a post summary in the comments section.

  12. Dawn Summers Says:

    Noooooo. It’s bad enough writing this drivel, now you’re making me read it.

  13. F-Train Says:

    Why are you always so surprised with how charming I can be? It’s not like you’ve never seen it before. Here, I’ll even link you one of your own posts where you express surprise at this: Fourth of July Blogging: A Play in Four Acts

    It’s not that I can’t be charming; it’s that I choose never to be charming to you, because you do things like call me “assface”.

  14. Dawn Summers Says:

    Hahaha and dick. I also called you a dick.

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