perfection snuggles with wee small fist
Posted by Poka Bean at 12:10 PM
About a week ago, Jon made a sniffing sweep near my armpits and said, "Did you put deodorant on this morning?" When I responded, "Yes, of course" his immediate reply was:"Did it fail you?"
Now most of you know Jon enjoys pointing out how much worse I usually smell than he does -- me the dainty, feminine half of our relationship, he the hyper-masculine, outdoorsy athlete -- but I'm not convinced the driving force behind this brutal comment was his usual desire to brag about his superior essence.
I fear he may have simply been telling the cold hard truth.
So albeit reluctantly, thus began my quest for new deodorant. I ventured to the drug store this week in search of a new pit protector. I thoroughly examined the packaging of every option on the shelf, read the back of countless tubes, and pulled off the lids to smell them all, even the "Lilac Bloom", "Orchid Fresh", and "Peaches and Cream" types that I DO NOT endorse. (Who wants their underarms to smell like dessert anyway?) But ultimately I was not impressed with the selection and decided to stick with what I've got. Besides, maybe Jon just caught a bad whiff at the end of a long day. Surely it wasn't THAT bad.
Ah, denial. 'Tis a sweet, sweet thing. Or a sweeter smelling
thing than B.O., at the very least.
Last night when Jon picked me up for dinner and leaned in to kiss me hello, he scrunched up his face and said, "Abby, I really think it's time." I told him I had looked for a new brand but none of them seemed right. If he wanted me to get different deodorant, he was going to have to step up to the plate and pick it out himself.
We went to the drug store and eventually emerged with Jon's pick. Now, I will grant you that it does smell FANTASTIC
but that is because it smells just like JON. Yes, that's correct...I bought the very same deodorant that my alpha male fiancé uses. Men's deodorant. Strong men's deodorant. Strong men's deodorant whose packaging actually reads "CLEAN MASCULINE SCENT"...the infamous Speed Stick Fresh Scent that I have long praised him for using because it is a positively intoxicating soapy smell on his skin.
But on me? I'm not so sure.
I brought it home last night and nervously shared the news with Emily. She was in bed reading and asked to smell the new specimen in order to better judge so I handed it over. She took one whiff and immediately rolled over and proceeded to snuggle with it. In fact, I might go so far as to say they were spooning. Suggestively. I cannot think of any better way to put "clean masculine scent" in perspective for you.
I think she also said something like, "Maybe ALL women should wear men's deodorant. Then other women would think we smell like men and respect us and other men would think we smell like equals and treat us as such."
But seeing that it was very late and we are incapable of holding cohesive conversations and controlling our laughter after bedtime, we quickly got off topic and into a giggle haze. In between clutching my gut with laughter over her description of a simpleton she met recently as someone who (she stated with disgust) "like, rides horses and doesn't watch TV," and rolling on the floor over my apparent ignorance about the difference between a seismograph and the Richter Scale (who knew?), my recollection of her all-women-should-wear-men's-deodorant theory is fuzzy at best.
Suffice it to say, however, I've already been wearing my Speed Stick Fresh Scent for three good hours today and have so far seen no results to prove any truth to her hypothesis. Neither male nor female has regarded me one bit differently, a fact that both relieves and disappoints me.
Nonetheless, I got into to work this morning and emailed Jon...I smell like old man but I love it!
He wrote back...Your pits should not smell like any old man, they should smell like your fiancé. It's kind of like I peed all over you to mark my territory. I see how those youth interns look at you at work!
Sneaky little bastard.
Posted by Poka Bean at 9:20 AM
part o' heart
I spontaneously met Jon for dinner last night. We had a lovely and unexpected midweek date. When we said goodbye (which, by the way, has gotten SO OLD) I gave him a kiss and said, "I love you. With all of my heart and THEN some."
He kissed me back, paused and said, "I love you too. But only with my left ventricle and right aorta. You get the rest when we get married."
77 days and counting.
Posted by Poka Bean at 10:08 AM
reasons why the world's most arrogant email cannot break me
Today I stewed for awhile over the following specimen that arrived in my inbox. It's a response to a polite request I made TWO weeks ago sent by a gentleman of somewhat notable last name who, I should mention and am glad to say, is completely UNassociated with my lovely place of employ:Abby,I will follow up with your request in time...Thanks,[name of Holier Than Thou author that I am kindly omitting here]
In time? IN TIME??
Please allow me to translate that for you:Abby,I am mighty and to be feared. Don't you know who I am? Bow to me and the timetable according to which I like to do things because on the scale of importantness, you are but a 2 and I go to 11. I am the King of the World. Of all the kings, I am the king-y-est. I don't have time for petty, insignificant mental midgets such as yourself and the foolish, needless requests that you make, especially when they're things that my slave, er...I mean my assistant can't take care of for me and therefore require ME to do actual WORK. I don't DO work. I just AM. And that's reason enough for all to worship me.Bow in homage to my greatness and consider yourself very fortunate to have received this generous reply.Big Jackhole
(and many thanks to Em
for recently adding this fantastic and fitting nomenclature to my vocabulary)
But let me tell you why today, oddly, I didn't give a rat's rear end about this blatant disregard for respect between professional humans:
1. I am now Aunt Abby to the world's most perfect nephew. I think about him 20,000 times per day which means I could only dwell on the Jackhole's remarks for about 4.5 seconds before it was time to think about Evan again. Fie on anyone bold enough to try to cut in on my nephew-joy. Ain't. Gonna. Happen.
2. I'm about to marry the ACTUAL king of the world. THE Jon Wallace. He is hot, he is manly, and he would willingly kick the a$$ of, or better yet POOP on, anyone I asked him to...notable last name and all.
3. I got to eat my waffles this morning...2 delicious cinnamon waffles toasted and slathered with Brummel & Brown and scarfed down with a delicious cup of Senseo
coffee. And I got to enjoy them on my way to work while I listened to BOTH of my Lauras
. You just cannot mess with a day that starts out that good.
4. I am wearing the world's cutest cotton candy pink sandals today. I have but to merely look down and smile. No amount of belittling emails could dimish the sheer, unbridled joy emanating from my footwear. In fact, I could be walking around the office wearing nothing BUT these shoes and feel like the cutest girl in the building. But I wouldn't do that, of course, because it's against the rules.
Alls I'm sayin' is DON'T MESS with the baby nephew having, Wallace marrying, waffle eating, coffee drinking, Laura listening, pink shoe wearing JOY FORTRESS that I am. You cannot break me. You cannot bring me down.
Posted by Poka Bean at 5:16 PM
welcome baby nephew!
evan charles cramer
born april 16, 2005
7lbs 4oz, 20.5 inches
...perfect in every way...
Posted by Poka Bean at 9:12 AM
if it's bumper-stickery in nature, i don't want your loving memory
At least once or twice a week I see a car, or more typically a large truck, with a sticker on it that says something like this:
In Loving Memory Of
Now I really don’t mean to sound cold or heartless or calloused here but honestly, I don’t get this. WHAT is in loving memory of your beloved deceased, your giant truck? Do you really mean to tell us that you went to the Ford dealership and bought that beastly F350 to dedicate to the memory of your lost loved one?
People dedicate park benches or plant trees in someone’s memory all the time. I get this. It makes sense. It’s usually done to honor a special place their loved one enjoyed or to create something to live on in their honor long after they’re gone. But your giant, gas-guzzling truck? The logic doesn’t follow. This is what gets you to the liquor store and the gun show. Unless your 13-year old little girl was into monster truck racing or off-roading in the desert, this doesn’t seem like much of an honor.
Again, I don’t mean to be harsh or heartless. I know it’s not my place to judge the way anyone copes with grief or loss. But I just can’t see myself feeling compelled to slap a big sticker on the back of my Civic if I were in their shoes. I can’t imagine wanting to advertise my loss on the back windshield of my car.
I’m sorry if this makes me a jerk but honestly, I just don’t understand the gesture.
So to MY loved ones reading this, this is my official plea: Please do not put stickers about me on your cars when my time comes. Not even on Jon’s Tacoma, the coolest, greatest, hottest truck of all time, hands down.
Instead please honor my memory by going to the beach a lot, hugging Jon EVERY day, eating a lot of bacon and ice cream, and once in awhile making soap. THOSE are the things that would truly honor my memory and cause me to smile down upon you from my cushy beach chair in the sky.
Posted by Poka Bean at 8:04 AM
out of order
For some time there has been a small post-it note attached to the door of the handicapped stall in the women's bathroom at work that reads OUT OF ORDER. I hadn't given it a second thought until just now when I got up to fetch two very fine and lovely pieces of nice expensive white card stock from the printer area for something I'm working on and decided to go to the bathroom while I was up.
I walked in, set my two very fine and lovely pieces of card stock down on the shelf by the door and then proceeded to go about my business. There was already one other person in a stall when I arrived. Her own stack of papers and pen were sitting on the shelf when I came in and set my things down next to them.
I stepped into the stall next to her and closed the door. I caught a peak at her sandaled feet but didn't recognize them. When she was finished, I heard her flush, wash her hands, and head for the door. But for some reason, she stopped short. The echo of her footsteps indicated she had turned and walked back towards the shelf. It was quiet for a minute and then I caught glimpses of her bright, billowing purple shirt as it appeared in slivers through the cracks in my stall door. She was walking past my stall and clear down to the end of the row to the door with the OUT OF ORDER note on it. In silence, she stopped, turned around, and walked out.
At first I thought this odd but then decided she must have dropped or lost something and was looking for it in the bathroom before leaving.
I finished up my business, washed my hands, and picked up my very fine and lovely pieces of nice expensive white card stock before heading out myself. But wait...there was only one piece. What happened to the other?
I stepped back in and looked around on the floor by the shelf to see if I had dropped it. I didn't see it right away but soon something caught my eye across the room. Sure enough, my card stock was on the bathroom floor but not nearby the shelf and not because I had dropped it. It had been methodically placed at the foot of the handicapped stall door with a small note scribbled on it. I walked over to read it.
"Has it been reported?"
What the heck. You stole my very fine and lovely piece of nice expensive white card stock to leave THIS pointless note?
It would have taken you less time to go report the out-of-order stall yourself than to leave this stupid note behind and you wouldn't have had to insult anyone or rip off anyone's nice paper in the process. Who are you Miss High and Mighty Purple Shirt that you think it's not as much YOUR responsibility to report the out-of-order stall as it is anyone else's? Do you think it's up to those lower class Bathroom Trolls who patrol when no one's looking and clean up after your mess?
And did you not notice that there was NOTHING else on the shelf when you walked in? Do you think the Bathroom Trolls also stock very fine and lovely pieces of nice expensive card stock SCRAP PAPER on the shelf after they wipe down the sinks and scrub the floors and refill the soap dispensers so that bathroom patrons can leave little insulting notes behind suggesting SOMEONE out there is being irresponsible or remiss in taking good enough care of the place where you crap?
Cause it's certainly not YOUR responsbility. No, no. You are ENTITLED to a clean and orderly and fully functional bathroom and will quickly bark when you're displeased with the level of service you're receiving. Those darn Bathroom Trolls. Always slacking on the job and falling short in accommodating your every need.
Well let me be the first to say it. You, Miss High and Mighty Purple Shirt, are the one that's out of order.
I know what your shoes and your obnoxious purple shirt look like and I know where you work.
I will find you and you will pay.
Posted by Poka Bean at 10:25 AM
the week in review
Realizations I have made just this week...
...I love baked beans. They are delicious specimens that I desire to shovel into my oral cavity via industrial fork lift or have fed to me intravenously. But for some unknown reason, I always forget how much I love them in between the 2-3 times I eat them per year. While this forgetfulness is probably best for my heart and my body weight, I felt it was time to address the issue so yesterday I said to myself, “Self, always remember that you love baked beans.” I feel better now that this is squared away.
...People who have a sudden, giant emergency because they poorly planned something at work and then try to make you all frantic like it’s YOUR emergency and YOUR job to fix their mess even though you had absolutely NOTHING to do with what they’re working on really stink. In fact, I might go so far as to say they are mean. Yes, Mean Bad Planners. And they're almost worse than people who don’t like baked beans.
...My wedding guest list is not simply an inanimate electronic spreadsheet living in perfect harmony with all the other Microsoft Excel files on my computer. No. It is alive and it is multiplying like a deadly cancer. It is a giant, rabid and ravenous beast that’s out for blood. Human blood. Bride and groom blood. It is a fiery meteor headed straight for Earth at a billion miles per hour and it’s doubling in size with every foot it travels in outer space. It is a monstrous pillow with thousands of pillow tentacles fast approaching our mouths and noses and threatening to cut off our air supply. If we don’t stop it, it’s going to smother us all.
...The anticipation of 4.5 hours of traffic school on a Friday night is worse than the actual 4.5 hours of traffic school on a Friday night. Okay, well this is wishful thinking since I don’t actually start traffic school for another hour and a half but since my approach of whining about it obnoxiously and dreading it so much that I want to hide under my desk and cry hasn’t worked, I’m now trying the think-positive method. Stay tuned.
Posted by Poka Bean at 5:05 PM