In the spirit of "Four Things"

Four nicknames I've been called (besides Andi):
1. AB
2. PP (for Propriety Police)
3. Undie(s)
4. Andilicious

Four concerts I've seen and loved:
1. Barenaked Ladies in Albuquerque, NM, with my dad. Twice.
2. Clumsy Lovers on a baseball field in Enumclaw, WA.
3. Macy Gray at Bumbershoot in Seattle, WA.
4. Chuck Prophet at the Tractor Tavern in Seattle, WA.

Four things I've wanted to be when I grow up:
1. OBGYN
2. Arts Administrator
3. Cellist in a Broadway pit orchestra
4. Archivist

Four topics I wrote papers on in college:
1. The Little Orphan Annie comic strip from the 1930s.
2. The walls of Jericho and if Joshua really made them fall.
3. "The Significance of Food and Provisions in Early Western Travel."
4. 1776 The Musical.

Four pets I have lived with:
1. Bear, my guinea pig
2. Danny, my grandparent's pug
3. Pete and Big Pete, my college roommate's frogs
4. Jackson, my brother's yellow lab

Four movies I've never seen:
1. The Godfather
2. Monty Python
3. Braveheart
4. Casablanca

Four famous people I have seen:
1. Bill Clinton, giving a campaign speech in Albuquerque, NM.
2. Ali McGraw, seeing movies at the theater where I worked in Santa Fe during high school.
3. Gene Hackman, eating at a restaurant in Santa Fe.
4. Randy Travis, going to a movie at the mall in Santa Fe, and then singing around a luminaria on Canyon Road on Christmas Eve.

Four camps I have been to:
1. Elliott Barker Girl Scout Camp in New Mexico
2. Interlochen Arts Camp in Michigan
3. Texas Tech Band and Orchestra Camp in Lubbock, TX
4. Northwest Reach Camp in Washington state, as a counselor

Four things I love:
1. Reading at a coffee shop with a latte and scone.
2. Standing outside a cathedral or church and hearing the organ inside.
3. The way the wind bats at my eyelashes when riding a speed boat.
4. Talking to my brother Ryan in our special dialect.

OK to groan

Jerry at work: What happened to the delivery for next door?

Me: I took it over there already.

Jerry: Oh, good girl. You're so fast.

Me: Just call me Andi Ball!

Jerry

The owner of the coffee shop where I work is a little crazy, and sometimes he says or does crazy things. Luckily I have what it takes to put up with/ get along with him. Anyway, every once in a while I'm sure I will want to share the hilarious things he does or says at work, starting now.

This morning I made a fruit smoothie for this nice lady and her daughter to share. Jerry noticed that when I poured the smoothie into two different cups I was actually giving them twenty-eight ounces instead of the twenty ounces they had paid for. I knew this was the case but didn't think it mattered much since I would have either thrown the rest away or kept it for myself. He didn't like this excuse, however, and then compared his personal no-free-eight-ounces-of-smoothie rule to my own personal no-sex-before-marriage rule. "You have your rules," he said,"and I have mine."

With that in mind, all you boys can forget getting any free smoothie from me unless I have your ring on my finger.

p.s. Yes, this awkward conversation means my boss does, indeed, know about my rule, and that is sort of funny in itself.

Weekend Highlights

These were some highlights during my trip to Charleston, SC:

• Walking all over and never having to drive or park.
• Seeing the ocean.
• Seeing a dolphin, or a dolphin-like creature, in that ocean.
• Doing surprisingly well on a joint-effort Sunday New York Times crossword.
• Eating crab legs for dinner. Twice.
• Seeing the house my Grandpa once lived in, which was owned by the guy who introduced the Poinsettia to the USofA.
• Picking up a live starfish on the beach.
• Sitting on a porch swing and looking at the water.
• Witnessing the excitement of a little girl who thought those guys with motorcycles were, in fact, the Power Rangers.
• Eggs and grits for breakfast.
• Learning about single houses.
• Spending quality time with the bf and saying, "Hey, remember that time we went to Charleston?"

Uncle Rich

So my Uncle Richard (he's actually my great uncle, and greatest uncle at that), who lives alone in NOVA, fell through the ceiling of his house yesterday. He was crawling around in his attic and somehow slipped and fell, landing almost two stories below him. He fell right over the stairwell, which meant a much further fall but that he didn't land on a desk or banister or something, which I guess could have been bad. Anyway, he shattered his ankle and had to have surgery. He might get out of the hospital Sunday, and when he does he's coming down to Richmond to live with us for a while, since he lives in a three storied town house but isn't supposed to put weight on it for at least three months. Poor Uncle Rich! I went up to visit him today, and he seemed to be in good spirits. The hole in his ceiling was crazy. My grandma keeps saying it's a miracle he's not dead.

This incident made me think about how any phone call or visit that is out of the ordinary automatically makes me think something bad has happened to one of my grandparents, since their old age makes them susceptible to such things.

Papa Ningo

Saturday night Justin and I were trying to decide on where to eat dinner, and I made the rule it had to be a place neither of us had ever been to before. In this adventurous state we headed to the Bottom and came across Papa Ningo. It's a little "Spanish and International Cuisine" restuarant, according to the cover of the menu, but the decor was Caribbean and so was most of the food. Since I was already in an adventurous mood I decided to try the mofongo, which is mushed up plantains with garlic sauce, served in an exciting wooden goblet. I also decided to try the orange juice and milk drink (I can't remember it's name), which was delicious and even more so thanks to the fun firework decoration on the bendable straw. Along with my mofongo came a plate of fried chicken pieces, which were possibly the scariest chicken pieces I've ever seen. They were each about a cubed inch in size and contained tons of little bones. I'm not a big fan of chicken on the bone as it is, and this looked like the poor little chicken had her spine chopped up and fried on the spot. I found a few solid pieces of meat, which were very tasty, but it was so much work that I didn't eat very much of it, especially since the mofongo was filling me up. The owner and waitress (she wasn't really the waitress, I think maybe the owner's daughter and probably 15), however, didn't think I ate enough and accused me of not liking it, and then the waitress took my plate back to the kitchen, which we could see from our table, and showed all the cooks what I'd left so they could laugh at the silly white girl who doesn't like mini pieces of fried chicken spine. It was embarrassing, but they were actually very nice and friendly and I didn't mind being the butt of their jokes just this once.
Anyway, I liked the place. It's fun and inexpensive and has exciting foods you don't see very often, so you should all go there.

Sometimes I wish I were a cowgirl living in the Wild West. I would wear a fringed leather vest and a hat and pink cowgirl boots, and I would be able to ride a fast horse without bumping up and down. Also, I would eat cowgirl food like beans and cornbread, and all the other girls would be jealous of my lassoing skills while they're stuck inside having babies.