But Molly Hasn't Changed...

I may have taken a hiatus from blogging…but rest easy that Molly hasn’t changed a bit. While she hasn’t bitten any mailmen lately, she DID trap one of our dinner guests in the bathroom last month. (I mean of COURSE she’s ill-behaved. Let’s count how many dinner parties she attended during the first 11 years of her life in Nashville…ummm, yeah there was that one…lessee, and that other night….oh yeah, that’s right… ZERO would be how many dinner parties she attended before moving into the Williams-Sonoma sponsored epicenter of entertaining fetes here in California)

And there was that one incident where she nibbled on the neighbor’s finger…and it required stitches…and who even KNEW that you have arteries in your finger anyway??? Puh-leaze.

But even with her curmudgeon side, she has COMPLETELY conned the dog sitter into thinking she is starving to death. Yeah, you know the little Spanish cleaning lady who can’t seem to tolerate ME – yeah, she’s slipping Molly puperoni on the sly. “But ze is so hungreee.”

But ALL of that is going to pale in comparison to the story I will have to tell if she ever catches that skunk in the back yard.

Riding with the Boys

My brother has recently started riding bikes. Despite coming to the sport in his fifties, he has really taken to it. So it was quite exciting that during my recent trip home, I got to ride with him and his buddies.

Upon joining the group…my first reaction was “Wow – and I thought girls spent a lot of money on their riding ensembles”. Clearly, it’s important to look good at 6 in the morning in Southern Indiana when not another living soul is awake to see you. Who knew they even made NASCAR biking apparel? Having not packed appropriately for the trip, I tried to ignore the fact that I was wearing one of dad’s old t-shirts and a set of knee socks.

I did notice that in between their 19 mph pace…there was a lot of banter about why my brother had to cut his ride short for an antique show. Then they quickly settled into a discussion about how they never get to ride very much…but that was mostly in between discussions of their Tuesday, Saturday, Sunday and weekday rides.

But if any of you are trying to feel better about your biking…might I suggest that you spend an entire ride drafting off some solid, 6’3” joe of a biker in Southern Indiana. I only had to peddle about once every six strokes and still managed 19 mph. Those tiny little bitches in California never create THAT kind of slipstream. But these guys really ARE great - there’s even a post-ride newsletter…but it mostly recounts the wrecks during the ride and includes helpful hints like “broken collarbones – fact or fiction”.

She may be back...

Top 10 reasons I may start blogging again:

• My boss has finally taken a vacation
• Most of my family has started talking to me again, so I figured…what the heck
• Molly’s intensive, in-patient obedience classes are finally over (if by “over”, you mean expelled)
• The summer really is high season for me doing stupid things…wait til I tell you about this sunburn…
• I finally managed to thin the herd of readers…don't tell Anonymous I'm back
• I actually did blog the entire spring – but thought better of posting any of the 53 installments about someone’s 50th birthday
• I cannot let another Sarah Palin appearance go by unremarked
• Did anyone know Rita took a new job
• Popular demand. Seriously, both emails were greatly appreciated.

Car Karma

Picture me….sitting comfortably on the Hertz shuttle bus at Boston Logan airport…a comfortable hour and ten minutes before takeoff…having just returned Miss Sally’s Toyota Corolla (read yesterday’s blog) to Hertz ….when…I realize… I. Don’t. Have. My. Wallet. I had it a MINUTE ago when I got gas at the EZFuel and Pay (they felt like they had to add that last part) in that completely dodgy part of Boston....Have you ever seen a fellow traveler jump from a moving Hertz shuttle bus? Not pretty.

What’s the FIRST thing you have to do in those situations? Okay – AFTER you call Nicola? That’s right, You. Have. To. RE-RENT your car to drive back to the crack house/EZ fuel emporium to search for your wallet. Did I mention I rented this car at the Wings airport? With NO reservation? And….ummmmm….NO. I. DON’T. have my driver’s license – weren’t you listening when I was crying hysterically about my lost wallet??? THAT re-rental transaction didn’t take long.

Finally…as I am trying to find the now re-rented Corolla for my panicked, quitoic quest for the lost wallet in Cracktown… some poor Hertz worker saw my flustered self and asked me if I needed help. I threw him the keys and replied…"thank you Jeeves…YOU drive”. So whether it was an approved absence or not…"Brian” and I are careening through East Boston trying to find EZCrack and Fuel where I last saw my wallet. [NOW I wish I had tidied up Miss Sally’s corolla a bit more before I returned it…"Sorry Brian, don’t mind those 35 diet coke cans on the floorboard. Next to the 3 USA Todays and a week’s worth of soda water bottles." {sigh} ]

More desperate than mortified, I got acquainted with Brian over THIS priceless ice-breaker:
Brian: “what gas station was it?”
Maeve: “Ummmm…. I don’t know?”
I am sure Brian was wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into with the crazy lady sitting next to him like some psychic trying to pick up a reading on the exact location of the gas station “I remember a bridge…and a Dunkin Donuts…I am picking up illegal activity nearby.”

When we finally pulled into Crackie McCrackie’s House of Gas, the guy behind the bullet proof glass (!) of the outdoor teller booth looks up with his 100% toothless smile and directs me inside the store. Get the $%#^ outta here…someone turned in my wallet???

When I asked the guy behind the counter at Amy Winehouse’s Discount Plaza if anyone had turned in a wallet, he asked me for the name on the license. After I told him…he asked me where I’m from so he could verify the location. Seriously? How many OTHER a) white girls b) who are looking for their lost wallets c) who are named Maeve McC come through here??!!?? Thank you for saving my wallet, asshole?

But there it was…the whole thick wallet. I went to tip Mr. Funnypants…but while my good Samaritan had no use for my Southwest credit cards (what…no miles?) the cash had had been picked clean. 150 bucks Stupid Tax. And in THIS neighborhood? $150 cash counts as a stimulus package. I know I’m taking a tax deduction for it.

AND I made my flight with 6 minutes to spare. I even had time to buy a NY Times (can you charge that $1.50 to my Southwest credit card?)

The moral to this story? Prepay the gas.

Tweed International Airport

Tweed International Airport in New Haven, Connecticut is the airport where “Wings” was filmed. When I fly into that airport – I look for Crystal Bernard. There isn’t so much a terminal as there is a living room. The universal reaction to my travel itinerary is always “Tweed?? That’s still open?” Comforting. Baggage claim? Honest-to-god…they slide open what looks like a garage door and Tom Poston throws the bags across the threshold. I love it – I act like I’m on a chartered plane.

I arrived at good old Tweed International airport on Tuesday night to discover I had forgotten to make a car rental reservation (or I made it for the wrong airport or the wrong day or who knows…) Now, the car rental counters in the Tweed International Airport are just that…car rental counters. Avis & Hertz basically share a cubicle (I’ve seen call center operators with more space). And the Budget Car Rental person? That’s the Avis guy when he puts on a different ballcap. The entire New Haven rental car fleet must total like, 25 vehicles.

After Skippy at Avis/Budget determines that he is completely out of cars (seriously? in New Haven?), he leans back in his chair toward the lady at the “Hertz counter” and says “Miss Sally, do you have any cars?” Miss Sally?!?!? Does your kindergarten teacher work at the competition? Well….Miss Sally opens a drawer in her counter…looks into it…and says…”just one”. Ummmmm…no need to check a computer or anything, Miss Sally? Whatta am I? Renting Miss Sally’s personal Toyota Corolla?

After finally entering SOMETHING into the computer, Miss Sally then asks me when I am going to return my spiffy little Toyota Corolla. I did NOT have the heart to tell her I was returning it to Boston (next thing you know – they're down to twenty four cars in the fleet). I was afraid she wouldn’t give me the car! So I lied. “Um – back to you on Thursday afternoon, Miss Sally.”

And THAT is probably where my bad car karma originated (tune in tomorrow…)

Presidential Rankings

There are just not going to be that many more occasions where I can blog about George W. Bush – so I have to take advantage of the Presidential Rankings that were released yesterday (I think they must rank the best and worst chief executives for a VH1 special every President’s Day).

George W. Bush is considered the 37th greatest president of our country (which is most likely the ONLY opportunity you are going to get to use the phrases “greatest president” and “George W. Bush” in the same sentence). 37th….let’s be honest…thats better than a lot of us would have guessed. Keep in mind that # 38 is William Henry Harrison – that guy who was president for 32 days before dieing of pneumonia. So to put it in perspective, W. is considered a better president than the guy who spent his four week presidency in a hospital bed (although NOT...incidentally... as good as James Garfield who was assassinated after four months in office). See...we’re too hard on W. – he probably just peaked in his 7th week of the presidency.

Other presidents ranked above George W. include the following:

• All THREE of the presidents commonly charged with causing the great depression (doesn’t bode well for our current economic cycle, now does it?)
• Whig president Millard Fillmore who, despite killing off his own party, inspired a snappy little duck cartoon entitled Mallard Fillmore
• Richard Nixon. (W. can’t beat the guy who had to be airlifted out of office?!?)
• James Buchanan – who while waiting for Lincoln’s inauguration – managed to preside over the secession of the South
• James Polk (although he does have an asterisk by his name due to performance enhancing tariffs)

Now, if W. had just pulled that Anbar Province Purchase, he may have leap-frogged a couple of spots.

Wigfest

Sorry for the complete lack of postings lately – I’ve been home for two weeks…and apparently the Hampton Inn is my muse. But I did have SOME blog-worthy festivities lately…like WIGFEST. I don’t know what I was expecting when I accepted the invite – but they call it “Wigfest” for a reason.

After a spin through our inventory of fun wigs, Rita and I decided to borrow our toups from prior year’s attendees. We ended up with one mullet and one curly blonde trampy thing.

Now – I know you figured me for the mullet – but that would have been so Maeve circa 1989 [well – actually…circa 1989 to 1994…otherwise known as the IU years]. Pictures of me in a mullet aren’t exactly uncommon – so I thought I would take the trashy blonde wig instead. But here’s the problem – your costume was supposed to match the wig you’re wearing. Now…my wardrobe comes in all manner of redneck, but seems to have a genuine dearth of slutty. Honest-to-god, Rita walked right up to my closet and found just the right shade of flannel to borrow, but when it came to the Kate Hudson ‘do, there was nary a spaghetti strap nor camisole to be found. (shocker, I know)

As an alternative, I threw that curly blonde wig back in homely, frizzed-out pony-tail…. buttoned a cardigan to the top….and went dressed as a librarian.

Which means that I am the ONLY person I know who can take an opportunity for anonymous debauchery and instead channel my inner Aunt Gladys. If you look at pictures from the evening – my friend Bettyann looks like Foxxy Brown…and I look like Sam Adams. (Actually, any of the founding fathers is applicable.) It was as IF I took a slutty blonde wig and mullet-ized it. And depending on the point in the evening in which the picture was taken – I either had a forehead like Tim Geithner or no forehead at all because the Wig. Was. A. Little. Mobile.

Which only made it WORSE when I had to run in to pick up the pizza on the way to Foxxy Brown’s house.

I should have gone with my initial instinct and dressed as a drag queen.