The secret to impressing men

Several weeks back, I found myself on the beach with a young-ish man. It was sunset, and getting quite chilly. We had imbibed several glasses of wine, which had made their way to my bladder, and I was in dire need of the utilities.

Unfortunately, when we made our way to the bath house and my date tried the door, it was locked. He found another door nearby for the disabled bathroom, and was able to get in. While he was inside, I went over to my side to try my luck, but was met with a locked door as well. I was desperate, and there was no one around, so I went for it: I dropped trou right there, just outside the bathroom door, peeing as quickly as I could in fear that my date would come looking for me.

It wasn't until a couple of minutes later that it occurred to me that I'd have to explain to my date why I no longer needed to use the bathroom. As soon as he was out, he gallantly offered to hold the door for me so I could use the same bathroom he had, once I reported that there was no open bathroom on the ladies' side.

"No, thanks," I mumbled.

"Well, you HAVE to go somewhere," he replied, surprised.

I froze up. I couldn't come up with a plausible explanation, and saw no alternative but to come clean. I told him what I had done, feeling my cheeks get red as I explained.

Last weekend, I ended up at another beach in another state with another bottle of wine, and the same man. Again, after a couple of glasses my bladder began to get uncomfortable. He directed me to a Port-a-Potty near the beach entrance; I was unable to find it. I decided that, since I had already publicly peed once on a date with him, there was really no harm in repeating the experience. I walked far down the beach and found a semi-protected spot where only a couple of fishermen could potentially see me.

At the end of the night, my date turned to me. "You're quite an impressive woman," he said. "I was so struck that first night at the beach that you weren't embarrassed to pee outside. And you were done way before I was, too."

Had I known that impressing men was so easy, I would've been dropping trou and peeing in public on dates a LONG time ago.

Damn Red Sox

I have been to one professional baseball game in my life. It was a Yankees game, circa 2003. The Yankees were playing a generic-sounding team called something like the Cowboys or the Rockets, probably from somewhere in the Midwest or maybe Texas. I'm not sure who won, partly because it was really hard to pay attention, and partly because we left before the end. About five innings in I asked my friend how many innings there are in a baseball game, and was shocked by her answer. (Nine, in case anyone is not aware. Excessive, I know.)

These days, though, I practically have the Red Sox schedule memorized. I consult it constantly, not because I've adapted to my new city, but because home games make my commute a living hell. On game days I scoot out of work like I have a swarm of bees chasing me. Or plan my social life so that I'm out with friends far away in Somerville or somewhere like that and don't have to come home till after the traffic has cleared up.

Yesterday I reported to my sister excitedly that this is the last week of home games.

"Right, but then there will be the post-season," she responded matter-of-factly.

"Post-season??!" I answered, horrified. "What is that? I thought the season was over!"

"The Red Sox are doing really well this year, not like last year," she explained patiently. "They're gonna be in the play-offs."

And people think this is GOOD news?! Don't get me wrong, I'm a Red Sox fan in theory, just like the next guy. But the season has already been going on for, like, 8 months already; isn't that enough baseball for one city?

Clearly, four years in I am still not quite a Bostonian.

The "wear-everything-you-own" challenge

I gave myself a challenge this summer: I had to wear every summer top I own. I imagine that this would not be difficult for most people, but I have -- ahem -- a lot of clothes. Two giant captain drawers full, not to mention the ones in the closet. I've collected these clothes over the span of several decades; the oldest one dates to when I was nine. (I realize that makes me sound like a hoarder, and I'm willing to accept that label if it's what I have to do to keep the shirt I got at theater camp in the 4th grade.) Anything I didn't wear by the end of the summer had to go in the donation bin.

In order to complete the challenge, I had to wear a different shirt every day, and a few times I even changed midway through the day. I gave myself a break and did not include my summery long-sleeved shirts in the challenge, since they go in a separate drawer and there is some gray area there that could confuse matters. While packing for vacations, the sole criteria I used to decide what to bring was whether or not I had already worn an item, which made for some interesting ensembles, like when the only clean clothes I had left were an army green tank top and my army green cargo shorts. And, as it turned out, I was so focused on packing my summer shirts that I did not pack a single long-sleeved item for a week-long vacation in Vermont where it was 60 degrees for much of the week.

This morning, I pulled out a hand-me-down from my friend Miami Nice that hasn't seen the light of day in several years, and as I put it on I thought to myself that I *must* be nearing the end of the wear-everything-you-own challenge. Unfortunately, when I did a quick count I unearthed ten shirts that have not been worn, including a black halter top, my Obama t-shirt, a shirt with the number 17 on it that a friend from Japan gave me in the late 90s, and a purple tank top with silver sequins.

There are nine days left of summer. Think I can do it?? I'd really hate to have to donate my Obama t-shirt.

A present

My principal stopped by while I was working with a few kids.

"I have a present for you," she announced. "Come see me to pick it up."

"Will I like it?" I asked, just to be sure that it wasn't a new special needs student, waiting for me in my principal's office.

"You will like it a LOT," she replied.

"She got you a present!" said one of the first graders. "What could it be?"

"What do YOU think it could be?" I asked.

"A car," said one.

"A bow for your hair," said the second.

"A dress," said the third.

Good guesses, but they were all wrong: it was an iPad.