We're not "lion"...we didn't cheat!

Game night. Otherwise known as a way for Geri to showcase how stupidly inept the rest of us are compared to her...ugh! Any game that takes over 15 minutes of direction-explaining (allotting, of course, for another 15 minutes of questions and clarification) is certain to be in Geri's wheelhouse. But the food was good, the drinks were generous, the house was charming, and the company was kind...no, scratch that...not ALL of the company was kind...one team was immediately deemed "The Mean Girls" for their unsportsman-like behavior, unfounded accusations, and unnecessarily loud and intentionally obnoxious  "time's up" noises. 

By God's good grace (and a late entrance), I ended up on the perfect team, comprised of three laid-back
ladies with a complementary blend of talent, enthusiasm, and convivial wit with a confounding side of "We could care less" which would suddenly surprise the one who insistently ordered it up (in spite of the warning asterisk listed on the menu) with a sharply bitter, lingering aftertaste*.

No one (not even Geri) knew what the hell was going on. My team...cruelly (and for no discernible reason except to discredit our good names and reputations) was called The Cheaters (The game had barely even started yet!) but Bev, Tracey, and I recognized that one must not fight the current of a riptide...we instead decided to go with the flow...like our courageous, underdog forefathers, who were cruelly mocked during the glorious Revolution with a Weird Al parody of a pub shanty (Yeah, ya Lobster Backs...Yankee Doodle THIS! And stick your feather THERE!), we embraced the name and made it our own...The Cheetahs (complete with choreographed celebratory high-fives with sound effects).

Generational differences soon made a painful appearance:  Some in the crowd easily recognized the introductory music for The Smurfs while others thought it was a polite word for flatulence. One of our youngest (and loudest and meanest and most obnoxious) members didn't know who Carol Burnett was and was almost immediately expelled from all future Game Nights. 

Even though no one actually had a full handle on the rules, everyone (except the laid-back ladies of The Cheetahs) loudly voiced their objections to any perceived infractions. "She used TWO words," one player yelled. Geri who self-appointed herself judge-and-jury of all things (No one opposed her since she controlled the flow of liqueur) yelled back, "Opposed...stinky was a brainstorming word leading to the word dirty which determined the correct phrase of "Dirty Harry." It goes without saying that a lot of pouting and sulking accompanied ALL of Geri's decisions. Geri, herself, had to be brought into line when, in a fit of frustration, she leaped up behind the clue-giver who was pointing frantically to the sky at pretend "stars" to flash Spock's classic Vulcan salute. "How hard is it to give a clue for Star Trek?" she shrieked. "Wow!" whispered fellow Cheetah, Tracey, to me, "I could hear her even with the malfunctioning hearing aide in my back ear." "Which ear?" I asked, worried that maybe she wasn't hearing my clues clearly enough. "Don't worry," she said, winking, "I can hear with my final-front-ear." Naturally, as we howled with laughter, The Cheetahs were again accused of guilefulness and subterfuge.

The limits of mimicry and hand motions were sorely tested. We delighted at Geri racing at Bev to be
swept magnificently into the air a la  Baby and Johnny in "Dirty Dancing." That was pure, undisputed art. She (Geri) threw (another) fit, disgusted by a player who, for "Psycho," slashed horizontally rather than vertically but as it was a question of execution rather than rules, the point was not disputed...only mocked. However, another player holding up her hand three times to flash 4-5-1 for "Fahrenheit 451" seemed completely unfair. "Over-ruled," our judge declared while I seethed and stormed that, by that decision, I might as well finger-spell all the clues using ASL.  Geri eyed my near-empty glass so I elected to die on another hill. 

We roared as Rachel rocked her clues...ribbeting her way across the floor for "Frogger" and then repeatedly racing out of the room to peek back in for "Terminator." Everyone was stunned when Bev hummed the Addams Family tune and I bellowed, "The Munsters!" (Yes...we were, again, immediately accused of cheating.) When given the opportunity to pass, Virginia littered the floor with clue cards like they were confetti. And as fast as our flower girl tossed down her petals, Rachel raced to pick them up so "The Cheetahs" couldn't see them. "Boy, she has a LOT of faith in our vision," Bev whispered. 

"The Cheetahs" missed a first place finish by ONE point but we celebrated our second place victory with our signature high-five with sound effects. By tomorrow, NO ONE will remember who placed first, second, or third. But they will remember our choreography AND how a small group of under-estimated, misjudged, and maligned women overcame incredible obstacles, rising above the malicious jealousy and mean-spirited bitterness around them to compete competitively while modeling gracious, dignified behavior; cheering on their opponents and congratulating all for their efforts. Cheetahs-of-the-World...UNITE!

("Don't listen to her," Geri interrupted, finally managing to infiltrate Amy's blog, "she's trying to pull a fast one.")

*Refer back to Paragraph 1:  Sub-section Two: Mean Girls

 

A Parisian adventure in Perry

Surprisingly, my Parisian-themed visit to the local farmer's market in Perry, New York did not go as planned. First of all, I was the only one appropriately attired while everyone else in our group was out-fitted as Seattle-based hobos. When Savannah and I arrived at Geri's house, I was thrilled to see her daughter Katie was here from Boston. "Savannah, take my picture in front of Katie's sports car," I squealed in delight. "How does having your picture taken in front of a Honda make you feel French," Savannah replied in disgust, walking away so that Geri had to begrudgingly take my picture.

Before acquiring a street-side table at what was quoted as "the smallest farmer's market in the world," we ordered drinks at Burlingham Books. "Watch the store," said the barista to the girl stocking shelves, "there's a slew of people coming in for drinks." Slew? I've never been part of a slew before. A bushel and a peck...yeah. But not a slew. "You know, I said conversationally while the poor guy who ended up just wanting a Mountain Dew waited patiently behind us while we invented unique and whimsical drink concoctions and then changed our minds a million times, "a jiffy is an actual unit of time equaling 1/100th of a second." The busy barista nodded, not caring.

Equipped with nifty drinks, we settled in for some serious people and dog watching while we were regaled by live musical entertainment. "That's Poncho and Lefty," I gasped, recognizing the beloved Willie Nelson song. "Yeah, just like in Paris," mumbled Savannah as she snacked on a sweet bun. Picking through the bag of blueberries, Katie came across a miraculously mammoth berry which spurred a slew of snapshots. "I wish our table had flowers," I sighed wistfully. "It has a rock," Savannah observed, "how could you possibly want more?" But I DO want more. Katie had a friend stop by at our table (presumably to admire the decorative rock) and, after we showed her a zillion pictures of the giant blueberry, she invited Katie tubing on Silver Lake. Intuitively sensing my disappointment (perhaps from hearing me say, "I'm disappointed.), Katie reassured me that perhaps tubing wasn't for me. "If you do it right," she warned, "your arms hurt." I was skeptical but trusted that Katie just wants me to be safe.


We observed friend and fellow Amy gracefully balancing small children and pecks of peaches. When we accused her of child abuse as her daughters staggered beneath the weight of her produce, we watched as Amy ingeniously attempted to transport her tomatoes via her girls's scooters. A caring friend would have helped as Amy's peaches and tomatoes tumbled into traffic but a real friend photo-documents the incident to exploit it on her blog. You're welcome, Amy.

Back to Geri's to celebrate Katie's birthday with a classy layer cake. Geri's husband Gregg was assigned the job of selecting said classy layer cake. "Wow," Katie remarked, admiring her classy layer cake, "Look at all that furry frosting!" "Is it a dog or a cat," Geri said, squinting at what was clearly a cute culinary canine before she began cutting slices. "Don't give the birthday girl a piece from THAT end of the cake," I protested. Symbolically speaking, that marked the end of my faux Parisian adventure in Perry. "Thank goodness," sighed Savannah.

There's no accounting for taste

As I can not get enough of it, I returned to the Glen Iris Inn just a few scant days after I'd eaten there with Brad and Savannah.  Even worse, I ordered practically the same meal.  Following an intense period of curriculum development, friends Kelly, Amanda, Geri and I headed to Letchworth Park for a relaxing lunch break. Relaxing is a relative term with this group.  The Danish brie was our first obstacle. My friend, Amanda's customary lunch consists of raw vegetables.  She'll occasionally bring a dip if she's feeling a bit saucy.  She regarded the congealed-looking mass of warm cheese encased in its resistant rind with transfixed alarm. The combined effects of peer-pressure (more like peer-ridicule) and self-respect spurred her forward, gritting her teeth as she stabbed the oddly-shaped knife into the casing, slightly flinching as the cheese bled out.  "If you hate it, pass it over," I hissed at her hopefully while Kelly and Geri stared at her like the circus spectators of a sword-swallowing act. And like the daredevil she is, Amanda downed the Danish brie and mentally prepared herself for the next course.

The selection of the entries seemed a simple enough process.  The arrival was a complicated debacle.  Geri, thrilled with the inclusion of breakfast items on her lunch menu, had ordered an omelette.  Upon seeing Kelly's beautiful Reuben sandwich, she immediately began lamenting her initial decision.  Before Geri could throw ashes on her head and don sack cloth, Kelly intervened, offering to split her meal. Meanwhile, I was happily eating my tomato-mozzarella salad.  "Excuse me," I asked Greg, our very patient waiter, "but what is this?"  I pointed to the flimsy green items decorating my plate.  "Those are salad greens, ma'am."  Responding to my confused look, Amanda leaned over to whisper, "Lettuce, Amy."

Finally, dessert.  We split the strawberry shortcake and a frozen amaretto soufflé. Geri has the highly developed palate of a cross-country truck driver.  She considered the soufflé with the air of one accustomed to yellow jello. As the creamy custard rolled over her tongue, she frowned and made her pronouncement, "It's taste is reminiscent of an indoor splashpark with vibrant chlorine undertones."  We stared in wonder, admiring her descriptive skills.  "You do paint a picture," Amanda admitted before taking a tentative bite.  She encouraged Kelly, "You like an armaretto sour."  Reminded of a happy occasion that she can only vaguely recollect, Kelly slid her spoon into the soufflé.  We somehow overcame Geri's anti-armaretto announcement and finished both of our desserts.

The arrival of the bill brought dismay and confusion.  It was a lesson in word problem development and real-world math application.  Take a $98 bill with a tax line of $6.18, subtract the $8 park entrance fee, consider that only Amy Mosiman bought a yummy adult beverage, figure in that Kelly and Geri split the appetizer but Amy ate most of it, factor in the fact that Geri only had one bite of the frozen amaretto soufflé and commence arguing for the next twenty minutes.  We are one classy lunch bunch.  

Pooch Perception

Recyclable Chlo

It was sort of a rough (ruff) day, self-esteem-wise for my little dachshund.  We walked into my friend, Geri's classroom, delighted to see her, only to have her insensitively regard Chlo and say, "Isn't she getting a little fat?"  I can hear the gasps of horror echoing about the cavernous corridors of the world wide web as you read this. I know.  Prior to this traumatic experience, Chlo and I were having a happy little day.  We took Sydney to work and shared a yummy portion of french fries doused in vinegar on the ride back to the school.  Following a detailed investigation of the school's perimeter, we made that barely-worth-mentioning (brief) visit to Geri. After I pointed out the significant difference between "winter weight" and the hurtfully generalistic and  misunderstood term "fat", I exited this toxic environment.  Near-sighted, Geri, of course failed to notice Chlo's luxuriously thick undercoat which may have contributed to her ridiculous misperception.  Not one to hold a grudge, Chlo rallied on.  We returned to my classroom for a little snack until my friend Cathy popped in for a visit.  We sat outside, enjoying the warm weather as Chlo explored the school yard.  Concerned for our safety, Chlo raced off to the tree-line to make sure that it was secure.  So intent was she on her duties, Chlo was unable to respond to my calls directing her to please return.  The sun glaring in her eyes made Cathy's facial expression appear a bit judgmental as I wrestled my sweet little dog from the underbrush and carried her back.  "Perhaps a little obedience training would help," Cathy said carefully.  I have to admit, I was a bit surprised by this comment.  "She's self-taught," I explained proudly.  The sun glare must have prevented Cathy from noticing that Chlo did not wiggle or squirm as I dug her out from beneath the bushes.  Misunderstood and unappreciated, Chlo and I returned to my classroom.  I didn't realize the depths of Chlo's depression until I discovered her a half hour later, curled into the recycle box, next to the trash.  I coaxed her out with a little yum-yum and before you knew it, we were on the mend.  Soon, my sweet little dachshund was curled up happily in my lap.  I don't know what got into Geri and Cathy today.  They just don't see Chlo the way I do.