Simply Today

Archive for the ‘Grown-up, shmown-up’ Category

During the month of February, The Art Institute of Chicago had an exhibit of original framed illustrations from Coretta Scott King Award winning books, along with the books themselves. I got a chance to see this display on Sunday, and was so glad I did. One of these books was titled, “The Blacker the Berry,” and won my heart. Using gorgeous faded oil illustrations, and poetic verse, the book highlights the beautiful and varied skin tones of each African-American child featured among its pages. Here is my favorite poem from the book:

” The Sun toasted me tan

Then chin in his hand

Sat back and admired his work

I am mango mellow

And gooseberry good

I am so toasty

The sun calls me

His toasty child

I am so toasty

I make the sun smile”

And that is my little gift to you this Tuesday morning. Plunk.

I have purchased four plane tickets, all of which are not for me. So at this point egginthetoast and honeytoast are expected by Mr. Southwest III to dine on tap- water and pretzels in the air as the sun gets higher and the people get cooler, July 30th. Where am I, simplytoast? I don’t know. Perhaps I will be there, or maybe here, or possibly far, or very well near, and who knows where here is, because isn’t it relative, as my relatives would say. I must figure this out soon, because it is a bit alarming not know where here will be when the future is now!
This mad-hatter moment is brought to you by The Laundry’s Black Hole Collective- I’m sure you’ve donated to the group before. Perhaps a striped sock from a pair that you bought on sale, or even the ink off a receipt that you later regretted having jammed into your back pocket.

Well, if you can’t fly the friendly skies soon, maybe just stand under them, squint and ponder like a panda, and find the words and the animals and the faces, and maybe if you look hard enough you’ll see the plane taking me from here to there. Woosh, pop, pop (ears that is)!

This morning* I’m feeling very burnt toasty, so a cup of mocha coffee was in order, and is now half had. Oh, right, the title of the post. No I’m not going on some exotic vacation, or having my appendix taken out, or even an eye exam. No, other toasts out there, I am talking about Valentine’s Day. Capitols necessary. Am I angry at the holiday? Not really…my friends and I have found fun ways to celebrate. We’ve made nice dinners in the past, bought cakes from a local bakery, and had cards for each other. And I can’t miss what I never had. Sure I dated, but somehow I never quite lined things up so that I had a boyfriend for my birthday or Valentine’s Day. “I’m a smart toast, I am.” (said in cockney accent) Moving on.

This past weekend I went to go see “He’s Just Not That Into You,” with my youngest sis (we did also play the game, which she won). Yes, it is a chick flick, I won’t argue that. But it was interesting because unlike a lot of chick flicks that leave me simply hopeful, or have the opposite effect, and leave me sad that I don’t have a boyfriend, this one got me thinking. I wouldn’t exactly call it a perfect guidebook to navigating girl-guy communication (like any movie could achieve that…not even a documentary, end stop!), but it did get me thinking about past, current and future crushes, and the ways I try to figure them out. And just when I was getting annoyed that Gigi (E-pit-o-me of tons of twentysomething girlys out there) was eating up all of Alex’s ‘behind the bar’ advice, she finally realizes he doesn’t have a clue! Sure, maybe he does understand guys better than she does, but she’s a lot closer to–once finding a good guy–knowing where to go from there. (No I’m not talking pillows, comforters, and sexy underwear, I’m actually talking about a successful relationship).  Gigi, I give you props for continually putting yourself out there, and wearing very adorable outfits while doing it. When I grow up, as I continue to grow up, I want to be a bit more like that, sans checking the dial tone every five minutes when I’m in my apartment.

And also, side note: It was kind of refreshing to, 1~ see Ben Affleck playing a romantic lead again (even if his and Aniston’s chemistry was way off, and even if I’d rather be ____ Matt Damon), and 2~ not be drooling over every single guy in a chick flick.

*I started this post on Monday I think…

Now I have to end this post with a lovely flourish…maybe tie some ribbon around it, spray it with perfume, and give it a lipstick kiss, because it took me like three sessions to finally finish this post (and also some time for hitting the backspace bar). I promise that the next post won’t be related to guys whatsoever.

Good day! Smack (wet kiss).

So I arrived first, at the bar last night. And even though it had been my idea to come (live Irish music is bound to be good for the soul, when you’re in a never ending January), I wanted to turn right around and walk out. I’d been to this bar enough times to know where the live music would be, and wouldn’t you know, I could have croud surfed on the happy hour mass of people. I made my way to the bar (this actually took about five minutes, because part of me wanted to be able to see the door at all times (when will they come, when will they come?), and part of me hadn’t really perfected my order a drink dance. See, you need to be close enough to the bar to engage the barkeep, and this often means (I’m mostly supposing) that there’s some squeezing dance moves that have to happen. Do not make eye contact.

So I did my dance between two guys and grabbed the counter before I went under. There was chaos all around me, some people were socially flailing about in the sea of happy hour flirting, and I had something to keep me afloat. I yelled out, “Screwdriver.” He went to making it, set the vodka by the kitchen so someone could toss some OJ in it, then at last my drink was in my small hands. [Wait, Jack, don’t leave!] Then he was on to pouring beer from the tap. I realized then I was coming upon a faux pas. It was like Rose saying that if she could have the door to float on, that later Jack would get a good shag. There would be no later!

I was deciding to get only one drink. $5. And I only had a credit card. “Do you want an open tab?” The barkeep asked as he worked two different drinks at once. Plus my friends had just walked in. Ah, the lifeboat!

“Closed, please.”

“Then you’ll have to wait, I’m kind of busy[dying].”

I could see his lips and hands were starting to turn blue.

“Yeah, I understand.”

Well, by the time he spotted that I had a credit card in my hand, he just said, “Don’t worry about it.” [At this point I’m not expecting a shag, as much as I deserve it. Just take the board, hop on the rowboat and leave me].

“Are you sure. Sorry.”

At the end of the evening I took the bill he had made me before he saw I didn’t have cash, up to the bar with a borrowed 5 dollars (I know, I didn’t even have enough for tipping!), and then I was on my way.

And that is all I have for you. Clink.

if instead of spending that extra day on Middlemarch, or phonetics, or explicative writing, they would have given a lecture on how to fix broken office supplies. What am I supposed to do with this stapler? The Mennonite in me (or maybe it’s my mother coming out) says, “Give it a good shot. So what it’s in four pieces (I didn’t even know there were this many parts to a stapler…), you are smarter than it!”

I think it will be making its way over to the bottom of the trashcan in oh, less than five minutes. Cheers. Thunk!

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