Im-mani-ture

I don't get my nails done that often. Usually because at least two of them will chip within about 14 hours of leaving the salon. But my toes were looking pretty gnarly, my fingernails were too long and I'd gotten a coupon in the mail to a new nail salon right across the street for a $30 mani/pedi so I headed over today after work. When I sat down to get my nails done there was the standard back and forth about shape, length etc. The clipping, filing and cuticle cutting ensued, then when the time came to massage lotion into my hands the manicurist stopped, looked at my hands and then looked up at me and said "aww, like baby hands." I'm getting a sense of deja vu as I write this because, not only has this happened several times in my (adult) life, but I'm pretty sure it's happened often enough that I've written about it before. Really. I'd estimate that since the age of 18 I've gotten manicures from approximately 23 different people and that of those 23, six have said, literally those exact same words, "like baby hands." If you're wondering, that's 26%.

This is a picture of a real baby's hand and, looking at it, I guess maybe I can kind of see what they're talking about, but you'll have to look in person to see if you agree. I tried to take a picture of my own hand so I could post it here and say "is it really that pudgy, dimpled and small, with an apparent lack of dexterity?" But try taking a photo of your own hand with your phone that doesn't make you look like a man-handed hobbit. I dare you.

The Stinky Kid

I'm starting to develop a complex. First of all, for whatever reason (family history of hot feet may have something to do with it) my shoes have been stinking up my closet. I've tried a few things like putting dryer sheets and Gold Bond powder in my shoes; they helped a little but didn't totally eliminate the situation. So on a recent shopping trip, John picked up a little battery powered device that is supposed to detect odor and spray a shot a flowery scent whenever it senses a wave of bad smells. The thing is, I've noticed that over the past two weeks, the thing has sprayed several times while I've been getting clothes in the closet. The problems with this are two-fold, one, it scares the crap out of me every time because it makes a noise before the spray shoots out. More disturbing is that either it's actually motion detecting rather than odor detecting, or I'm oozing stench and setting this thing off every time I come within two feet of it.

A Debate for the Ages

Some people argue about politics, some about religion. Some people spend hours discussing philosophy. I, however, have spent many an hour debating which is the correct spelling and pronunciation of the sorbet-like dessert that comes a flavor called "Rainbow."

 It must be a significant argument though, since a major retail chain can't even get a consensus between the version on the aisle sign and the version on their store brand container...

Mrs. G.

I finally got around to the surreal task of legally changing my name this week. I went to the Social Security Administration office at lunch one day. After a few games of wordsearch on my phone, my number got called and I went up to the window. I wasn't really sure how to state my business, so I just pushed my marriage certificate through the space between the glass and the counter. The man behind the glass asked what I was there for. "I need to change my name. I got married so I need to change my last name," I told him. "Married? What'd you go and do that for?" he asked. "He convinced me," I laughed. He paused, looked at me for the first time, then looked back down at his paperwork. "He convinced you with that ring." "That helped." Neither of us said anything more, and less than two minutes later, he handed me back my documents along with another print out, a receipt, if you will, for my new name. Nice to have, but I don't think I'll be returning it any time soon.

Get Off My Lawn!

If you didn't already know that I was now one half of an old married couple, you will now. Last Friday, John and I sat out on our deck after work enjoying some seltzer and talking about our days. Then we heard a noise and saw that some teenagers had gotten onto the roof of the building adjacent to ours by jumping a divider between that building and the top level of the attached parking garage. The noise was them throwing rocks off of the roof onto the piazza below, which is a pretty high pedestrian traffic area. I immediately stood up at the railing and stared at them, waiting for them to notice me and John called our concierge to see if there was anything he could do. Then I sat down when they backed away from the ledge. A few minutes later, though, we heard the noise again- they were back at it. Again I took up my post at the railing. This time one of the looked over at me. "Hi!" I yelled, wanting to make sure they knew there were witnesses. One of the three ran away immediately and another yelled over to us asking if we'd seen what the other kid had done. "I saw you all do it!" John yelled from the other side of our deck. At that they all took off running down the stairs of the parking garage. As that was happening, our concierge came outside, as did a couple employees from the restaurant right below us. John and I both began yelling to them all at the same time "They were on the roof!" "They're running down the stairs!" "They might try to go out the car exit!" "They were throwing rocks, we saw them do it!" I had a healthy exhilaration coursing through my veins. This was the most excitement I'd seen all week. Unfortunately, no one caught the kids, the concierge went back to his desk, the waiters went back into the restaurant, and John and I left for Bed Bath and Beyond to buy hangers...with store credit.

I've been so neglectful of the blog, and there seriously are so many posts in my head that I want to write. I've just been so busy doing, you know, this...

Proud Day for the Greco's

I realize that I have been horrible about blogging, but I think I have some valid excuses like starting a new job and planning a wedding. I have some posts swirling around in my mind, but I had to get on here to share something pretty exciting. My dad has been working on a project for some time now and and I'm really proud of what he's accomplished.

Check out the article that was just written about him and his work:

Yardley man's "Italian Journals" brings humor to travel guide genre