eloise

i love eloise! no really i do. she is the fucking greatest to ever hit the ball right out of the park. and of course i love gene for making eloise possible. here’s looking at you, kid.

dinner party at my house albums.

thanksgiving 2002 at kristen’s house.

and then of course the main page of eloise, which i’m sure you don’t need this link to get to what with the other links but whatever.

today i called my mother from inside the house twice. once i called because a cat was sitting on my lap and i didn’t want to disturb her urinating highness for fear of reprisals in the form of warm yellow liquid. so it makes perfect sense that i used the cell to call the house phone to make my mother get out of her chair where she was probably suffering from the same restraining fear as myself, right? and all to ask if there was anything to eat and then to gratefully acquiese when she offered to make me a BLT. which within 15 minutes she had deposited on my, thankfully, cat free lap. delicious. and all the more so for how little effort i put into it.

secondly, i was taking a three hour long bubble bath per usual weekend fare, (don’t ask anymore why i had “water” tattooed to my arm. i am a fucking prune-skin fish i tell you), when jason called. having talked to jason while in the tub before i decided that it was no big deal to do so now. and figured if i kept all movement to a minimum he wouldn’t hear the water lapping at the edge of the tub and know i was in there anyway. the conversation went a little something like this:

“hi!”

“helloooo.”

“what’s up?”

“are you in the bathtub?”

“shit! how did you know that! i didn’t move!”

“you sound like you’re on a speaker phone. which is what it always sounds like when you’re in the bathroom and on the phone.”

(much laughter and vague embarressment on my part.)

plan thwarted. anyway so he called to see if i wanted to go to the movies because apparently it is lonely in the city when everyone has gone off to tahoe, a fact of which i of course was unaware. anyway so we’re trying decide on a movie which takes some doing as we both have to list and enumerate the points of the ones we want to see. him-intacto (some spanish thing with people blindfolded and thier hands tied running thru a forest), about schmidt (you know), and adaptation (postmodern bullshit with fucking nicolas cage). mine-just married (ha ha ha ha!!!) just kidding. well not kidding about the fact that i want to see it*, but about it’s being the only one i currently want to see. anyway so we decide on about schmidt and he’s going to come out and we’ll eat some dinner or something and go be entertained by jack nicholson. it was at this point in the conversation that i remembered i promised my mom i’d be home for dinner tonight since i wasn’t home once all week long (fuck was i ever tired).

so i’m like, “jason! mom’s cooking something and i bet some of it’s not meat so we could eat here and it’ll be tasty and free!”

and he, of course, being retiring and non-imposing is like, “uh, well if you think it’s all right.”

“sure it is! i’ll see you soon!”

i’m sitting there in the bathtub going, “hmm…maybe it’s time to shower and get out now so i can tell mom jason’s coming. and be ready and stuff…” but then i’m like, “shit dood i’ve got the phone RIGHT HERE. i could just call and tell her.” and so i did. and now she’s making chicken (uneatable by jason), mashed potatos, salad, and corn bread. but more importantly she laughed heartily and was disgusted by the fact that 1) i was calling from the bathtub and 2) i was still in the bathtub, having been in there for a good 2.5 hours.

this story serves to illustrate the fact that i am a lazy ingrate with fingers and toes indistinguishable from prunes and that my mom is a fucking saint to put up with me and my friends and cook pure tastiness all the time. but don’t look too harshly on me because i’m taking her to see lord of the rings tomorrow, and that’s got to be worth something, right?

*note: erica. dude. where’s my ashton kutcher watching friend when i need her? where’s your chicken farm, dude? dude, where’s your squishy boob?