Break-In!

Tiffany loves Jimmy Buffet. She can't help it. She was raised that way.

She loves Buffett so much that she loves me a little less because I only just enjoy Buffett, mostly when the mood is right, the air is warm and all the windows in our car are down. When we lived in Los Angeles, we went to a Buffet concert, and Tiffany was ashamed of me because I didn't know all the words to Margaritaville ("nibblin on sponge cake?" I had no idea. Does sponge cake actually go with margaritas?).

At the first wedding I went to in Tiffany's family, a special request was made for a Buffett song, and, when it came on, her entire side of the guest list formed a circle and sang along while the Other Family's guests stared in something like horror.

Anyway, speaking of all the windows in our car, last weekend someone smashed one of them and broke in. He or she rooted around in our glove box and console and stole an iPod charger and the change collection in our ash tray.

Noticeably not stolen: Tiffany's collection of Jimmy Buffett CDs and my Aleve.

(In case the police are looking for leads, our thief does not suffer from menstrual cramps or Parrotheadedness.)

Tiffany was not insulted by the criminal's lack of respect for her taste in music. Instead, as I was investigating the rest of the car for damage, she shrieked with joy:

"Thank God! They didn't take Buffett!"

I Love it When I'm Righty-Tighty

Tiffany and I had a mutual craving for sauerkraut recently. This was fortuitous because the only jar of organic sauerkraut we could find was GIGANTIC. If only one of us had a craving for sauerkraut, we would have been less likely to buy the big jar.

Anyway. We both got home from work starving and planned to enjoy the sauerkraut along with some beef Tiffany had sauteed with onions and peppers a la American chop suey. This, she tells me every time she makes it, is a dish she learned from her dad.

When I got home, I said:

"Mmmm, smells like chop suey," tossing my backpack onto the floor where Tiffany never believes it belongs.

"It's my dad's recipe," Tiffany beamed.

I smiled.

The plan was to serve the chop suey-ish dish with yellow mustard and sauerkraut. But I couldn't get the jar of sauerkraut open, despite tugging on it until my hands were imprinted with the shape of the lid.

"Tiffany," I begged. "Help."

I really wanted a bite of that tart goodness.

Tiffany smirked at me as she grabbed hold of the jar. But she couldn't open it either.

"We can do this," I said. "We have to be able to do this."

I pounded at the lid with the handle of a butter knife, and then Tiffany took the jar back. She sat down with it between her thighs and turned it as hard as she could. And that's when I noticed: Tiffany was turning righty-tighty. Not lefty-loosey.

"Tiffany!" I shrieked. "You're turning it the wrong way!"

"Impossible," she said.

"No! Righty-tighty! Lefty-loosey!"

I drew a counter-clockwise circle with my finger on a pretend clock.

Tiffany twisted the lid the other direction. It popped right off.

Spa(stic massage) Day

As you know, Tiffany and I celebrated our seventh anniversary a couple of weekends ago in Calistoga. Because most of our regular weekends involve doing too much (see here and here and here), we decided to do almost nothing. In fact, the only scheduling we succumbed to was a bit of pampering--a couple's massage.

On Saturday--the day of the much-anticipated massage--we slept in (til 7) and had breakfast in bed. We went for a 10-mile run (but leisurely!) and then ate a second breakfast (in a restaurant). We walked extra slow back to the hotel, changed into our swimsuits and then sat in the hot tub until it was time for our massages.

And here's where our shared experience stops.

I had an awesome massage with actual massaging.

Tiffany was an instrument in a percussion experiment.

A few minutes into our hour, as my masseuse was working out the knots in my lower back, I heard:

BUDUM-BUDUM-BUDUM-BUDUM-BUDUM-BUDUM-BUDUM.

I couldn't look over, but it sounded like Tiffany's knots were being drummed to death.

I smiled into the hole of my headrest.

Later, when my masseuse, moved onto my hamstrings and calves, Tiffany's continued drumming, with what sounded to be a slight change in technique. Like, intead of her palms, she was using her fingers... as castanets:

PIT-PAT-PIT-PAT-PIT-PAT-PIT-PAT-PIT-PAT-PIT-PAT-PIT-PAT.

Even Tiffany's finale was drum-based. My masseuse finished off with my favorite part--a head rub. Tiffany's finished off exactly how she spent most of the hour--pounding away on either side of my partner's spine.

When our masseuses left the room, I waited until the door shut to burst out laughing.

"How do you feel?" I called, rising up from under my sheets.

Tiffany glared at me.

"Like a bongo."

Let Them Eat Cake (and free ice cream and free dinner and free pastries)

I don't know if people are taking my last post too seriously or what but last weekend Tiffany and I got lots of free stuff.

On Friday night, we drove up to Calistoga to celebrate our seventh anniversary. I had been anticipating heavy traffic over the Golden Gate Bridge, but there was none. An empty roadway does not count as free stuff, but perhaps it should--it feels just as good. We hardly even had time to enjoy the road picnic Tiffany packed us (chicken salad and crackers, icy-cold Coke and a lemon-flavored LaCroix).

Once we got to our hotel, we waited for the bar to clear at a nearby restaurant and ordered a few appetizers. We sat there for two hours, enjoying our food and visiting with a couple of gentlemen to our right. When it came time for dessert, we debated between the homemade ice cream and the chocolate cake.

"Cake," I said, finally.

Maybe the waiter noticed it was hard for me to turn the other option down because he brought us a scoop of each flavor of ice cream with our cake. It was like $12 worth of dairy goodness.

"On the house," he said.

I raised my eyebrows at Tiffany in a "best-weekend-ever" sort of way.

We got up to pay just before midnight only to find that the gentlemen to our right had paid for our meal (yes, they knew we were gay).

But our good fortune didn't stop there.

The next night, when I asked our waitress to put the last cheddar biscuit from our order of the savory pastries into a to-go box, she brought six fresh ones to the table instead because "one just looked so lonely." Plus a free cookie, even though we'd said we were too full for dessert. I tottered out of the restaurant with my biscuits held high.

"People must really like us!" I said.

"Shhh, you're embarrassing me," Tiffany whispered.

I ignored her. Another thought had occurred to me.

"Either they really like us," I said. "Or they think we're poor and starving."

The Best Things in Life are Free...Even When They're Terrible

A couple of weekends ago, Tiffany and I flew to Miami to see my brother and his wife. We had an awesome time.

On the way back, one of our flight attendants struck up a conversation with Tiffany and obviously took a liking to her. After we reached cruising altitude, he came by my aisle seat and asked if we wanted a free movie. I was working on my computer. Tiffany was sleeping in the middle seat.

"No thanks," I said.

Tiffany woke up at my voice.

"What did he want?" she asked.

"To know if we wanted a free movie."

"And?"

"I said no."

"What??"

I replayed the conversation in my head and considered the five hours and 45 minutes of flying time remaining.

"Huh," I said. "Yeah, I guess that was dumb."

Sometimes when I go to conferences, I take one can of soda to drink immediately and tuck another one away for later. I have on many occasions stuffed napkin-wrapped muffins in my bag for future hunger pangs (more on this type of probably diagnosable behavior here). But when someone offers me something for free, I am always too embarrased to say yes and without fail say no instead.

A couple of months ago, we went for brunch with some of my family to a place that offered complimentary champagne. I put my glass upside down.

"Rebecca," my best friend's mom said, giving me a look.

"Oh!" I said. "Excuse me, sir? On second thought, I will take a glass!"

Later, when the waiter returned, saw my empty flute and asked if I wanted another, I said:

"No thanks, I'm all set."

Someone stepped on my toe.

"Actually, I am still thirsty," I said, my cheeks burning. "If you don't mind."

On the plane, Tiffany corrected my mistake, stepping over me to chase the flight attendant down. We killed two hours watching a movie we never would have paid for, and it was the best bad movie ever.