The Drama Jar

My future brother-in-law has officially lost his mind. Having spent the past two years dealing with 4 crazy women (me, my mother and my two sisters) he has finally been pushed over the edge. Today, he instituted the Drama Jar.

Many of us have variations on this idea. A woman in my office has a swear jar where she puts money in each time she swears. I have an ex-boyfriend jar that I used to pay every time I got upset about our breakup. The point is to fine yourself in an attempt to rid yourself of your demons. Plus, you get to take the money and do something fun with it. My coworker used to donate hers to charity. I used mine to go out when I didn't have time to stop for cash.

My family usually gets along very well but we do butt heads occasionally based on the fact that, other then my sister in California, we all live in a 3 mile radius. Today's drama came about after a typical Sunday afternoon visit went awry. My parents stopped by to visit my sister and see the new pictures she was putting up. I'll spare you the details, but drama ensued. The principal players were my mother and my 2 sisters (one who called in via satellite for the occasion.)

Since I was the unbiased sister (home and out of the line of fire), I received the venting phone call. I decided to stop by my sister's house to get the full story. That is when I found her fiance descending into madness. They were both in the kitchen when I arrived. Eboogie was having a snack and Moose was frantically sawing away at the plastic top of the mayonnaise jar. Not sure what was going on, I entered warily.

He explained to me that in an effort to quell the daily drama my family cooks up, he has created the Drama Jar. His idea is that any and all parties guilty of creating unnecessary drama will be fined $1 and will receive a check next to their name. The individual with the least amount of checks at the end of the month will receive the money in the jar as a reward. See pictures below to view the Moose's artistic inability:

He also created the "Drama Senate" which will decide which individual(s) are responsible for creating said drama. The Senate is made up of himself and my father. They plan to convene each Sunday prior to the Giants game to rehash the past week's events and vote.

Being the instigator I am, I told him I supported this idea wholeheartedly and encouraged him to move forward. I did find that his creation of the Drama Jar and Senate was a dramatic reaction in and of itself. Therefore, I surmised that he must be the first to donate. He readily agreed and put in $6, one for each person.

While I believe that Drama Jar idea will not really flourish into fruitarian (I personally think my mother will kick his ass for even suggesting such a thing), I do agree that at times the McDougall girls can get a little dramatic. All that this serves to accomplish is that we may not vent to Moose. I suspect this was his motivation for creating the jar in the first place. Conspiracy theory #754.

TOTALLY RANDOM SIDE NOTE: Jay Feely is a bastard. I have very serious rational rage against him at the moment. How does a guy who is paid millions of dollars to kick a ball through the uprights manage to miss 3 game winning field goals?!?! Total bull shit. And don't even tell me I am being dramatic...

I've got Spurs that Jingle, Jangle, Jingle

Tucson, Arizona. That is where I spent this past weekend. Acquiring state #24 on my quest to visit all 50. After spending exactly one day in Tucson, I found a new thing to boycott (the parking garage at the Hotel Arizona. Stay away...it is evil) and my sisters and I discovered that the city itself had less to offer then Hartford. So on Friday, we set our sights south and decided to head to Tombstone, the land of Doc Holliday, Wyatt Earp and the shootout at the O.K. Corral.

Because of my "incident" in the parking garage (Metal pole - 1; McDougall's rental car - 0), my posse and I needed to seek alternate transportation. So we made the one hour trek from Tucson to Tombstone, across the barren desert by stagecoach.

Upon arrival in Tombstone after our long and treacherous journey and a run in with the Boarder Patrol, we decided to hit up the local saloon for a cold beverage.

After I ordered "a bottle and a glass," the apparent drink of the Old West, I heard a ruckus outside. Angry that my drinking binge was being interrupted, I went to investigate and kick some ass...

I found myself at the center of the most notorious gun battle in the Old West. The shootout at the O.K. Corral. Or at least a very bad re-enactment of it. Here is what it looked like:

After the 30 second gun battle was over, the Clantons and McLaurys were dead and I was standing on the winning side with the dashing Earp brothers.

After that battle, it was time for us to begin the long journey home. I was saddened to leave the wildness of the Old West but mostly to leave my new found beau. I enjoyed a brief, albeit passionate rendezvous with the dashing Virgil Earp (the cowboy to my left) History chooses to immortalize his brother Wyatt, but he was old. I knew that our relationship was doomed from the start. First of all, he has been dead for over 100 years and the guy playing him in the re-enactment was a 2nd rate actor that. But I still look back on him with much fondness.

So now back in the real world, sitting at my computer on this cold New England day, I can only think back and remember the brief time I got to spend in Tombstone, Arizona in 1881. Thankfully, no one got shot or hanged on our visit. Next time, I hope I can pull up a chair at the Birdcage Theater and play in the longest poker game in history (8 years, 5 months and 3 days)

Babes in Toyland

Monday night I was called into active wingman duty. This was not your typical, "I am meeting someone out at a bar and don't want to go alone." Nope, it was more of the "I am going vibrator shopping and I don't want to go alone" variety.

In no way do I consider myself easily embarrassed or a prude. However, having come off of a Saturday night at the gay bar on leather night where I got to see assless leather chaps in the flesh, my delicate sensibilities had already been compromised. But being the good friend I am, I complied. How bad could this be? A party at someone's house and everyone is there for the same reason. No big deal.

First off, my friend failed to mention that the party was being held at a bar. Very public. The majority of the women there had their husbands/boyfriends on the other side of the bar to show off the goods and get their opinion, including my friend's cousin who I used to go on vacation with when we were 12. I tried to hide my red face in my pint of Bass.

Once the lady started, we all got "laid" (Hawaiian style) and I got my very own glow in the dark penis straw for being a sex toy party virgin (Insert celibacy jokes here). We were told that we were going to try out all kinds of products. Left arm was for licking, right arm was for smelling. We also got products that we were to try on our...umm....more sensitive areas. Yes, in the bar. I tried to crawl further into my pint glass.

Then they brought out the big guns. Pun intended. We got to see the Rabbit, the Bunny, Mr. Dependable, the Hummer and more. There was even the Wall Banger which, as it's name implies, suctions to the wall for you to have your way with. Why anyone would need that is beyond me.

The embarrassment seemed to only be a factor to me. The lady next to me told me all about how Viagra doesn't work for her husband as she rubbed "the Tounge" on her face. Lady, I met you 20 minutes ago...I REALLY DON'T NEED TO KNOW THAT. One girl was there with her mother. Again, hello discomfort.

Not my typical Monday night.

Local Politics

As a concerned citizen, last night I exercised my constitutional right to vote. I headed down to one of the local elementary schools where I used to play basketball back in the day; now the command center for Newington Voting District 6. As I was walking up to the building, I was greeted by all of the last minute campaigners wearing their sandwich boards in one last ditch attempt to round up some votes.

Once inside the school gym, I realized that I was about 67 years younger then every other person in the room. And they were all staring at me and smiling. I was the fetus voter…and they were excited that young people were taking an interest. An old man even offered me a doughnut in thanks.

Once I stepped into the voting booth, I realized that my townie status was going to make this a very difficult process. I knew something about every candidate and it had nothing to do with their politics.

Do I vote for the Chief of Police’s wife whose son was a derelict I went to high school with who used to get out of drug charges because of his daddy? Or the really obnoxious midget football mom who my mom hates because she hits on my dad?

Will the man whose family owns the town ice cream shop and whose daughter tried to steal my sister’s boyfriend in high school really make a good mayor?

How about electing my former English teacher’s wife who slept with him back when she was his student? Is this the woman I want on the Board of Education?

And then there is the dad of a guy who my sister dated who spread horrible rumors about her after they broke up running against the another Midget football parent whose kid we don’t like.

What’s a girl to do? I voted based on the following mantra…if the kids are assholes, they had to learn it from somewhere. Therefore, I refused to vote for their parents. I mean these bastards control my taxes.

I made my decisions, pulled the lever with authority and exited the booth. I got my “I voted today” sticker and went on my merry way.

Wisteria Lane has got nothing on Newington politics.

Saturday in SoNo

In an attempt to avoid the perpetual pitfalls and high school reunions that occur during any evening out in New England's Rising Star, I have become a “nomad partier,” one who packs a bag every weekend to travel an hour or more in search of something fun to do. This weekend lead me and fellow Squad members Durk and the Midge to exotic SoNo to spend the night with Sarah and Dave.

Our afternoon pre-game consisted of gossip, Laguna's, watching TiVo-ed episodes of Laguna, and completing our third re-cast of our Laguna personas. The Midge, Dave and Bri also got involved in a heated game of Yathzee Texas Hold'em.

Dave was supposed to come out with us but decided last minute that the idea of spending the night out with the girls was not all together that appealing. He did redeem himself though by offering to drop us off and pick us up.

We ended up going to a chill Irish pub instead of the very trendy club we usually end up at. We were greeted by the clichéd “scratching record” upon entering. Seriously, everyone turned to stare at us. I like to believe it is because we are so ridiculously beautiful that people couldn’t help but gawk. However, I think it had more to do with the fact that we were about 15 years younger then most patrons and our dressed down "casual" going out clothes were a little too much in comparison.

This bar was perfect for one of my favorite pastimes...people watching. If you are anti making fun of random people or think it is really mean, you may not want to read any further. I will just give you a sampling of my favorite people:

• “The Leather Bum” – We saw this guy driving up to the bar and Sarah identified him at a SoNo bum. Dave disagreed. According to him “bums don’t wear leather.” This guy looked like the missing member of ZZ Top.
  
• “The Umbro Jacket guy” – There is nothing I can add to this one. There was no soccer ball in sight.
  
• “Kevin James” - If you haven’t seen Hitch, you may not know what I am talking about. This guy not only looked like Kevin James, he also busted out all of the dance moves that Will Smith slapped him for.
  
• “Mom Jeans” – She was my favorite by far. Mom Jeans refers to the SNL commercial for Mom Jeans, basically any unflattering high waisted, tapered leg jeans. Mom Jeans was at the bar in the flesh. It got even better when she picked up a guy and they rocked out on the dance floor with some serious 80's moves.

We ended up having a good time despite the mass amounts of KC & the Sunshine Band, Marvin Gaye and other 70's jams from the band. I got asked to dance by a youngster with the pick up line, “you look good for your age." Hmmm....

Upon arrival back in the car, Dave (who always makes fun of the mass quantities of food we consume after the bar) had bought us each goodies tailored to our individual likes. He brought the Midge Ramen noodles, Durk chips and me Cheetos. Now that man is a keeper.

We packed up and headed out first thing in the morning, but not before a stop at Wendy’s of course. Durk had control of the iPod so we got to listen to the soothing sounds of punk rock instead of the hard core rap the Midge played on the way down. I arrived home and promptly fell asleep.

I do not plan to pack a bag this weekend, but you never know what is going to come up. And if it is something fun, you have to be ready...

en français s'il vous plaît

J'ai décidé d'écrire à cette poste en français juste pour secouer des choses en haut un petit morceau. Je ne suis pas grand en français mais j'ai pensé je le donnerais un essaie.

Pour ceux-là de vous qui ne parle pas ou a lu le français, je demande pardon. Vous pouvez obtenir une traduction libre ici si vous êtes intéressé.

J'ai pris le français dans l'école secondaire et l'ai apprécié, mais a décidé de ne pas continuer mes études. Ma famille me taquine constamment de ma capacité à tourner n'importe quel accent dans Dracula si vous pouvez vous imaginer juste comment mal j'ai abattu la langue.

Ce passé d'action de grâces, j'ai été très excité à avoir l'occasion de mettre mon français limité à l'usage pratique quand nous avons visité Paris.

La ville était belle, les gens chauds et amicaux, la nourriture excellente et le système de métro perfectionne. Nous avions un grand temps chiffre comment contourner à tous les endroits célèbres. La Tour Eiffel était tout comme étourdissant comme je me suis imaginé ce serais. J'avais en fait des déchirures dans mes yeux quand je l'ai vu premièrement. C'était magique.

Ici je suis au Palais de Versailles. Ceci était un des la plupart des endroits stupéfiants que je jamais ai été !

Ceci est la première fois dans trois ans que je n'ai pas une vacances de novembre planifiées à Europe. Je suis le genre de triste de cela. Tucson, Arizona ne fait pas juste de son presque comme impressionnant ou romantique.

Oh bien, cela est la vie!

(DISCLAIMER: If you bother to try to translate, it does not come across perfectly. You get the idea.)

It's beginning to look a lot like winter

In the transition from my favorite season (fall) to my least favorite season (winter), I inevitably get bummed out. Fall is all full of life, vibrant color and New England tradition. In contrast, winter is barren, dead, cold, dark and extremely boring. I do not like being locked in my house for months on end in the dark. I have tried making holing up fun by buying lots of good movies and learning how to bake homemade cookies but my efforts are to no avail. There is only one conclusion to make. Winter sucks.

Now that it is officially November, Daylight Savings Time is over causing 4:30 darkness and having witnessed my first snow storm, I cannot deny that winter is coming and fast. So this year, I have decided to fight back against the blues. I have decided that I am going to find something to keep me occupied and turn those annoying blizzards into something to celebrate.

My big epiphany? I am going to learn to snowboard.

I have skied in the past with some rather disastrous results. I have actually fallen off a lift (they had to stop it to pick me back up), made physical contact with trees on 2 different occasions and had to have ski patrol come rescue me after ice formed in my bindings and I couldn't clip back into my skis.

My last attempt as skiing was a few years back when my family rented the penthouse condo one Christmas at the base of Mt. Snow. After one and a half days of skiing, I literally could not walk. I took off my skis and threw them very dramatically, my homage to Happy Gilmore. That was the end of my illustrious skiing career.

For some reason, I have deluded myself into thinking that snowboarding will be different. I will not fall as much, won't look like an ass and definitely won't break anything.

Yeah, right.

No matter what happens, I have to believe that my attempt to keep myself from going mental for the next six months until the sun comes back out is a noble one. So I plan to bundle up, pull my Powerpuff Girls hat down low on my brow, suck it up and give it a go. Otherwise, I may end up a crazed Jack Torrance clone. All work and no play makes McDougall a dull girl.....