The Odd Broad

I'm not really sure what to post tonight, Dear Reader.  My fiesty grandmother, Nan, has been in the hospital since Friday and I'm afraid I'm quite preoccupied and sad.  More musings later.  xoxo 

Hi, Clay

When I call loved ones from my cell phone more often than not they answer me thusly:

Hi, Clay.

No, I am not named Clay.  But the previous owner of my current cell number apparently was.  For whatever reason I haven't rectified this confusion with my cell phone provider, probably because most of the time I forget all about it until I call my sister or mother and they answer, in a low, droning tone:

Hi, Clay.

Sometimes Clay gets texts.  And sometimes I answer back.  This holiday season he received quite a few, actually, the most thoughtful being:

December 25, 2008 8:23:55 AM

Money Is Short.  Times Are Hard.  I Just Texted ur Ass ur Christmas Card.

Sincerely, ur broke ass friend, ME ;)

MERRY CHRISTMAS CLAY!

The odd choice in sporadic capitalization intrigued me.  I began to wonder, which texts warrant a reply, anyway?  Am I obligated to answer each and every one of Clay's friends, informing them he's changed his number? 

Hubby suggested I write:

Clay isn't here...because I killed him.  

or:

Stop harassing me, you asshole!

or:

Haven't I told you never to contact me again, psycho??!!!

But it was the holiday season and that might not be nice.  I attempted to form a reply that was polite, yet clear:

This isn't Clay.

No, that wouldn't do, they might think Clay was joking.  Kind of like the way my mother used to suddenly turn to me as a child, her eyes wide, an unpleasant smile creeping across her face, and say: "I'm not your mother..."

That still scares me.

But is Clay a jokester?

Hi, sorry, this isn't Clay.

Hmmm.  Could this texter be a past love interest?  Might they think Clay's new lover was simply answering his texts?  Does Clay get around? 

Hi, sorry this isn't Clay's phone.

Better.  Regretful and yet concise.  I mean, how close could they have been if Clay never bothered to give them his new contact information?  My guess is not very.

Do you ever receive random texts from total strangers, Dear Reader?  And if so, do you reply?

Go Go Go Joseph!

I am thirty years old, and yet my Mommy still lets me open up "one present" on Christmas Eve. And that present is and always will be the same: P.J.'S. This year they are multi-colored, soft and reminiscent of Life Savers. I love them, despite the fact that Hubby continues to make unwanted Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat references. xoxo

(Odd Broad's view from the couch)

¡Feliz Navidad, mis amores! Sinceramente, la chica rara xoxo

Ho. Ho. Ho.

There is a certain kind of exhaustion that can only come from walking in the cold through many inches of snow.  Icy snow, slippery snow, slushy snow, chilly puddles of melted snow; we've got it all. 

At the risk of sounding Scroogish, would it kill whoever's in charge to shovel the effing sidewalks?  Some people still have last minute Christmas shopping to do!  xoxo

Giving new meaning to the phrase "Yellow Snow"

2:25 pm:  There was really nobody else around when I happened upon what looked to be a gentleman raising quite a ruckus while possibly marking his territory in the snow.  On second glance, I realized that my initial hunch had indeed been most correct.

"Oh ya!" he exclaimed, a hearty stream of pee escaping into the chilly afternoon air. 

Kudos to you, sir.  It's 18 degrees outside today, and that's not even factoring in the wind chill.  Well done, I say.

Join hands and hearts and voices, voices, hearts and hands...

It seems my post from last Tuesday has sparked a lively little debate here in Odd Broad Land.  In it, I made mention of the following quote from the film Dirty Dancing: 

You're prettier your way.

The controversy arose when one of my Dear Readers noted that she believes the quote to be:

You're pretty in your way.

Both versions are compliments; albeit one is a bit nicer than the other.  I did a Google search and found a DD transcript and here is what I discovered:

I'll do your hair.
It could look pretty if--
You're prettier your way.

What are your thoughts, Dear Readers?  Does Lisa Houseman tell her sister Baby she is:

A.) Prettier her way

OR

B.) Pretty in her way?

I declare a vote!  xoxo

John Henry likes French food, too

Tonight Hubs and I trekked through the bitter cold and sleet to enjoy a nice meal at Sel De La Terre. 

Have I ever mentioned that my husband bears a striking resemblance to Josh Beckett?  Or so we've been told, at an increasingly growing rate since we moved back to Boston.  (This tidbit of information will come in handy in just a moment.)

I had already savored a tasty salad topped with baked goat cheese and was digging into my roasted chicken when Hubby murmured, "It's John Henry.  Over there, it's John HENRY..."

It was.  John Henry, owner of the Boston Red Sox.  Apparently he and his party had also decided to brave the elements and come out for a scrumptious dinner. 

The strangest part about our random local celeb sighting?  J. Henry actually did a double take when he saw...Hubby!! 

What the?  So I guess he really must look a little bit like Josh after all. 

Dinner was worth getting pelted in the face with tiny pieces of frozen ice for.  Worth every bite.  And now, I am off to snuggle under a warm blankie.  xoxo 

The view from here is none too promising...

Hubby and I are about to venture back out into the snow to try and wrangle us up some fancy birthday grub.  Call us crazy.  I do.  Brrrr!!

It's Snowing!!

OK, so the weather people predicted right.  Beantown is a winter wonderland!  xoxo