princess b
09-09-02, 04:28 PM
In a rare episode of what some would call emotion, I am sitting in the Bressler computer lab thinking about my summer vacation. At this moment (10:45am on Sunday) JB$ is in the kitchen mixing up tequila sunrises with which to kick off our day of rest. I should add that Buffy is at church praying for our souls (and our livers).
<p>The Summer of Fun began back in April. After spending close to three years in Riverside County I was, with less than two weeks notice, transferred to Sacramento for the summer. Knowing I would be back in SoCal (temporarily) in September, I decided to keep my apartment and try to find a place to crash for the four months I would be in Sac. </p><p>I found a warm welcome at the Bressler’s, or what I prefer to call “the Bressler Treehouse”. </p><p>Those of you who know the Bresslers (especially JB$) can imagine how thrilled they must have been at the prospect of someone (especially a girl) crashing in their house for four months, drinking their booze, pilfering their fridge, and best of all, jacking up their computers with my complete lack of luck with anything electronic.</p><p>I’ve always enjoyed hanging at the Bressler Treehouse. In my sporadic visits to Sacramento, I always spent at least a night here and it was always very very fun, if not a little rough on the liver. Spending four months here brought up several very serious concerns:</p><ul><li>First and foremost, I was worried about my liver. JB$ and Buffy share my very enthusiastic appreciation for wine, whiskey, beer and champagne.</li> <li>Buffy is a bitchin cook. She cooks real food. Man food. Good ole fashion white trash meat and potatoes man food. I was worried I was going to roll out of town at the end of summer with many many extra pounds.</li><li>The Bressler Treehouse has always been a retreat for me. A place I can escape to for a few days and feel as though I had spent some replenishing time at a resort. I was worried that actually living here would make it seem less of a retreat.</li><li>And of course, I was worried about inflicting myself on two people for whom I harbor such a great fondness and respect, for four months, and still have them speaking to me afterwards. I can be pretty hard to handle, and I was worried four months of togetherness would wear on the friendship. I figured if two weeks of traveling together in Italy didn’t do it, an entire summer of me freeloading off of them would.</li></ul><p>I was right to worry about all of these things, but to my great relief (and surprise) only one of them turned out to be a legitimate concern. (I am planning on getting on the donor list for a new liver as soon as I’m back in SoCal.)</p><p>Although much of this list will be understood only by those who had to deal with me this summer - here’s what I learned on my summer vacation.</p><ul><li>Don’t touch John’s computer. Ever. If the missiles are headed our way, and JB$’s computer has the capability to stop them, just let it go. The world is not worth saving if you have to touch JB$’s computer. I’d take my chances with the missiles over JB$’s wrath any day.</li><li>“Whatever” is a term that has many meanings. It can mean hello, goodbye, thank you, you’re welcome, leave me alone, get out of here, you don’t know what you’re talking about, yes I want another drink, no you can’t open that, make me turkey pot pie, and damnit don’t ever touch my computer no matter what.</li><li>Wine fixes everything.</li><li>Every night should be treated as a Friday night.</li><li>Beanbags on the deck with champagne and cloves are the closest thing to heaven on earth that any single human can ever hope to achieve.</li><li>Don’t ever wake Buffy up when she has fallen asleep on the couch.</li><li>Don’t open either of the two bottles in the two left slots of the wine rack. They are to be opened only in the event of an impending missile strike.</li><li>When your sister comes to visit, and she starts on a drunk crying fit about whether or not her ex boyfriend ever thinks about her, Buffy’s quesadillas fix every painful thing about watching emotion.</li><li>I am not the only person with only one feeling.</li><li>Bourbon fixes everything.</li><li>The phone is not to be answered. It is also considered extremely suspect behavior to use it to call out. It is to be used only if you are trapped under something heavy and need to be rescued, or if something is on fire - and if you have to leave a message on the machine, “for God’s sake, keep it short”.</li><li>JB$ farts aphids.</li><li>The Raleys Bel Air on Manzanita and Fair Oaks is the greatest grocery store on the face of the earth. It is made so by virtue of the hottest produce guy, the hottest checkout guy, and the best (and hottest) butcher. Snaps to the babely butcher for keeping the ahi well stocked all summer and for putting out the fire that started when Buffy tried to set me up with him. (Buffy learned this summer never to interfere with God’s plan for me to be single forever.)</li><li>Crystal is breakable.</li><li>Champagne fixes everything. (except broken champagne glasses)</li><li>I learned not to take it personally when, every single time I went to the grocery store or the liquor store, the checkout person, while ringing up my purchases asked, “are you having a party”. I usually replied, “no, I am stocking up the bar for the evening. I’ll be back for more tomorrow.” And I usually was.</li><li>Cats are still better than dogs. (Although I have learned love Colonel and Phoebe even though they are dogs)</li><li>Men like Sex and the City. </li><li>Real men like scented candles.</li><li> Real women spit.</li><li> Vega and the Summer Triangle.</li><li> Carly Simon, James Taylor, Tom Jones, and Paul Simon do have their place in the 00’s.</li><li> Buffy is quite possibly the perfect woman. I’ve seen her - in one day - power sand and paint her bedroom, sew a quilt, clean the house, drink beer, and make a really good dinner. And she looked hot the whole time.</li><li> Always close your bedroom windows before you leave the house or JB$ will give you a talkin to when you get home (not fun).</li><li> I don’t care what it was nominated for – In the Bedroom is a really boring movie. </li><li> JB$ bbqs the best burgers, the best halibut, and the best shrimp you will ever have.</li><li>“slow down fagets – 15mph”</li><li> Pinky love.</li><li> Listen before you burn.</li><li> If you don’t eat fast you won’t get seconds.</li></ul><p>This list is long, and incomplete. Although I have been living out of a duffel bag, missing my stuff, my family, my SoCal friends, and especially my cat – I have found an even better place than my own. A place that is warm, welcoming, and as close to home as I could have ever hoped to find under the circumstances. A place where my friends and family were made welcome to visit me, (although my gay friend was made to sleep outside in the back yard) where dinner was always made and the drinks were plentiful, and where everyone, almost always, knows my name.</p><p>And believe it or not, the Bresslers are still speaking to me.</p>
<p>The Summer of Fun began back in April. After spending close to three years in Riverside County I was, with less than two weeks notice, transferred to Sacramento for the summer. Knowing I would be back in SoCal (temporarily) in September, I decided to keep my apartment and try to find a place to crash for the four months I would be in Sac. </p><p>I found a warm welcome at the Bressler’s, or what I prefer to call “the Bressler Treehouse”. </p><p>Those of you who know the Bresslers (especially JB$) can imagine how thrilled they must have been at the prospect of someone (especially a girl) crashing in their house for four months, drinking their booze, pilfering their fridge, and best of all, jacking up their computers with my complete lack of luck with anything electronic.</p><p>I’ve always enjoyed hanging at the Bressler Treehouse. In my sporadic visits to Sacramento, I always spent at least a night here and it was always very very fun, if not a little rough on the liver. Spending four months here brought up several very serious concerns:</p><ul><li>First and foremost, I was worried about my liver. JB$ and Buffy share my very enthusiastic appreciation for wine, whiskey, beer and champagne.</li> <li>Buffy is a bitchin cook. She cooks real food. Man food. Good ole fashion white trash meat and potatoes man food. I was worried I was going to roll out of town at the end of summer with many many extra pounds.</li><li>The Bressler Treehouse has always been a retreat for me. A place I can escape to for a few days and feel as though I had spent some replenishing time at a resort. I was worried that actually living here would make it seem less of a retreat.</li><li>And of course, I was worried about inflicting myself on two people for whom I harbor such a great fondness and respect, for four months, and still have them speaking to me afterwards. I can be pretty hard to handle, and I was worried four months of togetherness would wear on the friendship. I figured if two weeks of traveling together in Italy didn’t do it, an entire summer of me freeloading off of them would.</li></ul><p>I was right to worry about all of these things, but to my great relief (and surprise) only one of them turned out to be a legitimate concern. (I am planning on getting on the donor list for a new liver as soon as I’m back in SoCal.)</p><p>Although much of this list will be understood only by those who had to deal with me this summer - here’s what I learned on my summer vacation.</p><ul><li>Don’t touch John’s computer. Ever. If the missiles are headed our way, and JB$’s computer has the capability to stop them, just let it go. The world is not worth saving if you have to touch JB$’s computer. I’d take my chances with the missiles over JB$’s wrath any day.</li><li>“Whatever” is a term that has many meanings. It can mean hello, goodbye, thank you, you’re welcome, leave me alone, get out of here, you don’t know what you’re talking about, yes I want another drink, no you can’t open that, make me turkey pot pie, and damnit don’t ever touch my computer no matter what.</li><li>Wine fixes everything.</li><li>Every night should be treated as a Friday night.</li><li>Beanbags on the deck with champagne and cloves are the closest thing to heaven on earth that any single human can ever hope to achieve.</li><li>Don’t ever wake Buffy up when she has fallen asleep on the couch.</li><li>Don’t open either of the two bottles in the two left slots of the wine rack. They are to be opened only in the event of an impending missile strike.</li><li>When your sister comes to visit, and she starts on a drunk crying fit about whether or not her ex boyfriend ever thinks about her, Buffy’s quesadillas fix every painful thing about watching emotion.</li><li>I am not the only person with only one feeling.</li><li>Bourbon fixes everything.</li><li>The phone is not to be answered. It is also considered extremely suspect behavior to use it to call out. It is to be used only if you are trapped under something heavy and need to be rescued, or if something is on fire - and if you have to leave a message on the machine, “for God’s sake, keep it short”.</li><li>JB$ farts aphids.</li><li>The Raleys Bel Air on Manzanita and Fair Oaks is the greatest grocery store on the face of the earth. It is made so by virtue of the hottest produce guy, the hottest checkout guy, and the best (and hottest) butcher. Snaps to the babely butcher for keeping the ahi well stocked all summer and for putting out the fire that started when Buffy tried to set me up with him. (Buffy learned this summer never to interfere with God’s plan for me to be single forever.)</li><li>Crystal is breakable.</li><li>Champagne fixes everything. (except broken champagne glasses)</li><li>I learned not to take it personally when, every single time I went to the grocery store or the liquor store, the checkout person, while ringing up my purchases asked, “are you having a party”. I usually replied, “no, I am stocking up the bar for the evening. I’ll be back for more tomorrow.” And I usually was.</li><li>Cats are still better than dogs. (Although I have learned love Colonel and Phoebe even though they are dogs)</li><li>Men like Sex and the City. </li><li>Real men like scented candles.</li><li> Real women spit.</li><li> Vega and the Summer Triangle.</li><li> Carly Simon, James Taylor, Tom Jones, and Paul Simon do have their place in the 00’s.</li><li> Buffy is quite possibly the perfect woman. I’ve seen her - in one day - power sand and paint her bedroom, sew a quilt, clean the house, drink beer, and make a really good dinner. And she looked hot the whole time.</li><li> Always close your bedroom windows before you leave the house or JB$ will give you a talkin to when you get home (not fun).</li><li> I don’t care what it was nominated for – In the Bedroom is a really boring movie. </li><li> JB$ bbqs the best burgers, the best halibut, and the best shrimp you will ever have.</li><li>“slow down fagets – 15mph”</li><li> Pinky love.</li><li> Listen before you burn.</li><li> If you don’t eat fast you won’t get seconds.</li></ul><p>This list is long, and incomplete. Although I have been living out of a duffel bag, missing my stuff, my family, my SoCal friends, and especially my cat – I have found an even better place than my own. A place that is warm, welcoming, and as close to home as I could have ever hoped to find under the circumstances. A place where my friends and family were made welcome to visit me, (although my gay friend was made to sleep outside in the back yard) where dinner was always made and the drinks were plentiful, and where everyone, almost always, knows my name.</p><p>And believe it or not, the Bresslers are still speaking to me.</p>