Ma nouvelle voisine: Katie Couric (Katie Couric Is My Neighbor)

When I got out of my car this morning after arriving at my house, I could hear muffled talking coming from next door. As I got a little closer to the house, I distinctly heard Al Roker tell me that today was going to be beautiful; then Katie Couric took over to explain to me why I paid so much at the pump a few days ago. I pictured Al and Katie sitting with my neighbor Ben in his living room, lounging on his couch, sipping at piping hot coffee from their Today Show mugs (they brought one for Ben, too). How nice would it be to sit down with those media moguls and talk shop for an hour or so!

I rounded the corner and leapt up the two steps leading to my kitchen door. Much to my chagrin, Katie's voice had grown quite loud - almost irate - and Matt Lauer had to calm her by stepping in to tell her and me about something happier in the news. He quickly whipped himself into a frenzied pitch as well, however. I opened the door to Katie, Matt, Al and Ann shrieking like banshees, and final woke up out of my daydream to realize that the quartet had not come to visit Ben, but to see ME! Apparently, the power had gone out overnight, and when it flickered back on, it triggered the living room tv to come on with a vengeful volume. There is no telling what Ben had to watch through the walls last night - at least I hadn't last taken in a sultry Skinamax show or left some steamy DVD spinning in the player. Embarrassed, I forced the Today Show crew out of my living room and back to New York. I'll apologize to Ben later.

The Litmus Test

“What’s your problem?” said my sister to my boyfriend when we arrived at my mother’s house for dinner on Saturday night.

While this stinging release of her inner monologue could have been (relatively) easily dismissed with a wink and half-cocked smile or an elbow to the ribs and a “just kiddin’,” my little sister had not an inkling of an intention to recant her questioning of my boyfriend’s dislike for dogs. In fact, those were her words of introduction upon meeting him for the first time. The idea that she might want to make a positive, welcoming impression on him had somehow escaped her, despite my better efforts to make her understand how much I was in love with him. I knew from that moment that the American Sisquisition had begun and would be conducted without mercy.

A good sport, he took such comments as, “You should just get over your fear of dogs because you’re weird,” “What do you mean you have never had Chinese food? You’re weird, and we’re going to have some delivered,” and “You’re making my brother weird[er than he already is],” in stride. I was continually trying to predict my sister’s next attempt at verbally accosting my boyfriend, hoping that he wasn’t wondering when my own impossible questions would begin. I made the appropriate defensive remarks, but not to the point of emasculating him; he had smartly realized that stoicism was the best response. And the floodgates opened – but quickly shut again when she realized her Sisquisition would only yield a very perturbed brother and unscathed brother’s boyfriend.

I believe he won her respect, but the challenge to her ego will be everlasting. I don’t know about you, but I always visit my relatives with the intention of breaking every other visitor who crosses the threshold. Like most brothers and sisters do when the fight becomes moot, we let what little conversation there was dissipate and resorted to throwing my mother’s armrest covers at each other’s heads.

From Myth to Reality

Margaret Cho said it best: When she met a man who possessed so many of the qualities she was looking for – a kind, gentle, caring, intelligent, truthful, and cute guy – the only question that came to her mind was, “Are you a unicorn??” I honestly think I’ve found one, and am excited to no end. It was another wonderful, relaxing weekend replete with rest and fun – so much fun, in fact that I couldn’t get to sleep last night because I didn’t want to miss a minute with him. It made this morning a bit rough, but it was worth it.

A true sweetheart, he baked blueberry muffins on Sunday night so that we would both have something to eat for breakfast. When my alarm sounded at 5:45 this morning, I rose out of bed, said my goodbyes, pulled on my “driving clothes” (read: clothes from the day before), and headed out the door, grabbing a muffin and a Diet Coke on the way. Not used to starting the trip in the darkness of daylight savings time, I glided out of the driveway and pulled away into what was left of the midnight mist. I cracked open the Diet Coke and took a few sips before turning onto the two-lane country road that would lead me along the fifty-mile trek home.

Only eight miles into the trip, I found myself thirsty again. I was, in my muddled mind, reliving highlights from the weekend simultaneously with keeping the car between the dashed yellow and solid white lines and reaching for the soda. As I lifted the drink to my lips, I could hear metallic pops and fizzing coming from within the can. Suddenly, it disappeared; it had slipped right through my morning butterfingers. The pops and fizzing sounds were replaced by hissing and gurgling, and my hand shot down to recover the upset drink. I grabbed it on the first attempt, only to hear more sounds of effervescence as I inadvertently emptied the remainder of the can’s contents onto the driver’s floor mat.

Anytime I have a 50% chance for success, it seems like lady luck always gives me the cold, sticky, bubbling shoulder. My personal Murphy’s law must state somewhere that I will pick up an overturned can in the upside-down position every time; I hope never to test this supposition again. At least I was able to spend two and half days with a mythical creature. I smiled at the thought, grabbed some old Wendy’s napkins from the glove compartment, and laid them over the spill. What a nice few days…