Margaret Irwin has added you as a friend

It's official: My grandma is on facebook. In two weeks, my family is throwing her a party at her favorite Italian restaurant in NYC to celebrate her 86th birthday.

That's all I have to say about that.

This is photo bomb

I have a new favorite website, courtesy of Mel: thisisphotobomb.com

In honor of that most beautiful site, I scoured through old pictures to bring you... OLD SCHOOL PHOTO BOMBS.

I call this one "No respect for the elderly" bomb:

And my favorite, from a rainy day at the '06 beach house. Let's call this one "Why are you wearing finger sleeves?" bomb:

And this picture is included for no reason other than it makes me laugh like a crazy person:

Hide your beagle

I just ran out to grab some lunch when an older gentleman stopped me on the street and urgently yelled, "Hey honey! Hide your beagle, Vick's an Eagle!!!" And then he held up a t-shirt with a picture of Brian from 'Family Guy' saying the same thing via conversation bubble. I have no idea why, but I CRACKED UP. "Yeaaaa, I thought you'd like that," the man added creepily.

In other news, I was walking down Walnut Street with our fashion editor yesterday when she pulled a full water bottle out of her bag and handed it to a homeless woman. The homeless woman SMACKED the bottle out of her hand and grunted loudly. Carrie yelled, "You have GOT to be kidding me!" as the water bottle went flying across the sidewalk. It reminded me of the time Jess and I tried to give a homeless woman one of our blankets, and the woman screamed, "I DON'T WANT IT!" and Jess yelled, "TOO BAD! You're KEEPING IT."

We left the blanket with her, proud of our good deed, and realized later that she just left it laying in the middle of the sidewalk on Chestnut Street. We were too scared to leave our apartment building for the next few hours.

Ron roll!

Ron Roll - watch more funny videos

You're welcome.

You, Me, and a Funnel

Mel sent me this years ago, as a tribute to our ultra-ladylike college days. I think she should put it in her graphic design portfolio, no?

You're TERRIBLE!!!

I spent all day yesterday with my little sister. She wasn't ready when I arrived to pick her up, so I waited on the stoop outside her North Philly home. After no more than one minute, I was surrounded by about 10 little kids screaming "WHO ARE YOU?!" at me. After being the master of ceremonies for a 4-minute spelling bee, I spied a "Skip It" laying in the sidewalk. I was pretty much the Skip-It queen as a kid, so I asked my new posse if I could give it a go. I stood up in the middle of the sidewalk, slipped my adult-sized foot into the tiny ankle strap, and just dropped the Skip-It, dumbfounded by how to even begin.

"You have to THROW IT AROUND to start!," shouted one 5-year-old from her tricycle, as she covered her face and looked at me like I'm the world's biggest moron.

I threw it. And I tripped over it on the 3rd rotation. All the kids pointed at me and giggled like maniacs. "You're terrible! Val!!! You're TERRIBLE!" 

I loved every second of it.

Arrrr!

Tomorrow is International Talk Like a Pirate Day (talklikeapirate.com). Aye aye!

In honor of this most swashbuckling of holidays, I hereby give you a montage of pirate-y antics from over the years.

I'm going home to change my pants

I refuse for this to be filled with nothing but "Larry" stories, but he's bored this week and acting like a total nut. Even more so than usual. 

So he shows up an hour late this morning and stands in front of my desk, just staring at me.

"I have a big problem."

"You have cat scratch fever?"

"No. Even worse. This is a BIG problem... I think my jeans smell musty."

"That IS a big problem."

After five minutes of trying to convince me to smell his pants (and almost face planting it when he tried to put his foot up on my desk), he gave up and said, "This is just terrible. It's all I can smell. I have a heightened sense of smell, you know?"

A minute later, he had his keys in his hand. "I'm going home to change my pants. Be back in an hour."

Thirty seconds later, he was back. 

"Do you think I need to shower again? I don't want my legs to smell musty."

"You're out of your mind."

And with that he was gone. And I had an hour to run personal errands and play computer tetris.

Good thing the life insurance meeting was yesterday

My boss, we'll call him "Larry," is a total hypochondriac. If I do a lil' silent sneeze thing, he is convinced I have an air-borne type of cancer. My leg falls asleep at my desk and he thinks I have polio and he's going to catch it. At one point, when a bout of colds were going around the office, he walked around with a doctor's mask on his face for two days straight.

He came in this morning with a few little scratches from one of his FOURTEEN cats. 

"Do you have any gauze?," he asked me.

"For what? You're not bleeding," I replied.

"I think I need stitches."

I then sent him this link: 

www.cdc.gov/HEALTHYPETS/diseases/catscratch.htm

About 20 minutes later, he came out of his office with a panic-striken look on his face. "I'm lightheaded. And I think my glands are swollen. Do you think I should call my doctor and get an antibiotic? No, nevermind. Antiobiotics don't work on me anymore."

About two minutes ago, he very seriously said, "If I die from this cat scratch, it's your fault for not having any gauze. Good thing the life insurance meeting was yesterday."

Hey doll!

I had a lovely conversation with the receptionist at work today. Her name is Marie and I think I'm in love with her. She's about 70 and refers to herself as "Re-Re" (seriously). She calls me "doll," and I like to think that that's her pet name for me and she never uses it on anyone else. The conversation went as follows:

Re-Re: Hey doll! Do you like boxed wine?

Me: I sure do! I like to swirl a nice Franzia around my tongue every once and awhile.

Re-Re: Oh doll, I just love it! I think I'm going to get some tonight!

Me: Try the Sunset Blush. It's delicious.

That is, no joke, the exact same conversation we had about three months ago. Re-Re really likes her boxed wine.

I'm the BUBBLE MAN

My life changed exponentially one afternoon in mid-July 2009. One of the Philly mag interns, Julie, and I were strolling around Center City taking some work-related pictures. It was a hot day, so we made a little pit stop in Love Park to relax in a shady spot. We sat in silence, watching as a group of middle-aged men had their photo taken in front of the Love statue by their wives. Suddenly, as if he descended from heaven, a large man appeared. He was shouting, "I'm the BUBBLE MAN!" and he had in his hand... a bubble gun. While repeatedly SCREAMING "I'm the BUBBLE MAN!," he hit the trigger, and glorious bubbles flew all around the men having their picture taken. The men started dancing around in the bubbles and cheering "YEA! BUBBLE MAN!" 

Julie and I sat in awe with smiles on our faces as if we had just witnessed the resurrection of Christ. "You have a camera in your hand, Val! Why aren't you taking pictures?!," Julie yelled in a panic. I snapped out of my trance and a photo shoot began. 

It was far more awe-inducing in person.

When the bubble gun ran out of bubbles, everyone in the whole park booed. Then The Bubble Man asked me to take a photo of himself and his daughter, aptly named Love.  He handed me his cell phone and I snapped their picture.

"You take a lousy picture," he grunted as he grabbed his bubble gun and walked out of the park.

It was a great afternoon.

Most likely to say 'supposably'

Mel and I make too many lists. This one, from almost two years ago, is from another boring day at work when Mel and I decided it was a glorious idea to write celebrity superlatives. Oy:

• Most likely to drink gasoline and then smoke a cigarette: Al Bundy
• Most likely to have a meaningful relationship with a dolphin: Brigette Neilson
• Most likely to pee in someone’s mouthwash bottle: Hall (into Oates’s mouthwash)
• Most likely to brush his/her teeth with milkshakes: Star Jones
• Most likely to mummify self: George Hamilton
• Most likely to pleasure oneself to 'Designing Women' reruns: David Hasselhoff
• Most likely to let his/her toenails grow so long he/she can’t wear shoes: Hootie (of the Blowfish)
• Most likely to be caught stealing at Walmart: Mr. T
• Most likely to wrestle a stranger on the subway: Hulk Hogan / Bea Arthur (it's a tie)
• Most likely to flowbee his beard and paste the hair to his chest: Tom Jones
• Most likely to take a bath in butterscotch pudding: Jermaine Jackson
• Most likely to say "supposably": Little Richard
• Most likely to sleep hanging upside down like a bat: Flavor Flav
• Most likely to draw hearts on the backs of notebooks: George Michael
• Most likely to eat an entire loaf of bread in one sitting: Chyna
• Most likely to overeat and purge in a bowling alley: Betty White

In other news, my parents bought a brand new beach house in Delaware. It's near Rehobeth, so gay men are everywhere. Apparently gay men love the Bruceman, now known as "Silver Fox." He and his friend Terry ran into the grocery store while my mom and Terry's wife waited in the car. Bruceman and Terry came out of the grocery store skipping and holding hands. The cashier lady yelled to them, "You boys have a fun night now!" as they galavanted out of the store. My dad was giggling like a school girl as they told me the story, and Terry just stared at him and said "I'm clearly the man in this relationship."

Forever young

I went out to dinner Wednesday night with Mel, Jeff, and Jeff's parents, Richard and Carol. Most people refer to Jeff's dad as "Dick." Mel and I refer to him as "Bad Name."

Dick was blessed with this nickname after Mel, his future daughter-in-law, and I partook in a rousing game of photo hunt at a dive-y bar one Friday afternoon. We earned a high score (we're awesome) and decided to type in "Dick Bashore" instead of one of our own names to be listed as top scorer. Totally normal. 

We squealed with delight when the machine processed "Dick" as a bad word and the top score was then crowned to "Bad Name Bashore."

Bad Name's 60th birthday party was a few months ago. Please note the flesh-toned cake and have an enjoyable weekend:

Great pot roast, Mom

While cleaning out e-mails yesterday, I found a list Mel and I made about a year ago. We were going through a phase where the majority of our communication with each other was done via someecards (someecards.com). Naturally, we decide to write some of our own. Clearly, neither of us were having the busiest day at work. 

• Just trust us. (illustration: Milli Vanilli dancing)
• Your dedication to fitness is sexy. (illustration: people playing chess or croquet)
• Great pot roast, Mom. (illustration: man/woman with head in toilet)

• You're officially too old to be on “Real World.”

• Your consistent use of the phrase “mad fresh” confuses me.

• I dot my i's with hearts.
• My mom likes you more than she likes me.

• My grandma gets drunken than yours.
• Your boyfriend doesn’t like it when you baby talk.
• These walls are thinner than you realize.
• Everyone is talking about how badly your lunch smells.
• I saw you pretend to wash your hands.
• Even George Hamilton would pale in your presence.
• Your ring tones are embarrassing.
• I appreciate your dedication when you come in to work highly contagious.
• I’m secretly judging the music on your ipod.
• Sometimes I pretend like I’m Johnny and you’re Baby.
• E-mailing you for hours a day is no longer a waste of my time.
• I know your glasses aren't prescription.
• I'm oddly attracted to the lady in the training materials.
  
• Your tribal tattoo will probably come back into fashion.
• I touched all the stirrers in the break room.
• The pierced cartilage goes well with your pant suit.
• I only used your toothbrush twice.
• Thanks for covering your eyes when you sneezed on me.
• You should probably hold onto those stirrup pants.

 

The lava lamp is stirrin'

I was cleaning out old e-mails today, and I stumbled across this gchat with Agatha from a few months ago. This VERY creepy older gentleman kept asking her out, and we were imagining what their date would be like:

3:07 PM me: i wonder where he'd take you

  

hooters probably

3:08 PM Agatha: I'm sure he'd try to take me home  and sprawl himself out on his satin sheets in leopard-print briefs

  There'd be a lava lamp behind him

 me: and a bear skin rug on the floor

  in front of a roaring fireplace

3:09 PM Agatha: A red rose in his mouth

3:10 PM me: and, despite the mouth full of rose, he's growling like a mountain lion

  and swatting his paws at you

 Agatha: Playfully

3:11 PM He says "Why don't you have a seat on the bed?"

3:13 PM me: you sit on the bed... as far from him as possible

  slowly and "seductively" he gets on all fours

  and crawls over to you

  rose still in mouth, miraculously

 Agatha: Hahaha

3:14 PM The lava lamp is stirrin'

  I try not to pay attention to what he's doing

  So I look away and notice a red feather on his bedside table

3:15 PM me: he reaches across you, "accidentally" stroking your chest

  grabs the red feather and gently swats your cheek with it

3:16 PM you turn--quickly--and grab the feather in your mouth

  bringing him to an alarming halt

3:18 PM Agatha: He's flustered for a second

  But snaps his fingers and exclaims

  "Champagne!"

  His champagne glasses are modern and tacky, but I accept a glass nonetheless

3:19 PM me: he pours the liquid courage into the faux-glass flutes, dramatically pulling his hand high before dropping it down again

  he looks at your for an approving look

  you roll your eyes and yawn

3:20 PM Agatha: I pound the champagne and tell him I have to go

  "But we were just getting started," he says

3:21 PM And opens the drawer to his bedside table, removing a little tube

  He uncaps the tube, squeezes it, and proceeds to oil his chest

3:22 PM me: but he squeezes too hard

  and the entire tube goes pouring out all over him

  rather than point out his mistake, he acts like it was done on purpose

3:23 PM and he begins rampantly rubbing his entire body with the oil, careful not to ruin his precious man panties

  a drop gets on your arm, which you proceed to wipe off in disgust with the bear skin rug

 Agatha: hahaha

3:24 PM Recalling how much he spent on the rug, when he purchased it on eBay, he offers to "get that for me"

3:25 PM As he shifts, I notice the back of his underwear is a g-string and reveals the small bald Eagle he has tattooed on his left buttock

3:26 PM I tell him "I'm good" and eye the bottle of sparkling wine, hoping for another glass

  He sees my eyes shifting and decides to set the mood a little more

  So he puts on some soft jazz

3:33 PM me: back sorry!

3:34 PM except, much to his surprise, the soft jazz station has recently been turned into a speed metal station

3:35 PM hoping to appear as if his plan is flawless, he leaves on the speed metal

  

  and turns it up as loud as possible

  which, he thinks, is the impromptu time to whip out...

  the whips

3:40 PM Agatha: I tell him I'm bored and have a headache from the loud music

  He tunes it down a little and looks at me with a half grin, bobbing his head to what he's interpreting as the rhythm

3:41 PM I've been seduced

3:42 PM me: HAHAHAHAHAH

  

I like turtles

I like turtles too, Jonathan.

Ohhh-kayyyy

I hate blogs. But after the "Bubble Man" experience of July '09, Mel has been urging me to jot down random stories (the random, silly stuff that I don't write in my journal), claiming that I'll be glad to have these tidbits later. Maybe I will. Or maybe i'll look back and be horrified that I found them hilarious at one point in time. Regardless, Mel has a strange power over me, like when Jafar controls the Sultan with his cobra staff. If she told me to touch my finger to the point of a spinning wheel, I would. Mel, you are an evil sorceress and wicked stepmother.

So here we go. What better way to begin a nonsensical blog then by highlighting the chronicles of "Melerie Reunion: Day 1":

Yesterday evening, Mel and I had a run-in with the two oldest ladies that I've ever seen. They looked like this, but OLDER:

We parked Mel's rental car in a lot a few blocks from my apartment. As we're unloading her luggage, the ladies (who I'm aptly naming Gertie and Sylvia) rolled by in a maroon Beretta, claiming to own the parking lot and ask us why we parked there. As they slowly rolled away, Sylvia stared at Mel's license plate and cooed through her thick smoker's voice, "0-0-5-8. Ohhh-kayyyy." Mel and I giggled at the nonsense that had just unfolded and concluded that the ladies definitely didn't own the parking lot, but they were bored and decided to take a break from drinking gin and smoking clove cigarettes to drive around and mess with innocent 26-year-olds. I asked Mel if she thinks she and I will do that together in about 60 years.

"Duh" was all she said as we watched Sylvia slowly peel out of the parking lot and drive down the middle of two lanes down 21st Street.

Other events:

A scary Italian waiter called Mel "tiny and beautiful" and then challenged her to an arm wrestling match.

An 80-year-old man in the park told me I remind him of a cat. I told him I hate cats. He roared laughter like a crazy person in the otherwise calm, quiet park.