Requests

Michael cracks me up. He can really make friends wherever he goes.

Case in point: I received an e-mail from my old man yesterday describing his new, exciting relationship with a radio DJ from Michigan State University. Dad was driving when he heard a new song he liked. The DJ announced his request line phone number so my dad called to ask what the song was (Come On Come On by the Von Bondies) and request a song (something by Cage the Elephant.) The DJ played the song immediately. Dad called again to thank him and request AFI. The DJ played Girls Not Grey and told a story about his first time hearing the song. Dad called again and requested Billy Talent.

I mean, seriously. My dad's the man. He ended the e-mail saying, "Yes, I'm a youngster at heart." That phrase dates him more than it should. He doesn't make a very believable 50 year old. (You can pay me later, fat man.)

I think I need to take this as a lesson and step up my game. I've gone to the gym every day since I registered. The first time I spoke to anyone was yesterday when two women looked at me, perplexed, wondering how to adjust their stationary bike seats. "There's a lever thing," I said pointing beneath their seats.

Here's the thing. I'm a pretty outgoing person in the right environment. I still don't feel comfortable approaching strangers in a gym. I have shared my dilemma with older, wiser acquaintances. Here are their suggestions:

1) Ask the guy how to use a machine.

2) Wait until you haven't seen him for a day or two and then approach him and say, "Hey! You haven't been at the gym, what's going on?"

3) Stare at him until you catch his eye, then smile a lot.

So clearly, I haven't hit the nail on the head yet. All seem pretty creepy to me. I don't want a pick-up line. I don't want to say anything that could provoke a restraining order. I just want a friend.

Can someone draft up some Wanted signs that I can tape up in the gym?

P.S. If you ever decide to try Exercise TV On Demand, BE CAREFUL. Some of those programs are a maximum pain in the gluteus. Burning surges still shoot through my thighs and butt cheeks after the video segment I tried yesterday. Thank God for saunas.

Gyminy Cricket! Maria gets a membership.

It's true. My funemployment has lead me to explore new horizons, most recently the YMCA. Prior to scouting the facilities, I envisioned being greeted by buff men dressed as police, cowboys and indians. Apparently that's just a rumor. (Or another delusion...)

Dad accompanied me for moral support. Deciding to join was easy. I can walk from my house (which hasn't happened yet) and it has all the equipment I need (an elliptical and two five pound weights.) I figured this would be a safe place to work out amongst old people and little kids forced to join by their parents. I figured I would be safe from all the hot, buff men I spotted at Joe's gym. Little did I know, the YMCA draws fit, young men and grannies with iPods alike.

The problem with this situation is that after about six minutes on the elliptical I look like I've been chasing mirages in the Sahara for three weeks. My face turns bright red and glistens under cascades of sweat. My legs show obvious warnings of collapse as they struggle to climb the pedals. It's not pretty. Certainly no condition to be attracting men in.

Today was an exception. One dark, handsome stranger with a tight shirt hugging his sculpted abs decided he either liked the desert-roaming look or needed to make sure I didn't pass out and get a concussion. I noticed him strutting around the room testing the machines behind me. I enjoyed the scenery as I walked to the water fountain trying to look like I'm really in better shape than the 65 year old powering away on the elliptical next to me.

On my way to the locker room, I noticed the weight room was empty and decided to try some of the exercises Joe taught me. I gathered my five-pounders and assumed the position on a bench in front of a mirror. After six reps I noticed Muscle Man walk by the room. He looked in through the window, stopped, turned around and looked out the parallel window facing the road, then turned 90 degrees walking away from the weight room. Not two minutes later was he walking back toward the weight room. I moved on to crunches and was on rep 60 (or dividend thereof) when all of a sudden Muscle Man was standing literally right over my face. I avoided eye contact. He pretended to look for a weight. He left the room empty handed. Hmmm. I decided to cool off on the treadmill and who should appear on a machine behind me but Muscle Man?

He's either seriously creepy or really worried about me. Either way, he's very good looking so I'll allow it. For now.

I repeated the story to my parents when I got home.

Dad: Did you talk to him?

Maria: What?! No. I'm not going to pick up a guy in a gym. Or anywhere. (Pours water.) Plus, what am I going to say? "Hey. You come here often?"

Mom: Ask him what his zodiac sign is!

Enter flashback to a club in Boston with Noelle. Mom would fit in well on the dance floor.

[P.S. If you have any good gym pick-up lines, do share. Maybe I'll test them out at the local YMCA.]

The Rundown

It's amazing what you can accomplish in one week. Including, but not limited to:

• Playing in four states (MA, RI, CT, NY)
• Bringing joy to all grandparents (and one aunt)
• Witnessing your brother win third and first place in a big tournament in a casino
• Making new friends and connections
• Sleeping in no less than four different locations
• Mastering two new CDs during travel
• Visiting many (but not all) friends from college and work
• Verbally assaulting friends who have failed to keep in contact
• Swimming in a pool for the first time in two years (and having diving and splashing wars with your brother for the first time in a looong time)
• Observing the zoo that is Long Island and Jones Beach
• Celebrating a holiday
• Jamming to a live band
• Devouring some Dunkin and Uburger
• Staying out past midnight

... and more. Good times! Steve was a fantastic host. Heading for my last night in Boston then early to the airport for a long day of travel back to D-town.

I hope the airports have free WIFI like the commuter rail!

On Life After Graduation

ROSIE (May 20) P-p-p-poker face just came on at a lobster sandwich stand in Cape Cod... I have mixed emotions.

ERIN (May 23) Home is rehab. I'm watching my friends play whiffle ball... Everyone has to play with beer in hand.

ALI (May 23) Oh good god. Splitting a bucket of PBR with my mom, aunt and uncle. What has the world come to?

MARK (May 24) I won at the casino again! Suga daddy status remains.

MARK (May 27) Oh God. We totally forgot to use protection. Now I have some weird WCTD.*

*WCTD = Web cam transmitted disease.

ERIN (May 30) You better not be kidnapped.

CHRIS (June 12) I'm glad Michigan hasn't corrupted your mind and soul.

ALI (June 12) Meesh just awed at a 5 lb rat.

ALI (June 17) A 60 year old just took my shoe.

STEVE (June 23) Do you think if I sang 'the dogs don't shine in Philly' and you and Joe beat boxed we'd make it [on America's Got Talent]? I'm practicing now.

JON (June 25) Answer your phone Michael Jackson is dead!

First person to find me a friend WINS!

I have printed a couple hundred copies of the card above. It's time to take drastic measures. [Feel free to print and distribute.]

Last Saturday, we had another high school graduation party to attend. With each graduation party, the level of embarrassment increases several notches. Here are some scenes from that night.

SCENE ONE:

(Maria, mom and dad enter the house and fill their plates with food. Mom and dad choose a table outside while Maria retrieves a drink. She plucks a Coke from a big blue cooler and scans the area for her parents. She spots her father taking a seat and approaches the table to discover that the only free chair is at the end of the table across from an elderly couple.)

Maria: (whispers to herself) Sweet.

(Maria occupies the vacant seat facing an elderly man perpendicular to his wife.)

Elderly woman: Oh hello! My name is Judy. Yes, you look like a Maria. I have awesome stories and was one of the first people to ever purchase contact lenses for which I had to take out a loan.

(Maria and Judy share stories and giggle with each other until Judy leaves for another party... But not without swapping e-mail addresses with her new best friend.)

SCENE TWO:

(Maria walks across the yard clutching her cold beer thinking to herself, "Thank GOD for liquor.")

Drunk woman: I'm sorry. I have to ask. (Quiets to a whisper and squeezes one eye shut) How ooold are you?

Maria: (exasperated) TWENTY-TWO! I should just start wearing my license around my neck.

(Maria continues on her path walking past her brother and his hoodlum wrestling friends.)

Tyler: SHAVE YOUR BEARD!

SCENE THREE:

(Maria, mom and dad are standing in a circle with the hostess of the party talking about life.)

Mrs. S: So how's being home?

Maria: Oh it's nice. Lots of down time.

Mom: Yea, it's just hard for her because she has no friends here.

Dad: She went from being in college with all her friends to being here with us. She needs some friends here.

(Maria purses her lips and raises her eyebrows. This story has been repeated too many times. She takes a sip from her beer and doesn't notice the wheels spinning inside Mrs. S' head.)

Mrs. S: (grabs Maria's hand and drags her to a circle of six older people.) THIS is Maria. She is a wonderful girl who just graduated college and has no friends here. Maria, (she points to one woman) this is my cousin. She has a very nice son who just graduated Michigan State. Talk to each other.

(Maria feels awkward conversing with Mrs. S' cousin. Everyone in the circle enjoys the spectacle of a friendless stranger being set up with an absent relative. They laugh often and lean in to hear all about Maria.)

Cousin 1: Well, why don't you give me your number and I'll give it to Tommy for when he comes back!

(Maria hands the woman a small piece of torn paper with her name and number on it and scampers away imagining Tommy's laughter when his mom hands him her number. Later that night, the cousins stand in unison and gather their belongings.)

Strange man: Did my wife get your number?

Like father, like daughter.

When I was little, my dad used to call my feet pontoons. Apparently they were abnormally large for my size. A couple decades later, his ability to make fun of me using creative nagging techniques has only sharpened. "Moose and I," he chuckles as I struggle to haul my bike up the garage stairs after a long ride. That's not even a fraction of it.

(Dad harassing me from a very young age)

There are too many great memories, milestones and quirks of my family to list. Nevertheless, I will copy Tara and share a few goodies about my dad in honor of Father's Day.

......

1. If there is ever any mention of a guy in my life (which, thanks to my overprotective siblings and an unfortunate abundance of psychos out there, rarely happens) my dad has but one important question: Can he skate? Regardless of the answer, Test #1 for any prospective suitor will be doled out in an ice rink with hockey sticks. And probably no pads.

(Dad after a hockey game in winter '08 with one of his leagues.)

2. One of our favorite things to do, especially recently, is bike ride. We explore the town, philosophize, people-watch and guess how much houses for sale cost. We also have water fights that usually don't end well for me.

3. Our favorite game to play is Guess The Song. We compete to see who can name the band and title faster. The date of production factors into who wins but we keep each other on our toes. One Christmas, grandma gave me some of dad's old records and a record player. That's when I discovered Creedence. I haven't been the same since.

Dad and I have bonded through music since I was two and screaming "mookie!" in my car seat. Since we both appreciate different eras and types of music, I predict this game will last forever.

4. We are shopping buddies. Dad understands my disdain for shopping in almost any form. I live by his motto that has been repeated to me ad nauseam: Do you love it? Only buy it if you love it. Dad and I are particularly fond of the grocery store. We enjoy discussing any deals or bargains we come by because, after all, no one should pay full price for anything.

5. We are social. My dad (like my mom) loves talking to people. Anyone. Everyone. He wants to know what people are doing, how their day is going, what makes them happy, how he can relate to them. He knows half the neighborhood and a good portion of the city (impressive considering he's lived here only two years.)

Before college I was a pretty shy kid. I hated it when dad made me talk to people. "Speak up!" He'd demand. My first day of orientation at Boston University was horrifying. I knew no one. Didn't know Boston. Had only been to the school once before.

Dad and grandpa brought me to Rich Hall for orientation. I tried to stall their departure but eventually dad pointed to three kids, told me to go introduce myself and said goodbye. After cursing him in my head and watching him walk away, I slowly walked up to the group of kids. They didn't notice me coming, which made it more awkward. "Are you guys here for orientation?" I asked the kid closest to me as I fiddled with my lanyard. "No," he informed me and turned away. I laughed a little and walked to the cement ledge overlooking Nickerson Field.

"Well, that went well!" dad chuckled. I don't know which was more embarrassing, that I got shut down by the first group of kids I interacted with at college or that there was a witness. Dad reassured me before leaving for real. I ended up making a lot of friends at orientation and having a great time.

Needless to say, I have overcome my shyness and developed dad's ability to have good conversations with different kinds of people (though I haven't developed his eagerness to interact with every stranger he sees yet.)

(Dad protecting me from the rain before Commencement)

Most importantly (as it pertains to this blog, at least) I developed my passion for writing because of my dad.

Dad- Because you're cool, I'm not a loser. (For the most part.)

Thanks dude.