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Posts Tagged ‘Beer and wine’

That’s right, readers: We are still living in the apartment complex. We decided we liked not having to maintain a house and its landscape. Something’s broken? Call maintenance. It’s great.

So that means we’re here for another summer, which means the return of “Dispatches from the pool.” Here are links to the starts of Seasons 1 and 2, if you need a recap. Enjoy!

 

EPISODE 1: You’re not melting, I promise
Rated G for gentle sprinkles

EXT. APARTMENT COMPLEX POOL – LATE SUNDAY AFTERNOON

ENTER WOMAN (usually referred to as “MOTHER,” but this time she is blissfully alone, having had the house to herself for two days while the others were traveling)

Seven TWENTYSOMETHINGS are scattered around the pool area sunning themselves like alligators on a riverbank.

WOMAN settles into a lounge chair with her trashy magazine (People, of course) and adult sippy cup.

WOMAN sees the girls taking pics she assumes are for Insta.

WOMAN feels the need to do a meta photo. A pretend Instagram photo of her legs, in typical Insta style, that includes the girls posting to Instagram. (Pretend Instagram because her actual Instagram features the adventures of a taxidermied raccoon paw.)

(Note: This photo would never have happened 50 pounds ago. Remember how whaley and uncomfortable WOMAN was in Season 1? That’s right.)

 

WOMAN’S phone BUZZES with a response to an earlier text

 

 

Raindrops FALL.

Every one of the TWENTYSOMETHINGS immediately scuttles away.

 

WOMAN, an actual meteorologist, looks at the clouds and knows the rain will pass.

WOMAN (under her breath)
Oh please. It’s just sprinkling. You’re not going to melt.

WOMAN continues reading her now slightly damp magazine. She is now completely alone at the pool, but not for long.

FATHER and ONE KID — GIDEON — appear in the pool area.

FATHER
You run everyone off?

MOTHER (no longer WOMAN as she is not alone)
(Shrugs)

GIDEON
Hey, Mama!

MOTHER
Hey, Baby. You have a good time in Savannah?

GIDEON
Yeah.

That’s it. No further conversation from that one. He’s 13.

General discussion ensues between FATHER and MOTHER regarding a friend’s golfing and early-bedtime habits.

GIDEON
Watch me skip my sandal!

MOTHER discovers she has reached the end of the beverage in her water bottle.

MOTHER
Right. Time to go.

FATHER (who also has reached the end of his)
Yeah.

END SCENE

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Dear Apartment:

I’m going to miss all the quality alone time you and I had while the guys were out of town getting my mother-in-law’s house in Puerto Rico ready to rent out.

Don’t get me wrong: I do love them. But when I cleaned you the day after they left, you stayed clean.

You and I had so much fun together. I got to watch whatever I wanted to watch on TV. I could roam around in my underwear without embarrassing any teenagers. I didn’t have to worry about your front door being left unlocked or coming home to random friends of aforementioned teenagers inside you.

What’s more — and this probably made Charlotte next door very happy — you and I were peaceful together. So peaceful.

The communication styles of my family members are just so different.

The quietest one missed me. He texted me almost every day.

The medium-loud one texted me informative tidbits regarding house progress, interesting videos, and photos engineered to make me wish I had left you.

The loudest and grouchiest one did not talk to me at all until he wanted something the day before he came back to us.

It figures.

In an interesting twist, Dominic the Loud immediately stripped upon arriving back to you and charged around eating chicken wings.

I guess Eddie’s right: He and I are alike.

Anyway, I’m going to miss you, my fortress.

Love always,
Beth

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Dear Lisa (aka Goat Yoga Lisa),

You are a great friend. One of the best. Not only do you play Bingo with me, write guest posts, and let me stay in your house all the time, but you also loan me your husband.

Well, Rob loaned himself, really.

And it truly was a shock to all of us hanging out in your living room.

When I said I needed a dress to wear to do the weather* because the chroma wall hated the one I brought, you said you would go with me.

But then Rob piped up and said, “I’ll go with you.”

You, Gunner and I swiveled to look at him. Silence. Two eye blinks each.

Me: “Wait. You will go DRESS SHOPPING with me?”
Rob: “Yeah! I’ll go.”

Maybe it was the wine talking. He vinoteered.

Or maybe he is jealous of all the blog space devoted to you.

Or maybe he just wanted to hang out with his pal Beth.

He might have regretted it in the morning. But then I brought him bacon in bed. (That sounds way saucier than it was. You were there. You made the bacon. You suggested I take it to him.)

He might have regretted it when we got ready to go. But then he filled a to-go cup with wine for fortification.

He might have regretted it when we got in the car. But then I put the convertible top down and fired up a great rock playlist.

Rob seemed to be having a good time in the store. This was his first selection:

img_8037

Thank God he was just joking.

Then he suggested a housedress with a belt. Ha ha, very funny.

We headed to the fitting room with three contenders. Rob, the fitting room lady and I unanimously chose the third option.

We were in and out of the store in 15 minutes. For real. He was in shock.

Rob: “It’s like a blur.”
Me: “You didn’t even finish your wine.”
Rob: “I was just sipping, but now I don’t need to.”

We did have to stop by the CVS on the way home. But Rob even helped with the ridiculous receipt.

We were back at your house just 30 minutes after we left.

Me: “Thanks for the date!”
Rob: “It was fun!”
Me: “Did you actually just say it was fun?”
Rob: “Yeah, it really was.”

I’m pretty darn proud of us.

To my additional astonishment (that Rob — full of surprises), he really took ownership of the situation. After my segment in the early newscast, you told me he said “his” dress looks great.

Then Gunner sent me this message:

And then the man, the myth, the dress baron himself weighed in after the later newscast:

So, I give thanks to you for the loaner spouse, and loads of thanks to Rob. He’s like my hubs away from home!

See you when I’m back in Savannah.

Love to you and the super shopper you married,
Beth

* I can’t believe I’m still filling in at the TV station after all these years.

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Dear Trish,

Hope you and Irv are doing well. I miss seeing you on a regular basis, trying new beers, playing Cranium, and complaining about Ed.

I do want to take this opportunity to say thank you for inviting me to your wedding. It turned out to be the catalyst for an important journey for me.

I didn’t realize quite how fat I was until I couldn’t squeeze into the dress I brought to Sedona for your big day. This dress had always been my go-to dress. (Full disclosure: It’s a maternity dress. It doesn’t look like a maternity dress. Nothing maternity about it except that it has an empire waist. I just like it because it’s a pretty green silk.)

But I had a rude awakening when I was getting ready for your event.

Houston, we have a problem.

The dress must have shrunk at the drycleaner, right?

My Spanx waved the white flag.

I’m sorry I ruined all your wedding photos trying desperately to either avoid the camera or hide behind my children.

Look here. Dominic is not large enough to cover me:Let’s take a closer look:

Yes, yes, I know this is counter to the whole body-positivity movement. But let’s be honest: We all know when we are not the size we should be.

No one wants to feel like their seams are screaming.

The week I got back, I went out to dinner with my friend Kim. She had dropped 30 pounds and looked great. We have the same feelings about diets and working out (i.e., hate them with a white-hot passion). She shared her secret (and I will too if anyone wants to DM me), and I was off and running immediately.

I started my program the last week of September. This week, I hit my goal weight.

I’ve lost 45 pounds. That’s like losing a first grader.

And three dress sizes for me.

Here I am in the wedding-attendance dress that I now need to have altered. (Dominic has changed considerably too.)

Here’s the side-by-side before-and-after image for your viewing pleasure.

And here’s one of me the day I started this journey next to how I look today.

I feel so much better about myself.

It’s not a physical thing — I could always do stairs and whatnot.

It’s a mental thing. Being about to reach deep into the back of the closet and grab pre-kid jeans? That’s some real joy right there.

This is not PC (Kate Moss even regrets saying it), but it’s true for me:

Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.

So thanks, Trish. Inadvertently, you started me on a better path.

Congratulations on your eight-month anniversary coming up.

Your not-so-fat friend,
Beth

 

 

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Dear Dominic:

There’s nothing that brings people closer than a road trip. I’m glad we had this weekend together, though it did not start off well. You seem to have three moods: angry, goofy and asleep.

The first was fully on display on the way down to Savannah so you could finally (FINALLY) get your braces off. If I hadn’t grabbed your phone, rolled down the window, and threatened to throw it out, I’m sure you would have stayed in attitude mode the whole damn weekend.

I think you are angry so much because you need more sleep. Your prefrontal cortex isn’t developed yet, so you haven’t figured out why a regular bedtime is a good thing. Let me show you some pictures that illustrate just how freakin’ tired you are.

 

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And because you are tired, you have no energy and move slower than a snail.

Here I am, waiting 30 minutes for you to be ready to leave Tammy’s house for the orthodontist.

Maybe it was the excitement of getting your braces off, but suddenly your funny side emerged. I tried to take a “before” picture of you. You didn’t like this one, saying you looked challenged. (Not your word. Yours was a non-PC one that I’ve asked you repeatedly not to use.)


You didn’t like this one either, saying you looked like you had witnessed a murder but were trying to pretend like you hadn’t.

But these two photos passed muster. You look great with your new smile.

Maybe that’s why you tolerated my happy hour with Bingo/Goat Yoga Lisa so well.

At any rate, it was a turning point that lasted the rest of the weekend. I came home early from Ladies Night Out because I had fallen and hit my head. You actually showed concern:

And you even wanted to take a nice photo with me yesterday.


So what do I have to do to get you to be like this all the time?

What’s the secret?

For the love of God, please tell me. I’ll be straight: Angry Dominic might find himself shipped off to boarding school.

Don’t try me.

Love you!
Mama

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Dear Bingo People:

I’m going to have to ask you to dial it back from 11. It’s bingo. It’s not “Trauma: Life in the ER.”

At least I did not think it akin to life or death when my friend Lisa noticed the ad for the event.

I’m at the point in my life where my motto is “absof—inlutely.” I say yes to many adventures.

Lisa says yes too. So that’s how we found ourselves at the American Legion on Tybee Island for Bingo Night. My other friend Amy and her husband Brian said yes too.

From left: Lisa, Amy and Brian prepare for the rollercoaster ride that is Bingo Night at the American Legion.

We allowed ourselves to be upsold to the party pack (whatever that was). A “dabber” of one’s own sold separately.

Meet my very own dabber. I chose red to represent the blood I planned to spill on the gaming floor. (Just kidding. They didn’t have blue, my favorite color.)

When the event began, all thought of a fun night went out the window. Bingo Lady was very clear that there would be NO TALKING. AT ALL.

Bingo Lady does not suffer fools.

Lisa knew that this would be problematic for the two of us. All we do is talk. Especially when the Legion sells plastic cups of Merlot for $4.

Lisa realizes we may be in trouble.

Besides the fact that we were not allowed to speak, the game itself was very stressful. The numbers came fast and furious. Luckily, the woman on my right liked to repeat every combination twice.

 

Notice the intensity Amy and Brian exhibit. Shhh … they are concentrating.

It almost paid off for both Amy and Lisa: They each were one or two squares away from the loud groans and golf claps that accompanied each shout of “Bingo!”

I was surprised at the amount of people who turned out for the event.

How did I fare? Let’s just say I got more satisfaction from the cheap Merlot.

Not even close to winning a cover-all.

So thanks for an interesting night. I’m glad I went, but I’m not sure I’ll be back. Y’all are too much for me.

Love anyway,
Beth

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Dear Johnny’s Hideaway:

Until this weekend, I had heard of you, but never sampled your charms. I had no idea what I was missing.

This is a photo from an Atlanta Journal-Constitution write-up. Add 400 people to this photo, and you have a good picture of Saturday night.

Kalen, a recurring character here, made the recommendation.

There was a line to get in you. A line! I haven’t waited in a line to get into a club in … OK, a week, but still. This was the longest. Ever.

Once inside, it was clear why the bouncer had the strict “one in, one out” policy. The fire marshal must be on retainer. Sardines in a can have more fin room.

Also, I am intrigued by the demographics. The swath appeared to be 25 to 75. I’ve never seen grannies grinding grandpas on a dance floor before, but there they were in all their glory.

And what’s happening here?

She looks like she came straight from her son’s soccer game or a book club meeting.

Anyway, anyone who goes out with me knows my nurturing instinct kicks in hard at some point during the night.

A lady has a tag out? Let me help.

Looking sad? Let’s talk.

Separated from the herd? Join us.

Royce and Sarah call this phenomenon, “The doctor is in.”

This occasion was no different. My first stray was Tanya.

Tanya had clearly had too much of a good time. I brought her into our group, where she was able to safely live her best life. She left to go to the ladies room. We continued dancing.

By this time, I had picked up another stray: Mark. We had helped each other bulldoze a path to the bathrooms. He was alone, so he joined us.

We were all dancing and suddenly Tanya popped back into our group. We couldn’t believe it; we actually cheered. And Tanya thought this was a karaoke bar. Here she is with her invisible hot mic.

Finally, we decided it was time to go. Things were getting sloppy around us. And Thankgod our Lyft driver was close. Literally “Thankgod.” Look:

And if that’s not a funny story close, I don’t know what is.

So Johnny’s Hideaway, thank God for an entertaining night. In the words of that great thespian Arnold Schwarzenegger, “I’ll be back.”

Here’s to your drink-free dance floor. (Now get rid of the cigs.)
Beth

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