Lorraine Says . Here Kitty, Kitty

Perhaps we jumped the gun on the whole "beach day" thing. There were hundreds of tourists cruising the boardwalk who probably disagreed, their skins all an identical shade of painful pink. This side of sundown however, it was clear that summer wasn't quite upon us yet.

I sat on the bench and shivered a little, giggling as I watched Little Puff tear out some of the nearby shrubbery and throw it up in the air. "I probably shouldn't have shown him that," Flava Puff groaned. He'd heard Penny and I spent the day at Hollywood Beach and met us there with Little Puff, his best friend's son.

"Little, you should tell Flava to buy us some ice cream," I told the kid, who had no clue what I was saying, nor was he interested. He was busy ripping flowers. We were steps away from Ben & Jerry's but between the ocean breeze and the minimal amount of clothing I had on, I reconsidered the proposition almost immediately. I shivered again.

"Little Puff," I said, trying to get him to pay attention to me. "Ven aca. Ven."

It took a moment to realized I'd switched into Spanish.

I've said before that my Spanish skills pretty much suck. I mean, I can hold my own and I'm sure if I exercised my Spanish muscles more, they'd be hot and toned, but I don't. I have little reason to anymore. Except for like... the betterment of my mind or something dumb like that.

There is something about speaking to children, however, that automatically makes me switch to Spanish. I'm not sure if it's a Hispanic thing, or an in my family thing. It doesn't matter that none of my generatioin truly employs the language, all the words we teach our kids are in Spanish.

Mami

Papi

Leche

En la boca no

A dormir

No se toca

Roxanne says that whenever I talk to my mother on the phone I suddenly grow an accent. I have no idea what she's talking about.

I think, actually, my Spanish has gotten worse because of Roxanne and Penny. It's Spanish Degradation by Association. I can't count how many times I told Rox that "cuantos muchos dineros" is not the right way to ask how much something costs before I gave in and started saying it too.

Plus they always give the appearance of my Spanish being worse than it is by asking me how to say the weirdest stuff. "Hey Lor, how do you say dolphin in Spanish?"

What the heck?! How am I supposed to know? How many times in my lifetime exactly do you think I've needed the word dolphin in conversation? (Google translate says: delfines. Whatever. I'll take your word for it.)

While Sara Nipples and I were on our Skype date, we got interrupted by my mother.

La Madre: Con quién estás hablando

Lor: My friend

Sara: I wish I knew how to speak Spanish. All I know how to say is that there is a cat in my pants.

Wait... seriously?

Lorraine Says . My Body Is A Dude

That title seemed like a better idea in my head. There's a story behind it, of course, but when I read it again just now, I realized that it would imply that I have man parts.

Hey guys, I don't have man parts.

I have been working out lately, which has lead Roxanne and I to have all sorts of deep and meaningful conversations about life, and health, and shopping and why they would possibly feature a computer on Jeopardy to play against real people.

On Tuesday night, as we were leaving the gym, Roxanne and I had this conversation:

Lor: I hate coming to the gym at this time. It's always so packed and ew, people. We should come back tomorrow at like 10.

Rox: See, here's the problem: the waiting around at home with no pants on until 10. I feel like once your pants are off, there is a point of no return. Like, if you put pants on after an hour or two, your body will reject them.

Lor: I mean, maybe you can put some on to go to the corner store or something, but if your body knows you're going to the gym, it'll definitely reject them.

Rox: Maybe we need to trick our bodies and tell them we're going to the corner store, but actually go to the gym.

Lor: Yeah! But that'd probably work the first day, but the second day he wouldn't go for it.

Rox: Yeah, he'd say, "no way! I'm not falling for that again."

...

Rox: Also, I love that we're both females but are bodies are "hes." You should blog about this.

Rox loves telling me I should blog about things but when I suggest that she blog, she either pretends like I didn't say anything or says something really stupid like, "I'm not funny!"

Lor: Half of what I write is just quoting you, stupid.

Rox: Yeah, but you put your funny spin on it. If I just say stuff, it isn't funny.

Lor: Funny spin?! I sit there and QUOTE you. I transcribe our BBM's. I mean... "French rapist?"

Rox: *giggles* Yeah, that was pretty classic.

So I sent her along yesterday night after our workout with strict instructions to NOT look at fashion blogs and to blog about how she wasn't funny, about RiSK relationship updates, about big girl turning points and I don't even know. ABOUT ANYTHING.

Of course she didn't blog.

I told her that I was going to post the following. I didn't tell her that it was essentially as payback for not blogging.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, a few seconds of Roxanne:

Lorraine Says . I Will Not Talk Bad About Valentines

I think today being Valentine's Day is blocking all of my creative energy.

I mean, I'm not going to talk bad about Valentine's Day. Nope. I decided that would be a bad idea, because if I did, it would just make me seem bitter and angry, which I'm totally not. Plus, if I ever decide to absolutely love VDay, then I'll have this shadow of a post hanging over me all, "hey stupid, remember when you were hatin'?" So, no VDay hate from me. Nope. No sirree...

I will, however, lay out some straight facts for you guys and then you can infer how I generally feel about today. Ahem:

- I'm single.

- The last guy I was remotely interested in was pretty unavailable to me.

- I've had "I don't like Christmas," "I don't like Halloween" and "I don't like birthdays" posts in the past. Maybe holidays aren't my thing.

- I've sworn off Facebook for today because if I see another "I love you sososososmuchbabyohmahgod" wall post, I may punch a baby.

- It's a fudgin' Monday.

- I'm not fond of feeling forced into expressing anything. This ranges from "tell me the story RIGHT NOW" to "okay, be romantic AND GO."

So, you know.

Oh, I probably should've told you this first, but I'm not dead! The plague has certainly tried to take me out, but I'm here still, in my cubicle of doom, writing this instead of approving important and official government type documents.

In that spirit, I have 2 things for you this Monday:

A Rant and a Recap:

Lorraine Says . Waking Up Is Hard To Do

Have you guys noticed my growing list of How To Never Work Ever? Ahem:

Rule #12 - Any time your boss is gone on vacation, for although it means you should do more work to pick up the slack, you will do less work to make up for the fact that someone is on vacation and it isn't you.

Welcome to my Friday, dear readers.

As if that weren't reason enough to be sitting here metaphorically picking my nose and staring into middle distance, we also have rule # 25 of How to Never Work Ever:

Rule #25 - The freakin' plague.

That's not even exactly a rule, but doesn't it say it all?

Wasn't I just talking about being sick? Why is this cold recycling back to people? Didn't it get the memo that I've already paid my debt to sickness? Actually, since I was sick over CHRISTMAS, I'm pretty sure I'm all covered for the next two years. Also, I'd love it if my immune system would start being gangsta' again.


I should've known sickness was coming when I kept clearing my throat and yet it still felt like small furry animals were chilling in my esophagus. That was so disturbing... which brings me to the point of now being heavily medicated because I'VE ALREADY BEEN SICK.

Woe is me.

Usually, here's how it goes: I realize I'm getting sick, I whine and complain and walk around slouched into a shape I imagine is oddly reminiscent of a question mark. Then I complain some more, turn down medicine because I've accepted the fact that it won't work on me and I should just be left to die. Then I complain. Afterward, I sleep for three days and when I wake up, I complain until I realize that, wait a second! I'm feeling better.

Sadly, when I woke up on Thursday morning, with the plague grossly weighing down my mostly unclothed body, I knew my general plan for getting over sickness would not work.

This is the one week that I have to physically be at work. Remember, my boss is on vacation? I walked in Thursday, coughed one time, and three people were in my cube declaring that I just was not allowed to be sick.

So, I've adopted the Roxanne plan for beating the plague, into what I am now calling the RoxLo Plan for Plague Annihilation: First you pop vitamin C pills like they were ecstasy (or chocolate in my case?), second you medicate with a combination of other stuff like Mucinex, Dayquil and/or Nyquil, and Advil. You wash the vitamin C down with Halls. You eat lots of chocolate but nothing else because your appetite is gone. You sleep when you can, and when you can't, you say stuff like, "it's okay! I'm okay! I feel better."

It's okay guys! It's working! I feel better!

In the meanwhile, and because I originally started this post with, "this post is gonna be crappy and short" and no ideas where it would lead, I give you:

Lorraine Says . Moldy Adventures

I'm pretty sure the Super Bowl is on as I type this. I'm only pretty sure because there are about 128 Facebook statuses right now that would have me believe so. Statistically, I think 128 statuses just can't be wrong.

I'm not a football girl. Usually, though, I can ignore that and be a chips and salsa and commercial type of girl. Today, however, has been a mash-up of crazy adventures. This weekend has been all over the place. I've been all over the place.

I won't bore you with the details. By that I mostly mean, "I won't tell you what a mess of emotions I've been lately, because this is my blog and I choose to only paint myself in awesome colors." This may also be known as, "I blame the hormones."

Thursday night, Rox, Penny and I decided last minute to head into downtown Fort Lauderdale for a concert. I'm pretty sure the appeal was not the concert. Well, I can say with certainty that it wasn't for me. I wanted to look pretty and giggle. On a night that gave us the term "beer battered vagina," I'd say we sufficiently accomplished our goals. Okay, maybe that only proves we accomplished the giggling, but you'll have to trust me on the pretty part.

Rox was off being social with an ex-coworker who she happened to see at the concert. Penny and I were off to a side, not exactly thrilled by the music, but doing our best to entertain ourselves (aka laugh at people.) (Also, I may have been squatting to get a better view from in between people's legs.) (#thingsshortpeopledo)


At one point, I looked at the wall behind me and noticed the occupancy sign: Max Occupancy 999.

Over the music, I tried to get Penny's attention to point out the sign. I did so and then quickly pulled out my Blackberry to make a note: must blog about occupancy signs.

That small note turned into:

Seven Things That (Probably Irrationally) Irritate My Liver

I understand that different things get under the skin of different folks. For me it might be men wearing thumb rings, for you it might be my face. That's okay. My face is not for everyone. That said, if anything on my list is something you do/like/support, please don't hate me. Or my face.

1. Maximum occupancy signs - I have no idea how these work. I mean, I know there's like... laws and um, codes and stuff that govern how many people can be in a building, but why are they always the weirdest, oddest numbers ever? WHY NOT FIT 1000 PEOPLE IN THE BUILDING? Seriously, 999? Even if we make the 1000th a really skinny person? It really drives my faux-CD crazy.

2. People having fun around me - It doesn't matter if Rox, Penny and I are cracking up at the dumbest crap in the world (which we usually are), the second I hear some other people laughing, I turn to them all judgy and annoyed. Me! Owner of what can be one of the most pronounced giggles in the world. I'm not sure what it is about the sound of other people having fun that makes me feel like they are faking it.


3. No speakey the Spanish - My very lovely beef once said about me, "if you were a crayon, you'd be Very Dominican Brown." Well. Uh, thanks, I guess. That's fine with me. I'm not in the business of hiding the fact that I am Dominican. Most people can look at me and deduce the fact that I am Hispanic. HOWEVER, I cannot stand it when people walk up to me speaking Spanish.

Stop it. Stop assuming. I don't want to speak Spanish, leave me alone.


4. Facebook is for lovers - except that it totally isn't. I mean, go ahead and make your relationship Facebook official. That's cool. Having dinner with you snickerdoodle? Fine. You can tell us about it (if you must.) But the thing that gets me, the thing that really seems to inflame my liver, are the wall to wall posts.

"Hey baby. Just want to stop by your wall and say I love you so, so, so, so much."

UGH, REALLY? Let's translate this.

"Hey baby. You're sitting in the other room totally ignoring me at the moment while you watch another episode of Teen Mom. I just really want the attention that comes from posting on your wall, where other people can see and like this, otherwise I would just get my happy butt up and tell you that I love you. Instead, I'll publicly post this on your wall. Hoping for lots of comments! xoxo."

Send a fudgin' text message. And maybe we should all come together as a Facebook community and agree to assume that you love your amazing wife. No need to tag her in posts that say, "I love @Amazing Wife." Please, just save the updates until you don't love her anymore. The love will be implied until then.


5. An 11! - This comes to you courtesy of Penny. I was having the "occupancy sign" conversation with her when she said, "know what I hate????! (all the question marks were implied by her tone) When people say 110%. NO. You can't have 110%. Because it's maths and you can't just change math."

To that I would only add that I likewise do not like the whole, scale-of-1-to-10-it's-an-11 thing. I just gave you parameters, stupid head: SCALE OF 1 TO 10. Yeesh.


6. Four Way Stops - because I always get the people that don't know how to do them. And then when I just wave them on, they shake their heads all, "no, no, you." And then when I start to accelerate, they do too, like they FORGOT they just told me to go ahead. I never leave a 4 way stop happy.


7. Braille on signs in random places - I'm really glad that the sign that's 6 feet off the ground, for the storage closet on the 87th floor has Braille for those in the blind community, but uh... how would they... you know.... know? Just feel up every wall until they find what they need?

I'm pretty sure I'm a terrible person. I'll stop now.

Sometime right around the starting of that super bowling thing, Pink asked me for help. Long story short, she discovered mold in her house and because of Gailey-bird being a baby, and her being pregnant, they needed to get out as quickly as possibly. I went to help her pack up, and well, poor Pink. It really was just one of those big inconveniences. Somehow, though, we managed to smile our way through it. Me, Pink, Cream Cheese and Vyelit in a moldy apartment, doors and windows open, laughing as we put the important things in bags. Cupcakes were involved.

"This sucks," I said to Pink as I grabbed Gailey and scooped her into my arms. Pink chuckled, rubbed her tiny baby bump, and looked around the room.

"What can you do?" she asked with a small shrug.

"You okay, mami? Okay?" Gailey asked her mother. We all laughed as I squeezed my niece tight. What perception.

"Mami's okay," Pink assured her daughter.

"Well," I said, "in case you want to make sure your nail polishes don't get moldy, I'll be happy to take them."

For some reason, she didn't buy it.

I hope you all had lovely weekends, with a lot less mold it in, but just as many cupcakes.

Lorraine Says . Words and Letters

I'm pretty sure they lied to us in elementary school about writing in cursive. I mean, I'm pretty sure they lied to us about A LOT of stuff back then (I'm looking at you John Smith, Boston "Massacre" and the octet rule...) but especially about cursive.

In my school, they warned us that all people used in the real world was cursive. They threatened us that if we handed in assignments in print in the upper grades, we'd get automatic F's. And so on, so on.

I guess, I've been thinking about this because of the reemergence of my to-do-list-journal. Also, because Rox randomly turned to me last week and said, "you know what I don't get? People who primarily use cursive to write."

Me either, Rox. Me either.

I wish I didn't forget everything. I'm not a purse type of girl, I'm a clutch kind of a girl. Maybe even a cell-phone-in-one-pocket-my-licence-in-another kind of girl. Having to carry around a purse, just so I can fit some paper to write on is kind of annoying my liver, but alas I've found it necessary. I'm getting stuff done, son. Taking care of the little tasks I've let fall by the wayside. Putting the corners of this puzzle together so that maybe, hopefully sometime soon, I'll start to get an idea what this picture will look like.

Basically, my theory is that if I do stuff like order my contacts, get an oil change and pay back the public library, I'll some how eventually make it over to the big ticket items on my to-do list, like "know what I want to do with the rest of my life."

Please, don't burst my bubble. I need this bubble.

Anyways, I hate writing on paper. I'm not used to doing it anymore, my handwriting is meh and I'm a perfectionist. Having sloppy notes drives my faux-CD wild, which means that I spend more time re-copying notes I've already taken, instead of taking new ones.

As I jotted something down today, I realized that you all have read a bajillionty of my words, but have never seen my handwriting. Prepare to be amazed:

My hand hurt after writing this. How very sad.

Anyhow, I also recorded another vlog.

I know... I know...




The song in the beginning is "Little Lies" by Dave Barnes and the song at the end is "Obsession" by Sky Ferreira .

I've been folding paper for two days, so I think this might be a little disjointed. I'm okay with that.

Also, last night after sushi and Yummies, Rox and I also guzzled down sugary coffee and the yelled at each other over BBM when we couldn't fall asleep.

I'd like sleep now.

Find all the words and questions + links for other accent vlogs after the jump.