Dirt Cake

Happy Halloween! I am dressed as a chubby princess, in a lovely burgundy velour gown festooned with bright gold trim and white sateen insets. Perched in my coiffure is my 30th birthday tiara, which is barely the size of half an orange. It looks like it got caught in my hair some time last week and I didn't realize it was in there. I got several looks this morning, and it's funny the way people will look away, as if embarrassed for you. Hellloooo, I'm aware that I'm dressed in polyester and rhinestones. It's okay to stare.

At noon was our annual Halloween potluck lunch for the medical students. I made pasta with pesto and chicken and my world-famous dirt cake. I put it in the traditional flower pot, with a few flowers sticking out of it. I placed it on the coffee table, away from the buffet, and sat back to see how long it would take for it to get noticed. My boss was getting the most laughs with her costume. She was an airplane crash victim, complete with bloody scars and an exposed tibia jutting out from a rip in her pantyhose. She was positively oozing blood in her flight attendant uniform and the kids couldn't get enough of it. Overall, the food was good. I felt a little bad for the lettuce and sesame dressed salad, but it didn't stand a chance with the fried rice and lasagna taking up prime real estate on the buffet table. Once desserts were sliced and passed around, I noticed the fourth year students furtively sticking their spoons in the dirt cake. The third years, at their first potluck, had no clue what they were doing. I could tell no one wanted to say anything, until my chairman glanced down and asked, "What the hell is that?"

It's time to go home now, and put away the tiara. First though, I'm off to Sue's house to hand out candy and see if I can find any frogs to kiss. Wish me luck.

PS: The Navy guy never emailed. I don't like squid that much anyway.

More cowbell!

If I had known the quality of the baked goods that were going to be there, I would have attended my nephew's band concerts from day 1. As it is, I didn't figure this out until last week. Kevin is currently deployed, so I was a last-minute escort for my sister, Sue.

Imagine a school filled with giggling, screeching, running tweenies hurling themselves at one another, hugging as if they'd just escaped from prison. Now imagine having to wade through them to drop off your bottled water donation in a cafeteria that smells like pee. I'd never felt so old in my entire life.

The concert was to be held in the gym. Rows and rows of those terrible plastic chairs were lined up in front of sticky brown and gray bleachers. We'd gotten there early enough to get great seats, on the aisle with a perfect view of the percussion session. Before long, the chairs were filling up with work-weary parents and nonchalant sibilings too cool to make eye contact. I hadn't had dinner yet, so my tummy was grumbling.

"They sell doughnuts for $5." My sister informed me without looking up from her trashy romance.

Like a shot, I was off, wallet in hand, in search of a box of Krispy Kremes. I wandered the halls dreamily, following the scent and admiring the murals that adorned the cinderblock walls. $5 and twenty minutes later, I was sliding back into my seat with the coveted green and white box.

"Don't even think about eating those in here." Again, not looking up from Lady Catherine's heaving bosom.

"Are you kidding me?" I screeched. "I'm starving!"

"No one else is eating their doughnuts."

I looked around the room wildly. Surely SOMEONE must be digging in. I couldn't possibly be the only one who hadn't eaten since noon. As if on cue, a disheveled dad in a dirty red windbreaker ripped open his box and proceeded to stuff half a doughnut in his mouth. My sister looked up with one eyebrow cocked. Okay, so I didn't want to join the ranks of dads just trying to embarrass their kids.

Before long, the concert began, and I was pleasantly surprised at how good the band was. The chorus came out and I was downright amazed at just how bad a middle school chorus could be. Maybe it was because they had to follow the child prodigies of the symphonic band who, by all rights, did a hell of a job on the tribute to Nathan Hale. I was busy daydreaming about the hot chorus director (hot is a relative term here; he was the only male over 25 and under 50 in the room) when I realized that the concert was coming to an end. I stuffed the program into my purse and stroked my box of doughnuts. Soon, my pretty, very soon.

As the bodies spilled out of the gym and headed toward the cafeteria, the screeching started again. We pressed on relentlessly, ever closer to the homemade baked goods and bottled water waiting for us. Alas, when I arrived at the door to the cafeteria, all I could make out was a sea of people, mobbing the tables like so many birds of prey. I turned on my heel and made my way to a bench. I carefully pried open the box and inhaled the sweet, vanilla scent of a dozen Krispy Kreme glazed doughnuts. My sister plopped down on the bench next to me and we sat silently chewing, waiting for Garrett to appear.

It wasn't long before he showed up, adorable in his black pants, tuxedo shirt, and smurf-blue cummerbund. In his hand was a little paper plate with a brownie, a cookie, and some kind of coconutty bar. His cheeks were bright pink from the exertion of the concert and he was juggling his sheet music in his free hand.

"I brought you some nibbles, Tatie La. I'm really glad you came."

I gave him a hug. "I wouldn't have missed it for the world, kiddo. You really rocked that cowbell."

My New Assistant

I found an acorn at the bottom of my purse. I picked it up last weekend at Oktoberfest and he’s been hanging out with my spare change ever since. I drew a face on it with a Sharpie. Not a smiley face, just two eyes and a straight line. He’s not in a good mood.

My boss is listening to Clay Aiken. My boss is a Claymate. A 47-year old Claymate. She has long, Crystal Gayle hair and she listens to Clay Aiken. Should I repeat it one more time?

Today is the type of day where it is helpful to repeat, “I love my job, I love my job, I love my job…” so that I don’t flip out and tell people what is really on my mind. “I’m sorry that you got a 53 on your exam, Student X. Maybe you should re-think your career options. I know for a fact that your deans are going to recommend that you go into Pathology so you don’t have to deal with people who are still breathing.” Instead, I smile my gentle smile, hand out Kleenex and Lemonheads, and tell them that everything will be okay.

I need help. I have so much paperwork on my desk, I can barely find it. At least I have a new assistant. His name is Clay Acorn.

Down with burritos!

Somewhere, someone envies you.

Yesterday started off like any other lazy Sunday. I was dressed in track pants and an obnoxious T-shirt that reads "Keep talking, I like watching your lips move..." I was busy working on the perfect bite of my Chipotle carnitas burrito when I realized that there is something inherently wrong with eating something that weighs more than your purse. As I licked a wayward dollop of guacamole off my lip, I caught her looking at me from her booth across the aisle.

Her frizzy, mouse-brown hair was trying desperately to escape the confines of her velour scrunchy. She was wearing a light green T-shirt that had been washed so much, it looked powdery. It did nothing to hide the rolls at her midsection and clashed badly with her pink sweats and gray flipflops. She had no qualms about eating her burrito, and I spied a second one in her plastic basket. I turned back to my Town and Country and considered my options for the rest of the day.

I had planned on going to World Market to find a bottle of the Australian red I'd tried at my favorite restaurant last week. She was probably headed for Safeway to get tuna noodle casserole ingredients. My next stop was to Blockbuster to get a couple of movies. She was probably on her way home to feed her cats. I wasn't trying to be unkind; I just didn't want to end up like that.

With a resolve I didn't quite feel in every bone of my body, I put down the second half of my burrito and gathered up my things. I felt her gaze on me as I tossed it all in the trashcan (oops--even the plastic basket) and hopped in my car. It was much too nice of a day to spend inside eating burritos.