Listen To Me - Middlesex

Since my commute is what seems like a thousand hours long, I thought I'd share what I'm reading/listening to with you. Because I'm a giver.

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Have you read Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides yet?

Also, it evidently won the Pulitzer Prize.  Huh.  How about that.

What that hell are you waiting for?

I can't believe I've ignored people's recommendations and checked this out TWICE and never dived in.  It's very engrossing.

Seriously.

What's not to love?  Within the first few pages / chapters / minutes, you get:
A hermaphrodite
Brother / sister incest
Lesbianism

It's all there!  Plus, a nice history of Detroit, and an immigrant story that rings true.

It took me forever to actually want to read this book, because it was so lauded as being important, which to me translated as dry.  

[Also, I was a afraid it was going to be like Middlemarch, by George Eliot, and I cannot, still, ever for the life of me get through that.

Penguin, stop being a liar.  There is nothing "popular" or "classic" about this book.  It just sucks.  Also, it's inexcusably long.  Kind of like this caption.  Which I can never figure out how to format correctly so it'll all fit nicely underneath the image.  Eh, now I'm writing like I'm George Eliot and want to inflict useless words on the world.  Must stop now.

There is no reason George Eliot should even be read, unless you want to induce a coma or anger against all things British as well as the printed word.  Just, don't.  Promise me you'll never read any Eliot.  It's all awful.]

But back to the actual book and my years-long reticence:  Actually, the whole hermaphrodite thing put me off from reading this book. It's not that I'm biased against hermaphrodites or anything.  Instead, I think the problem was that the people who recommended this book to me were very, very scholarly [think PhDs in literature and all that that entails; yes, including the baggy cardigans and earnest expressions] and I was afraid it was going to be some wretched treatise on the duality of man or something.

And it kind of is.

But it mostly isn't.

What it is, is a great story, an engrossing story.  I was hooked from the first sentence, which is not something that happens very often.  Which may mean nothing to you, but it should. Because I am the arbiter of taste, after all.

The story in Middlesex is not a straight narrative, which can be maddening if you don't just let yourself enjoy the loops and elides of it all.  I like the fact that it's storytelling, with all that that entails - when telling a story, when listening to a story, it seems like the best ones always back up or go off on tangents and add layers of meaning and knowledge to the listener. Plus, I cannot emphasize enough, this is not a dry treatise.  It's a really, really entertaining book.

The reader, Kristoffer Tabori, is perfect.  Absolutely, delightfully, wonderfully perfect.  His soft, gravelly voice has just a touch of an accent - enough that you can hear the Greek in his background.  It's a delight to listen to, it really is.  And his voice is addicting.  I kind of want to sit in my car and just listen to him.  And I seldom fade out while I'm driving- or if I do, I haven't noticed, which I guess is the same thing.

[This reticence reminds me of my reaction to Beloved.

Yes, I finally read it.  And yes, it was amazing.  But when I re-read it in grad school, after I had had the girl, it was excruciatingly painful to read.  I guess that's what makes great literature, that it grows and changes as you do.  Also - GHOST STORY!!

This came out when I was an undergrad, studying, yes, that's right, English Literature.  EVERYONE kept telling me to read it, that it was important and should immediately be part of the canon.  And I agree, it is important, and should be part of the canon.  But it took me FOREVER to read this, because again, English Lit scholars recommended it, and after trudging through Jane Eyre {which English Lit scholars ALSO recommend as somehow engrossing and genius, but which absolutely can suck it} there's only so much a girl can take.  They should have just told me that it was a ghost story, and I would have immediately jumped on it.]

So, to sum up:

Read Middlesex.
Do not read Middlemarch.
Hermaphrodites actually make for good literature.
[As do ghost stories.]

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Speaking of reading, check out my latest post at Secret Society of List Addicts.  It's all about the printed word.

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Had enough of the printed word?  Well, a picture is worth a thousand of them, so get your photo in to the latest Raw Photos Contest!  The theme is LOVE.  Come on, submit your photo.  Everyone needs to see what you love.

In Memoriam: Burn Notice

There are things I love - television shows, movie franchises, book series - that have disappointed me.  I mean, I started out loving them, and then . . . they falter. 


And I give them a second chance. 


And they suck even worse.


I've decided to give eulogies to the things I once loved that have been wrenched from my life because of shitty writing or execution.  Here are their sad tales.

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I love Burn Notice.  Love it.

That's exactly what I look like when I'm in Miami.

Have you seen this show?

It's about a spy [Michael Westen, played by Jeffery Donovan, who is new to me, but awfully cool] who got burned and was tossed out of his super secret spy world and into Miami with no money, no job, no nothing.

But still with a kickass Armani suit and super cool sunglasses.

As he tells us, when you're a spy and you get burned, you deal with whoever you can: Your trigger happy ex-girlfriend [Fiona, played by Gabriel Anwar, late of the Tudors, where she smothered her aged husband while he was waiting to have sex with her on their wedding night. Fucking awesome, right?],

Do NOT mess with Fiona. But she could use a sandwich, right? Just saying.

the guy who used to inform on you to the FBI [Sam, played by the inimitable Bruce Campbell]

I'd trust him.  And be his ladyfriend.

and even your family [Madeleine, played by the delightful Sharon Gless - where have you been, Sharon?  You are spectacular.].

Here she is with Lacey.  I mean Cagney. No. Lacey.  Christine Cagney and Marybeth Lacey.  Yup.  That's it.  Cagney and Lacey.  What a great show. 

Anyway, so Michael is a burned spy and he does jobs for people who need help.  Or for criminals.  Or for a combination of the two.  He's also trying to find out who burned him so he can either get back into the CIA or hurt them.

I had seen ads for this show, on billboards, in magazines, on tv.  But I resisted.  Oh, how foolish I was.

Because.

Michael Westen?  Complete badass.

I mean, look at this guy:

I would roll over on my mother if this was me.

Doesn't he look like he could kill you with his thumbs?

So, to sum up, complete badass whose relationships with Fiona and Sam and Madeleine are sharp and smart and funny.

There's a lot of discussing how to pull off capers, too, like if you need to know how to best pick a lock [modify the ear pieces of a cheap pair of sunglasses, because they work the same as a set of lock picks, but if you get caught with them, you're just a guy with broken sunglasses.  See?  Aren't you glad you know this now?] or how to improvise an armored car [telephone books.  Seriously.] or even how to make a taser [with a disposable camera, duh].

There are, in fact, a lot of reasons to watch this show, to really enjoy it.

Or at least there WERE.

Until this season, when it got Cousin Olivered with the introduction of Jesse. [No.  I will not deign to put a photo of him on my blog.  No.]  Who is such a dud that I honest to god spend each episode hoping, out loud, that he gets killed.

"Stand closer to the explosive device," I'll yell. "You need to be closer, you fucking asshole!"

Or "This would be the perfect time for Fiona to take him out.  He's not suspecting a thing.  And she likes to shoot people," I'll say.

Or even just "OH MY FUCKING GOD, THIS GUY IS A CANCER ON THIS SHOW.  JESSE IS RUINING EVERYTHING!!!"

And so, I've got to say, that as much as I once loved Burn Notice, as much as it was once weekly viewing in my life, that time is gone.  A stake has been driven through the love I once had for this show.  A wooden stake that is shaped like Jesse [but is a better actor].

RIP in my heart, Burn Notice.

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You know what you need to do?  Enter the latest Raw Photos Contest!  The theme is LOVE.  Come on, submit your photo.  Everyone needs to see what you love.

Bonus! Friday in Pictures

I love the colors of fall.

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Speaking of love. And photos.  Guess what????


Submissions are open TODAY for

The theme is: LOVE.

What does LOVE mean to you? Raindrops on roses? Never having to say you're sorry? A train?

Submit up to two NON-PHOTOSHOPPED PHOTOS between now and December 4th. 

Click here for full rules.

Submit photos here.

Mamakat Writing Prompt

A Thanksgiving Poem [In the Manner of O Tannenbaum]
by Suniverse

O Turkey Day, O Turkey Day,
How lovely is your aroma
I love so much
The scent of you
I eat so much
And then I poo

O Turkey Day, O Turkey Day,
Your aroma is delightful.

Your Anger is a Gift

I've been working very hard on managing my anger.

It's hard to be positive and let stuff go.  I don't know how to do it very well.

I tend to brood and dwell.

I don't care for it any more.  It's exhausting.

I've been very, very aggravated at work lately, not with the people, because I like my co-workers, but with some other issues that exacerbate my dismay at not being able to find a job and feeling like my career has always been and will always be a source of anxiety and despair.

I try and focus on things in a more positive light:

• This is the universe trying to show me that I need to stop trying to please people in situations I don't care about
• This is the universe trying to tell me to do what I really, really want to do with my life
• This is the universe doing something that I can't understand right now, but that will ultimately be to my benefit

Or it may just be a bunch of shit.  I don't know.

But I am trying to be calm and accepting and let things go and happen as they must.

I am the motherfucking Ghandi of acceptance.

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Speaking of dealing with angst and anger, my Thanksgiving post is up at Secret Society of List Addicts.  Go on.  It'll do you good.

Because the holidays are when you need ONE MORE THING TO DO

The Raw Photos Contest is here!  Yes! AGAIN! AND FINALLY!!

No stress, though.  Just start taking pictures like you normally would, and think about

LOVE

Love is ALL you need  [plus money and health and vodka].

LOVE

is the theme for this contest. 

Show us what love means to you. You know you wanna.


Submissions start BLACK FRIDAY and will close December 4th.  In case you forgot or are new, here are the rules.

Submit photos here.

We can't wait to see them!

Head Down and Power Through

I love going to the dentist.

I really do.

I love getting my teeth cleaned.  I love the whirring noise that the polisher makes.

I even love the pointy weapons the hygienist wields when she's scraping the plaque and tartar between my teeth.  I love that feeling after going to the dentist, when my teeth are super clean.  It's like I can't stop French kissing my own mouth, I keep running my tongue around it.

This last time, I even got to hold the spit sucky thing, which I now want at home.  Why bother swallowing all that saliva when there is a machine that can do it for me?  Swallowing is for chumps.

The only problem now is that I've got a cavity.  Which actually isn't so much of a problem, because in theory and in practice, I don't mind having cavities filled.

EXCEPT.

For the whole crazy cakes thing I've got going on.  Where I'm deathly afraid of medication. 

I'm terrified of getting the numbing shot.  Particularly since the last time I had lidocaine, I ended up with a racing heart and queasiness and just about passed out and threw up all over the nice nurse.

So.  Here I sit.  I know I need to do this.  And I will do this.  Except I think I may just do this without any type of meds.

How bad can it be?

Friday in Pictures

Last Friday, thanks to the good graces of a co-worker, the husband and I went to the UM hockey game and sat in these incredible seats.

If you have never gone to a UM hockey game, and you are able, I HIGHLY recommend it.  The crowd is super-hyped, the cheers used to be hilariously profane [the band now drowns out the students, but if you happen to be sitting near them, they will gladly tell you what they're saying] and the game is quick, fun and played by guys who have been drafted by the NHL, so you know they're good.

It was a nice, unexpected date night.

Dear Gwyneth Paltrow [Redux]

Dear Gwyneth,

Even though we've never met, you've been a barnacle on the ship of my life.

Remember when I tried to explain to you how annoying you were?  And then when I expounded on that to the point where my post was the number one result on Google for Gwyneth K. Paltrow [that's right, bitches]?  Remember?

I thought you'd learned your lesson.

I thought you'd go back to your GOOP-y existence and be a goober on my periphery.

I thought you'd do the decent thing and stay out of my world.

I was mistaken.

Because now?  NOW?  You have done me so, so wrong. 

You have glommed on to Glee, Gwyneth K. Paltrow, and I am not amused.

This makes me so, so angry.  And sad.  But mostly angry.

I love Glee.   I love the songs.  I love the dances.  I love Puck [oh, yes I do!].

Um. Hell. Yes.

I love Glee so much I wrote an essay that's in a book about Glee.  About loving Glee!

You know what doesn't fill me with Glee?  GP!

I do not love you.

I certainly do not love your wooden acting.

But I love even less your atonal caterwauling singing.

Really?  The CMAs, too?  It's like you can't stop yourself.

While I have promised to watch the Glee episode, and I will, I just want you to know that you have crossed a line.  I was ready to leave you alone, but you have sneaked onto my turf and that will not stand.

It is ON.

XO,

Suniverse

But What Does That MEAN?

I love language.

I've been reading since I can remember, and I'm pretty particular about how I use my words.  I can be a real pedant about word choice and the correct way to parse a sentence and why a particular word should be used instead of another.

Which makes it somewhat surprising that I swear like a motherfucker.

I really, really do.

I use fuck as an adjective, adverb, gerund, noun, and verb [although not as often as we would like, I'm sure - but such is married life].

But the thing is, while I think that most people consider using foul language as a base, anti-intellectual practice, I find it liberating and a delightful use of my imagination.

Coming up with great new turns of phrase and eloquent but profane sentence structures are fun!  It's a motherfucking hoot!  And people may not have heard of jackfucking cockknocker, but they sure get a pretty quick idea that it's someone they do not want to know.

Foul language is a great way to express yourself, to get your point across, without the use of pedantic language constructs.

Which just goes to show you, I think, that your vocabulary can be limitless, even though it may not be appropriate in all circumstances.

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This post is part of Word Up, Yo!, although I'm sure they wish it wasn't.

You Know What I Like

I'm making a concerted effort to be more positive in my day to day life.  This is partially because at work there is a guy we've dubbed Eeyore, as he is so unrelentingly negative.  I don't want to be that guy, so I've started listing things I like.  Here are some of them.

My Likes (as of today):

• Salty foods.  I like sweets during PMS week [which is my own personal sweeps week], but my snack of choice is savory.  Popcorn is my favorite.  But only buttered and salted.  I'm not a fan of the flavored popcorn.  Why mess with perfection?
• Aveda Hand Cream
• My kid
• Reading on a Sunday afternoon
• Doing the New York Times crossword puzzle.  In ink.  I kick ass on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday.  Thursday becomes much, much harder and only gets half-finished.  Fridays?  I'm lucky if I can get a few words.  Somehow, the Sunday puzzles are easier than the Friday puzzles.  Weird.
• That cool feeling when a light bulb has been replaced and suddenly, the world is so much shinier.
• Doing my nails.  I love new colors and love my OPI polishes and the idea of sitting for half an hour, doing nothing and waiting for my nails to dry.  [This week, it's Black Cherry Chutney.]
• A full pantry
• Finding a new song that is AWESOME.  I'm loving Thievery Corporation - so fantastic!
• Making new friends
• Clean laundry.  I love that feel and smell and the stacks of clothes waiting to put together into fantastic outfits!  Even if I end up wearing the same things over and over again.  Possibilities!  I love them!
• My husband.  Most days.
• Sparkling water.  I love San Pellegrino and Perrier with lime and La Croix grapefruit.  So tasty.

What are your likes?

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You know what else I like?  Being the Tuesday poster at Secret Society of List Addicts.  Check me out - I'm talking about mothers and daughters.  It's touching.  Or touched in the head.

Listen To Me

Since my commute is what seems like a thousand hours long, I thought I'd share what I'm reading/listening to with you. Because I'm a giver.

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I have audiobook ADD.

I have the worst time listening to books. I tend to fade out and start thinking about other things, or even focus on driving, which is so distracting when I'm at a crucial point in the book. Honestly. It's like people are TRYING to be complete assholes about it.

Anyway, I've been listening to a lot of audiobooks, and one of the recent ones that I LOVED was M.C. Beaton's Death of a Gentle Lady.

Isn't it atmospheric?

If you haven't read much of Beaton's books, I suggest you do. She has two series: The Hamish Macbeth and the Agatha Raisin. Both are mystery series, the cozy kind [not overly violent, you know what I mean]. Death of a Gentle Lady is in the Macbeth series.  Hamish Macbeth is a policeman in Scotland and he [duh] solves crimes.  I like the series because it's a nice, easy, relaxing read. 

I am in LOVE with the reader, Graeme Malcolm.

Seriously.  His voice is a dream.

He's Scottish and his voice is amazingly sexy and also a pleasure to listen to.  Because even more than the actual story, even more that the way the words are put together, if the reader is annoying, you want to stab yourself in the ears.

Not this time.

I loved listening to the book, not only because the story was engaging, but because the soft lilt made my drive easier and more pleasurable.

As I said, I tend to fade in and out, and even though there were quite a few characters, I could follow along pretty well.

Hamish becomes engaged to a Russian woman, Ayesha whom he thought was a maid, but turned out to be a prostitute.  The woman she worked for, Mrs. Gentle, winds up dead, and then, so does Ayesha.

Hamish is also plagued by the nefarious machinations of one of his superiors.  

Hamish does his detective work and finds the killer [I won't spoil it - I was surprised] and gives his evil superior the what-for and he lives to take care of his cat and dog in his tiny police station, ready for another story.

I really hope Graeme Malcolm reads that one, too.

Friday in Pictures

About three years ago, this stray cat had that box of kittens.  She had them under the patio furniture on the deck.  One day, she started to take them away.  I managed to keep one of the orange ones, which we gave to friends.  They are alternately happy about it and reconsidering our friendship.

Confessions

Here are some of my dirty little secrets:

* Sometimes I kiss my husband solely to taste the coffee he just drank.
* I pretend that I was in the bathroom when I recognize the caller ID and don't want to talk to the person right at that minute. Then I pretend that I hadn't heard the phone ring and that I didn't check my messages.
* I talk to myself out loud and then pretend I was singing if someone overhears me.
* I ate that candy bar that I told you I threw away.
* I must drive faster than any other car on the road. I HATE being behind people.
* When I do something like wear brown socks with black pants and shoes because I didn't have anything that matched that was clean, I point it out and laugh and say, "Look, I thought they were black!" even when I KNEW they were brown. I don't want people thinking they should call What Not To Wear. [Except I could certainly use the $5,000 shopping spree. Hmm . . . maybe I should keep wearing mismatched clothes.]
* Except - I like to wear matching bra and underwear all the time. Nothing fancy, generally cotton, but it makes me feel better about my day.
* Yes, I am checking out my neighbor's ass. It looks great in his jeans.
* While I am generally very happy for other people's successes, when I feel like they are succeeding while I am not, I find it very hard not to wish them ill.
* The people who are on the PTA do not like being on the PTA. Or at least I don't.

My living room

I have a hard time decorating.

I don't have enough money to do what I want to do and I don't have enough patience to find things and fix them up.  I find large spaces daunting, because there are so many decisions to make and so many opportunities for failure.  I mean, I can be pretty creative and am able to screw things together and hang photos and match colors, but for the most part, I am more comfortable decorating smaller areas. For instance, my bathroom and hallway look fantastic.

The living room and dining room are one [not so] great room. I have a nice color there now, but for about 5 years, I had the most glaring yellow you could possibly imagine. Why yellow? I have no fucking idea, but I'm pretty sure it's because the guy we hired to paint really fucked up the hues.

So. Yellow walls. Ugh.

But, finally, we repainted [and by we, I mean the husband and my sister and mother, because I was taking the bar exam and enjoying myself] and it looks nice. Kind of a bland color, but whatever. Yellow hurt my eyeballs, so I needed a break.

The rest of the room is decorated in the most eclectic manner you could possibly imagine. While I have long been a fan of eclectic dressing [I used to rock the combat boot/mini skirt/Dead Kennedy's tshirt look, and my eye makeup rivaled Robert Smith's],

Actually, my lip color and hair also rivaled his.

for some reason I thought my style of decorating would adhere to a theme.  I mean, grown ups have themes, right?  French provincial, English country, Martha Stewart, Barbie Dream House. 

My theme, on the other hand, has turned out to be:  Whatever strikes your fancy OR whatever people give you that you kind of like OR whatever was on sale at Target that you think looks good.

Eclectic.  Right?

Doesn't that sound better than random collection of objects?

It Just Figures

Let's just say you are having a really, really long day.

And let's say that on your way into work, your gas light went on and dinged to let you know that you need to get gas.

Which you thought about getting last night so you wouldn't be rushed or feel panicked as you were driving the 45 minutes to an hour commute into work.

But let's just say that you didn't want to be late, so you coasted in to work, thinking you'd get gas on your way home.  No big.

BUT.

As soon as you get in your car, three people immediately call you about: The big volunteer project; another question about the big volunteer project; and your husband, calling you from Costco, asking what kind of baked goods you want him to pick up to pass off as your own for the bake sale.

So you're a little scattered, and trying to answer questions [Yes, I know he said he'd do that, but he didn't so you need to pick up the slack; That's fine, just do what you can; A dozen muffins, who cares what kind] and then you realize that you have suddenly driven into a residential area [thanks for letting me over, you fucking twat in the Lexus SUV] and you have NO FUCKING IDEA where the nearest gas station is, so you pull out your handy dandy iPhone and pull up the map feature and search for GAS STATION, NAME OF CITY THAT YOU THINK YOU MIGHT BE IN and ta da! Up pop several pins signifying gas stations.  You pick one that looks closest and drive toward it, except you fuck up and turn too early so you end up in ANOTHER subdivision and then you finally find a major thoroughfare and you see it!  Up ahead!  A gas station!  And you don't care that even though it's drizzling this particular gas station doesn't have any overhangs to protect you from the weather.  Who cares? You just want to get through the intersection and pull in and you get out and . . .

You cannot for the life of you figure out what the hell is going on with this gas pump.You've got the nozzle in your car.  You've selected the cheapest grade.  And then: You push the PAY CREDIT button, but don't see where you can swipe your card and suddenly over the loudspeaker you hear "GARBLE GARBLE BLAH GARBLE" so you keep trying to figure out how to get the gas to start flowing because who cares? You'll go inside and pay.

And then this nice old man comes over and says, "This is a full service pump."

And you look at him blankly and say, "I'm sorry, I have no idea what that means."

And he looks at you like you're an idiot, but you're his idiot, and says, "Here someone has to pump the gas for you," and you think, we'll I'M PUMPING, but he kindly points to the next pumps over and says, "You can pump yourself over there."

Fuck.

Fine.

I get back in the car and pull around, hoping I have enough gas to actually get to the fucking pump, when I finally reach it and am able to pour that sweet, sweet fuel into my tank.

And when the little screen asks me if I want a receipt, I press yes.

And it fails to print a receipt.

Of course.

So I stand there, demoralized, and get in my car and drive home, because I cannot deal with one more fucking thing.

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Over at List Addicts, I'm instigating.  Check me out!

The Medical Report

It's been at least a couple of weeks since I've had a medical induced freak out. 

Ready for this one?

Last week, I had my yearly exam with the girly bits doctor.  [I will keep this as PG as possible, girly parts-wise.  Language is X-Rated, as always.]  Anyway, pre-exam, the doctor and I are chatting and she asks if there have been any changes, yadda yadda.  And so I explain a concern I've been having, and she said, hmmm . . . we probably should do an endometrial biopsy.

And I start to freak a little bit, but calmly ask what that is.  She explains that she'll snip a little piece of my uterine lining - kind of like my insulation or wallpaper that's changed monthly - and send that off to the lab.  There's some discomfort, some cramping, a bit of spotting, but you can take 2 Motrin & you'll be all better.

"Do I schedule this?" I ask.

"You can," she replies, "or we can do this right now.  It's very, very quick.  And I know how hard it is to schedule appointments, what with work."

So.

So. 

So. I sit there, at 8:30am, and the following is going through my head:

* PANIC PANIC PANIC BIOPSY CANCER PANIC

*I'm here, I need to be stronger, I can do this.

* Remember you flu & DTaP shots?  You panicked for no reason.  You were fine.  And this time, you're not even getting any medication - it's like giving blood.  Menstrual blood.

*PANIC PANIC PANIC CUTTING PANIC PAIN PANIC

* This isn't a big deal.  It's not like I even need to go to another room.  She'll already be pretty far up in my business.  What's a few centimeters more?

* I can't afford to take more time off of work.  I'm only work a 1/2 day today because I had to vote and do PTA stuff and right after this, I have my & the girl's dentist appointments. You can knock all of this out in one morning.  Boom! DONE!  YOU WIN!

* Just do it.  Honestly.  It's not a big deal.  Think of how good you'll feel once you've done it.

"O.k., let's just do it."

"O.k., let me get the biopsy set and I'll be right back."

So we do the regularly girly-doctor stuff and then we progress onto the endometrial biopsy.

Which was un-fun on so many, many levels.  Really not fun.  Cramping is a mild term for the gouging and poking that was going on.  It was . . . well, it was exactly how shitty you'd imagine something like this being.

Afterward, the doctor patted me on the arm and said to lay down and relax for a few minutes.  So I did.  And then I thought, I need to get going, I have to be at the dentist in 30 minutes.  I got up, got dressed and then . . .

And then I almost puked and passed out.  Because guess what?  Shaking and nausea?  Common reactions to this type of biopsy - according to the nurse who came and sat with me for almost an hour as I lay down on the stupid paper covered table and shook and tried not to puke and cried.  And called my sister to take the girl to the dentist and called the dentist to reschedule my appointment and explain that I wouldn't be there and then lay down some more.

Finally, I thought I felt a bit better, and the nurse said, "Well, are you sure?  We don't want you to get up too fast.  This happens at least once a week [thanks for the heads up, doc!].  In fact, last week, we had a woman who got up too soon and she fell and hit her head on the desk," she said, pointing to the lethally sharp looking edge.

Great.  "I'll sit for a few," I said.  And sank my ass down into the chair.

A while later, I thought I felt better, and decided I should go to the bathroom as a precursor to heading into the outside world. 

"Are  you sure?  Because we don't want you falling in there.  Although there is a cord, I can show you where it is and how to pull it in case you feel the slightest bit dizzy."

And then I'll be passed out bare-assed on a public bathroom floor.  I honestly don't know if I was more horrified by the idea of passing out bottomless, wet with urine, or passing out on a public floor.

"I'll sit here for a few more minutes."

Finally, I felt better still, and the nurse and the nice nurse's aide [who brought me a slice of American cheese and couple of water crackers to help settle my stomach] said my color was better, so I decided to brave the bathroom.  Where the nurse showed me the cord and told me not to lock the door in case she needed to come in, and she'd be waiting right by the door, so don't worry.

Fastest pee ever.

Finally, I felt well enough to leave, and I stopped in the pharmacy on the first floor, bought myself an apple juice, a blueberry Nutrigrain bar, and called my friend to come pick me up and take me home.

Where I spent the next several hours quietly watching Gavin and Stacy, waiting for my uterus to heal.

Friday in Pictures

This was from a party over the summer.  It's been cold and rainy and all I can think about is how much I miss bright colors and festive times.

Rewind Review #4 - Baby, It's Cold Outside

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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We got rid of cable during the summer to save money.  I thought I'd die without it, but I honestly don't miss it.  I think I watched a lot of shows just because they were there.

What we've been doing is Netflix and Hulu and going to the library, where we can check out whole seasons of tv shows [you should work on that, Netflix & Hulu, instead of your paltry 1 disc or 5 recent episode stinginess].

One of the shows we've watched is Northern Exposure.

My mother-in-law loves this moose.  I don't know why.

I LOVED this show when it first came out.  LOVED it.  It was quirky and funny and oh, my god, so well-written.

I hadn't realized that the husband had not watched it as religiously as I had, but he was willing to give it a go, and lo and behold, HE loved it, too!

What's not to love?

To start, it's about a Columbia educated New York doctor, Joel, who gets stuck having to be the doctor for the tiny town of Cicely, Alaska.  This was before Alaska became such a canker on the American physiognomy.

This is Joel.  He is cantankerous, but NOT a canker.

Anyway, Joel gets stuck in Cicely, which is home to so many, many wonderful characters, it's hard to pick only a few to highlight [but I will, because I don't want this to end up being like you're stuck watching someone else's pictures from their vacation camping.  "Look, here's ANOTHER copse of trees."  "Here's the rock I sat on.  No.  Sorry, HERE'S the rock I sat on.  I think the other one was just a rock."].

Where was I?

Oh.  Characters!

Well, there's Joel, who is a complete jackass in the first couple of episodes, but settles down a bit as time goes on.

He's got the maybe / maybe nots for Maggie, a pampered rich girl who chucked it all to be a pilot with her own plane and own business. And an alarming mortality rate when it comes to boyfriends.

I love that haircut.  No way could I pull it off.

Then there's Maurice Minnifield, a former NASA astronaut who owns pretty much the whole town.

Maurice is something else.  Firm of purpose and no tolerance for fools.

And Chris Stevens - YUMMY - and please don't mention that he was in that wretched Sex and the City, because he remains pure in my eyes as the ex-convict DJ who waxes philosophical while playing excellent music.

Um. Hell, yes.

And Marilyn, who is Joel's secretary and very rarely speaks, but conveys volumes.

You know exactly what she's thinking.

And . . . o.k., I'll stop.  Come back!

The best part of this show, and I think I may have mentioned it before, is that is brilliantly written.  Seriously.  It takes this tiny town and uses it as a prism to discuss such big and weighty issues as family and religion and death and love.

Never preachy, never boring, always entertaining and oh my god, why are there so few shows like this?  Is this world really satisfied only with the football hitting the old guy in the crotch?




Do yourself a huge favor and check out this show.  You will not be sorry.

Ah, Suburbia

We live in the suburbs.  Not one of those fancy gated communities, and not one of those quaint little towns where there's a town square and all sorts of Stars Hollow-esque activities.

Nope, we live smack dab in the middle of a city that was created solely for people to live in while they worked downtown.

It's a nice city.  Kinda religious.  Kinda boring.  But with an excellent school system and lots of parks and tree lined streets.

And people, particularly retirees, who are, well, a wee bit insane about their yards.  Like, come over and talk to you about your weed problem and how to deal with it, and maybe you should just add some more fertilizer when you prep your lawn for the winter [what? I thought the snow did that.].  It's a gamble, some days, going outside to get your mail.  Will you be able to pick up this week's issue of Entertainment Weekly before Retiree Guy catches you and asks you what you're planning on doing with the barren spot in the front lawn? 

We are not yard people.  Our yard looks great, now, because my family spent several weeks this summer helping us dig up a 4-6 foot area completely circling the house and replant the honest to god thousands of bulbs and numerous plants and oh, yeah, that tree [sure, it was a tree, but it was a small one].  I know when we went to the greenhouse and started the project, the owners' eyes turned into dollar signs and all they could hear was kaching!

But it's done and we have a tiny, sparsely leafed tree in our front yard.  I'm thinking of adding another to the barren spot [would that make you happy, Neighbors? I'm sure it would.], but this would double down our leaf production, and I'm not sure I'm ready for that.

Although the husband and I did come up with a GREAT idea that will surely cause our neighbors to love us without reservation:

We're going to take leaf blowers, and, each of use one a side of the street, walk down the street, blowing leaves back onto people's lawns.  In the middle of the night.

It'll make us laugh and give them something to do when they have to re-rake their lawns.






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So this is obviously a post for Word Up, Yo!  And it's a new kind of challenge, one where we're recruiting.  I sat we're because in case you didn't notice my fancy button over there ------> on my sidebar, I'm a Made Man in the Nerd Mafia.  Yes.  I fucking rock.

Anyway, since I know you want to be like me [who doesn't?], you now have the opportunity to join up by joining in the challenge and help me move up in the ranks!

To have a post count in the recruitment challenge it must:

1. Use one of this week's words.
2. Link up to Word Up, Yo!
3. Mention the name and/or blog of the person who recruited them.

So here is what you need to do:

Use any of the Vegas themed words below. As always, the best post gets jumped in to our cozy little Mafia Family.

kaching!

jackpot

winner winner, chicken dinner

roulette

double down

gamble

pit boss




Head over to Taming Insanity or A Belle, A Bean and A Chicago Dog or Mommy of a Monster [I Mean Toddler] and Infant Twins and enter your post!

Make Your Move, America.

I didn't go to the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear.

I wanted to, but we couldn't swing it financially in any way.  I did watch the last hour or so on my computer with the girl.  We loved it, and I have to admit, as hard-hearted and cynical as I am, I got teary looking at all those people gathered in DC.

People who are looking to make a difference in the world, looking to show that this is a country that believes in rationality and humanity and doing good.

I tend not to watch tv news, particularly cable news shows, simply because it is so upsetting to me.  So frustrating and unrelentingly negative.

I want to believe that people are inherently good.  I really do.  I think that's why I'm constantly amazed at the casual racists and mindlessly bigoted people I run into.  I have a hard time believing that someone like that actually exists outside of a movie or a novel.

But I do honestly believe that for every willfully ignorant person I've run across, I've met at least 4 or 5 people who are at least smart enough and decent enough to want to do what's right for their neighbors.  I really do.  We disagree on politics, but we agree that people need to do the right thing.

I hope those people go out and vote today.  I hope they show the world that we are not ruled by fear mongers and demagogues and ratings chasers.  That we are a country who puts our belief in what's best for us as a nation to the fore and works together to solve our many problems.

I hate to think of the contrary.

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And on a completely different note:  More List-y fun at Secret Society of List Addicts!  It's like I can't get enough of bullet points.  And your attention.

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And on another, completely different note [it's like I'm creating a symphony!], I'm guest posting over at Jo and the Novelist.  I wrote about writing, which is almost masturbatory, but not in that special, tingly way.  Go read. It's fun. Also, I have a mad crush on Jo.

Weekday Update

• My father-in-law looks exactly like Chevy Chase in Community.  EXACTLY.  Except he thankfully does not do the stupid pratfalls.  There is very little physical comedy I find funny.  The only time I think it's appropriate is when it is completely out of character.  I'm thinking of Niles & Frasier in the toy store:
• Have you not been watching Community?  You need to start.  Now.  Seriously.  Go to Hulu, spend a few hours watching this to catch up, and drink in the brilliance.
• I didn't put out any Halloween decorations in my house this year.  I can't say that I really missed them, even though Halloween is my favorite holiday.  Does this mean I'm growing up?
• My sister gave me a black patent leather handbag that she doesn't use anymore.  It's very cute, except the inside is littered with cigarette debris - especially little pieces of tobacco.  I told myself I'd start using it as soon as I vacuumed out the inside.  This was in the spring.  It's now 6 months later and I finally started using it, including tobacco debris, because I am too fucking lazy to vacuum out a purse.
• Does anyone know how to clean suede? I have a great hot pink suede purse that I want to use, but I am evidently made of mud and dirt and can't keep a single thing clean.  I may spend several hours with the little gray chalky thing and brush Coach gave me, but if I couldn't vacuum out a tiny handbag, the odds are not very good that I'll have the stamina and discipline to deal with this.
• I got caramel colored highlights this past weekend and hardly freaked out AT ALL at the salon.  GO ME!  Hooray for not being super crazy for once.  For only being a little crazy!
• I think I'll break out the flannel sheets tonight. Mmmm. Fall.
• I've been trying to make Ina Garten's Banana Nut Crunch muffins for the past month, and have yet to follow through.
• Wait - am I all about procrastination? I think I am.  But why, then, am I deciding to do NaNoWriMo again?  I've done it twice, and finished once.  I think I'll try again.  Because I am nothing if not crazy for words.  Or just crazy.

Glorious curly hair! With highlights! What a bad picture!