Teen antics

Conversation overheard in the hall:

Girl: Hey guys! Yesterday? I went to Target? And I got this big pack of lacerations that I'm going to put all over my face.

Boy: Oh. For, like, Halloween?

Girl: No! Tomorrow!

****

P.S. Who knew you could buy lacerations at Target?

Revolutionary union

Ben and Stephanie got married this weekend. To suit their own needs and they re-imagined the part of the Jewish ceremony where Seven Blessings are read and the bride circles the groom seven times. (This is daunting when the bride is wearing a floor-length dress and is, well, a shiksa.) Instead, they read aloud what they referred to in the ceremony program as the Seven Core Values of their marriage.

But secretly? Between themselves? They refer to it as The Manifesto.

Conspiracy

Anne asked if we found that our Netflix service was declining over time. She suspected that it was part of their business model to be great at the start to lure you in and then progressively get worse and worse. She based this on the fact that she was regularly receiving the "Have you received your movie yet?" emails two days before the arrival of her film. She wondered if they were taunting her.

We told her, basically, that she is crazy. Not that we don't love her and all, but seriously. We have no problem with Netflix. We get our movies and our corresponding emails in a timely fashion. Netflix is not engaged in a conspiracy against us.

The next day I received one of the numerous French movies in my queue. The film was, indeed, in French as anticipated. The subtitles and all menu text, however, were in Chinese.

The plot thickens.

Oh. Well, bad example then.

I am walking down Valencia Street and two people are walking behind me. I tune into the conversation they've obviously already been having for a while.

Woman: So, I tell her, "You can't just say that. You can't just tell me that Tim is a rapist. I mean I know Tim. That would be like me just coming up to you and telling you Seth is a rapist. I mean you would know that's not true because you know Seth." But then she told me that actually he is.

Man: A rapist?

Woman: Yeah. One time. And apparently they're okay with that.

My new best friend

I am at one of those big warehouse-type stores with two colleagues. We are buying things in bulk for school events. In addition to endless paper cups and plates, I have put at least ten boxes of assorted teas in the cart. The cashier is swiping the boxes one by one over the price scanner without incident. Until the Tetley's English Tea Time, that is. As he scans it, the machine makes a loud repeated beeping sound, more like an alarm than the sound of a price registering.

"Oh no!" I say. "Look out! It's poison tea. Alert! Poison tea!" (I frequently think I'm amusing to strangers. I may be misled in this.) He gratifies me by chuckling.

He holds the small box over his head and shouts across the store "Hey Mike! Can I get a price check on this?" "What is it?" Mike yells back. The cashier squints up at the box for a moment looking for identifying marks. He shrugs and yells back "Poison tea!"

Sign me up

Today was the school club fair. Club representatives stood in a line in the gym and made brief summary statements to entice students to join their clubs.

A boy takes the mic. "For those of you who think there's more to life than cooking, there is the Martha Stewart Club. Because there is also gardening and home decorating."

He hands the mic down the line. Two Asian boys step forward. One is holding a boom box which he never turns on. The other speaks "Hey. Yeah, so we're starting the Asian Club. You don't have to be Asian to join. We'll teach people how to use chopsticks. And we're giving out sandwich cards."

Three-day weekend

When I returned home late, late last night after being away for the Labor Day weekend, I was thrilled to find an open parking place a block from my house. What's more, it was a Tuesday street cleaning spot. Cool. No need to wake up in a car-moving panic in the morning.

Oh. Wait. The realization slowly dawned. Tomorrow is Tuesday.

Mondays off throw me every time.

Why to date a Frenchman

My boyfriend and I are at a restaurant studying our menus. He puts his down before I do.

Me: Qu'est ce que tu desires?
Him: Toi.


Good answer.

Um...94?

In the novel I just finished, the protaganist's mother is declining into dementia. Every time she goes for a check-up, the doctor asks her various things to establish how far gone she is. The usual: her name, the date, the name of the President, and then, invariably, she is asked to count backwards from a hundred by sevens.

By sevens? For the record, in case this skill is ever the thing that stands between me and the loony bin, I just want to state that I can't count backwards by sevens. Not now and probably not when I'm on the brink of senility either.