Week In Review - If It Would Stop Raining, I'd Have Better News

This week has been one long stupid overcast drain on my parade. BUT. I do feel better that we never got around to buying a grill last week, since we couldn't use it.

Anyway, here's what's going on in the world.

The Taliban decided it was tired of being stuck in one place, so there was a mass prison break in Kandahar.  I hadn't realized it was the Stalag 13 of prisons - a 1,000 foot tunnel?  Really?  Where was Colonel Klink? And did Sgt. Shultz really see NOTHING? About 480 prisoners braved their claustrophobia and pulled a Shawshank. I'm sure we'll see them again.  Way to go, Colonel Hogan of the Taliban.  Way to go.

In good news, Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords is showing improvement, enough so that she'll be at her husband's shuttle launch.  Amazing.  Seriously, how incredible that this woman has made such strides in such a short time?

This actually happened last week, but I forgot to include it, and I think it's important.  Robert Bobb, the emergency financial manager of the Detroit Public Schools, decided to close more schools in an effort to save money.  Among the schools he's closing? The Catherine Ferguson Academy, the only school of its kind in the country, where young pregnant women and teen mothers can go and finish high school.  The school has a 90% graduation rate and a 100% college acceptance rate.  But it's better off for everyone if it's close.  Assholes.

I am not going to discuss the whole [whispers] birth certificate thing [clears throat] because that is just fucking embarrassing for us as a country.

There's been insane weather in the South.  The devastation is heart-rending.  Nothing funny or snarky there. [Although I did hear a weather person standing in a tornado-devastated area, where houses were completely swept away, say, "And these were brick houses.  This wasn't a trailer park!"]

Anytime people tell that there's no reason to be a feminist because women have made such huge strides, point them to this fact: Title IX discrimination in sports continues unabated.  Rather than make difficult decisions for men's sports, colleges and universities have been fudging numbers to show that there are equal numbers of women in sports since 1972 when Title IX passed and required gender equity in college sports.  And by fudging numbers I mean things like half the women's fencing practice team is men [Cornell], women's names are placed on track rosters without their knowledge [University of South Florida], and women's practice basketball teams include men [Duke, Texas A&M].  This, despite the fact that 57% of people attending college are women. This quote sums it up:

Those of us in the business know that universities have been end-running Title IX for a long time, and they do it until they get caught,” said Donna E. Shalala, the president of the University of Miami.

Nice, right?

And on a final note, there was a wedding this morning.  Did you watch? Did you know they had an official website?

You Weren't Invited, But You Should Probably Send Something. It's Only Polite.

I didn't think I'd jump on this, because you know me, I'm so far back in pop culture that I'd think it's QEII and Old What's His Name getting married.  BUT.  I'm debating sleeping over at my parents' house so my mom, my sister and I can wake up extra-crispy early to watch the wedding [they're making SCONES! And hooray for funemployment!], and, frankly, I'm a sucker for a list.

So!

Get your Macy's and Bed Bath and Beyond coupons ready, because here are your

GIFT IDEAS FOR THE ROYAL WEDDING:

A patio umbrella.  Those balconies at Kensington Palace are right out in the sun, and with Kate's fair skin and Wills' . . . increased head area . . . this will aid in avoiding wrinkling and sunburn.

A Welcome Mat - probably several.  There are lots of doors in those old palaces, and you don't want to make everyone take their shoes off to come in after they've been out on the hunt or fleeing from the rabble.  Maybe one with their initials, or, better yet, a whimsical one to show that Royals Are Fun, Too!

See? Fun for everyone! You want one, too, don't you? From here.

Any one of the AMAZING Shark Steam Products.  I confess, this is mostly because I find them fascinating and desperately want one, but am reluctant to part with cash for something that is AS SEEN ON TV. But seriously? STEAM CLEAN MY BATHROOM? Do you not understand how much I want an autoclave for my house?  This is as close as I will probably get.

An air mattress. Kate and Will are probably going to be deluged with guests once they're married and need a place for their friends & families to crash after a wild night out flogging peasants and dressing as Nazis. This way, their friends will be fine for one night, but won't want to stay longer, because air mattresses just suck to sleep on.  Hospitality + Ensured Privacy = Perfect Gift!

Beach towels.  You can never have too many, because you're always leaving one at the public pool or in Wales.  And, if you get them matching ones, they'll look totally adorable on their honeymoon in all the papparazzi pictures sure to grace the cover of OK Magazine.

Yankee Candles.  Everyone loves a good smell, and I hate to be the one who brings this up, but some of those old castles smell kind of musty.  Plus, everyone knows how stupid expensive those things are, so they'll know you didn't chintz and get them the knock-off Target brand Bahama Breeze candles like a total cheap ass.

Couch covers.  Because Kate's taste is probably not QEII's taste.  Maybe a fun zebra stripe or a kicky plaid to break up the monotony of brocaded silk and moire. And everyone's way more casual now, anyway, right?

A Roomba.  How much easier will palace living be when, with the touch of a button, your marble floors will be cleaned automatically! Sure, they have staff who have been doing this for years, but everyone's been tightening their belts, and this way, they can lay off a bunch of people and replace them with robots.  Just like the automotive industry!

Solar garden stakes and a Jumbo Solar Rock.  The royals love their gardens, and this way the party doesn't have to end just because the sun has set.  By setting these bug and butterfly shaped lights along a garden path, people will be able to find their way into the house to use the bathroom or refresh their drinks.  Or short-sheet Kate & Wills' bed.

Kitschy AND practical. From here.

Plus, the Jumbo Solar Rock will provide ample illumination for a nighttime game of charades.

So handy to have around.  From here.

Cash. You know how hard it is for a couple of young kids just starting out.

They're called private parts for a reason. COMPLETELY NSFW. You've been warned.

Hey, do you know what would be awesome?

If I could go ONE FUCKING DAY without seeing someone's ass crack.

I am done.

I really am.

I cannot fathom the need people have to wear pants that QUITE OBVIOUSLY don't fit and pair them with shirts that are QUITE OBVIOUSLY not long enough.

For a while, I would address the issue.  I would tell someone, "Hey, you can see your butt when you stand up/sit down/ bend over/ breathe." 

It never seemed to make a difference.  It's like people want to be pole dancers, but just can't seem to get over that last moral hump and so think occasional flashes of ass crack is an acceptable way to get that sexytime thrill and still be able to look their daddies in the eye at family dinner.

It's not ok that I know what your ass looks like.  It's really not.  Partly because I'm not diapering/having sex/physically examining you, partly because I'm not paying you money to get your grind on to Pour Some Sugar On Me, and partly because I have yet to see an ass crack where I thought - TOTALLY WORTH IT.

You know what? Not even this.  Sorry, Becks, but your butt crack doesn't . . . well, maybe.  Except, how creepy that you have your kid's name tattooed over your ass like a tramp stamp.  Seriously.  Not your best decision.  Source.

So do everyone a favor today.  Think about the comments or the draft you get when you're, say, at work, or at your kid's Open House or at the doctor's office or in court or at the grocery store.

If you realize you  are constantly hiking them up so that you are FULLY COVERED, then you need to either size up or start wearing mom jeans. 

Actually, enlist the help of a friend, or better yet, a frenemy.   You obviously can't be trusted to do this on your own.

[Obviously, I was visually assaulted by a butt crack today.  I can't unsee this, people.  Cut me a break.]

It's a sad day in America when we have to live like it's the 19th century.

So our tv stopped working.

This is a huge deal, in that we are lame, and we watch a lot of movies. And old tv shows on DVDs. Because we can't be bothered to be part of contemporary culture.  Instead, we get hooked on LOST a year or two after it finally goes off the air.

The girl has a crush on Sawyer. Isn't that . . . yeah, I totally get it.  Yowza.  Wait, that's really creepy, me and the girl crushing on the same guy.  What are we? On Falcon Crest? Blech.  Photo source.

You know what else is good?  The first and second seasons of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia.  Seriously.  You should watch that show if you aren't currently watching the sixth or seventh season or whatever it's on. The husband hypothesized that it's actually another incarnation of Seinfeld, and I get it.  They are all self-involved jerks, and there's a correlation between the characters: Dennis = Jerry; Sweet Dee = Elaine; Charlie = Kramer; Mac = George; Danny DeVito = Newman. QED, bitches. Q. E. MOTHERFUCKING. D.

Anyway, we watch stuff on the tv because it's a nice way to settle down in the evening sometimes, and it's a nice way for three people who are each on a laptop ignoring each other to pretend to be doing something together.  Our family - the Norman Rockwell picture of domestic bliss.  [The husband notes: "Well, we're not fighting."]

We're going to have the tv fixed [so it won't have little baby tvs when it's out gallivanting in the wilderness of the tv repair world], and in the meantime we're watching LOST on a smaller set.  Which evidently is unacceptable, so the husband, who is still sick, is going to spend some time moving the other big tv [which has a better picture, you know, for when I'm always complaining about the lack of HD quality on the old set - honest to god, I was happy watching tv on the tiny 13 inch set, which is evidently insulting to humanity in general] out of the basement rec room and put it in the living room. 

You'd think we'd just move downstairs to the nicely finished basement with our portable laptops. You'd underestimate my animus toward basement living, honed over years of NEVER BEING ALLOWED IN THE LIVING ROOM, EVER DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT GOING IN THERE EXCEPT TO CLEAN GO BACK DOWNSTAIRS RIGHT NOW.

Yeah. So. This is my life right now.

Also, I was just eating some yogurt and got a weird smell as I took a bite - like Bandaids - and now I think I just ate Bandaid flavored yogurt.  But Greek style, so it's thicker and heartier. 

Seriously.  That tv better get fixed soon.
***********
Because my anger cannot be contained in one blog, head over to my post at Secret Society of List Addicts.  You'll be glad you did.

You'd Think I Wouldn't Care About Easter, But I Do. But Not In That Way.

I've got that holiday let down again.

Which is ridiculous because I barely even celebrate Easter.

I mean, the last time we colored eggs the girl was maybe 4 and we were at my in-laws.  I don't even color eggs for the egg coloring holiday I grew up with.  Although I do end up with a ton of eggs and candy from relatives, so it's like I colored eggs.  Or just took credit for someone else's work.  Like a middle manager.

We do get stuff for the girl, but I put the basket [or, this year, the pile of tissue paper.  White tissue paper, even.  I didn't look for pastel, even though I'm pretty sure I've got some.] on the dining room table and she doesn't hunt for it.

We did have a really nice brunch with friends and then lolled around for an hour or so, before we all reached the conclusion that we'd be happier lolling around in our own house and leaving them to theirs.

At which point I got home and was CRANKY.

I don't even know why. 

It's not like I even had to clean or do or be anything.   I was already showered.  The dishes were done.

Which actually may be part of the problem. Too much time. Not enough direction. And so many things I could do, which I then don't end up doing, and then start resenting the hell out of the husband, who is minding his own business, being sick and watching hockey.

Jerk.

It's like he's looking for a fight.

I hate that post-holiday funk. I keep thinking it'll get better, or I'll just make myself stay busier, but it keeps happening, because there will always, invariably, be a lull.

And lulls lead to introspection or the need for decisiveness, both of which are dangerous for people who have OCD and dislike thinking about themselves.  At least, have a hard time thinking about themselves in positive terms.

I really better not get bent about MayDay. 

Stupid Communists.

Week In Review - My Mouse Stopped Working and Now I Have to Use the Stupid Trackpad

I've spent the week deep cleaning my house and hoping for Spring to show up.  Well, at least the house is clean.  And YAY I got some good freelance stuff coming in.  Good thing I blew all that cash on a law degree. HAHAHAHAHA fucking ha.  Anybody want to sue someone? I'm available.

Anyway, a lot of other stuff happened this week:

Remember a few years ago, when that woman accused the Duke lacrosse team of raping her? Guess what? She stabbed her boyfriend to death.  Yup.  That's fucking hardcore. I think you have to be pretty invested in killing someone to stab them to death.  Gunshot? Could be accidental.  Stabbing? Probably not.  Particularly if you've once been charged with attempted murder of your then-boyfriend. Sure, innocent until proven guilty, but . . .

Is Roger Ailes the devil? Probably.  Is he a paranoid nutjob? Absolutely.  He's been spying on the reporters & staff of the small-town newspaper he bought to fuck around with when he retires from his evil fiefdom of Fox News.  Even though they're handpicked right-wing nutters like himself, he still can't trust those bastards running a small town paper.  So he spies on them.  Like having-them-tailed spying.  Crazycakes? You bet! Ah, Fox News, where the nuttiest rise to the top.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I hear a click on my phone and there's this car that's been parked down the street for a while.  I wonder who could be behind this?

Fidel retired! FIDEL!

That's right, bitches. I'm Fidel.

I love him.  I really do.  I love how he's just so fucking Fidel about everything, a complete badass who looks around at the world and goes, "Eh, fuck you.  Here's my 100% literacy rate.  Here's my excellent medical care.  Suck it, everyone." [Yes, yes, I get the whole despot and Mariel Boat Lift and the, shall we say, inability to tolerate dissidents.  Everyone has their dark side.]  I wonder if he'll change out of his uniform now.  Fidel in a Tommy Bahama linen shirt, sipping mojitos and eating a Cuban sandwich? I could see that.

Jesus fucking christ, Ohio.  Prescription overdoses surpassed car crashes as the leading cause of accidental fatalities. There's been an alarming upswing in prescription drug abuse, particularly among children.  Middle schoolers, even.  Old people selling Oxycontin to children to supplement their Social Security.  Young women shot and killed in front of their children.  There is something severely fucking wrong with a country where this kind of shit happens.

And finally, remember that fucking douchebag from Rutgers who webcammed his gay roommate's romantic liaison, causing that poor guy to jump off the George Washington Bridge? Well, he's been charged with a hate crime.  Also, invasion of privacy.  He's going to enjoy prison.

Did I miss anything?

I'm like your PR person, but with MUCH better advice

You see them out there, making you crazy. 

You wonder what they were thinking and why no one around them had the courtesy to say, "Hey, you know what? NOT such a good idea.  Let's take a step back and have a nice snack and think about this before we act."  Or even, "Dude. NO."

Celebrities.  It's like they're our collective dumb inbred cousins.

But! I'm here to help.  Because I'm a giver. 

Actually, it's because I hate the stupid.

So, here's a list of 10 Celebrity Dont's:

1.  Don't dangle your baby over the balcony. [Yes, I know he's dead, but I still can't believe it happened.]

YAYAYAYAYAAYA!

2.  Don't fuck your co-star.

Him: Seriously?  Her: I dumped Dennis Quaid?

Him:  She's . . . oooh, shiny.

Her: If I work for UNICEF & the UN long enough, will people forget I'm a manstealing freak?

3.  Don't think your marginal talent in one area magically transfers into other areas. [GP]

HEEHEHEEHEE! I'm awesome!

4.  Don't starve your body - sweet Jesus, be healthy, eat a sandwich. You look like you.  Stop trying to fit a mold.  Or into a mold. 

It's so gooooood.  Try a little bite.

Actual size.

5.  Don't confuse being famous with having talent.

Good job standing upright in a row. BRA. VO. 

6.  Don't confuse a shirt with a dress.  

If in doubt, just put on a pair of pants.

7.  Don't forget to shower.

Greasy inside and out.

8.  Don't be racist.

Yeah, there's no crazy here.

9.  Don't think that just anyone can run for president.

I AM SO SMART! S-M-R-T! I mean S-M-A-R-T! You betcha.

No, seriously. I lost money in NY real estate AND casinos. And the hair is real

.

10.  Don't forget to CONTINUE BEING AWESOME.

Hell. Yes.

You're welcome.

Wednesday in Pictures - How does your garden grow?

Fuck you, snow. 

That's how my garden grows.

Sad daffodils.  Sad, dead, daffodils.

They don't know what hit them.

How Awesome Am I? THIS AWESOME.

The ever lovely Kristy from Pampers and Pinot was kind enough to gift me with this award:

 Jealous much?

Yes. Despite my near constant use of profanity, I'm a Versatile Blogger.  [Kristy may or may not have been drunk when she decided to give this to me.  I mean - Pampers and PINOT? Still, I'll take it.]

I'm supposed to tell you seven things about myself.  So here goes:

1.  I loathe the smell of lilacs.  Seriously.  It gives me a headache and smells like chemical disinfectant for bathrooms of people who have violent diarrhea.

2.  I was kicked out of my driver's ed class one day. I'm still not sure for what.  The teacher apologized to me the next day.  Again, I'm still not sure for what.  But I did feel like a badass.

3.  I love crossword puzzles but am not a fan of Sudoku.  I think I'm allergic to numbers.

4.  If I don't remember your name the first time I meet you, the odds are really, really good I'll never remember your name.  You'll just be "Crap, what's her name again?" until one of us dies.  Unless I think your name is something else.  Then that's your name until one of us dies.

5.  I can't sleep if both of my arms are under the blankets.  One of them has to be on top.  Otherwise I feel like I'm choking.

6.  I hate the actor who plays Dumbledore in the last 6 Harry Potter movies. So much that he ruins the whole viewing experience AND I didn't even cry when Dumbledore died [in the movie - cried like a little bitch when he died in the book].

7. I'm not a fan of either tiramisu or creme brulee.  I love pudding and cheesecake, but there's something about the taste and texture of these desserts that just doesn't sit well with me [too boogery?].  I used to feel like I was uncouth and a yokel for feeling that way, since these are such fancy desserts.  And then I realized, fuck it - I'm awesome.

So that's that.  I'm not sure if I'm supposed to hand this off to someone else, but if I am - I pick . . .

AndyGirl


HateYouProbably

21st Century Mrs.

It's bindy, sure, but that's what makes it tasty.

What did you do this weekend?

Well, among the many delightful activities I was part of this weekend, I had the privilege of meeting GrandeMocha [who needs to get her own snarktastic blog] for CHEESEFEST 2011 - The Cheesening.

GrandeMocha and I met at Zingerman's Deli, where we had an appointment with a cheesemonger to sample cheese.

[FULL DISCLOSURE - Zingerman's has no idea I'm a blogger and that I was going to write about this.  In all probability, they'll never see this post.]

Anyway, we went to Zingerman's and ate a metric ton of cheese samples.

Don't you kind of want to make out with all this cheese?  I do.

You can't see how PACKED this place was.  GrandeMocha and I were thinking about putting on aprons and helping out.

I see you turning green with envy.

You should.

It was a blast.

We were treated to samplings of so much delicious cheese that I actually hit a lactose-intolerance wall and had to drop out for a bit.  GrandeMocha kept going strong, and we both tried cheeses that were absolutely sublime.

It was like drunks at an open bar.

Except with less belligerence.

Paul, our cheesemonger, provided samples.

This is Paul, handing us cheese. If you look on the wall behind him, you'll see a caricature of Paul.  BECAUSE HE'S FAMOUS! Also, fun and flirty.

There were the giant 2 year old wheels of parmigiano reggiano

Nutty and gorgeous. I bought some, but probably won't share with the family. Did you know you don't have to store this in the fridge? BLEW MY MIND.

and little balls of fresh mozzarella

Who doesn't want to buy a goofy-faced ball of fresh mozzarella? The devil, that's who.

and ashy truncated pyramid shapes and blue cheese wrapped in grape leaves and soaked in pear brandy and smooth cheddars and a supercreamy goat cheese made by the creamery that I'm still kicking myself for not buying and a brick cheese full of green peppercorns that so burned my mouth I had to spit it out [which I guess is EXACTLY like drunks at an open bar].

And each cheese had a story.

The parmesan tastes nutty because it was made by Italians who were tired of waiting for the Swiss to bring them cheese.  Nice job, Italians.  Suck it, Swiss.

I could just start gnawing on this.

The fresh mozzarella was made by this nice woman at Zingerman's Creamery.

It's Katie the Creamery lady! She made my ball of cheese! And she was really sweet. I am NOT stalking her.  She knew I took her picture.

The ashy truncated pyramid - Valencay from Touraine - was from a recipe that went back to Napolean, who was pissed because a battle in Egypt went poorly and, when presented with a pyramid-shaped cheese, truncated it with his sword.


One of the blue cheeses was made by this guy who studied at Roquefort and was gifted with a strain of mold and who now makes this delectable cheese out on the west coast.

One of the cheddars was made in Vermont by a creamery where you have to place your order two years in advance.

We got A LOT of cheese.

You do dairy, right? You should.

And, of course, we got delicious bread to go with our cheese.

Which we had for dinner.

Some romaine, fresh mozzarella and homemade balsamic dressing and the achingly good baguette. Drool

It was an extravaganza for our tastebuds.  We'll do it again, for sure.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some snacking to do.

The Week in Review - Stuff Happened

Haven't had time to keep up with the world this week? Wondering what everyone's talking about? Need a way to pass the time for a few minutes, but want to feel productive? Have I got a post for you - all the news you need to know for the week.

You're welcome.


What the hell?  ABC is canceling All My Children and One Life to Live.  How is that possible?  Are you trying to tell me that housewives and elementary school kids and grandparents aren't watching these shows anymore? I find that hard to believe.  I remember watching all the ABC soaps [including General Hospital, of course] when I was in elementary school when we'd have days off from school.  I also remember when Vicki turned into Nikki the Prostitute on One Life to Live. All the awesomeness of multiple personalities way before United States of Tara [which I watched one episode of, and found very, very boring].  Where are we going to get our drawn out plots, stilted acting, and ridiculous happenstances now? On American Idol? [Full disclosure, I've never watched American Idol and never intend to, but my understanding is that it is drawn out, ridiculous and stilted.]

Evidently Donald Trump is playing at politics.  I find this incredibly hilarious, particularly since I follow this on Wonkette, which gives us these priceless gems:

Vulgar idiot Donald Trump was born into a multi-million-dollar fortune and still went bankrupt, repeatedly, because he’s so dumb he can’t figure out how to make money off casinos and New York real estate.

Seriously. How is this even part of the national discussion? Have we, as Americans, truly become such buffoons that this is presented as actual news? Do we need to get rid of the 24 hour news cycle so that 1) There is some down time to think about what we're hearing and reading; and 2) We're not so desperate for filler?


Student loans are crippling grads. As one of them, I'm going to say, DUH. But hey, it'll help me make more money over the course of my lifetime.  Even though I'll be paying these off until my kid has graduated from college.  This is my favorite quote:

many economists and policy experts see student debt as a healthy investment

Uh, yeah, that's exactly right.  EXACTLY.  Fucking recession.

Shockingly, there haven't been any high profile prosecutions to come from the financial crisis.  Yeah. I'll hold my breath for that, for sure.  I'm a huge believer in the law [and Law & Order], but I know enough to realize that the little guy gets shafted as a matter of course.  In this case, the little guy turned out to be everyone else in this country.  As an aside, I'm still pissed that one Enron guy died and the other one committed suicide.  Assholes.  You knew they'd get out of serving time.

Finally, I found out that language originated in southern Africa.  Researchers postulate that modern language was created all at once, in the southern tip of Africa. A biologist is looking at phonemes - the simplest parts of words - and applying mathematical formulas to different language patterns. This is pretty cool. But also very confusing. Plus, the earliest languages are those including clicks.  How fucking click is that?

What did you learn about this week?

A Stick Makes Stone Soup

Oh, Gwyneth.

Really?

I promised myself I would ignore you.

I told myself not to be sucked in.

I reminded myself that you aren't worth the effort.

And yet here I am, sucked in again.  Drawn into the morass that is your "cookbook".

"Hahaha! What am I doing with this spoon? What's this goop on it? It's not GOOP. I want no part of it."

Jesus.

Just fucking stop.

Seriously, Gwyneth.  Just. Stop.

You're trying too hard.

Now, if you wanted to write a book about pretentious, over-privileged hack "actors", I could see why you'd be the perfect choice. 

Hmm . . . this smells like my elbow cream.  What am I supposed to be pretending again? Oh, that's right. I'm a cook.

But this?  A book about food? From you?  Have you seen you?  You are not someone who looks like they enjoy food.  You look like someone who has heard of food, but wants no part of it.

Water is delicious AND satisfying.  Full of watery goodness!

And I would have thought that you'd not be such a douche about name dropping.  But you are.  You're the Summer's Eve of name dropping.  Well done.

People are trying to maneuver you as the Next Martha Stewart.  It's not going to happen.  You know why?  Because as autocratic and snobby as Martha is, she OWNS it.  She's not trying to be "relatable", she's not pretending that her lifestyle is the same as every other busy working mom's. 

Also? She'll cut a bitch.

She is GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING MARTHA STEWART, bitches.  She is not to be trifled with.

Oh no, no, no.  I don't think so. 

You?  You're . . . sad.  You're the cheerleader who decided she was "artsy" and started trying to hang out with the kids who don't give a fuck and all that happens is you end up wrong-footing it every. step. of. the. way.  You don't bring Veuve Clicquot to a beer bash, sweetie.  But if you do, don't pretend that it's the same as Natural Light.

Not budget beer. Not by a long shot.

You're trying to be "real" and you're just making everyone uncomfortable.  We don't want to hate you, Gwyneth. I mean, I DO hate you, and sometimes I kind of enjoy it, but it's just too much effort.  We don't really want to think about you.  Stop inserting yourself so desperately where you don't belong.

Now, go back to your country music "career" and eat your macrobiotic diet and enjoy hunting humans on your estate.  We wish you - well, not the best.  We just wish you somewhere else.

XO,

Suniverse

Wouldn't Life Be So Much Easier? YES!

If I seem standoffish or uninterested it's not that I'm stuck up or a bitch.  I mean, I probably am, but not right at this moment.  Instead, if I seem like I don't care about you or what you're saying, it's because:

1.  My ears hurt [I have horrible, nearly ongoing ear infections].
2.  I'm starving.
3.  I have to poop.

I would love to INSERT ACTIVITY HERE or I would love to discuss INSERT TOPIC HERE, but it's just not possible at this time because I have to:

1.  Put drops in my ears and lay down.
2.  Eat something.
3.  Go poop.

My God, how much easier would my life be if I could just SAY those things to you, instead of half-listening to whatever you're spouting because all I can think is:

1.  My ears feel like bamboo skewers are being plunged into them.
2.  I think my stomach is eating itself.  Is that bile I'm tasting?
3.  I'm going to poop my pants.

I think honesty in discourse is a good thing.  I do not, however, think that the world is ready to hear what I'm going to say.

But how awesome would it be if that were true?

What are you thinking?

High School Reunion: Or, Hell's Ante-Chamber

My parents were cleaning out their house and my sister put together a big pile of stuff for me.

In that pile of stuff was my senior year high school year book.

The husband ran across it the other day and started looking through it, reading things that people had written to me.

And I was seriously ready to knife him to make him stop.

I don't even know how to explain this - Thinking about high school, being reminded of it, of myself during that time - I can't handle it.  Not even a little bit.

There's just this visceral, white-hot wave of shame and embarrassment that floods me when I see pictures of myself or find notebooks or, as evidenced the other day, have my husband read all about it in my senior yearbook.

I was completely mortified and uncomfortable and ready to run out of the house or punch him in the junk to make him stop.

I did neither, because I'm a grown up and he's pretty fast on his feet, so I couldn't catch him.

I did, finally, ask him to stop reading it because it was so embarrassing. To his credit, he stopped, even though he couldn't understand why I would feel so . . . awful / horrible / mortified by him reading nice things that people had written to me.

I don't know that I can even explain it - I'll need years of therapy, for sure, to work through this, so I just kind of shunt it aside and ignore it.  Easier, right?

I wasn't all that different in high school than I am now, I guess.  Is anyone?

I was weird and smart and sarcastic.  I was thinner and had cooler hair [but not by much - my hair is glorious lately] and dressed way funkier.  I knew a lot of people, but wasn't close with many, or any, really.

Maybe that's what makes me so uncomfortable - the fact that I have changed so little.  The fact that my expectations of BEING SOMEONE and DOING SOMETHING have come to me living in my tiny house in my whitey-white suburb, married, with a kid, and being president of the PTA.

This was not the life I was expecting or wanting back then.  It's not the life I want sometimes right now.

That's hard to reconcile.  So it's just a lot easier to push it away and set it aside.  That's easier, since the angst only shows up on those rare occasions when my past plunges its way into my life and bites me in the ass.

Out of touch with every generation. I win at irrelevancy.

It's Monday, and I've got a lot on my mind, and none of it coherent.  Enjoy.

*************
 I generally don't think about getting older.

Sure, there was that moment when I found out I needed bifocals [BI-FUCKING-FOCALS!], and there's my tendency to fall asleep at around 9:30pm and my distaste for the clothing that kids these days are wearing.  But generally, I move along, thinking that while my body isn't what it used to be, I could totally stay out all night drinking and dancing and picking up random guys.  I mean, in theory.  I wouldn't pick up random guys anymore, what with being married.  Maybe a specific guy, one selected during those endless negotiations married couples have about who would you have sex with if it was a freebie or if I died, but don't go getting any ideas?  Not that we've had those discussions, nor have we set out a list.  Not a permanent one, anyway. 

So, to sum up, still think I'm young and hip.

And then, lately, I get a daily reminder that I'm getting older.

It's this:  I cannot read blogs/websites/etc. that are white letters on dark backgrounds.  Seriously.  I can't.  I get very dizzy and eye-strainy while trying.  So if that's your blog, I'm sorry.  It's going to be read in my feeder and not on your site.

Now get off my lawn.

***********
Let's just say, hypothetically, that one day it's 55 degrees, and the next it jumps to 82 degrees and the day after it's supposed to be 55 again.  Does it make me someone a bad person if I someone turns the AC on the day it's 82 degrees?  Does the fact that being really hot makes me someone insanely cranky mitigate that answer at all?  What about if I someone generally does not turn the heat on until it's been really cold for a few weeks, in order to balance stuff out?

***********
The girl is going to Faraway Boarding School.  Getting there, seeing it, seeing her there - it was as if everything fell into place and my only hesitation was that I would miss her.  And I don't want to be a selfish parent - I mean, I AM, don't get me wrong, but I don't WANT to be.

So it's decided.  She's going.  She's thrilled.  I'm happy.  The husband's happy.  The grandparents are . . . dealing with it.

And you all made freaking out about it so much easier to deal with.  I can't believe how much people will help you when you need it.  It's wonderful.

O.k., enough of the bullshit happy happiness.  I'm getting a little sick of myself.

***********
I realized this past weekend that I have not seen a number of what would be considered seminal 80s movies, such as Karate Kid, Top Gun, Caddyshack and Dirty Dancing. I've seen bits of each of these movies, except Top Gun - I don't think I've seen any of that. 

I realized this at my parents' house, where they were watching Dirty Dancing.  I mean, I get the premise of these movies, because they're in the zeitgeist, but as to actual plot points? Nothing.  Like, did you know that Lenny Briscoe and Emily Gilmore are the parents in Dirty Dancing? I had no idea. And it really weirded me out to see them as a couple.  A NY cop and a DAR member together? So wrong.

Ultimately, I think I'm o.k. with being out of that loop.  I'll stick with my John Hughes & other Brat Pack movies.  They're plenty, AND I get to check out Andrew McCarthy, pre-Weekend at Bernies [which, in full disclosure, I have seen.  Several times.  And yes, I've seen the second one, too.].

***********

I have finally, finally, FINALLY sent off Poppy's super-fantastic cross stitch grand prize.  Here's the finished product:

So elegant, right?

I know it took forever to get it together and mail, but I plead illness and anxiety about the girl and travel and I had to find the perfect frame and . . . well, sometimes I'm just lame.

BUT! It's off to the deserving winner, who I hope will cherish it through the ages.  Or at least not tell me when she sells it at a garage sale.

Next on my agenda is creating my own patterns and setting up an Etsy store.  I WILL RULE THE WORLD, ONE CROSS STITCH AT A TIME!

How was your weekend?

Week in Review - On the Road Edition

Let's just jump right in, shall we?

Government shut down. Jesus, you dumb shits.  Didn't work in 1996, won't work now.  People will fucking HATE YOU for doing this. And by you, I mean Republicans.  Idiots.

Atheist Club in a high school.  I'm impressed that kids in the south have the wherewithal to do this.  This can't be easy.  Actually, it probably can't be easy anywhere.  I'm always amazed that the girl has the stones to tell people in our completely religious city that she doesn't believe in god.

Haiti has a new president - and he's a singer. I'm not sure how I feel about this. Haiti is and has been in a fuck-world of problems, and I feel like they'd be better served having someone be president who has actually done something.  But what do I know? This country elected a wrestler and the terminator to lead states.  And don't get me started on W.

This is way beyond my scientific understanding, but I find it fascinating, nonetheless.  At a Fermi lab, scientists may have discovered a new elementary particle of physics.  This would change physics as we know it.  And by we, I absolutely DO NOT mean me.  Because the only thing I remember from physics was this girl telling me that when she was younger, she never curled the back of her hair, because if she couldn't see it, it didn't exist.  That's LIKE physics, right?

Detroit's city planners are working on possibly shrinking the city.  This is so, so touchy.  There are areas in Detroit that are completely blighted - crack houses, vacant lots - except for maybe one or two houses.  And the mayor wants to create smaller neighborhoods so that services can be delivered more efficiently.  And so that the vast wastelands can be turned into something.  Green spaces.  Urban gardens.  I like this idea, but then, of course, I'm not being asked to move.

Finally, a reason I would watch You Tube - the mayor of a Japanese city pleaded for help after the earthquake/tsunami/nuclear meltdown, and is still getting calls and offers for help.  This is why I sometimes don't hate people.

Anything I missed?

It's Actually Happening

We're spending the day at one of the high schools that the girl is considering. This school wasn't an option, since we were on the hook for *cough cough* dollars.  Which we do not have.  Particularly since I've been UNEMPLOYED.  So I spoke to the Dean and they graciously came back with a bigger award, putting our kick-in amount at a much smaller, probably more manageable number.

This school, however, is 9 hours away.  So we're spending a big fucking bag of money visiting it.  Which I am trying not to be mad about, because it's important [obviously] to see it, but I get very, very stingy when I'm not working.

Anyway, I was crunching numbers, and even with transportation and visiting costs, this school comes out as a cheaper option than the other boarding school the girl is considering.  The one 45 minutes away.

Obviously, both are more expensive than the public school program she was accepted into, but we're trying to make the boarding school thing happen.  Everyone has their ideas about what would be best for their kids.  Well, this is ours.

And this school is a fucking amazing place.  I mean, I want to move in there.

The problem is - so does the girl.

Ever since the husband and I thought about having a kid, even in the abstract, he was of the opinion that a boarding school would be perfect for high school.  I thought about my teenage years, and the craptacular high school I went to, and agreed.  Who WOULDN'T want to go away as a teenager? And what parent wouldn't want to get rid of that angsty teenager?

Well, it turns out THIS parent.  This parent who is having massive anxiety about it.

And I hate that I am.

I have made any number of decisions because of fear, and I have regretted every one of them.

And I can feel myself ready to make a fear based decision here - where I, for some reason, determine that the girl attending Awesome Academy is just not a good plan for us.  I'm sure I'll come up with some very good reasons - it's what I do for a living, make an argument and bolster it with every fact and assertion I can, and I'm damn good at it.  The problem is that the reasons will not be real.

I mean, they may be issues, but the real reason is that I'm afraid.

I'm afraid to let my kid have the opportunity of a lifetime.  I'm afraid that I'll be unable to handle any crisis that comes up.

I'm fucking terrified of doing this.

But I'll hate myself if we don't.  I think.  It's so hard to see clearly right now.  But the decision day is Friday. So I need to stop fucking around.

In Memoriam - Gilmore Girls

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.

************
The story of a mother and her daughter. And her mother. And the town of Stars Hollow.

Gilmore Girls.

How is that much gorgeous even allowed on one show?

[I should warn you, this is going to be a long, quote intensive post.  Go pee and grab a cup of whatever to settle in for a while.  Totally worth it, though.]

I can't even explain to you how much I loved this show.  Like, I wanted to BE in this show. Or at least Amy Sherman-Palladino and I would be BFFs and we could talk about how awesome this show was.  And, you know, I could write a couple of episodes.  What? It could happen.

I loved this show so much that I wouldn't even talk to the husband OR the girl while it was on.  I would make sure that the girl was in bed before it came on, and if she wasn't? Well, the husband was on duty, and they had both better be quiet so mommy didn't miss a single fucking brilliant word.

Needless to say, I have this on DVD.

Well, I have the first 6 seasons.  Because at the end of that 6th season, stupid fucking WB or whoever decided they didn't need AS-P [that's what I call her, because we're besties] around to work on this brilliant show she created and wrote and directed and . . . did you also know that AS-P wrote for the Roseanne show? How fucking awesome is that?

Another stellar example of excellent writing and smart execution of a good tv show.

Anyway, end of season 6, and AS-P is out and even as the season is ending you can tell that things are going horribly, horribly wrong, because *SPOILER ALERT* Luke & Lorelai are finally together and then she goes and brings in some stupid ass long-lost kid of Luke's. WTF? And then Lorelai and Christopher end up shacking up and . . .

And the whole 7th season? CRAPTACULAR.  I mean, I watched most of it, of course, but I watched it and complained and complained and complained.

Because it was miserable.

No more snappy patter.

No more smart, funny story lines.

No more interesting characters and quick moving episodes.

It turned into a shitty soap opera - sort of like what One Tree Hill would be, which I'm guessing at, because I never actually watched it because that dude Chad Whatever The Hell Is His Name was on it, and he was already obnoxious on Gilmore Girls as Tristan.

This guy.  He looks like a world-class douche, doesn't he?

So, I guess this is a kind of really sad In Memoriam, in that everything up until AS-P left was pretty fucking amazing.  Such as:


Sookie, who is overweight but never made fun of or looked at in disgust or made to go on a diet nor is it even mentioned that she's not the "perfect" size.  She has a great job, great friends, finds love, marries, has kids, has the most "normal" life of anyone on the show.

I LOVE Sookie. She's so fucking fantastic and funny.  I even liked her on that show "Samantha Who?" I feel awful that now she's on some show about being fat.  She's too gorgeous to be a one note actress.

Jackson: I think we should get married.
Sookie: But - uh, but...
Jackson: Soon.
Sookie: Are you pregnant? 


AND


Sookie: What's going on?
Lorelai: Michel's gonna live forever.
Sookie: Like the kids from 'Fame'?
Lorelai: That's what I said.  

Michel. Dude. How do you not love the bitter, disdainful, French wonder that is Michel?  He's got the best lines, the best attitude, and he's pretty fucking easy on the eyes.

Remember when he was hiding from those obnoxious kids? Or when his dog ate Taylor's shoe? Or when he pretended he wasn't French so as not to deal with the obnoxious French people?

Rory: I'll tell all the ladies what a stud you are.
Michel: I believe that memo has already been sent.

Lorelai and Rory.  This is the mother-daughter duo I wanted to be.  Close. Caring. Funny. Smart. And smoking hot. They are up on their pop culture and can reference the most obscure things and make them seem cool. And so. much. snappy. patter.

Remember when they were watching Grey Gardens and realized that could be them? I TOTALLY GET THAT.  And worry about it, a little.  Maybe a lot.

Rory: One of the girls already hates me. The guys are weird.
Lorelai: Weirder than other guys?
Rory: Yeah, they kept calling me Mary.
Lorelai: You're kidding me. Wow, I can't believe they still say that.
Rory: Why? What does it mean?
Lorelai: It means like, Virgin Mary. It means they think you look like a goody-goody.
Rory: You're kidding.
Lorelai: No.
Rory: Well what would they have called me if they thought I looked like a slut?
Lorelai: Well, they might have added a Magdalene to it.
Rory: Wow. Biblical insults. This is an advanced school.

The entire Gilmore family.  They were complex and biting and funny and demanding and you'd better bring your A-Game when you show up at that house.

I love the dynamic between them all - mad, angry, loving, sad. 

Rory: So, Grandpa, how's the insurance biz?
Richard: Oh, people die, we pay. People crash, we pay. People lose a foot, we pay.
Lorelai: Well, at least you have your new slogan.

AND

Emily: I did not steal your father, I simply gave him a choice.
Richard: When you came to my fraternity in that blue dress, I had no choice.
Lorelai: You stole my father with fashion.
Emily: I can't believe you remember the dress.
Lorelai: I can't believe you were the other woman.

And, of course, Luke and Lorelai. A love story for the ages.  Or for TV. Or whatever. It was wonderful.  Until it got stunk up with a stupid Cousin Oliver bullshit kid for Luke.

Luke and Lorelai at Liz's wedding - quite possibly the most romantic moment of the show.

Plus, they were funny as hell:
Lorelai: How does Charlie Rose screw up your REM sleep?
Luke: Because he's always got some guy on pushing a book about how everything's all going to hell, or they're going to pass a law, how everyone with a nose ring is going to get shipped off to China. Suddenly you're depressed, thinking we're all going to die and don't drink the water, there's anthrax in my bagel - and bam, there goes your REM sleep.
Lorelai: Or Mel Brooks is on, and he is so funny, and you think, "What a wonderful world we live in, that there's a Mel Brooks to go to sleep to."
Luke: Mel Brooks is never on Charlie Rose, and when he is on he's talking about Nazis, and then you go to sleep and you dream about Nazis and they all look like Nathan Lane, and you're creeped out for days.

And Kirk and Taylor and Lane's band and Miss Patty and Sally Struthers as Babette [SALLY STRUTHERS, PEOPLE!] and Paris - oh, a whole blog post could be dedicated to Paris.  So much goodness.

And the Kims! Who doesn't love Mrs. Kim? And Lane's ability to construct a WHOLE OTHER LIFE. I could totally relate to that.  Totally and completely.

There were, however, a few Negatives:
Rory's boyfriends.  Jess is the stereotypical badboy and he grates on my nerves.  He's very one-note and it's unfortunate. Logan is a douche.  Everything about him grates on my nerves, from his awful, awful acting inability to his smarmy smile to his horrible nicknaming of Rory [really? Ace?  That's the best you can do?]. Super-privileged rich guy who Rory hates and then, for absolutely no reason that I can discern, loves. 

If AS-P really wanted to create a memorable, wonderful guy for Rory named Logan, she could have gone with Logan from Veronica Mars.

Good god, I hope he's at least 18.  You know what? Don't care.

Rory, sometimes.  She is . . . a paradox.  I like her and then she annoys me.  She was passive aggressive, shitty to her mom [of course, what goes around comes around, Lorelia]. She wouldn't break up with Dean even though she'd started to fall for Jess [ugh! JESS!] and made Dean break up with her TWICE. She trashes the nicest guy on the whole show.  But she's smart and funny. Stupid depth of character.

That whole fucking 7th season. It was so terrible. I sometimes think about picking it up, just for a sense of completion and because I can fast forward through the awful parts, but I can't make myself do it.

So, that's what I think of Gilmore Girls.  I loved this show so much it was like a death when it got shitty, and like a smaller death when it finally ended.

BUT. If you haven't seen this, oh, my god, you have to.  The first 6 seasons [o.k., 5 1/2] are awesome.