The Important Thing Is to Learn From Your Mistakes

This morning the girl had dry cereal for breakfast.  Why? Because I forgot to buy milk, and she didn't feel that half & half was a good substitute.  Whatever, keep your arteries clean.  See if I care. 

So yeah, I forgot to buy milk.  Even though I was actually AT the grocery store yesterday.  And thought about it.  But decided that I didn't need it.

Actually, I didn't even decide that. Instead, I thought about buying milk and then my attention was diverted by the cheese room [yes, the store I was at has a cheese room.  It's about the size of galley kitchen and filled from floor to ceiling with delicious types of cheese.  I spend an in ordinate amount of time there.] and even though I WALKED RIGHT PAST the milk, I didn't get any. 

Which is kind of typical of my shopping trips.  They always turn into some kind of debacle, where I forget what I really came in to get or spend all my money on bags of spinach [they were on sale! And we love spinach!] or actually remember what I needed but still, somehow, walk right past it because LOOK! The yogurt comes in a new package! PRETTY.

And while this may not be a debacle to write home about, it is a debacle to write on my blog about. 

Debacle.  

I kind of love that word.



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Also, it's time for October's Raw Photos Contest.

Andygirl and I host a delightful Raw Photos contest each month on Flickr.  And as Andygirl and I have noted, September's topic [Back to School] was a bit too narrow, turning it in to quite the debacle, since only two people entered. [But thanks so much for entering, Lizzydanger & Teejayphotography! You rock!] 

So yeah, a giant whoopsie, a flagrant misstep.  And on our second contest.  Nice.

But you know what's great?  You can learn from your mistakes, even spectacular ones, and rise above.  Really.  You can!

So in an effort to be more inclusive and overcome our fantastic error, we're bringing you the fantabulous big tent topic for October:

AUTUMN WHERE YOU LIVE!!

What's autumn look like in your neck of the woods or patella of the subdivision or tibia of the downtown brownstones?

Lots of leaves turning colors?
Damnable heat and humidity?
Still  more greenery?
Hurricanes?

Show us what you've got!

Here's a quick summary of the rules:  You get to enter up to two [2] photos during the week the contest is open.  The only limitations are that the photos have to be yours and you CANNOT Photoshop your photo.  Play around all you want while you are taking the picture, but don't mess around after.  The complete rules are on the Flickr page.

Entries begin OCTOBER 1st and run for one week.  THAT'S TOMORROW!!

So get cracking and submit here.

The winner's photo will be posted on our blogs Crazy with a side of Awesome Sauce and The Suniverse, our Twitter feeds @andygirl  and @TheSuniverse, and on Flickr. 

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Don't forget - there's still time to comment on my Glee post and win a copy of Filled with Glee!  Please help me not turn this into some sort of debacle by having only one entry and that being a spam comment that I accidentally published because I was woozy from antihistamines and Advair.

A HUGE ANNOUNCEMENT!!!

Friends. Neighbors. Internet people.

I have some exciting news.

I am in possession of a book.  A fantastical, delightful, wonderful book.

All about GLEE!

SQUEE!

Do you love Glee?

Do you like to sing along and maybe dance along and maybe find the youtube clips of the show so you can watch them incessantly one more time?

Feel like there's not enough Glee in your life?

Well hold on to your earbuds:

I have an essay in Filled With Glee and I've got a copy to give out to a lucky blog reader.

All you have to do is leave me a comment about why you love Glee! That's it! So easy!

I'll use a random number generator and pick a winner and announce the lucky person on Monday October 3rd.

So if you need to know everything about Glee, or you have a family member or friend who is nuts for the show, leave a comment and you're eligible! Tell a friend, tell a co-worker, but don't tell an enemy, because they don't deserve to win.

The Dumb [And the Not So Dumb - UPDATED!]

These are dumb things I do.  Not just once or twice, but on a regular basis.

Pray for me.

*  Using my wet hands to turn on the light switch.  Not a big deal? Did I mention that this light switch does not have a switch plate and is not grounded, so it's just basically a switch in a hole in a wall.  Which has been painted.  I'm not sure why there's no switch plate when the wall has already been painted.  It's been at least 6 years.

Like this. Except instead of a screwdriver, there's just water dripping off my hand.

* Burning mix CDs onto my iTunes, but there's no info and I don't necessarily know the names and artists, so I sit there, trying to listen intently and get the words and type them into Google and hope I strike a match, wishing there was some way, SOME WAY that I could Google the music itself.  You know what? THERE IS!  SHAZAM! It's on my fucking phone.  Which is sitting right in front of me.

*Related - downloading a song that I ALREADY HAVE on my iTunes.  I want my fucking 99cents back.  I would pay huge money for the app that keeps my from re-purchasing music on iTunes.

* Calling people by the wrong name because: Their name seems like the kid name and the kid's name seems like the grown up name; I knew someone with a similar name; mishearing the name and spending several years thinking their name was something completely different.

* Forgetting to turn on the timer in the kitchen when I'm cooking. Or the timer on my phone. Or any of the several timers I've downloaded onto my computer because I know I'm so shitty at setting the kitchen timer.  So stuff burns and then we have no dinner, like we're Dickens' characters, waiting for porridge and then the evil workhouse matron let it burn.  [I am somehow both the poverty-stricken orphan and the evil matron in this scenario.  Keep up, people.  Keep up.]

Gorgeous, right? I WANT! I would TOTALLY set this timer. Really.  I would.

* Slicing and peeling vegetables with a pretty wickedly sharp paring knife NOT on the cutting board but instead by holding the vegetable in one hand and then using the knife to cut TOWARD me.  And then I wonder why I end up with tiny little slices on my thumbs.

* Going to the bathroom without shutting the door. When there are people over.


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Now here's the NOT Dumb thing I do:  Write something hilarious for Secret Society of List Addicts.  It will make you laugh, cry, sing.  Seriously.  It will change your life.  Check it out.

Murphy's Law - Or just how fucked up life can be.

It never fails, does it?

Yesterday, things were going really well.  I finally felt not-sick for the first time in months [Seriously.  Since July.] and I wasn't stressed because I'd spent the previous few days really working toward life and career goals.  I cleaned my house - I even did the windows! They are so shiny!  I made a nice, homemade chicken pot pie for dinner.  The girl had her friends over and they were studying and giggling.

It was going well.

And then.

And then, we got really crushing financial news.  Just so fucked up it's beyond telling.

And, I somehow knew it.  Back in the deep, dark recesses of my soul, I knew that it would happen.  Not this specific thing, but that something horrible was in the offing.

I have this theory that when I remark about something negative in someone's life, it's going to happen to me.  It's a theory I came up with years ago when I felt like my life was falling apart [and it kind of was].  Like, and I won't use real-life examples, because they are still too fucked up, but let's just say this scenario happens:

Me:  I can't believe that person's skin turned blue! What the fuck? That's crazy! How could that happen?

Cut to - a year or four or ten years later, and I have blue skin, and no idea how it's there and there's nothing to do to fix it.

That kind of thing.

It's enough, really, to make me believe in god, except I don't think god takes kindly to people who just show up when the shit has completely hit the fan and there's nothing else around.  I know A LOT of people find god in prison, but I'm thinking that maybe at that point, god isn't paying that much attention.  Like, god's sitting there and saying, "Huh.  So you killed a bunch of people and NOW you're sorry and want help? Back of the line, buddy."  And god may or may not get to you, but the odds are not good.

I'm not sure why I think god is like the DMV on a Saturday, but there it is.

So I'm trying to see this as a crisitunity, or at least a teaching moment - that stressing is not going to help either the situation or my well-being.  I'm going to buckle down and do my best to fix this one thing, because that's really all I can do.

But it doesn't stop me from wondering why bad shit keeps happening.  Why things are so fucking awful.  Why nothing I do to help actually helps and instead makes things worse.  And when it's going to change.

Sunday in Pictures

These are some of the flowers in my front yard right now. PRETTY!

Rewind Review #3 - Oh, How I Love This Book

You know how you are just now watching/reading/hearing that thing that everyone was talking about 1/2/10/15/20 years ago?  Or maybe you're revisiting something you LOVED and want desperately to talk about it to someone who cares?  Well, this is my forum to discuss that thing.  Join in, make suggestions, read my genius thoughts about that old school thing.  [Not to be confused with Old School, the movie, or being old school.  Although either of those may come up in the future.]


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I have a hard time, sometimes, falling asleep and staying asleep.  When I get those annoying bouts of insomnia, I try and relax myself into sleep by watching a dvd or reading.  Among my usual go to books [books that I love, but that I've read a thousand times, so I won't be kept up because I need to know what comes next] is Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About by Mil Millington.

This is Mil. He is awesome.

 So, this started as a website, and then became a book, and I LOVE LOVE LOVE both.

Love.

No. Really.  Love.

The book came out in 2003, and I can't remember, but I think I read the book first, before I found the website.  And I was delirious.  It is so cleverly written and so funny and so, OH MY GOD, it's not just our relationship that's like this, that it I could not stop laughing and reading to the husband.  And when I found the website? I spent many a hour that should have been spent on productive work-type stuff reading such gems that Mil and his girlfriend Margret have argued about like:

• The way one should cut a Kiwi fruit in half [lengthwise or down the middle]
• Their phone number
• The best way to hang up washing
• The way to eat two-fingered Kit-Kats. Mil: like I'd eat any other chocolate bars of that size, i.e., without feeling the need to snap them into two individual fingers first. Margret accused me of doing this, 'deliberately to annoy her'.

What joy! What delight in finding another couple that fights, like we do, about small things that become OH MY FUCKING GOD, why are you folding the towels in HALF AGAIN? DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND? It's IN HALF, and then IN THIRDS. God.  What is wrong with you? Were you raised by wolves?

The wrong way. God. This makes me want to punch kittens.

The right way. And, I swear, that's what the photo caption said.

So.  Back to the book.  The book is about Pel and his girlfriend Ursula and marginally about their two children and how Pel, who works at a university librarian in northern England, becomes embroiled in really outrageous shenanigans that are not his fault and sometimes seem utterly fantastic but at the same time seem, sure, why not? Absolutely true.


Plus, there is the character of Terry Steven Russell - TSR - who looks like the devil and is always in a rush and has never, in his life, heard the final beeps on the microwave.

True story: I set a bag of popcorn on fire in our microwave. FIRE.

The writing is great fun.  There are some set pieces which also manage to move the plot along, but make you feel as if you've just plopped into the novel [like Thursday Next!] and are right there, listening in on conversations.  

This is Thursday Next, from Jasper Fford's 

excellent series of books. Don't believe me? Ask Megan at Best of Fates.

The characters are fantastic - and Mil does a brilliant job in creating indelible figures with just a few sentences [see TSR above, for example].  And the interplay between Pel and Margret is reminiscent of the website, but isn't tied to it.  So, good.

The plot zips along and makes you want to read faster and also not want the story to end.  Plus, there are enough twists and turns to make it fun on a re-read. Or re-re-re-read.


So.  I'd obviously highly recommend this book.  HIGHLY.  I think everyone should read it.  And also the website.  Because really, what else are you going to do all day?

People Wonder Why I Am the Way I Am. It's No Secret.

The girl thinks I need to relax.  I need to realize that the little things aren't that important.  I kicked her in the face and told her to shut it.  She doesn't know what my life is like. I think I hit the point of no return when my day has been just a non-stop bout of fuckery.

Like:

• Every time I get in the car, the stupid motherfucking emergency cord for the garage door opener hits me in the head.  I'm going to cut it off, but I know if I do, I'll need it. That's just how my world works.  So, I try and ignore this, but it's hard. Nobody wants to start her day getting swatted in the head by something you always initially think is a giant spider.
• Also, mornings suck because I sometimes have to sidle in to my car, because the husband parks too fucking close and I can't open the door all the way.  So then I'm trying to carry my bag, my keys and whatever other bullshit, slip into the car and not get my clothes dirty from rubbing on two cars that are months overdue for a cleaning.  And, of course, that motherfucking cord has hit my head.  Which doesn't help my mood for when I go in the house and have to do something like cook.  Because at that point . . .
• I go to pull out a lid for a pot or pan, but the cabinet is awkwardly situated, because we've crammed a low shelf full of beverages and potatoes and onions directly across from it and the cat food and water bowl perpendicular.  So I have to open the cabinet door from the side and lean over and reach in, which is no way to find ANYTHING, even though I've already purchased a lid holder, which no one but me ever seems to use, so I try and get the lid I need, only to have EVERY. FUCKING. LID. fall out of the cabinet, onto the dirty floor, making me crazier and more pissed off and less happy about having to cook in the first place.  So instead, I refocus.
• I try to do something simple, like upgrade my OS [hahahaha stop laughing].  But I knew, I KNEW I shouldn't have gotten the upgrade, because shit never works for me, so instead of having a free OS upgrade from Apple, I find out that my DVD drive doesn't work [some laser bullshit tech speak thing] and, because my computer is old and out of warranty, they want me to pay $$$$ to fix it.  $$$$ which I do not have because . . . 
• I'm trying to make a living being a lawyer on my own [can't find a full-time job] and also by writing [slowly things trickle in - but not on a subsistence level] and I spend hours and hours and days networking and searching for jobs and applying for jobs and interviewing for jobs, all to have them tell me, Thanks, but no thanks.  Loser.
• Which, in turn, makes living harder, because I have to pay my bills, but then I also have to call people about said bills, and no one is ever helpful.  No one.  It's like they LIVE to make you miserable.  For example, AT&T Uverse hounded us for 2 months saying we owed them $286 when we knew damnably sure that we didn't, so we only kept paying what we owed them, even though they kept threatening to disconnect us, and then, suddenly, in the last bill? WE ARE CREDITED THROUGH OCTOBER!!! FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU AT&T.  I'd like 2 months worth of apology calls, assholes.
• Which exacerbates the cranky.  I hate being cranky, so I try not to be cranky, but it's hard when it's the end of September and I have to turn the AIR CONDITIONER on because it's 87 degrees and humid and I dislike being that hot and sweaty for no reason. What is wrong with you, Nature? Menopause?
• And speaking of menopause, I keep forgetting to do something, like say, mail a get well card, which has been sitting in my purse, getting more and more decrepit, for about 2 weeks now, because it has to go out of the country, and I want to make sure I have the right postage, and I have to say, the Postal Service site isn't very helpful [but it's better than standing in line, right?] so I ultimately end up putting 4 stamps on it and hoping for the best.  In both the card having the correct postage and the whole Get Well thing.
• Which finally results in me feeling like a complete loser, because how is that a person who has functioning limbs and near-limitless time on her hands is unable to get to the Post Office? Even though I hate going because it's always 2 people working with 8 open windows and a minimum of 7 people in line, 5 of whom are elderly and you know they are going to take some time, and the other 2 have their giant eBay and Craigslist packages that they need to mail, and they decided to wait until they had a dolly full of boxes, and all I want is a sign, somewhere, that tells me how many stamps to use for Air Mail.  Because, of course, the kiosk is out of order.

It's kind of no wonder why I'm such a bitchy bitch.  Right? There are valid reasons.  It's not just me.

Not so helpful

Yesterday was book club day.

I finished The Help and, oh, god, worse than I thought.  I mean, it was bad while I was trying to read it.  Really, awfully AWFUL.  And then it got worse when I read the author's Why I Wrote This blurb and could NOT believe it.

She wrote:  Blah de blah I wanted to talk about the LOVE between black maids and their white employers.

UM. NO.

You, privileged white girl, do not get to talk about this.  Not even for a second.  You can talk about how YOU love your black maid, but DO NOT dare to speak for your help.

And stop with the fucking allusions and references to To Kill A Mockingbird.

This? Is a great book.  Your book? NOT THIS BOOK!

You are NOT Harper Lee.

[Neither are you Truman Capote, who I LOVE LOVE LOVE and is NOT the author of To Kill A Mockingbird.]

Anyway, it was an interesting night.  We rate the books [like American Bandstand! A reference only old people will get!] from 1-5, 5 being LOVED it.  Most everyone gave it 4 - 4 1/2.  I gave it a 0.  I said I loathed it and was offended and was stunned that someone would write such a horrible thing.

And, of course, someone had to argue that black maids probably did love their white families, if only the kids.  Yeah.  You know what? I have never been a black maid, but I'm pretty fucking sure none of them loved their white families.  How do you love someone who can immediately, without justification, ruin your life by firing you?

A couple other people didn't care for it, which took some of the heat off of me, and it's not a cantankerous bunch of people, so it wasn't Fight Club Book Club.

Except YUM if it was. Right? DAMN, he looks good.

I would totally do dirty things to him.  Really, really dirty.  Pre-Angelina Jolie, because now? Ew.

It was fine, I guess.  I'm still pissed I read that book.  Like I can't get my brain clean from it. I'm actually kind of surprised they haven't kicked me out, since I've hated every book so far.

Also, I may or may not have said something completely inappropriate to one of the members several years ago.  She was relating a tale, but couldn't remember who said the offensive thing.  I thought [and still do] that it totally sounded like something I would say.

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So, in addition to that assault on my sensibilities, earlier this week, a parent discussed with me her dismay at several of the songs with inappropriate language played by the dj at the after school dance.  I really, really, REALLY wanted to say, "Are you fucking crazy? Do you think your kid doesn't listen to this shit? Because they do!"  Also, I'm not the person to be complaining to about foul language.  The breadth and depth and variations of fuck and shit and the like that spew forth from my mouth are stunning.  I'm not going to be all flustered because someone swears in front of my kid.  I was very, very tempted to respond with foul language and the information that my kid listens to Rage Against the Machine and Public Enemy.

Not known for their dulcet language.

They say stuff with swears!

But I didn't.  Because I think I'm maturing.  Or because, seriously? You want to complain about this? Out of all the bullshit things that go wrong in life, THIS is your issue?  I had to listen to MILEY FUCKING CYRUS when I was chaperoning.

Nobody wants to hear this. Nobody.

 Don't complain to me about foul language.

Panic in Detroit

I know I joke a bit about the panic and anxiety I have.  I joke a lot, on my blog, actually.  I don't mention it much at all in real life.  Very few people know the extent of my panic and anxiety.  I like to keep it that way, even if it seems as if I come off aloof or unfriendly.  Better to be feared than loved, right?

Except, it gets to be so exhausting.  Particularly when, say, you wake up in the morning and are immediately in panic mode. 

TMI ALERT TMI ALERT:

Like, say, you go to the bathroom and you find that you are bleeding.  Down there.  But you JUST had your period.  And you remember reading, at some point, that one of your meds may mess with your period.  And then  you also think about peri-menopause, and wonder if you are that old.  And then you remember hearing about people women who end up gushing from their nether regions during menopause and you start to lose. your. fucking. shit.

END TMI - THIS MAY BE SAFE TO READ:

And then you try and calm down and just go about your day, but there you are, emptying the dishwasher, panic hovering just below your hilariously calm facade, trying to practice deep breathing, wondering who to call [Mom? At work. Plus, she doesn't know the extent of my panic. Could I calmly explain this?  Husband? Also at work, and he gets panic calls all the time.  Dr.? Hard to get through to her.  Pharmacist? Which one? I CAN'T MAKE A DECISION RIGHT NOW], wondering if you are, in fact hemmhoraging, if the dizziness is panic or blood loss, afraid to back to the bathroom, afraid to look down for fear of seeing Carrie-type decorations on your legs,

Nobody wants to see this on their own person. But, how cute is Sissy Spacek?  I love her.  Not the time or place?  Yeah, you're probably right.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

concerned that I'll pass out and not be able to reach the phone and my poor child will come home and find me dead dead dead with the cats eating me.

So, I finally make myself go to the bathroom again [not that it's hard physically, because god knows, I ALWAYS have to go] and, guess what?  NOTHING IS WRONG.  Yeah.  Just an aberration. 

So that's been my morning.  I'm ready for bed.

Do the ends justify the means? Do they REALLY?

I like to be right.

No.

I LOVE to be right. And not only do I love to be right, I want people to understand when they are wrong.  Like, I want to rub their noses in it, make sure they understand what I'm saying, repeat back to me why they are wrong, agree that they are wrong, and apologize for it.

I know, I know.  I'm working on it.

Of particular concern are times when I am dealing with asshats.  I'm sure you have them in your life, too.  Asshats who are oblivious to their idiocy and who somehow, smugly, think they are pulling something over on you.  That they're smarter than you.

Asshats.

Anyway, I had this situation come up the other day.  I got a phone call, let's just say from someone who is a complete asshat, but who luckily I do not have to deal with on a regular basis.

Back up - the reason she'd called me was to get the lowdown on a planned event that we are all attending in a month or so.  I'm evidently organizing this by default.  Lucky me.

So the plan is, we'd all go to the event and then get hotel rooms and hang out in the evening, since we are all coming from at least 2 hours away.

Well, Asshat calls me and asks what the situation is, and what she's expected to do.  Again, I had no idea I was suddenly planning this, but there you go. So I said I'd think about it and get back to her. I asked if Asshat was planning on staying the night, and she said, no they had to get back for some lame reason.

And I wanted to explain to her that I knew her reason was lame.  And I knew that she was acting all put upon and could not possibly commit to staying the night and I was ready to argue that she needed to amend her plans because she was wrong wrong WRONG.  Her reasons were ridiculous and not justifiable.  And we both knew it.  But she thought that she was in the right. WHICH SHE WAS NOT.

And then I stopped.

Because although my arguments were RIGHT, and although Asshat was WRONG, I knew that the best case scenario was to NOT spend that much time with Asshat.

But I'm having a hard time letting it be a win/win situation.  Because she is WRONG. And I am RIGHT. And I need people to understand when they are WRONG.  And admit it.  Even though the best result is to just let it all go.  It's o.k. that she wins if I win, too.

And yet it is not.  It eats at me.

God.  I really am an asshat.

Monday means never having to actually have a theme to your post.

Well.

Live and learn, right?

Andygirl and I are the awesome people behind the Raw Photos Contest.  It's a monthly contest where you, the lucky photographer, gets to submit up to 2 un-photoshopped photos based on a theme.

Well, we fucked this one up.

The theme we picked - Back to School - was way too narrow.  So we only got two entries. Whoops!  What Andygirl and I decided is that we'll give a hearty CONGRATULATIONS to LizzyDanger and Teejayphotography for entering.

And start again next month.

Starting October 1st, for one week, you can submit your photos on the much more inclusive topic: AUTUMN WHERE YOU LIVE.  What's fall look like in your neck of the woods?  I think it's supposed to be in the 80s here next week.  Bullshit.  I want to wear my sweaters and go out and NOT SWEAT.  It's not a lot to ask.

Wait.  Where was I?

Oh, so, in a nutshell:

• Thanks for entering in September, LizzyDanger and Teejayphotography
• October's theme is AUTUMN WHERE YOU LIVE
• Start submitting October 1st for one week

Ok? Ok!

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I am for sure, probably, yes, for sure, going to harm the ice cream truck that is still fucking around in my neighborhood.  I swear, it's not an ice cream truck.  It's either some creeper who's stalking someone in the neighborhood or it's the FBI doing surveillance. 

Doesn't matter.  I still hate them.

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My parents just rented their house [which they could not sell - fab market!] so they moved all the stuff out.  One of the things I found was my high school senior yearbook.  I look awesome.  The girl is in love with the fabulous 80s fashions. I am enjoying the fact that I don't see any of those people any more.

Actually, the more important thing I found was a giant frame, so I can FINALLY make the necklace hanging frame I've been coveting for so long from Pottery Barn.

Gorgeous, right? But $49 and only in white.  

My frame is one of those cool old ornate frames and it's GIANT, which is perfect because I have yet to hang any of the artwork in my bedroom after we painted it.  Six years ago.  God. I am losing Martha Points left and right here.

Although, if I make the necklace frame, I'll definitely come out ahead, particularly since I'm starting at a deficit of being impatient and uber-cranky when things don't go my way.  I'm fun to be around when I'm doing stuff!  Call me!

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Speaking of home-y type things, I am the world's worst person when it comes to recipes.  You know all those blogs, where people will say, "Oh, I made the most delicious stuffed chicken and wild rice and asparagus with cheese sauce.  Here are the recipes!"  And you go, huh. Delicious. And also, I should do that with the recipes I make.  You know, to branch out what I write about.  And have a ready made topic! So I don't end up with a post [or too many] where it's just random blurbings.

Or you'll give someone something, say some cookies, and they ask you for the recipe and you go sure! I'll email it to you!  And then you hope they forget because:

I don't measure when I cook. 

I'll measure when I bake and I'm following a recipe. 

But not when I cook.  Then, it's all about - add some.  A bunch.  A tiny bit.

And I do that when I'm baking and I'm amending a recipe.  Oatmeal cookies?  Well, I'll just add all sorts of stuff.  And not measure! And then make up measurements and hope it actually works out when the person you gave the recipe to makes them.  I haven't heard to the contrary, so I'm going to assume that things are still delicious.  

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I have to say, I'm really surprised to find that Gwyneth K. Paltrow is not going to be in the movie version of The Help.  But perhaps that would be a suckfest of such epic proportions that the world would tilt off its axis and we'd go careening into the sun.

Yeah.  That's probably it.

The Help - so shitty. And also a post in which I ask your advice on blog stuff. Trust me. It'll benefit all of us.

 Have I mentioned yet that I'm reading The Help for my book club? And did I mention that my book club meets on Wednesday and I just got the book last night?  And did I mention OH MY FUCKING GOD, this book sucks ass in a myriad of ways?  Wow.  It really, really does.


I was talking about it with a friend who is also in book club [she bought the book; I refused], and one of the things that she found most off-putting, and I have to agree, is that the writer, old what's her name, has no grasp of the dialects she is trying to use - that of un- or undereducated black maids.  I agree, and found that even the white characters, with whom she so closely identifies, are stilted. 


And then I thought about writers who use that effect so well - Toni Morrison, Alice Walker, Mark Twain and, in a more readily acceptable comparison, Fanny Flagg.  I love Fanny Flagg's work, particularly because she has such a gift for the spoken word. Which any writer will tell you, is not that easy to approximate. 


So, I'm 90 skimmed pages in, and this book blows.  I'm thinking this is going to be an interesting book club meeting.

************

I'm trying different means of commenting.  I know the whole sign and word verification is bullshit, but I did get some crazy spam for a while.  Now I'm doing comment moderation.  This means I have to be on top of stuff, but it's easier on the commenter.  We'll see if I can manage it.  And yes, I'm still getting a lot of spam, but you won't see it.

I don't have a blogroll.  I'm not very good at keeping up on that type of thing.  I also feel like, Who gives a shit who you have on your blogroll, with your paltry commenters and readers?  But.  I love when I happen upon a blog and that writer has me on her blogroll.  SO FLATTERING.  I guess what I'm saying is, I need to do something about this double standard.

I try and alert my Twitter followers about my latest posts.  Annoying or helpful?

What about feeds?  I use Google Reader to keep track of my reading list.  I know some people have an email option.  Do you read those? I'm 50/50.

And the pictures of the followers?  I kind of like that, but I don't necessarily include myself on the blogs I do follow.  Again, I need to be better about that, but there is still that insecurity of "Who gives a shit if you follow? Lamer."

I'm also working on responding to each comment.  I've been pretty good the past few weeks.  Is that preferable to emailing a comment to the writer?  Do both?

And finally, I'm in the works setting up a Facebook page. Because all the cool kids do it.  Do you use FB? I'm not much of a user, but then, I have zero interest in connecting with people I went to high school with, because sweet jesus, the faster I was rid of them the happier I was.

If you could let me know what you think of any and all of these topics, I'd be grateful.  Even if it's just, "For fuck's sake, write about Gwyneth K. Paltrow again, you dumdum!"

Marriage. It's About Communication.

The husband, checking our Netflix queue:  It Happened One Night?  Didn't we already see that? That's that movie, with the restaurant.

Me:  No we haven't.  That's Big Night.

The husband: [Pause]. . . You're Big Night.

******

The husband: I think I'm going to grow a mustache.

Me:  No.  No you are not.



******


The husband [at the girl's school for Open House]: Shit.  Walk faster.

Me [picking up the pace]: What? What is it?

The husband:  Just walk fast.  Don't look.

Me:  Why?

The husband:  It was The Non-Stop Talkers

Me: Oh, god.  Thanks.


******


The husband [While watching Inglogrious Basterds {not that great, by the way}]:  Look!  Look at his pipe!  It's awesome.  I'm going to start smoking a pipe.


Me:  You want that pipe?












The husband:  Yes!  Look at it!  Picture me pulling that out and smoking it.

Me:  You want the Evil Nazi Guy's pipe?  You want to be the guy with a Nazi pipe?

The husband:  . . . So?


Me:  I don't think so.

*********

Me [on the phone with my father-in-law this morning at about 11:30am in the office next to our bedroom]:  The husband is still sleeping.  Do you want me to get him up? Because I will.  It's not a problem.  Are you sure?  I can wake him.  Seriously.  It's fine!  Are you sure?  I CAN WAKE HIM.

The husband [staggering out of the bedroom and into the office a few minutes later]: SURE! IT'S FINE! WAKE HIM UP!

Me: Morning! Your dad called.

Why do I do what I do?

From Mama Kat:  

3.) Write about what blogging means to you. Why do you blog? What purpose does it serve you and how have you benefited from sharing a piece of yourself online this way?

Most - almost all - the people I know in real life don't know I blog.

Most of the time, I like it that way.  I've got an opportunity to really use this space to be honest - not mean, just be myself.  That's not something I'm comfortable with.  Not that I'm leading a double life, or am hiding something [like an extra arm growing out of my back or the fact that I'm in the Witness Protection Program], but I'm not a person who shares easily.  I tend to keep people at a distance.  It takes a lot for me to tell someone I know what I'm really thinking or worrying about.

This?  This is much easier.  There's an inherent distance here.  I can say what I need to say and not have to worry about seeing you at work or school pick up or that you'll have said something to someone else.  I mean, you may, ["DUDE.  You would NOT believe what Suniverse did at the salon the other day.  NO! REALLY!"], but it's not going to affect my day to day world.

That's not to say that this space isn't important.  It really, really is. And sometimes [lately, a lot of the time] it's more entertaining in the give and take I get with my commentors than the give and take I get in real life [oh, people who interview me for jobs, thanks so much for being there].

It's also important because it keeps me writing.  A lot.  And writing honestly, which is something I admire in the people I read.  And something I'm growing to admire in myself.

So that's why I write.  How about you?

[BIG PS:   Standards of Excellence, Westar, and Florida Builder Appliances are giving away a fab washer and dryer.  I WANT!]

UPDATED: Oh, Gwyneth K. Paltrow, you make my head hurt [Like John C. Mayer]

UPDATED:

Looky what we did, PRANKSTERS:

Oh, yes we did!

You may know how I feel about a certain someone.  A certain someone who . . . well, let's just say is kind of GOOP-y.

NOT Gwyneth K. Paltrow's GOOP.  This one serves a purpose.

Gwyneth K. Paltrow, as you may be aware is not only the daughter of Blythe Danner and Bruce Paltrow, but also an Oscar-winning actress [for Shakespeare in Love] [on par with Marisa Tomei's Oscar, in my opinion], wife of that guy from Coldplay, mother to Apple and Moses [oh, come on.  Really?], and the purveyor of the website GOOP.

Oh, Gwyneth K. Paltrow - Oh, you and Goop.

Your silly, silly online magazine/newsletter.  Your self-involved regurgitation of empty-headed silliness.

I've written about you before.  I still don't like you.

Other people have written about you, Gwyneth K. Paltrow, you and your cleanses and BE.  How insane is it to try and survive on basically water?

Gwyneth K. Paltrow, you think of things and then spew them, and most of the time, it sounds like idiocy.

Read a book, Gwyneth K. Paltrow.  Read a book and stop talking.

Gwyneth K. Paltrow, you are a proponent of being gluten-free, but I don't think you are allergic to gluten.

Gwyneth K. Paltrow, you and your BFF Madonna are silly.  I have zero patience for people who air their fueds in public and online [oh! WAIT! THE HYPOCRISY!]

Gwyneth K. Paltrow, you have no concept of reality.  I mean, I guess you shouldn't, because you are the child of pretty famous actors, so your life is pretty privileged.  Can't you just admit that?  Can't you, Gwyneth K. Paltrow?  Own your privilege.  You cannot relate to the rest of us.

Gwyneth K. Paltrow, you are ridiculous.

Alexander McQueen's biggest mistake.


Gwyneth Paltrow, you have been John C. Mayer'd.

Lunch Time!

The girl is back to school.

She's in middle school.

I've been thinking about lunch.  Not just because I'm hungry.

I've been thinking about this because these are the years when food issues really start manifesting and I, as a worrier, worry about this.

Thus far, she's been fine. I've been pretty adamant about not saying things like "That's a bad food" or "I'm being bad by eating a cookie".  Food is food.  Eat healthy food, and you'll be o.k. It makes sense, right?  Eat the cookie if you want it, but don't think of it as evil.  Enjoy it.  Enjoy yourself.

I know that I was not the best at eating, particularly during my junior high and high school years.  I was not bulimic or anorexic [although one of my aunts was CONVINCED I was and asked me every time she saw me].  I was thin and in good shape because I waited tables 3 days a week from age 15 on, and didn't eat much but didn't really think about food or portion control or denying myself anything.  I ate when I was hungry.  Fine, right?

Except . . . 

What was going on was that for many years, the person I ate lunch with had major food issues.  It was funny, then, but now I realize that splitting a two-pack of cupcakes and drinking a Diet Coke was probably not the best lunch.  And it never occurred to me to do anything about it for myself or for her.  I never brought lunch, and we could go off campus, but our trip was generally to the party store for Diet Coke and some sort of sugar snack.  Not that a trip to a fast food restaurant or a pizza place would have been much better.

Back to the girl - she's taken her lunch to school probably 90% of her school life.  And, except for a few Lunchables-filled weeks during her 2nd grade year [and for that, I don't know who to blame - peer pressure? I had never bought them until she started lobbying] she takes really healthy food.  She's actually eating it, now, too! 

But I worry, still, because I know that this is the time when things change.  So I keep talking and keep trying to think of delicious lunches she can have.  And I'm out of ideas.  Also, good breakfasts.  Because mine is always oatmeal, and she is not a fan.

Any ideas?

********

Addenda:

** Raw Photos Contest, people!  Take a photo, enter the contest, it'll be fun!

** I hate George Stephanopolous.  So smug.  And you know why? What my sticking point is? That he was a Clinton acolyte and then turned and dumped on them in order to get ahead. I dislike that.  Loyalty, my friend.  That's where it's at.

Random is better than nothing.

I had several attempted blog posts before this one.  Here's a nice amalgamation:

** I've not purchased much from them, but sweet god, the people at JCrew are AMAZING.  I had to return something and the phone service was fantastic.  I'd rank them right up there with Apple, which has thus far been my standard.  And you know what?  I'll gladly pay more for excellent customer service.  I think we all would.  Although we shouldn't have to.  Why not have a reasonable level of competence as your standard? I blame WalMart.

** I generally put books on hold at the library because I ALWAYS forget what I'm looking for when I'm there.  Because I have Book Alzheimer's.  Anyway, they'll do an automated call when your book is in.  The automated call is super annoying, because it sounds like a demented robot.  I found out from a friend that they'll send you an email notification instead, so since I'm all about checking fewer phone messages [how exhausting is it to have to push the button and listen and then delete?  I'm tired just thinking about it.] I decided to make the switch when I went to the library last time.

Where the old lady librarian gave me a hard time.  She told me no fewer than 4 times that they don't normally like to use that type of notification because people are constantly changing their email addresses.  Uh. What?  Really lady? Do I strike you as the type of person who is constantly changing her email address?  DO I LOOK LIKE A TEENAGER?  Just type it in, ok?

** Recent crazy time panic attacks:

~ Getting Albuterol up my nose when I accidentally snorted while inhaling it.  That was awesome.  Felt AMAZING.  And so I spent quite a bit of time on my good therapist Google making sure I wasn't the only who had done it and would not die from it.

~ Using Aveda Volumizer and then freaking! out! because it was new! and smelled different! and so then I had to rewash my hair because I was a loony.

** The other day, I was getting ready to shower and brushed my teeth.  I was rinsing with Listerine [Cool Blue] when I realized I needed something [a hair tie, nothing sexual, I was in a rush] from the bedroom.  So I decided I could just as easily swish Listerine in my mouth while I walked to the bedroom.

Where I turned on the light and then noticed a SPIDER!! Next to the light switch!! I spewed Listerine! In my room! And then, like a GENIUS, instead of running to the bathroom and spitting out what was left of the Listerine, I decided it was more important to KILL KILL KILL the spider! So I ran in and grabbed a tissue and squashed that fucking bug! BUT I DIDN'T!! I couldn't find the carcass!  It wasn't in the tissue and at that point, my mouth was REALLY starting to burn, so I just hoped I had mortally wounded the spider and got on with my day.  My room and my mouth smelled DELICIOUS.

Family and Religion.

So, I was raised Muslim. [Or Muslin as Wonkette so wonderfully calls it. I LOVE Wonkette. So much bitchery.]

I was never particularly religious.  Neither were my parents.  I'd compare it to those Christians who go to church on Easter and Christmas.  We'd hit the holidays and my grandparents prayed and no one ate pork, but there was drinking and smoking and only my grandmother and other old people covered their hair with a scarf. [Which, by the way, is a FANTASTIC look.]

See? GORGEOUS.

Anyway, so not terribly religious growing up.  And the husband was raised Catholic and is far less religious than I am [he believes in NOTHING. I believe in . . . Something? It's a work in progress.]

My parents are becoming more religious as they are getting older. My dad is involved in the xhami [mosque] and my mom is reading the Koran.  I have a copy and read it . . . almost never.  I've actually probably read more of the Bible [thanks, undergrad!] than I have of the Koran.  The girl has been raised free of any kind of religious indoctrination.  And yet she is incredibly moral.  Huh.  Who knew?

Last week was the end of Ramazan, and even though I did not fast, my mom and dad asked if I was going to the celebratory dinner on Saturday.  I asked the girl if she wanted to go, because she had expressed interest in seeing what went on at the xhami.  She wavered, so I asked my husband if he wanted to go ["No. College football."] and my sister ["ABSOLUTELY NOT."] and finally a friend if she and her daughters wanted to go.  My friend and I went back and forth and we ultimately ended up going.

And it was not bad.

When we went as children, it was a day long slog of boredom.  We didn't pray, so we didn't go to the prayer room and there was nothing to do as we waited for the dinner to be served.  We'd spend the entire day [and it always seemed like it was the hottest day of the summer] outside walking the neighborhood and waiting for dinner to be served so we could help clean up and FINALLY, after 8 or so hours of BOREDOM, go home.

So now, the friend and I decided to go late and leave early.  Well, we were late and still got there before the speeches and prayer.  It's like punctuality is an unheard of concept.

What happens is this:  Sitting around. Prayer.  Speeches. Dinner. Leave.

There are always speeches.  Lots of speeches.

And there's always a lot of people talking during the speeches and the acoustics are horrible and you can never hear what's being said.

The girl and my friend's daughter kept asking what they could do while we were sitting around, and we said, yeah, sit here.  We, thanks to my dad saving us seats, sat RIGHT UP FRONT next to the head table where the imam sat, so we tried to look as if we understood what he was saying. Seriously:  Really bad acoustics. 

At one point, my friend and I were texting each other, which I know is rude, but not as rude as the people at other tables who were TALKING OUT LOUD while the imam was talking.  Anyway, I was telling her that I was going to start giving the speeches.  Also, that I was going to start yelling 9/11!! 9/11!!!

Because, yeah, we were at a mosque celebrating a Muslim holiday on the anniversary of 9/11.

And the imam and several other speech givers talked about [and here I am paraphrasing] how important it was to share that the Koran and Islam are holy books and do not advocate atrocities.  And how people should realize that religions are personal things and not to be used for your own ends.

Really, just calm, rational discussions about the need for religion in your life and how other people's perceptions of your religion should be gently corrected.

So. That's it.  People have beliefs and sometimes those beliefs are perverted and sometimes, sometimes, MOST of the time, those beliefs help people out in their daily lives.  So be cool.

Also, my dad was so excited that the girl was at the xhami that he introduced her to the imam, who spoke to her NOT in English which made the girl freeze up.  But then the imam realized she only spoke English and he talked to her in English.  And as an afterthought, my dad introduced me.  Thanks,  Dad.

And AND! They gave out prizes and stuff to the kids.  My friend and I were JEALOUS because the most we got when we were kids was leftover lamb to take home.  The girls got cool scarves and hair pins and little kids got art supplies and stuff.  Plus the girls picked up a couple of those cool hats:

Cool, right? I think my hair is too bushy, but it might work.

So, it was an entertaining evening.  We're planning on hitting the next holiday at the other xhami.  I wonder what they'll give out?


*********************

Before I forget: I'm over at Secret Society of List Addicts talking about shoes today.  Go over! Take a look!

Serious topic, ridiculous topic, don't forget

I'm pretty good at pulling nuance and subtext out of the written word, but am not so good at it when it comes to understanding the subtext of what people are saying.

Except, my husband would argue, with him, at which point I just start making shit up, like I'm a fan of Marxist literary theory.  Sample conversation:

Him: How was your day?

Me: Dude, fuck you! Just because there's still a basket of unfolded laundry in the living room and I was reading when you came home doesn't mean that I spent the day doing nothing! I was BUSY.

Him: . . .

Me: Honest to god, it's like I can never do enough here!

Him: I'm going to go plug in my phone.

Me:  Fine!  I'll just spend my life making sure everything is picture perfect! Is that what you want?

Him: [Walks away.]

END SCENE.

Anyway, he likes to say I read things into what he says and does, but I don't really see it.  In point of fact, I'm generally not very good at that type of thing.

FOR EXAMPLE:

I had a job interview last week, and upon further reflection [and relaying the discussion to the husband] it seems that the interviewer was racist, and I missed it until later:

First, she said something about a group of people being "the Obama demographic".  I immediately thought: DEMOCRATS? LIBERALS? Cool!

Second, she said something about another group of people being "Community College Students", which I thought meant, hey, at least they're trying to get into school.

Finally, as I was leaving, we discussed a city in my area that is predominantly African American, but where a lot of corporations have their offices.  The husband works there and she asked how it was.  I assumed she meant the commute, and said, "Oh, it's fine.  It's only like 20 minutes for him to get to work." And then she said, "No, I mean, it's very sketchy, you know?" And I said, "No, it's fine." BECAUSE IT IS.  And then I ran to the bathroom, because I had been holding my pee for the past hour and half.

And then I called the husband to let him know how it went and it FINALLY dawned on me that hey, maybe this woman was RACIST.  And really casually racist, like I would agree with everything she said.

And I wondered what, about me, made her think it was o.k. to say that kind of stuff.  Because I am mistaken for any number of ethnicities, and very seldom am I considered generic white person.

And I wondered what I could have said in that situation - a job interview - that would have put an end to her idiocy.  Is there anything? I'm pretty good in general conversation at calling people on saying bullshit things.  Sometimes politely, sometimes just telling them to fuck off.  But, when I haven't realized what was being said until later? Odds are really good I won't ever hear from this person again [she kept telling me how vastly overqualified for the position I was, which I am, but I also need to pay my fucking bills].

What do I do? Try harder next time to read into what people are saying?  I guess that's where I'm at right now.

**********
In addition to having an encounter with a casual racist, my interview was about an hour away, and the girl would be taking the bus home from school for the first time this year and also coming home to an empty house for one of the first times. [Yes. I am overprotective.  What about it?]

So I told her to call me and her dad when she got off the bus and when she got home.  So, when she hadn't called by the time I knew she should have been off the bus, I called her as I was still 30 minutes from home and guess what? SHE MISSED HER FUCKING STOP.  Yes.  She did.

It all worked out in the end, after the WONDERFUL bus driver dropped her back off at her stop, and I walked in the door a while later and said, "Hey, Magellan, NICE JOB!"

So that's her new nickname.  And I have another job interview today an hour away [in a different direction!], during her drop off time.  I'm thinking positive.

Fucking Magellan.

********

Don't forget, it's time to submit your un-photoshopped photos for this month's RAW PHOTOS CONTEST!  The theme is BACK TO SCHOOL!

Happy Thanksgiving??

So today I ended up making what turned out to be Thanksgiving dinner.  Roasted a turkey, made mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing, broccoli and the girl made an apple walnut cranberry tart. 

Why?

Because this past week was the end of Ramazan, and my mom wanted us to all have dinner, but she and my dad had a lot going on [moving stuff out of their old house because they found people to rent it] so she asked me if I could make a dinner.  I said sure.  And, after some discussion, it ended up being Thanksgiving.

Which I guess, in a way, it was.  Thanks for the end of fasting! Time to eat!

So, I'm a little screwy on fall holidays and hallmarks, but the thing I know for SURE is that it's time for you to show your talent in this month's Raw Photos Contest.

Just take/submit up to 2 photos with the theme Back To School any time this week.  I can't wait to see what you have in store!

And now I'm tired, because making Thanksgiving is hard fucking work, even in September.

Are You Ready For Some PHOTOS?

It's that time again!

What time is it? [It's time to get wild and loose! - oh, wait, I am not Morris J and this is not The Time.]

ACTUALLY, it's time for this month's Raw Photos Contest!

What's the Raw Photos Contest?

Did you forget? Do you have short term memory loss like that guy in Momento? Are you new here?  If any of those are true, then click on the badge over there --------->
and find out.

Too lazy?  Yeah, me, too.

Here's the dirt:

You know how you take really cool photos and you think they're great as they are, without mucking around in Photoshop? And you think, hey, I bet I could win a prize for this photo?  Well, here's your opportunity!

Andygirl and I host a kick ass Raw Photos contest each month on Flickr.  Each month has a different theme, and you get to enter up to two [2] photos during the week the contest is open.  The only limitations are that the photos have to be yours and you CANNOT Photoshop your photo.  Play around all you want while you are taking the picture, but don't mess around after.  The complete rules are on the Flickr page.

This month's theme is Back to School.

Entries will be open on Sunday, September 12, 2010 for one week.  Submit here.

So what are you waiting for?  You know you have TONS of back to school photos.  I know I have a few, and I was half-asleep while my kid got ready.  If not, get out there, take a photo, click on the badge and enter to win a great prize!  What's the prize?  You'll get a kick ass badge that you can put on your blog to show the world that you have stellar photography skills.

So start shooting.  Andygirl and I will decide who the winner is in a TRULY agonizing process - you are all that good.  The winner's photo will be posted on our blogs Crazy with a side of Awesome Sauce & The Suniverse, our Twitter feeds @andygirl & @TheSuniverse, and on Flickr. 

If you have any questions, just shoot us an email:

thesueniverse@gmail.com

 awesomecrazylady@gmail.com

We can't wait to see your photos! 

XO,

Suniverse
Andygirl

Secret Shames #1

Steve Miller Band [and that guy who sings the Maserati song, although I swear to god, they are the same person.]
The headed down tooooo old El Paso
That's where they ran into a great big hassle
Billy Mac shot a man while robbin' his castle
Bobby Sue took the money and run

How do you hear that and not want to clap and sing along? I cannot.  While I don't actively seek out these songs [for example, I have not purchased them on iTunes], I always listen to them when the come on the radio.  And they are on the radio a surprisingly lot.  They are fun and silly and you get to clap! During the song! It's like Bingo but for grown ups!

Cheese fries.
I am an unrepentant cheese snob.  I love artisanal cheeses and trying different types of smoked Gouda and generally have about 12 different types of cheese in my fridge on a given day.  I LOVE cheese.  Growing up, we had feta and kalamata olives as a snack, and I have a favorite kind of feta [Greek - I love how it crumbles and how tangy and salty it is.  Bulgarian is o.k., and French is fine but a bit bland.]. The cheese lady at the market knows me and I spent a ridiculous amount of time talking to her about the right cheese for the right meal.  I've even been to Cheese Haven! 125 different kinds of cheese!

All this to tell you that I love cheese fries.  LOVE THEM.  And not the fancy white cheddar and colby topped or blue cheese laden potato wedges.  No.  I love cheese fries with that gloppy radioactive yellow sauce.  Every time I go to a coney island, I get them.  It's kind of disgusting, but I need them.  If I don't get them, then I'm really sad.  Like a kitty died.  Like I MISS them.  Like my life is incomplete.

Giovanni Ribisi.  

I find him scarily sexy and unbelievably attractive.  And the sad thing is, the more that he acts like he's mentally deficient [i.e. as Phoebe's brother on Friends] the more attracted I am. Objectively, it's kind of disgusting.  The husband finds it insulting - "How can find THAT guy attractive and me attractive? What does that say about me?" Actually, I think it says less about him than it does about the vast diversity in my attractions.  I'm equal opportunity, baby.

Come on, give it up.  What's your secret shame?

Rewind Review #2 - Could there be more anti-feminism in this romantic comedy?

You know how you are just now watching/reading/hearing that thing that everyone was talking about 1/2/10/15/20 years ago?  Or maybe you're revisiting something you LOVED and want desperately to talk about it to someone who cares?  Well, this is my forum to discuss that thing.  Join in, make suggestions, read my genius thoughts about that old school thing.  [Not to be confused with Old School, the movie, or being old school.  Although either of those may come up in the future.]

****

So obviously my answer to my not so rhetorical titular question is yes, there could be more anti-feminism in a romantic comedy, but I submit that even a movie from 1940* is more woman positive than The Proposal, which was released in 2009.  WARNING!  MANY MANY SPOILERS AHEAD.

Now, I love Sandra Bullock.  I've even watched Hope Floats more than once. 

Repeated viewings may or may not having anything to do with Harry Connick, Jr.  Also, didn't you LOVE him on Will & Grace?










I think she is fun, and pretty and isn't afraid to laugh at herself.

And I know, GOD I KNOW, that there are very few roles for women that aren't dumb as rocks, and even fewer for women who are OLD [you know, like 45, and stuff], but it doesn't stop me from getting frustrated with the whole anti-feminist message thing.  I'm finding it harder and harder to enjoy what passes for comedy / relationship movies.  I have NO INTEREST in Judd Apatow and his ilk, and I'm struggling to think of a movie I've seen recently where the woman is accepted for who she is and doesn't have to be FIXED before she gets to be married.


While watching this movie, I was somehow reminded of Overboard with Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn - you know, that movie where Goldie Hawn suffers amnesia and ultimately learns a lesson about how she was unfulfilled in her fabulous life of wealth and privilege and instead found happiness in being treated like a slave to Kurt Russell and his four shithead "unruly" boys. 

See how happy she is? It's because she's realized that her manipulative "husband" was right all along!  All she needed to find purpose in her life was to completely give up her self - to negate herself utterly and completely!








God, I hadn't realized how much this movie bugged me.  I also love how pretty much every synopsis of Overboard is "Rich bitch gets taken down and realizes she's much happier married to a manipulative carpenter who decided she needed payback for not paying her bills." AWESOME!

There's that whole class issue thing in both these movies, where women who are in superior positions are mocked or derided for being in that position.  SB and RR go to Alaska, and SB wears a suit and heels for the trip.  For which she is mocked.  Hahahaha how dumb is she to look nice for travel!  HAHAHA! Look at her in her high heels!  HAHAHA city people are dumb.  What kills me is the people who do this ARE THE OTHER WOMEN.  So that's great.

Speaking of the supporting cast, I'm not sure how I feel about Mary Steenburgen.  She seems nice enough, but not someone who'd have much to say at a party.  Plus, it's hard for me to take Coach seriously since I found out about his vitrolic right wing craziness.

And, I know I am going out on a limb here, but was this the nascence of the Betty White resurgence? Because I don't see it.  She was hella funnier as Rose Nylund.

Finally, I was also dismayed by the disparity between the two proposals.  When SB asks RR to marry her, he makes her get own on her knees in the street, and makes her ask nicely and blah de blah. 

 

Yes, it's a business proposition, but he makes her humiliate herself before he agrees.  How is that a good way to be a partner in ANYTHING?
This makes me so ANGRY.






In contrast, RR proposed to SB while standing in the office and didn't really get a complete yes from her.  My favorite part is when SB and RR were kissing and someone in the office yelled, "You show her who's boss!" and they both kind of smiled at each other.  Yeah.  Hahaha.  Who's the boss?

 Whoops! Wrong show.








Anyway, there's the usual Bitch Boss thing where everyone emails everyone else with location updates on the EVIL SB, and her assistant has to get her coffee, and she fires someone, and there's the whole all she does is work, she has no life thing.  It's all kind of trite and banal, but this is not to say that it was completely wretched.  I like SB and RR together. 

"Oh, my God! What is that?"
"It's morning!"






They are funny and quirky.  I also would probably watch this again if it was on and I was sick and couldn't reach the remote.  But there are smarter romantic comedies out there and I think we'd all be better served if we watched those instead.

* Here are TWO movies made in 1940 that I think are more woman positive than The Proposal.  And this despite the fact that in BOTH movies, all the women ostensibly want is to get married and be wives.  STILL, they are rock solid women and do what is best for them.  And their men LOVE THEM FOR THIS.

His Girl Friday

 See? See the look she's giving him.  She knows what's up.  And he loves her for it!  Because he wants her to be the newspaper man that she is!









The Philadelphia Story

 That's right, bitches.  TWO guys want her.  And they aren't even the one she is getting married to the next day!