Why I <3 NE Mipples...

Dear everyone-

I obtained an "I Heart NE" button from Surdyk's shortly before the NEMAA Art-A-Whirl last May. To this day, it has been mistaken for the following:

I Heart Nebraska
I Heart New England
I Heart Knee (Pretty creative, IMO)

I get it, a little. One person, one, has figured it out. We're at MOA today shopping for Ivey Award dresses and whilst waiting for try-on's at Nordstrom's Bodacious Rack this kid was staring at me. (Okay, a teenager). It got so that the staring went past MN (Ha. Get it? Another Acronym!) comfort, and after making eye-contact at his chest-staring head (I, for one, do not have a bodacious rack) I said "What's up?".

(In a foreign exchange student accent. He looked pretty-boy nordic, so hearing a German accent surprised me a bit)
"What is 'Knee'?"
(me) "Oh. North East. North East Minneapolis. I'm the uncrowned King of Northeast."
(Blank Stare. His girlfriends titter. There were three girlfriends.)
"Northeast Metropolis?"
"No. That's Superman. We're fairly territorial in our neighborhoods in Minneapolis."
"Oh" (Laughs uncomfortably)

I loiter outside the ladies dressing rooms for as long as possible until they leave then take a seat. Ever notice how, if you're male and loitering outside of a ladies dressing room you still kind of feel pervy? You could be staring at the lights the whole time until said "dressed" lady comes out for an opinion (or whatever) or laying face down on the ground. You're still left with the whole "dude loitering outside the ladies dressing rooms" stigma. It's weird. (Even in the ladies shoe area, which takes up a parking lot sized area in most department stores*, if you're a guy/boyfriend/husband the guys master the blank forward stare. You go into a coma. And no one asks questions. The nurse just comes by to read you stories)

Later, I get treated to restauranty goodness for being a sport the whole (cough-cough) 7 hour day and the server makes a comment that she likes Northeast Minneapolis too (or something) and it came as such a shock that I almost didn't sit for a second. We laughed. A lot.

I need to stop wearing that dumb button. Or I should have given to the exchange student in solidarity.

*If I wanted job security? I should sell women's shoes at Nordstroms. Al Bundy was on crack for hating his job, Humpty. They were on you like white on snow- if you were man...woman...it didn't matter. Those ladies were frickin' pro's. There were literally 3 sales reps for every one person and they did their jobs in style. Holy...I mean the slick pitch: "Well, those 'Glitz' brand might feel loose but the Praaaada will never-ever fit you poorly. It's the design you see?" (She fit it in quick and dirty during her sales pitch like a shiv between the ribs during a prison brawl. I was amazed.


She didn't buy the Prada, btw.)

Can't...keep...it in...

I wouldn't usually wish this on anyone, and sorry if it might offend (I am, as you know, an amateur b-squad observationalist) but sakes aLIVE is urn-checking-outing the dumbest thing you can do? I was apprehensive enough with family due to the sensitive nature of it but outside of a clown handing you a balloon before you go in the "showroom" there could be little more ridiculous outside of...okay, here's a list of potentials so you all are prepared. Keep in mind, you have an image of what an urn is, BUT you can also get cremains:

Made into diamonds
Put into Lava Lamps
Put into a light up night light globe
Put in Biodegradable heart-shaped bags
Placed in the low...low end model. Which is plastic and looks like an office garbage can
Placed in a, gah, it's supposed to be a suspended Jesus but my brother said "It looks like Han Solo suspended in carbonite..." He was right.
Made into a door stop or garden marker

And my favorite?

A teddy bear. A $130 teddy bear.*

We cried a lot, but I think we also laughed a lot too which is what he would have done at the silly nature of it all. And it helped a little. It was needed.


*It was in the kids section, but perched next to the "formal" urns made it a little unnerving yo. Moda and I took turns trying to unscrew the head to see if that's where the cremains were supposed to go.


**I still hate the term cremains. And if it wasn't for "Six Feet Under" I'd never had known it.

Hiya friends. I know I've been piecemeal about blogging in spite of a lot of spare time the last few weeks and I'm sorry to say that I'll probably be doing another sabbatical while I get my head on straight and spend some time with my family. I'm not getting into it in too much detail here on the cyber-web but I'd like to leave you all with a quick non-sequiter:


I spent a very, very good day yesterday with my dad.