Dance the night away!

an honest mistake

Sorry Joe. Sorry Will. Really, an honest mistake.
Have fun in Champaign, but beware of a possible herpes outbreak. I hear those young college co-eds are single-handedly bringing down the sexual revolution. Consider me part of that group:I think feminists everywhere hate me.

posted by SES @ 3:52 PM 0 comments

woke up an angry 23 year old

<--ate here on my bday, and it was as delicious as ever. They have this new appetizer at Red Lobster called the lobster pizza, and the Skerretts went wild for it! We weren't given bibs though. I think this was because we were at the posh downtown location, and not the one on Cermak.

Let me start out with the card Mulligan got me for my bday, and if you're rolling your eyes, fuck you, it's true: Mulligan "purchases" cards for holidays and also "signs" her name with paw prints, and either one of two monikers, Fatty or the Divine Miss M. Rog favors the former, Kar the latter; also their handwriting gives it away. This is pretty much how I discovered the truth behind Santa Claus.

This is probably one of the best cards I've ever gotten in my life, and though the cartoon illustrations were crappy, the words alone make up for it. Keep Tommy in mind as you read this, and note that if I had made this card, I would have substituted the word 'poopy' with 'dump' or 'crap', it just sounds better:

How Dogs Celebrate Birthdays
1. Rise at 530am. Wet-nose the master.
2. Go out and pee on the world.
3. Make poopy.
4. Sniff poopy.
5. Seriously think about eating poopy.
6. Eat funny-looking bug instead.
7. Throw up bug parts on living room rug.
8. Drink out of magic well.
9. Sleep for 17 hours. Start all over again.

and on the back, where you look for the Hallmark logo (phew, it's not there!) is #10. Roll around in filth, then lavish Master with kisses.

This is Mulligan's schedule every day, except in reference to #s 6 and 7: she eats leaves and plants, then throws those up on the rugs near the washer and dryer in our basement. My new nickname for her is the Brontosaurus, since she's so fucking gigantic and also a plant-eater.

I got some wonderful cards this year, thanks Suz and Satya, they're both gorgeous. And thanks M, D, C & F for my...da da da da! Ipod Shuffle! While it's not the real thing, meaning the giant megagigabite thing, it's still music at my fingertips whenever I want it! Now I just have to figure out how to work it. So for now, I'm letting it sit in a corner of my room in the bag it came in because I'm so intimidated by it. I'll open it soon, I think.

karaoke was absolutely everything I could wish for on my 23rd bday, well, aside from getting picked for Stickney Idol...read Katie's blog, she explains in detail all that went on at Hedgehogs, our new fav watering-hole-in-the-wall.

posted by SES @ 5:30 PM 1 comments

paris & grimaud

In Montmartre, we ate at an outdoor cafe, and had one of those wacky waiters you encounter at a place like Ed Debevic's. Each time he left our table after doing or saying something characteristically wacky, we all shook our heads like, is this guy for real? He even made Maura come with him to pay the bill and she had to speak in French the whole time, but everyone was being condescending and weird bc they thought we were stupid tourists. Which we were.


We took a canal cruise through the Seine and it turned out to be way cool, especially when we went through the 2 mile long underground part of the trip. Rog got very photo-artsy and took a bunch of pics of me when we
passed beneath the portholes to the streets above the canal tunnel, and our guide serenaded the boat with a picolo. The whole 2 mile trip under the Parisian streets was very "Phantom of the Opera" and Rog kept cackling like at the beginning of MJ's "Thriller." That's his signature ghost voice.


Didn't realize I wore white clown pants that day. Especially smart on a day when it looks like it's about to pour at any moment. This is the highest point in Paris, in Montmartre, and the view was spectacular. Lots of tween couples making out though.


In the Touileries, our first day of site-seeing with the rents. Maura and I will send this pic out for Valentine's Day 2006. I'm the most retarded poser alive. And I didn't mean "poseur."


Yeah, this is pretty much what we did all week at the villa. Maura read "The DaVinci Code" obsessively, and I read some woman's lit book I found on the shelf as well as wrote obsessively. And picked fights with everyone. I think I drank too much coffee that week. Ahhh, but that was truly the life. Wait til you see the view of Grimaud castle and the Bay of St. Tropez.



Hey, is that Paris Hilton on the beaches of St. Tropez? Did she spend so much time yachting in St. Tropez Bay that she turned black? Psych! That's KSS, in her lay-out uniform. Maura and I were at the next beach over, debating whether we should go topless in sight-range of my family.



This is immediately after I got home, a little drunker than I would have liked, and crying big tears over Mulligan, who of course, lifted her crotch in an "I missed you!" gesture. That was a great love-fest. She smelled like shit though.


The Skerretts Five, at our fav restaurant in Grimaud.

posted by SES @ 8:14 PM 6 comments

a poem

Ooh, I bet you were wondering if I was going to be the poet behind the poem, like I'm suddenly in an introspective/pretentious writer-mode because life doesn't make sense and I need to get my feelings communicated...no way. Those could be quotes from my mom, btw.

This is one of my favorite poems that I once had to memorize in college. It's by Ted Kooser, who also writes a lot about beer.



Anniversary

At dinner, in that careful rouge of light
of five or six martinis, you could pass
for Ginger Rogers; we could dance all nignt
on tiny tabletops as slick as glass
in flying, shiny shoes. As Fred Astaire,
my wrinkes grow distinguished as we dine,
my bald spot festers with the growth of hair,
I grow intelligent about the wine.

But such high life is taxing; urgencies
excuse us from the table. Hand in hand
we seek the restrooms, trembling at the knees,
and find our grins grown horrid in that land
of flare-lit, glaring mirrors. Through the wall
you flush your toilet like a lonely call.

I hope my anniversaries are more "glamorous, romantic ballroom dancing" and less "sad, drunken disconnection pees."

posted by SES @ 8:03 PM 1 comments