Tuesday, May 25, 2010

The Black Yankees T-shirt

The other day Peter and I had lunch at the California Pizza Kitchen. We had been going there for years only getting the two or three vegetarian pizzas on the menu when some time last year, we had a really sweet waitress who told us that we could order any meat pizza and they can make it without the meat.


So of course now we get the Santa Fe Chicken without the Chicken Pizza.

It's a pizza with caramelized onions and you top it with guacamole, salsa and sour cream.

And before you say, "wha---What?!" Let me tell you that it is AWESOME.

I didn't know that you could put salsa on everything until I went to San Francisco. My friend Andrew took me to this little oceanside mexican restaurant and they served clam chowder (since it's the law in the Bay area for every restaurant to offer this chowder) and I noticed that they topped it off with a dollop of salsa.

When I first got the bowl, I kind of crinkled my nose. But let me tell you something. It was DELICIOUS!

Anyway, so we're at the CPK and Peter said that a white guy at the restaurant was looking at Peter's T-shirt and giving him the nastiest look. Peter looked down and saw that he was wearing his 1935 New York Black Yankees T-shirt.

It got us wondering if wearing that T-shirt is actually a political statement. I mean, does that mean that we were protesting the treatment of African-Americans during the early days of baseball. Because, I'm okay with that.

I mean, when I got Peter that shirt, I just thought it was cool. Who knew we were being subversive?

Monday, May 17, 2010

Not a Cougar

I had this really strange dream last night that I was dating a 22-year-old. For some reason, I was a 36-year-old person who had a 22-year-old boyfriend in an alternate dream-world where Peter did not exist and I was still friends with this high school buddy I haven't heard from in 13 years.

So I'm walking with my friend Angela and this guy and we're at school. And this is a continuation of the math class nightmare I have about every month. When I was in high school, I had this Geometry class first period. All my friends understand that I'm a late person. I'm always late. And I was always so late for first period that most times I skipped math class. It got so bad that friends would ask me, "Who do you have for math this semester?" And I would answer, "I'm not taking math."

A few hours later, as I was sitting in American History class, I would sit up, startled and think, "Oh shit! I AM taking math!"

So in this dream, I'm in high school (as a 36-year-old for some reason) dating this young kid and still friends with Angela. Of course, I go through the whole, Oh Shit moment with the math class and I'm scrambling to take the final exams.

A few moments later, the three of us are off to take a motorcycle driving class (don't ask me why--it's a dream). This boyfriend is driving me crazy because he's acting all young and silly, but to tell the truth, he was adorable. Exactly the kind of kid I would have been mad for in high school. But of course, I was getting really embarrassed by him and he kept doing really juvenile stuff.

On our way to the motorcycle class, he gets stopped by a group of girls and he stays to flirt. Of course, Angela and I get mad because we're almost late for our class so we stomp off without him. We expect him to run over right away, but he stays and we act juvenile too, by not waiting for him.

Then we proceed to totally talk shit about him and I'm all, "I have to break things off with him. He's 22! I'm much too old for this. I need a grown-up!"

So we get to the class and--for some reason, the motorcycle class consisted of walking up flights and flights of stairs and waiting on lines, sort of like they have in Six Flags, and then we leave.

Then the boyfriend shows up and we harangue him for a while and he says, "I caught up with you guys and hid in the bushes. But then I heard all the shit you said about me."

Angela and I sort of stood there and blinked at him for a while. He ran off and we felt terrible.

But then I turned to her and said, "You see! I can't BE with someone who's going to HIDE IN THE BUSHES!! I can't be with someone who'se 22!"

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Mother's Day Squared

We had two Mother's Day days this past weekend. My mother always works on Sundays, so this year, I suggested that we go over to Peter's mom's house on Saturday and celebrate Mother's Day with both of our mothers.

This led to an almost-argument between Peter and his mother, because even though we were going to go over her house on Saturday, she was insisting that we also go on Sunday. Mind you, Peter had JUST gone over to his mother's house that Thursday.

The whole logical statement of "But we're going SATURDAY" was completely lost on her. She started getting all hyperventilatingly nutso on him and she was about to break into tears, so Peter said fine, we were going over on Sunday, BUT WE WERE NOT EATING DINNER.

Yeah, that'll show HER.

Dealing with Peter's mother is sort of like dealing with my developmentally delayed sister growing up. If Judy did not get to watch her Power Rangers, all HELL BROKE LOOSE. And God help you if you didn't leave the television on for the Power Ranger Tip of the Day after the commercial break, because then it's just a huge tantrum involving a child screaming:


And I know that she's 85 years old and that her marbles were never screwed on right in the first place, but it's VERY FRUSTRATING, nonetheless. And everyone's always, "But she's 85! You won't have to deal with it for much longer!"

By the way, that's a TERRIBLE argument.

And besides, she's Italian. They live forever. Her own mother lived to be 96 years old. So I know that I will be dealing with this, at the very least, for the next twenty years.

Saturday was fun, Jenny, Judy, and I took my mother to Stone Barns for a tour of their vegetable garden. The girl who took us on the tour was really sweet, but my mother kind of showed her up by knowing much more about vegetables than she did.

One particular scene:

Tour Guide: So this is the kale....

My Mom: That's CHARD!

Tour Guide: Oh, yes, you're right, that's chard...y'know, sometimes the seeds get mixed up and different things get planted where they're not supposed to.

Jenny (in a whisper to me): But isn't she supposed to know what it looks like?

Afterwards, we went to Peter's mom's house and she made enough food for 20 people.

My mom was incredulous at the amount of food and Peter said, "You know. She usually makes all this food...and it's only the three of us."

She made salad, stuffed mushrooms, roasted peppers, broccoli rabe, ravioli, zucchini parmesan, chicken parmesan, and I'm sure I'm forgetting a few other things.

At one point, I looked at my mother-in-law, and she had a look on her face like, "So, I guess this is it. THIS is my life. I'm spending all my holidays from now on with my son and ALL THESE CHINESE PEOPLE."

I felt kind of bad for her.

The next day, we went to her house AGAIN and as soon as we walk in the door she goes on and on about how everyone called her and how happy she was and how they love her SOOOOO much and that one of her daughters gave her a bag.

Later, Peter admitted that he felt a bit annoyed that she was going on and on about them, especially since she's all happy just to get a phone call from them and he can't get away with not coming over on Sunday when he's already seen her on Thursday and Saturday.

He was also annoyed because his sister told his mother that day that her daughter had her First Communion the day before. His mother was very hurt that her daughter kept this from her. She said to Peter, "If she wanted to keep it from me, why didn't she just not tell me about it? It's cruel to keep it from me and then tell me all about it the day after. Why does she want to hurt me like this?"

When Peter and I first started dating, I did judge his siblings for not visiting more often, but the more I get to know her, I can sort of understand. I don't think anyone gets any pleasure out of visiting her. Even Peter admits that it's more obligation than a real desire to visit. She's not a pleasant person to be around, but she's still his mother and he shows her that respect by seeing her once a week.

It reminds me of a JD Salinger short story--an officer asks his wife to spend more time with his aunt and the title of the story is, "Once a Week Won't Kill You."