Archive | November, 2010

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned for Sega

29 Nov

If you know Pete, the following statement will come as no surprise to you: My boyfriend is obsessed with electronics.

He has an iPhone, iPad, MacBook Pro, iPod, PS3, Xbox, Wii, and funky cables to connect them all. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to recreate the perfect storm that brought Kelly LeBrock to life in Weird Science, but it’s hard to be sure.

So over the long Thanksgiving weekend, Pete and I decided to settle in and spend an afternoon on the couch watching movies. While I was walking to the kitchen, Pete asked me to please put the Army of Darkness DVD in his Play Station.

“Ok, but you can’t yell at me like you did last time,” I said. “No yelling ok?”

This is a transcription of the conversation that followed:

Eva reaches towards the Play Station.

Pete: “Take out the video game that’s in there… NO NO NO!! Turn on the PS3, you have to turn it on first!”

Eva turns on the Play Station and safely removes the video game from the system.

Pete: “Ok now put in the new DVD in… SHINY SIDE UP SHINY SIDE UP!!!!”

I have no idea what he’s talking about until I look at my right hand. I was about to put the video game down on the table “shiny side down”. I know, it’s pretty much as bad as putting a baby in the microwave, right?

Eva: “Pete, you said you wouldn’t yell.”

Pete: “I’m sorry, Eva. It’s just that if the video game gets scratched, it won’t work.” [Takes deep breath.] “Can you please hand me the controller?… UNPLUG IT UNPLUG IT FIRST!!!… OTHER END OTHER END NO YELLING!!!”

Pete looks like he is about to go into cardiac arrest. Eva looks like she is pissed because this is exactly what happened last time.

Eva: “Did you actually just yell ‘no yelling’?”

Pete just looked at me sheepishly and apologized. Meanwhile, I mentally noted to never touch any of Pete’s electronics ever again, for fear of death.

I still can’t believe that he yelled, “No yelling”. While he was trying his best to keep his calm, the words that were going through his mind actually came out of his mouth. Thank God that’s never happened to me before.

Do other women feel that video games turn loving, interesting men into senseless, boring puddles of mush?

But more importantly: Am I the only one that gets motion sickness from video games? I feel like that’s the universe’s way of telling me to get off the couch and go for a walk. But maybe that’s just me?


Lies, deceit and other things I love

12 Nov

Meet Monica, Pete's new neighbor

Ok, this is a serious breaking news alert.

There is a real-life MISTRESS living in Peter’s building.

I know. Shocking.

Our story begins this past summer, when the nice couple living in the baller penthouse of Peter’s building moved to Washington D.C., leaving a vacancy in the $2,400 per month apartment. This place is like, my dream apartment. Lots of light, two stories, a dining room — I mean, totally amazing.

But that was before the apartment was tainted by lies and sexual deviance.

In mid-July, we see a 20-something woman begin to move her stuff in. She’s short and cute, in a punk-ish way, with dyed black hair, a gap in between her front teeth and lots of tattoos.

We introduce ourselves to her and her “boyfriend” later that day as they move boxes in from his Lexus SUV. I guess we just immediately assume they’re moving in together, especially as we learn that she’s a nursing student. With no job.

“I don’t know how I feel about this place,” the boyfriend tells us. “It’s so big for one person. But she says she’ll have the dogs to keep her company.”

WAIT A SECOND. One person?? As in she’s living there alone?? How can a student, with no income, afford a $2,400 rent???? Something smells fishy.

I report the story to my dad later that day.

“She’s the other woman” my dad said.

No way, I thought. I mean maybe her parents are rich or her boyfriend is just helping her out until she finishes school. Just because the situation is odd doesn’t mean he’s cheating. Right?


How do I know? Well, Paul, who used to live above Pete, was talking to Trish, who owns the penthouse and…. well, you get the picture. Anyways, it’s been confirmed that she is indeed a mistress.

I called my dad tonight to tell him he was right.

“Remember that girl I was telling you about that lives above Pete?” I said.

“Um-hmm. Prostie.”

“No dad, not a prostitute, you said she was a mistress. You were right!”

“I was? Ha!”

This is the first real-life mistress situation I’ve ever been privy to, but I saw a story like this on Lifetime once when I was 13. This woman totally had it made – her sugar daddy set her up in a sweet house and paid for everything for her and her daughter. But one day, he died when they were having sex together because he was old and disgusting and had terrible Karma and probably deserved to die.

Anyways, she’s not taken care of in the will, because she’s a mistress and all, so she’s super poor and doesn’t know what to do with her life, since living a life of lies and deceit is all she’s ever known. So she’s forced to hook up with another disgusting old man and then become his mistress.

At this point in the movie, my mom walks into the room and made me and my sister Didgie turn off the TV.

“You know what the moral of the story is, girls?” she asked us. “Get a job so you don’t have to have sex with old men!” She literally yelled that last part.

But I think the moral of the story is that once you start mistress-ing yourself out, there’s no turning back. It’s a one-way road to hell, ladies and gentleman. A one-way road to hell.

Here’s another Lifetime movie that looks pretty good, this time with Tori Spelling:

No one cares for you a smidge, when you’re in an orphanage

8 Nov


Mom and Dad: Last seen at Trump Tower on Nov. 1


These are my parents, who I’m pretty sure have indefinitely fled the country. I’m convinced that either my father is running from the mob or my mom told her book club that she hates Candace Bushnell and now the country club moms are out for blood.

Either way, I have not seen my parents in an eternity. Because I work about 15 minutes from their house, I have the opportunity to hang out with them pretty frequently – at least once a week. But lately, the house has been as dead as my soul when I’m forced to watch football.

We briefly had brunch at Trump Tower the day after Halloween but that was the only time I had seen them in weeks. ¬†Granted, my dad travels frequently for work, but now he’s stealing my mom too. First it was Ireland a few weeks ago, then my mom went to Cleveland, now it’s Scotland for a wedding.

I had no idea they were leaving for Ireland until I tried to call the house several times, to no avail. When I complained to Pete, he said, “Oh yeah, they’re in Ireland this week with Caroline [my sister]. Your dad’s on business but he’ll be hanging out with them during the weekend. I believe they’re headed to… Galway? I thought it was somewhere in County Clare.”

WTF? Since when does my boyfriend lunch with my mom?

My mom doesn’t even call me anymore. She sends me and my sisters mass emails of her whereabouts. This was the most recent one: “I’m on my way to Scotland with Dad. We’ll be back on Sun. Call Dad on his cell if you need anything. Also, I’d love your Christmas lists ASAP. Love, Mom.”

TRANSLATION: I’m on the lam with your father. Don’t try to contact me, as “they” have bugged my phone. I’ll be home on Sunday, if I’m still alive. This message will self-destruct in 30 seconds. Love, Mom.

So now that I’m an orphan, I spent the day with Peter’s parents for his father’s birthday. They are great. Seriously kind, generous people who always greet me with a hug and a smile. But they bicker with each other. Not all the time, but over the most random stuff. Like this afternoon, Peter was going to order pizza for dinner from this place called Rosati’s. Peter couldn’t find their phone number online. This is the conversation that followed:

*Note: Peter’s father speaks with a strong Irish accent and his mother with a strong Peruvian accent. In addition, Peter’s father is also named Pete. So any references to “Petey” is my boyfriend. “Pete” is the father.

Petey: Did Rosati’s go out of business?

Mr. M: What are you talking about? I have their phone number in my cell phone!

Petey: But they’re not online. Did they close the Cary location?

Mr. M: No! I’ll call right now. [Dials cell phone.] It’s ringing!.. ¬†Hello?… Are you still open? Because my son says you’re closed. … I just want to know if you’re open or closed… OK. Great… No, we’re not ready to order… OK. I’ll call you back when the game is over. [Hangs up.] See, if we listened to Petey we wouldn’t have any pizza for my birthday!

Mrs. M.: Pete! Petey just asked if they were closed!

Pete: Yeah. Dad, I asked you if they were closed. I didn’t state that Rosati’s was closed.

Mr. M: But when you said they weren’t listed on the computer, you were INFERRING that they were closed.

Pete: Dad, you were deducing that from our conversation. I never actually said the words, “Rosati’s is closed.”

Mrs. M: Yes. Pete! You were DEDUCING!!!!

Mr. M: Eva, what do you think? What exactly did Petey say?

Eva: Ummm… I don’t really remember?

Mr. M: Hahahahahahahaha. Eva’s being very political over there. Playing the neutral party. Hahahahahahahaha.

And so on and so forth.

I guess I am adjusting well into my adoptive family because Petey and I bickered the whole way home about whether you run the risk of letting bed bugs into your home by purchasing furniture from Craig’s List.

Also, I’m pretty sure that Zumba is some crazy cult. And I’m drinking the Kool-Aid. I have been doing the dance below from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to sleep: