Et Cetera

I have always maintained that it would be hilarious if Peter “I am a man who will fight for your honor” Cetera had a kid named Et. It would be even more hilarious is he/she was the last kid Peter had so he could be like, “Have you met my children, Tylapher, Jamberlyn, Et Cetera?”

Do you also wonder why I am not more famous for these little non sequiturs?

Thanks to my pal Dan, I have a new but temporary gig at New York Magazine, writing for the Quote Machine. It’s mainly just finding celebrity soundbites and posting them online, but I have read more celebrity gossip, interviews, and UK tabloids (whose quotes are way more delicious but also way less sourced than ours) than I have since I first discovered the internet. I started last week, so here are Thursday and Friday‘s posts, more to come in the next 2 and a half weeks!

Future Living Companion and I also signed our lease this weekend and we will be bidding our current brownstoney, cute neighborhoods farewell, in order to move into a new brownstoney, cute neighborhood, Clinton Hill. So, like the Spice Girls said, tonight is the night when two become one. Two crap-filled apartments that will soon consolidate into one crap-filled apartment. (But the new crap-filled apartment has a washer-dryer! Hi, Big Time? It’s me, Liz, I have finally made it to you). So maybe appliances and the melding of tchotchkes were not exactly what the Spice Girls were talking about. And actually, since we both have (rarely updated) blogs, it makes sense that we are moving there since, in case you haven’t heard, is the bloggiest neighborhood in the country.

I also spent a few days in Ohio and Pennsylvania last week and man, nothing is better for your self esteem than waiting at an amusement park snack stand in Pennsylvania. I, like every American in history, have self-esteem issues…of the “I shouldn’t have eaten that last bag of Doritos” kind. But when you realize that what you think of as your massively thundrous thigh is the size of the guy next to you’s forearem (or worse, his baby’s forearm), you kind of don’t feel bad about yourself anymore. I’m not knockin’ Pennsyvania or Ohio and their lovely people, I’m just saying thank God I live in New York because if I didn’t walk as much as I do here, I’d surely look like Bubba the Corn-Dog lovin’ guy next to me.

Now that I mention it though, there is one person I might knock in Ohio, and that was the waitress we had at Buffalo Wild Wings who, while she didn’t actually screw up my order, brought me pink-tinted water and explained “Yer water’s red ’cause it’s got fruit punch in it. ” Apparently they share a nozzle at the sodie fountain and rather than letting it run till it’s clear (which my environmentalist heart can understand, she was just doing her part to save Mother Earth), they just let the punch mix with the water, assuming everyone likes their water a little sweet. (Oh my God, apparently a lot of people like their water a little sweet.) Which my aformentioned self-esteem-not-having, calorie-conscious (“Then why were you at a wings joint?” “Shh. This is my story.”) self was a little annoyed at, but am I the type to make a stink? No. Well, yes, but only in my mind. But seriously, the best was just her explanation, like I KNOW it looks weird. I KNOW it. But it’ s fine because it’s punch. In your water. It’s like I’m giving you free punch! You’re welcome!

I had a great time, but it sure is good to be back in the bloggiest place on earth.

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    • Future Living Companion’s Mother
    • August 13th, 2007

    I knew you’d write about all the fat people! And I still can’t believe you drank the pink water. Now do you understand why I can’t wait to move away from this place?
    Congrats on the new gig. You’re an amazing woman.

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