From the monthly archives:

September 2014

Shoe Math

by Marinka on September 26, 2014

I don’t know about you, but I always welcome the opportunity to feel like one of Cinderella’s ugly stepsisters. Wait, were her stepsisters ugly or just mean-spirited? Is it too much to hope that they were both, in addition to huge-footed? Anyway. I never miss the opportunity to feel like one of them.

So I go to a shoe store to get a pair of shoes and ask for a size 11. Now I ask for size 11 because that’s my shoe size, and since I’m buying a pair of shoes, I see no reason to be coy. Yes, I know that’s big, but you know what they say, “big feet, big-” oh. Anyway. My feet were a size 10 for the longest time, but with each pregnancy they grew. It’s one of the reasons I had only two children and decided not to follow in Michelle Duggar’s surely-they-must-be-huge-by-now footsteps.

I ask for the shoes in 11, and the sales clerk nods her understanding and goes to procure the shoes. After a respectable time, she re-emerges.

“We didn’t have a size 11,” she informs me, but then instead of committing hari kari, as I’m certain shoe salespeople have been trained to do, she springs this tidbit on me: “But I brought you a size 10.”

Want to sit with this one for a while? I am a size 11, but she brought me a size 10. I don’t know why, maybe they didn’t have a size 5 and a 6 that I could try simultaneously. Admittedly shoe math is not my forte.

“Do they run big?” I asked.

“Not really,” she said.

“Do you have a toe amputation kit?” I asked.

“What? No,” she said.

So there you have it.

And then I thought how festive it would be if this shit happened in other areas of our lives.

Like if you ordered a chicken salad sandwich and were served a tripe burrito instead.

A glass of Chardonnay, you say? Eh, one Dr. Pepper, coming right up!

A tune-up for your car? Okey dokey, one demolition coming right up!

A Brazilian? How about some extensions instead!

Really, the customer service industry could learn a lot. And we’d all be happier. Or at least more surprised.


Get Over It

by Marinka on September 9, 2014

I have many important things to update on, including the fact that I am not drinking alcohol in September and that my cat is urinating all over the fucking place, but I feel like first I have to tell you about my trip to Ireland. So let’s get that over with so that we can move on with our lives. By which I mean discussing temporary sobriety/lack of meaning in life and cat urine.

To recap, I went to Ireland with a man that I started seeing in the spring. About six weeks into our romance, he asked me if I’d like to go to Bermuda for the weekend and I said no, because I read about the Bermuda Triangle and the last thing I need is to be disappeared at this particular moment of my life, so he suggested Ireland instead. I’m not sure how he went from Bermuda to Ireland, maybe he was listing islands in alphabetical order, while skipping over Capri and Goodenough, which apparently is an island in Papa New Guinea, dear lord.

I loved the idea of going to Ireland and immediately agreed and then spent the next two months in the following Q&A.

Me: Are you sure you want to go to Ireland?
Him: Yes.
Me: Are you sure you want to go to Ireland with me?
Him: Yes*

* Of interest is that during the interrogation, the subject’s second “yes” became a lot less definitive and I could detect a strong “no” undercurrent mingled with hints of “Jesus, what the fuck have I done?” But the transcript just reads “yes” so there you go.

The trip was great. Here are some of my journal entries about it.

Day 1

Dear Journal,

I am in Ireland with that guy I came to Ireland with. The trip is great. Ireland is beautiful but the best part so far is that we sat across the aisle from each other on the plane and while I slept during the night, he was unable to because (a) there was a girl in his row who insisted on talking to her mother in the row in front of her and that kept him awake and (b) the guy behind him had some sort of a bladder infection and kept getting up to go to the bathroom and grabbing the seat in front of him, which is where the guy I went to Ireland with was sitting. So, he got no sleep and I got lots of sleep. So far, I’m winning.

Day 2

Dear Diary,

This is the best trip ever. I am ecstatically happy. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before. Well, maybe when my kids were born. And during the seventh or so episode of The Bachelor every season, where a lot of the riff rat is gone and you can really tell the contestants apart. The guy I went to Ireland with and I are getting along really well. I think we’re soul mates. Here’s a picture of the rainbow that I took, after he pointed it out to me. I took it with my iPhone but I did not use a filter, because I wanted it to be pure, like our love.


Day 3

Dear Notepad,

I am having a great time! The guy I came to Ireland with and I are getting along so well! We are laughing a lot, but only at things that are funny, not like for no reason, like demented people. I just adore him. And Ireland. I adore him (the guy I came to Ireland with) and Ireland. Both. Here is a picture of me and an alpaca. I tried to get closer to the alpaca but they are shy or something. Or hate me because I’m Jewish. More tomorrow!


Day 4

Today we went to Dublin. We walked around and the guy I came to Ireland with pointed to a bridge and said “oh, that’s the river____” and then said some name of the river. I wasn’t really listening because I was thinking how I’m basically a hostage in this relationship. The guy I came to Ireland with brought me over to Ireland and now we are together all the time. Like ALL THE TIME. I wonder if this is what being conjoined feels like. If so, I totally understand why they operate on conjoined twins even though it can and often does lead to death of one or both twins. I would totally risk it at this point. As a matter of fact, I will volunteer myself for the surgery. OMFG, we’re practically breathing in sync.

Oh, anyway, after the guy I came to Ireland with pointed to the bridge and told me it was some river, I said “great! I’ll just cross the street to look at it!” and he said, “what you don’t believe me that there’s a river there?” Note to self: It’s really hard to fling yourself into the river when you’re busy answering questions. And finding someone to deconjoin you.

Here’s a picture of the river. I’m sorry that I don’t know what it’s called. My pet name for it There Is Not Enough Oxygen in Dublin for Both of Us.


Day 5

Diary, we need to talk,

So today I said to the guy that I came to Ireland with, “hey, do you think this is the part of the trip when we’re on each others’ nerves and really sick of each other?” and he said “fuck, yes” which really hurt my feelings.

I mean, I know I got sick of him first, but in my defense, I have a very brittle personality and people often get on my nerves, whereas he is Irish and the Irish, in addition to being musical and being blessed with the gift of the gab, are very good natured. And I don’t think it’s very good natured to agree to being sick of each other. A more gentlemanly approach would have been to say “I can understand completely how you may be sick of me, but I am more enchanted by you than ever, my precious source of happiness.” Or words to that effect.

Day 6

Today I treated the guy I came to Ireland with to a multi-part discussion about his response to my question of “hey, do you think this is the part of the trip when we’re on each others’ nerves and really sick of each other?” After some consideration, he suggested that perhaps we are suffering from “overexposure” which sounds disgusting to me.

Day 7

Things are better.


Day 8


Days 9- 10

I don’t want to leave Ireland. I’m so happy here. The guy I came to Ireland with is the perfect travel companion, despite the whole getting to the airport fiasco. Oh, and he didn’t appreciate my post about it, either. He said “I got you to the airport on time with no wait or delay and you gave me a severe blogging. No more my precious princess! Get yourself to the airport in the future!”

But I don’t think he means it.

I will drop many hints so that he invites me to Ireland again.