It's On: No Excuses

The first of the final five episodes of LOST Season 4 starts tonight and toes are already tingling. For those who have never seen the show, want to start watching it, but deem it too much of a commitment: Good news. Blogger and all around good guy defective yeti has done the math for you. No more excuses:

"The final episode of LOST Season 4 will be #82. After that there will be two more seasons, each with 16 episodes. The premiere of LOST Season 4 was in mid-January, 2008. Let's assume that the final season starts in mid-January of 2010. At that point, 98 episodes will have aired. So, what's January 15, 2010, minus 98 weeks?

Answer: February 29, 2008.

So: if you've never seen LOST, you can start from the pilot now, view one episode a week (with 7-8 double-headers), finish right before the start of season 6, and see the remaining installments in real time, thereby watching the entire series without hiatus." Wow.

If you still don't have that kind of time, here's a complete recap of the ENTIRE series in 4 minutes, 24 seconds....

James at 40

Our meandering weekend-long celebration of James' 40th involved much fanfare and an abundance of meat products. It began with what could become a mid-week tradition -- the Spontaneous Afterwork Sausage Invasion. Two simultaneous (and serendipitous) trips to the Smoke House in Norwell ended in a consolidation of cured meats, and the grilling of peppers and onions in my partially-destroyed cookware. Friends in the kitchen, sausages for the soul.

We headed to dinner at Abe & Louie’s with P and Maria the following night. When we lived in the city, we always avoided going into town on Patriot’s Day weekend because of the madness of crowds, the lines, the Marathon in town, etc. This year was even crazier with both the Sox and the Bruins playing, but for some reason, we couldn't wait to get in there. We decrepit suburbanites craved that collective mid-April energy shared by all who are excited just to be outside without mittens.

Shuffling down Boylston Street, we were stopped by a twentysomething man in a backwards baseball hat who asked us if we wanted to go see Lynard Skynard with him, then go streaking on the Common. Before we could respond, he started skipping down the street, yelling over his shoulder: “No sa! No sa! Welcome to Boston!” Ok. Then came the food. James had this Flintstonian Bone-in Prime Rib that caused rubbernecking from neighboring diners. We dug into our Abe & Louie’s salads, filet mignon and then a six layer piece of chocolate birthday cake that rivaled the PR in size. Wow. All told, I think we met WMD's goal of eating one's body weight in red meat.

We filed out with the entire place erupting all around us because the Bruins had just won and walked back down Boylston for a night cap at Excelsior. We had some really kind vodka that I’d never heard of over which the four of us planned a long weekend in Vegas, which will hopefully come to fruition, kind vodka notwithstanding. The next day, we received P and Maria's entire Vegas itinerary via email and tossed all the leftover meat into a steak and eggs scramble, wishing BG had been there to fix Bloody Marys. Then, the meat-eating tipping point -- some Lebanese lahm mishwe on the grill that afternoon. Jimmy and Kathy shall have to fast. And if you’re wondering what happened to the bone in the bone-in prime rib, look no further than right here.

Happy 40th, James!

Random Quizzilla

1) On a scale of 1-10 how clean do you keep your car?
It’s off the scale, hovering somewhere in the negative numerals. Last week, the Volvo bus was late picking up burds for S.C. because when I removed the booster seats from the backseat, I found several layers of crumbs and random stickiness. An abandoned yo-yo was welded to the seat with lollipop residue. I can’t blame the kids for this as my car has always been an ankle-deep receptacle of clutter. Besides, my other mamas' cars don’t look like this and they easily could. For me, clutter has become a kind of unfortunate lifestyle. I was eyeing an odd collection of crap on the kitchen island last week: A jar of bubbles, a blue Spiderman sock, glitter nail polish, Vito’s leash and paper plate with phone numbers scribbled on it. And I said aloud: “This pile would never occur at the Bags’ residence.” And it wouldn't. It may be time to call in the experts.

2) With skyrocketing gas prices, what are you doing to conserve?
As a rule, if we forget something back at the house, we can’t turn around and go back to get it.

3) On an average, how much fast food do you consume?
Unless there is a dire craving, not too much. Right now, we're trying to detox Paulie off a KFC popcorn chicken addiction so he doesn't end up on a childhood obesity special on Dr. Phil(DB). Damn laptop meals -- a million grams of fat for $3.69.

4) What book are you currently reading, or what was the last one you read?
"Be the Pack Leader" by Dog Whisperer Cesar Millan. I've learned that, contrary to popular belief, Vito is actually quite balanced; he's simply mirroring my own neuroses. Baby steps.
"The Abstinence Teacher" by Tom Perotta
"The Easter Parade" by Richard Yates

5) What are your plans for the long weekend?
Jame is turning 40. Good God, man. Having dinner at Abe & Louies. I'd like to have a little cake in the kitchen on Sunday if the old man can handle it. Will send out word.

Suppah Club: The Flipping Off of the Shusher

(Wait..didn't we just have Suppah Club?)

A late-March gathering made it seem that way. For April's SC, we headed to The Square Cafe in Hingham, a fantastic place save its utterly joyless clientele (more on that later.) Dinner got off to a late start after a phone call from Code Red let us know that she and Cameo had pulled into a gas station on 3A to investigate a "strange smell" in the car. It turned out to be the smoking remnant of a Heineken bottle, an automotive dumpling that some inebriated neighbor hurled at Cam's car last December. How rude. Crisis remedied, the table full, and SC in full-effect, we talked about about how Corporate America treats people like naughty little children, how it's fun being the oldest people on Facebook, and how the John Adams miniseries is awesome, but all those "Colonial sex" scenes are tough to stomach.

Then we got "shushed."

Like naughty little children. First, by two keg-shaped hags behind us and then a second time by a high-pocketed man who was probably the same age as us. How rude II. Never in my life have I witnessed such a thing. I won't get into the acoustics of the Square Cafe or the fact that were were a table of seven women or how the periodic eruptions from the bar area where people were watching the Red Sox were also shushed. Bottom line is -- it's not the MF library. If you don't want to dine among the masses, stay at home and whisper in hushed tones in your own dining room. Nobody was barking on a cell phone or carrying on inappropriately. At the very core of the shushing: Unhappy people simply can't stand the sounds of laughter and merriment.

As Mr. High Pockets passed by the window outside, Auntie gave him a passive-aggressive buh-bye wave. Confounded, he lifted his hand to reciprocate, but Gwennie -- not having it -- casually flipped him off. The shusher was flustered; he appeared to wet himself, then quickly flashed his middle finger and scurried down the street. We rejoiced, having chased away a restaurant bully. SC has a zero tolerance policy for buzz kills.

That said, everything else at The Square Cafe -- the waitstaff, the service, the food and wine -- was all fantastic. If they ever institute an anti-shushing policy for the rude and joyless, it'd be easier to become a regular.

In keeping with the "old people on Facebook" theme -- the Status of Suppah Club:

Cameo is...chastised for "smiling too much" during cheesy role play at a leadership training seminar
LPD is...wishing people at the table would refrain from using the term "heavy petting."
Auntie is...loving a good slipper.
Gwennie is...NOT about to be shushed by a man in angle-grazing khakis! .
Code Red is... wondering if they teach that shushing hand motion at Hingham town meetings.
Jess is...just going to drop and roll.
KJ is...is freaked out by wild turkeys

Some shots...


Auntie makes herself a little sick discussing the "many layers" involved in Colonial sex, corsets and such.

Code Red gasses up on Plumtinis ahead of her "old and cold" tour in Miami.







Fetch me a bowl of loud mouth soup!









"A tuna tar, a tuna tar, a tuna tar tar"

SPRING HAS SPRUNG: Vito's Low Intensity Workout, Renegade Hot Dogs

Spring has sprung at last -- at least for today. The windows are open and the sun is shining and you can walk outside without contorting your face against an icy head wind. I took Vito (or "Gary" as the kids have inexplicably renamed him) for a long walk earlier, trying to budge some of his (and my) girth. Magical thinking. People (non-dog-owners) are always under the misconception that walking a dog is great exercise. They see people jogging alongside their hyper yellow labs and think that's typical. It's not. On a typical dog walk, there is no jogging or even walking briskly, and with a pug, it's more of a low-intensity shuffle. No one's heart rate is getting elevated when it takes 45 minutes to walk 10 yards. Even James, usually a paragon of patience, refuses to walk the pooch, finding the entire Vito-on-a-leash experience “brutal.” “The Walk” according to Vito: Sniff all shrubs within reach. Stop, sniff and mark all telephone polls and mailboxes. Bark at cars and joggers who don’t have a right to exist. Greet landscapers hauling bags of manure. Sniff a pinecone for 10 minutes. Collapse into a heap at all shady spots on the sidewalk to “rest.” Today, the landscapers had finished up their work and drove past us, noting “You’ve only gotten this far? That’s ridiculous. Hit the gym, Vito.” We made it all the way around the loop in 64 minutes and I had to pour a pan of cold water over him when we got back.

ASIDE:
Another sign of spring: The Renegades softball schedule was released this week, which includes many waterfront games at Marine Field in South Boston. This factor led to another addition to “Jimmy’s World” where he enjoys Mexican fare at “Café Rodriguez” (Casa Romero) and Thanksgiving Turkey sandwiches from the “Groratoria” (Circe’s Grotto). Yesterday, I got an email that read: “The only reason you'll come to those Southie games is so you can get hot dogs at Flanagan’s.” Flanagan’s?

Verklempt

Anyone with a beating heart (James would say "bleeding" heart here) had to have become completely unglued upon witnessing Bill Buckner's well-deserved reception at Fenway yesterday. I saw it on the news this morning and lost it all over again. This poor haunted man standing on the pitcher's mound, tearing up amid a thunderous four minute standing ovation. This poor man who was thrown to to the dogs (or in this case, to Idaho) for one error made 22 years ago. While October 25, 1986 was a bad day for Boston, it was an even worse day for him. I think most people felt sorry for Buckner but it sure couldn't have seemed that way to him and his family. Fans lacking empathy and grey matter -- always the loudest among us -- garnered the most attention and ran him out of town with pitchforks and torches. For once, the loud ones were on the right side. Ok, I have to go cry a little more.

I found this poem "Forgiving Buckner" by a Boston poet named John Hodgens. It's definitely worth checking out, especially if you are of the beating/bleeding heart persuasion.

FOO are YOU

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Five!?

Happy Birthday to Sweet C. whom when you ask to get dressed for school, usually shows up in this get up. I can't believe she's five. It seems like only yesterday, she was this person. Happy birthday, sweetie!

Suppah Club: Totally Gaslit

For a few years, my favorite verb has been "to gaslight." Gaslighting, if you don't know, is form of psychological torture where aspects of a victim's environment are subtly altered, thereby upsetting his or her peace of mind, sense of security, etc. I've long suspected my family of gaslighting me with all the moving of shoes and excessive Natasha Beddingfield songs. But now I have a new variation on my favorite verb:
To gaslight (v): To enjoy several carafes of Cote du Rhone at Gaslight in the South End, thereby experiencing a warm, overall sense of well being and finding everything, as a neighbor once said, "tits-out-on-the-Blue Line hilarious"

The new definition comes courtesy of this month's Suppah Club where we gathered at this fab "brasserie un coin"(brasserie on the corner) on what was once the shite end of Harrison Avenue. Just a few years ago, the only thing on this corner was a belligerent homeless person armed with a lighter and hairspray. Now, thanks to the folks at Aquitaine, it's one of pomme frites and garlic braised escarole and all things au poivre. A place that, according to its website, "courts all who appreciate a good time." Right on. Also, there is FREE PARKING, as in, "Park anywhere, ladies, it's free." Before you could say tinkle winkle, LPD pulled into a spot and she, Auntie and I busted into a slow jog toward the entrance. Inside, we feasted pomme heavy and enjoyed several half carafes, toasting Cameo's passing of the Series 7 and how James bribed her with New york strip steaks to bring her new boyfriend to our house.




Gwennie does a dramatic reenactment of Steven Tyler freaking out after being asked for ID at Logan.







Next Suppah Club theme: Steaks & Sex in the suburbs.

Random Quizzilla

1) Did you get up early to watch the Sox today ? (Or, Bags, did you sleep in and watch the Sox?)
Recorded and rewound it. Watching it right now-extra innings. Thanks, Brandon Moss! That'll be a flame fanner for all the crazy-eyed J.D. Drew haters.

2) If you were to make your living as a photographer, what subject would your pictures revolve around?
People. Portraits, etc.

3) Share a beauty or grooming trick.
Did you know you can curl your hair with a flat iron? Really need a GHD iron to do it properly, though, especially if you have gawky paws and a tiny head. Apparently, the GHD is the maharishi of styling tools; it fires up to 400 degrees in under 30 seconds and can straighten or curl hair, heat up an entire floor of your house. But since it uses infrared heat, it actually protects your hair from heat damage so you don't end up looking like this after repeated use. It works great but it's tough not to crease up the back (gawky paws/tiny head). I'm going to try to convince James to watch a few of the tutorials on youtube so he can curl the back for me. I'll likely get a similar response to when I told him we needed to learn canine massage to ward off Vito's future hip problems. "Don't even show me how to do it."

4) When was the last time you went out to dinner and where?
Coda with Maria and Apryl last week (the old Tim's Tavern). Great place; very similar to the Franklin. Burgers and Malbec-yum.

5) Do you take any vitamins and supplements?
A ridiculous amount. I'm shivering in my wool wrap, popping B vitamins and green tea extract. I need to swipe one of those color-coded pill dispensers from a nursing home.

Example #7809 of How the Fates Conspire to Make Me Look Like a White Trash Mama Despite All Efforts to the Contrary

In the constant fielding of questions from wee brown ones, there are the ones you can’t answer: “Mama, why do we have eyebrows” and the ones you don’t want to answer: “Mama, what’s a threesome?”

Who wants popsicles!?

(Thanks, Gov. McGreevey)

It’s getting worse. Caroline is starting to read and is fluent in TiVo. Add that to our growing list of “bad combinations” when you consider our program list is half kid shows, half adult. One wrong click and you’re screwed. We found this out the hard way last week when they ended up watching an episode of The Family Guy. We’re still dealing with the repurcussions.

In the episode they watched, Stewie, the sardonic infant with the British accent, poses as a high schooler and invites one of the popular girls to “Anal Point." After the encounter, he is nicknamed “baby penis.” Also in the episode, Peter has a stroke after eating too many hamburgers and loses use of his entire left side before being cured by stem cell research.

And here come more questions you don't want to answer...

“Mama, what’s a stroke?”

It’s a song by Billy Squier! Who wants to download it!?

..and the random shouting of quotes from the episode:

At Hannaford, in Stewie’s voice:

“This girl is making out with a baby, a NUUUUDE baby!”

“Baby Penis! Baby Penis!”

When you ask Caroline how school was, she answers with a pitch-perfect Peter: “I’ve had better days, Lois, better days.”

(Do they sell stem cells at the market?)

Also, Paulie is telling everyone he encounters that his rubber pet alligator that he carries with him everywhere “had a stroke.” That went over really well at the preschool.

Like other obsessions, this will fade. All we can do is delete the show from TiVo and wait it out. In the meantime, I’m running out of distractions.

St. Paddy's in a Tuba Free Zone

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We completely lost our minds and ventured into the Southie Parade in yesterday's wet drizzle. But with P and Maria’s place being just steps away from the parade route (i.e, shelter, bathrooms and refreshments), it made for a pleasant rainy afternoon in SoBo. Even better, while we gawked on Broadway, Margaret Mary K. boiled up a corned beef and cabbage feast, sipping her annual Bailey’s on the rocks (this resulted in some foot stomping and a self-imposed walk to Dunkin Donuts for “fresh air” later in the day.) At the parade, we found a decent spot among the green throngs where we sidled up alongside the Comcast TV cameras. Here, the parade halted from time to time with step dancers and marching bands and -- inexplicably -- a flatbed truck blaring Sean Kingston tunes. (Aside: Paulie is a big fan of horses, but not so much of the tuba.) Candy was thrown from the Buicks of local octogenarians and mardi gras beads were tossed out by troops just back from Iraq. The kids caught rubber balls and plastic parachutemen and 11 coupons to the new Sam Adams Brewhouse. Of course, all of this swag was even more fun than the $15 inflatables purchased from the parade vendor/rapist. Then, just when Paulie had turned the corner with regard to the tubas, the MF Lexington Minutemen started shooting off their muskets like Yosemite Sam and we had to bail. We headed back to the house and indulged in a delectable CB & C dinner and C&P sideshow. Then we grabbed some Irish soda bread and chocolate-dipped strawberries and watched the secondary parade of reveling paddies file past the window, pausing now and again to dry heave behind Amrheins.

But, it gets better....No words necessary, just wait for it and absorb the awesomeness. Slainte!

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Vito vindicated by Today Show, does Humpty Dance

("yeah, I called you fat, look at me, I'm skinny" -Vito)

Plump, portly, big-boned, corpulent: After watching a segment on the Today Show this morning, we may have to retire those oft-used Vito adjectives. Check out the voluptuous pug at :42; he makes Vito look like Kate Moss! Holy crap.

Ides of March Meltdown

I thought I'd kick off the week with a little Zen aid; some low-quality video I shot from Fisherman’s Beach on Nantucket last July specifically for this time of year when I, like most New Englanders, experience a weather-related psychotic break. Symptoms range from mild to severe depending upon several factors. For instance, if you were able to escape to a warmer climate in February, you may just get a little grumpy about now. If you have been housebound all season, say, in a basement wearing Gortex mittens, you could end up babbling incoherently while slathering yourself with Hawaiian Coconut Oil. My mid-March meltdown tends to manifest as foolhardy rebellion: I refuse to dress in layers and often walk barefoot to the mailbox in 40 degree temperatures, squinting in the icy head wind. Time to compile the spa GCs and go in for an overhaul. Or just say screw it and stowaway on Goy's upcoming Floridian business trip.

So, enjoy a 32-second vacation. Breathe in the ocean air, listen to the soothing surf, smell the seasalt. We're almost there.

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Random Quizzilla

1) Do you like to get dressed up when you go out or do you prefer to dress casually?
Dressed up. When you work in your basement in yoga pants and a threadbare Dunkin Donuts t-shirt, it’s nice to tart up now and then.

2)List the songs on your iPod that have “tonight” in the title.

"Dance Tonight"- Paul McCartney, "Everybody Have Fun Tonight"- Wang Chung, "Remembering Tonight" - Patti Rothberg, "The District Sleeps Alone Tonight" - The Postal Service, "Talk Tonight" - Oasis, "Not Tonight" - Tegan and Sara, "Tonight, Tonight" - Smashing Pumpkins, "Tonight" - Nick Lowe, "Tonight" - Supergrass, "Tonight" - Ryan Adams, "Tonight" – Kool & the Gang, "Tonight"- Pushstars

3) What kind of lotion or cream do you use to keep your hands from getting too dry?

Very timely inquiry, quizzilla. L’Occitane Shea Butter Anti-Hag Cream.

4) What was the last thing you ordered online?
“The Big Book of Dinosaurs” yesterday for the Jurassic-Park obsessed P and C who've been hogging the computer for hours on end, looking up T-Rex videos on YouTube.

5) Do you like camping?
Aside from roofdeck camping, not so much. I loved the canoe trips we used to take on the Mighty Battenkill River, however, because the place we “camped” had drive-up campsites with showers and electricity. I was a little apprehensive at first but knew everything was going to be ok when I saw KT plugging a coffee maker into a free-standing outlet in the field. A few yards away, Siobhan was peeking out from behind a tent, wielding an eyelash curler and a hairdryer. At night, we gathered around the campfire and sang along to the Beastie Boys on a Bose wave radio. That's about as "one with nature" as I can handle.

Suppah Club: Caroling for Shut-Ins and other Elderly Things

For this month's Suppah Club, we headed to Fuji 1546, a happy sushi place in the Q with brightly colored pendant lights and smiley Japanese people that are to the attitude what wasabi is to the sluggish metabolism. The wait staff puts your pinot grigio on ice. The menu accommodates those who don't put things in their mouths with names like "seared saki belly," offering "Turkey Club,""BLT," and "Philly Cheese Steak" sushi rolls as alternatives. Quincy riff raff begin trickling in around 8 p.m., frontloading Scorpion Bowls in anticipation of karaoke. It all added to the energetic vibe that we were desperately craving on an icy late winter evening.






With the exception of the glow-and-fro Flaleys, all were in need of some escape from their current realities, whether it was seeking amnesty from corporate America or getting a rejuvenating chemical peel. There is little doubt that the dead of winter exacerbates the inner hag, and that was evident in conversations and actions. There was a slight reprieve when the 19-year-old waitress, seemingly oblivious to our old lady aura, carded all of us. (Big tip). After that, it was all memory lapses and liberal applications of hand cream and discussions of how pale dry skin makes you want to do insane things, like go tanning. And not the “safe” kind where creamy chemicals mutate your skin into a “healthy” glow, but those old school radiation booths, the electric coffins that actually cook you a little.

At some point, we discussed how living in an active adult community would be fun, sort of like college with money and wisdom. Then Auntie dealt a verbal reality slap about how her parents, who have a condo in one of these AACs in Florida, spent last Christmas Eve "caroling for the shut-ins" Silence. Joking about feeling old is one thing, sharing a peer group with people who can no longer feed themselves is quite another.

Perhaps the current mindset was best summed by LPD. While rummaging through my purse for my camera, ("Do you have any hard candy? Any sour balls in there?")I commented on its elderly contents like tissues and Purell. LPD tilted her head to one side and said: "you don't look elderly, you're just doing elderly things." It's all a state of mind. Once we cease doing elderly things, we can turn it around. There is hope. Happy places like Fuji help; I think all we need is a little sunshine and a few Zumba classes.

No Longer Erupting

I've been putting off getting my super-erupting wisdom teeth out for more than a year because the mere thought of it threw me into a high state of anxiety.  I've had a spinal fusion, two c-sections and lord knows how many other invasive procedures, but this wisdom teeth gig really freaked me out.  It was part claustrophia, part having something removed from your head with a wrench.  It was also part PTS as I had two impacted wisdom teeth out about 15 years ago and the oral surgeon drilled into a nerve, laying me up for a week on Percocet and grape popsicles.  This time the upper teeth were merely erupting, which is apparently a better scenario.  But James wasn't making matters any better on the ride over, suggesting they'd probably still have to break the teeth up a little to get them out.   What?  He quickly changed the subject, telling me he'd gotten his hair cut that morning by the "most annoying person he's ever encountered."  Those who know James know he is not an abuser of hyperbole, he uses superlatives sparingly.  He couldn't pinpoint any one reason the stylist was supremely annoying other than a line about "preferring to party at the bars in Quincy." He was simply offended by her entire manner and the way she talked.  He was really fired up about it too.  And its effect, the randomness of it all,  was like laughing gas on me as we pulled into the parking lot.  Of course, as it is with everything, the anticipation was worse than the actual event.  The extraction was over in less than 10 minutes and now I'm enjoying a little pharmaceutical vacation.  Thinking about going out for a bowl of mashed potatoes later.  

Don't Drink and iMac

Just when I thought a PictureMail of the "meaty bitch" was going to be the most offensive illustration of the loaf & Lohr evening, I present you with a lesson in "where you at, fool." Please don't try this nonsense at home without a magnum of red wine. (yeah, we're almost 40)

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v

Pugnacious

Vito has planted himself -- pining -- outside the fridge. He knows there is a leftover roast inside, he wants a piece of it, even a whiff of it, he wants to be as close to it as possible. Whining incessantly, he is trying to wear me down with this psychological game.

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Random Quizzilla

1) Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?
Definitely behind it -- a self-proclaimed documentarian. Not to mention, there are very few pictures/videos of myself that I can stand. And we all know that the wrong angle can result in a unphotogenic phenomenon that Nic has dubbed “Big Face.” The only photo of myself I actually liked -- my college yearbook pic -- was a freak occurrence. I was unshowered, hungover and wearing a borrowed “blouse” that had made the rounds that month. Of course, I can no longer stand that one anymore because, my God, the hair, the big, big hair.

2) Do you feel younger or older than your current age?
There’s definitely been an elderly thing happening as of late. All this drinking tea and shivering. Saying things like: “Oh yeah, I saw that on Chronicle.” Still, overall I feel younger than my 38 years. I feel closer to 30. That was a great year so I've kind of stuck there mentally and spiritually. I think it was the first year I felt I was in charge of my own life. Of course, all that has been upended in the wake of the wee brown ones. Still -- it’s all good. The best we can hope for is aging like a fine wine, not egg salad in the sun.

3) Have you ever won money on a scratch ticket?
I won two dollars once but that’s about it. I did win a free oil change on a promotional scratch ticket from Jiffy Lube once, but James threw it away -- My winnings! That's fine. I wouldn't want to become like this woman I always see at the Assinippi General Store dropping about $100 on scratch tickets. She's stuck in another decade, always reminiscing to the clerk about how she once won $10,000 on a scratch ticket. It appears she's been trying to recreate the magic of that day ever since. It's very Glass Menagerie: "17 gentlemen callers."

4) What do you search for in a friend? What causes you to "click" with someone?
Not sure. I don’t know if I've ever actively sought out friendship. Probably because I've never lived anywhere else and haven't had to go on the offensive. Friendship has always been something that has happened naturally -- you click or you don't. That said, I guess I'm drawn to people who are generally positive and those who are harmless makers of mischief. I definitely have an aversion to sourpusses and manufacturers of meaningless crisis.

5) What is a lie you tell yourself?
"There’s plenty of time for that."