Well, *I* thought it was hilarious.

An open letter to my period that is three days late,

I know the husband and I thought it was funny when I said, “You can make me a mommy on Mother’s Day,” but let’s cut this shit out.

Eagerly awaiting your arrival,

Suniverse

********************
I sent this in to the Open Letters thingy on McSweeney's, but it didn't get picked. I thought it was pretty funny, and got a nice email in reply telling me they hoped things worked out. They did. I am in no way pregnant. NO WAY. Because could you even fucking imagine?

Three blondes walk into a blog post

I have to admit, I harbor an affection for trashy blond pop stars.

I'm not sure what that says about me - I am not blond [any more], nor am I a pop star, and my trashy days are behind me [Man, I miss being drunk and slutty. How is this not acceptable at work? WTF? SOCIALISM! IT'S A PLOT TO KEEP THE WORKING WOMAN DOWN!], so it's not as if I identify with them.

Except for the fact that I've made ridiculous choices and horrific errors in judgment. Who hasn't? [If you haven't, I don't think we can be friends. What are we going to talk about when you come over for dinner? How awesome you were at your yearly mammogram? BORING.  I need dirt on your youthful misdeeds or at least I need you to tell me about how you kept trying to make jokes with the technician, telling her that your husband/significant other doesn't play with your boobs this good, until she leaves and makes someone else come in for the rest of the exam.] [My mammogram is coming up next week. I'll be sure to keep you posted!]

Anyway, I find Ke$ha, Jessica Simpson and Britney Spears all quite charming.  Sure, they may not make the best choices, but they seem good-hearted.   They aren't malicious, nor are they industrial polluters, and they didn't break the economy, so I think the fact that one of them has a vag that makes grown men unable to win sporting events is really not that big a deal.  Actually, it is a big deal, because I find that AWESOME.

Ke$ha reminds me of me when I would go out drinking and dancing.  We actually share a similar sense of style.

Britney seems like the slightly goofy younger friend that you have to keep an eye one, or she'll give your cab money to the first semi-homeless guy who asks.

And Jessica Simpson designs surprisingly cute shoes.  The girl and I are CONSTANTLY surprised.  We'll see a pair of shoes, go, "Wow, these are cute!" and then TA DA - Jessica Simpson.

So, there it is.  I love trashy blond pop stars.  Judge me if you must, but remember this:

Yeah. I've got nothing.

Now give - who is your shameful crush?

Let me explain this to you

The husband asked me to marry him after we had been dating for about 6 months. I'm not saying it was unexpected, but there was plenty of alcohol involved.

Anyway, we got engaged, I guess, and stayed that way for about 3.5  more years.  It would have remained one of those indefinite engagements except we kept getting shit from our families [and by that I mean, I kept getting shit - nobody ever gets mad at the husband] [except me].

We finally got married, and having made it last lo, these 16 years, I think EVERYONE should get married and enjoy the wonder that is deciding whose family to visit during what holiday and realizing you are for reals stuck with that person [and his family] FOREVER.

And by everyone, I mean let's stop being assholes with the whole state's rights thing and let gay people marry.

Why?

Well, I'll explain how awesome it will be over at my inaugural post over at the fabulous site In the Powder Room.

You know me, I'm ALWAYS talking in the bathroom.

Come visit!

It's Movie Time

This past weekend I saw TWO movies at the movie theater. TWO. The last time that happened was . . . never. I can't remember the last time I saw two movies in a weekend.  There have been years when I haven't seen two movies in 12 months.

Evidently I'm getting the hang of this empty nest thing.

Anyway, I saw The Five Year Engagement with the ever-lovely Grande Mocha [who still hasn't pushed publish on a blog - WE ARE WAITING!].  It was pretty good, although we both decided that we weren't going to be having Zingerman's potato salad anytime soon.  Also, I think Jason Segal really enjoys being naked in movies, which I guess is fine, except . . . it's not as appetizing as if, say, that guy who plays Damon on Vampire Diaries enjoyed being naked in movies.

See? Do you get what I mean? Source.

Oh! And speaking of naked men in movies, we saw the preview for Magic Mike, that stripper movie with a bunch of young guys and Matthew McConaughey, who I understand enjoys being shirtless, which I am fine with.  There's something about that guy - I'm not generally a fan of potheads because they tend to be slothlike and stink of pot or patchouli or ferrets, but a well-scrubbed McConaughey would be an exception.  You just know he's got lots of dirty thoughts.

Anyway, I said, "I could go see that movie," and Grande Mocha said, "I could spend all day seeing that movie." So we have a plan.

I also saw Dark Shadows with the husband, which I thought was very nice of him.  He didn't watch Dark Shadows on tv as a child [and yet I married him anyway] but he does enjoy Tim Burton/Johnny Depp movies, and gets quite happy with Helena Bonham Carter, so it was a good choice.

I liked the movie - there's something wonderful always about Tim Burton movies.  I think he and M. Night Shyamalan do an amazing job of actually creating visual spectacles.  As you know, I am NOT a fan of "realistic" camera work [fuck you still, Cloverfield], and I really love directors who create a scene.  If I want a slice of life, I will look out my own goddamn window at the newly vacant house across the street [YES! THAT MOTHERFUCKING COCKSUCKER ASSHOLE neighbor across the street moved out - and shockingly owed rent, etc. I'd feel bad for the guy who owns the house, except I had to deal with the asshole every goddamn day.  Fingers crossed about the new renter!] and watch our mailman read my magazines while he's on his lunch hour.  When I go to the movies I WANT TO BE ENTERTAINED, thanks.  And that means I want to see something visually impressive.

The plot was very soap opera-y, which I liked, but the husband wasn't thrilled with.  Also, goddamn, but Michelle Pfeiffer is smoking hot.  Wow.

Anyway, that's what I did over the weekend.  How did you keep yourselves entertained? Also, is there a movie you recommend seeing? The husband and I might go out AGAIN! Can you believe it?

It's all going according to plan.

You would not even believe my day.

Seriously.

It's like everyone who is awesome in the universe opted to be my friend.

First, Kir of The Kir Corner, has asked me to share my Proud Mommy Moment.  If you think I'm just an awesome badass - well, I am, but I also have a small inkling of some sort of non-anger feeling that makes me connect with other humans sometimes - in this case, the girl.  [Full disclosure, I am not a completely unfeeling automaton like Mitt Romney, I am more of an acerbic wit, like Dorothy Parker.]







So go, read all about it.

And in other news, I am old.  I know, I know, I SEEM so young and lighthearted.  Luckily, I'm over at Naked Girl in a Dress, explaining how I just recently realized that I have entered my twilight years.  Kelly, who is now running Studio 30 Plus like a boss, kindly asked me if I would guest post at her site, which, uh, FUCK YES. Of COURSE I would.  So I'm over there, polluting the waters.

I am slowly but surely making my move toward world domination.

Bitches better beware.

XO

Suniverse

Music and Dancing

BlogHer paid me to read this book and write a review. The words and thoughts are my own, as if you couldn't tell.

*******

I read Gayle Forman's Where She Went for BlogHer and found it . . . meh.  

I have a teenager, I've read a lot of YA, a lot of it engaging, some of it sublime, and this book was . . . blergh. 

I don't know.  I couldn't get involved in the characters [Adam, the rock star, and Mia, the cellist] or the situation [they spend one night together remembering their past - which is a trope that’s kind of Before Sunrise-adjacent, which may explain my antipathy, because I fucking hate Ethan Hawke's scraggly ass] or the prose that seems overwrought [so much meaning and depth and music as an allegory/metaphor/ohmygodjuststop].

It seemed like a good idea – two people reconnecting after a years apart, rehashing and reliving and reassessing.  There’s THE ACCIDENT and THEIR FEELINGS and . . . yadda yadda yadda.  It just seems . . . I don’t know . . . uninviting.  There’s no toehold, no pull for me in this book.

Obviously, others find it – and its prequel, If I Stay – so well done that the previous book was a NYTimes bestseller, but I can’t get into it.  I have little patience for overwhelming sentimentality [can you believe it?] and so something has to be super well-written and addictively engaging for me to want to read it.

This wasn’t it.

Grudgefest 2012 - The Grudgening

I am someone who tends to hold a grudge. For, like, ever.

The husband has said I would make an excellent Mafia Don, because I will never, ever forget a slight.  And to me, there is no difference between a real or a perceived slight - if it seems like a slight, you'd better be prepared to deal with the consequences.

I'm fun to hang out with! Let's be friends!

This, however, has made my life kind of fucking exhausting.  I've never understood friends who tell me that they forgive people who have wronged them. How is that possible? How do you function without that white-hot burning sense of justifiable anger to keep you warm?  How do you let the other person, who has ALREADY wronged you, get even more of an upper hand by letting them get away with it through forgiveness?

Seriously.  Let's be friends.  I'm a treat!

Lately, I've been thinking that maybe the non-stop anger fest needs to come down a notch.  I mean, I will still be angry at douchebags, because they are douchebags  [i.e., GP], but I need to rethink my immediate gut reaction to pretty much everything being a sense of being wronged. I need to stop keeping score and rating actions and reactions by some mythical, rigid table of slights and reacting to those slights as if the only response is emotional thermonuclear war.

I need to stop and reassess how I go through life, partly because of wanting to be a nicer person, mostly because it will benefit me.  And I am all about me.

So I've been slowly going through these zen-type books, and I've been having a bit of a hard time understanding how you'd want to open up and look into that soft spot that your anger is covering, but I can see, in my friends who are more relaxed than I, that it's maybe not a bad place to be. 

Do you hold a grudge? Or are you one of those people who can let stuff go?

PS Speaking of how awesome I am, I'm over at Funny not Slutty today, dispensing advice and being brilliant. I'd love it if you stopped by and commented.  Because if you don't? Oh, man. WE WILL HAVE ISSUES.

XO

Suniverse

I keep asking, so you have to answer.

I'm wondering the following:

1.  Is there a service that will handle calling, say, credit card and student loan companies so that you don't have to deal with them? Wouldn't that be a great thing? I would pay top dollar for that shit.

2.  I have lately been extremely paranoid that any email or text I send talking smack about anyone will somehow get mysteriously sent to that person. [I am NOT talking smack about you, of course. This is about random people you do not know.]  So I end up deleting the smack talk and writing innocuous things. I think I may be ready to run for office.  Are you at all paranoid about getting busted for talking about people?

3. Do you have plans for Memorial Day weekend? What are they? Would you consider it weird if I showed up?

4.  Is there a smell that makes you sick but is innocuous to other people? For me it's lilacs. BLERGH. I get headachey and barfy just thinking about it.

Any questions for me?

Why I Want to Strangle Marketing People and Also the Insurance People.

As you may have noticed, the husband and very seldom watch actual tv. This makes us lightyears better than you.  Excuse me while I put something away in my PBS tote bag.

We watch Netflix and Hulu, so I don't often see actual commercials. [Although I can probably recite the Tempurpedic commercial by heart right now. THANKS, HULU. Also, does anyone actually know anyone who has a Tempurpedic? I do not, but I do have a few questions, like, 1. Are regular beds not good enough for you? and 2. Did you also by the Shark Steam Cleaner? Because I really covet those.]

I have, however, seen a commercial recently that have made me want to kill someone. 

It is a HAP insurance commercial.  I have HAP. It is shitty, in that it is an insurance company, and therefore will fuck you over as much as possible and also make it impossible to get anything done.  You know what I mean, of course, if you have had anything to do with an insurance company. 

Well, in the ad, a mom talks about getting a call from her son 11,000 miles away that he was sick.  So she's all wigged and calls HAP and the nice person at HAP emails her information on the nearest best hospital and made sure that they had an English speaking translator.

I just about kicked the shit out of the t.v.

Why?

Because when the girl dislocated her knee [AGAIN] in December, I had to deal with having an out-of-state claim on our insurance. So I called and got authorization and was told that we would pay the fee and then HAP would reimburse our claim.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

It is now MAY 10th and I STILL DO NOT HAVE MY MOTHERFUCKING $332. 

FUCK YOU HAP. Oh, fuck you so hard.

Every time I call, it's, "Oh, we didn't get that." EXCEPT YOU DID, BECAUSE I HAVE HERE IN MY NOTES THAT WHEN I CALLED IN JANUARY, FEBRUARY, MARCH AND APRIL, you not only had the claim, or needed the claim, which I faxed and mailed, and the doctor's office also faxed and mailed to you, and Pretending To Be Helpful Lady said "Oh, yes, we are processing the claim. It will take 30 days."

AND IT IS MAY. MOTHERFUCKERS.

IT.

IS.

MAY.

So, yeah, the idea that anyone at any insurance company does anything helpful makes my fucking head explode.

You?

It could be Alzheimer's. Or . . .

I have a horrible habit sometimes of not paying attention.  Not just to rules and regulations and a lot of what passes for popular culture, but of kind of important things.

I'll start making dinner and then get almost completely done, with one minor thing left on the stove and then . . . I walk away and start doing something else, which leads to burned food and a conversation like this:

Me:  How do you not step up to the plate when you know I'm going to burn something?

The Husband: How do you walk away from something ON THE STOVE?

Me: I think we both know that this is going to happen, because it happens a lot.  Isn't it your job AS MY HUSBAND to step in when I can't do something?

The Husband:  This isn't something you can't do, it's something you refuse to do.  What were you doing? Were you on the computer?

Me:  . . . Fuck you.

*****

So, in addition to having a husband who refuses to swoop in and save the bread I'm trying to toast in a pan on the stove [I have no idea where our toaster is and we don't have the counter space to keep the toaster oven out, so you can see I have not other options, right?] and keep it from burning, I end up with burnt toast and aggravation and another slightly disturbing charming aspect to my personality.

Something else that's come up quite a bit lately?  You know how sometimes, you pretend to listen to someone talking about something and then your mind wanders and you start thinking about something else, something more entertaining than, say, baseball statistics, and you're wondering if you can really pull off a polo collar dress before your rightly recall that you are not in a Ralph Lauren ad and you also are not really a fan of polo shirts, and then your realize that your husband the other person has stopped talking and is waiting for you to respond and you have absolutely no idea what you're supposed to say?


I've managed to take this one scary step further.  Now, instead of ignoring what the husband is saying and getting lost in that part of the conversation, I AM IGNORING WHAT I AM SAYING AS I'M SAYING IT.  More than once lately this has happened:


Me: So I'm thinking I'll go ahead and . . .

The Husband:  . . .  yeah?

Me: . . . huh?

The Husband:  You'll go ahead and . . . ?

Me: . . . I have no idea what I'm talking about.

I'm a little worried about Alzheimer's, but I'm more worried that I've somehow become so boring, I AM BORING MYSELF.

This cannot stand.

Celebrity Bio - A Book Review

BlogHer paid me to read this book and write a review. The words and thoughts are my own, as if you couldn't tell.

********

So.  What's the first thing you think of when you hear "Vanessa Williams"?
 
Actress?

Desperate Housewives?

Ugly Betty?

Singer?

Miss America?

Penthouse?

By reading You Have No Idea, by Vanessa Williams and her mom Helen Williams, [as well as by asking the husband] I found out that most people think one of the first five things and then immediately their minds go to the last on the list. I've not seen the Penthouse pictures [yet], but they are evidently as integral a part of American history as the moon landing.

And to their credit, Ms. and Mrs. Williams get that, and they touch on that issue first thing.  There are explanations and honesty and humor about what could have been the end of Vanessa Williams' career and what was a very shitty time. They explain how it happened and how it affected them, warts and all, and I have to give them credit for that.

I was surprised at how entertaining this book was - both Williams are almost painfully honest throughout.  Plus, there are lots and lots of pictures, which I love.  

The things I loved best?  

The fact that Helen Williams has The List of people who have done her and her family wrong, and once you are on it? You are screwed.  

The fact that Vanessa Williams had an abortion and discusses it simply.

The fact that Helen Williams thinks every young woman should live on her own and make something of herself before settling down.

The fact that Vanessa Williams was very "Whatever, scholarship money" about winning Miss America until she realized it was a huge deal, at which point she totally threw herself into it.

So, a pretty entertaining celebrity bio.  I'd definitely recommend reading it while working out.  Check out the conversation at BlogHer.

Do You Really Want to Know What I Think About?

Cranky Old Lady Pants Time: Things that have been bugging me, but do not fill me with enough rage to warrant their own individual posts.  Without further ado, enjoy:

*****

Not capitalizing letters in your writing doesn't make you quaint or avant garde or ee cummings. It makes you disrespectful to language and marks you as lazy.  Stop it.

*****

I ended up in a Jimmy Kimmel / Eminem / Craig Ferguson YouTube wormhole, which is weird because I am seldom on YouTube [I just don't have the energy to watch something that's not scripted] and I've never watched either Jimmy Kimmel or Craig Ferguson on t.v. because I am asleep, although I am going to have to sex Craig Ferguson for his voice. I also think I may have read his autobiography. Anyway, Slim Shady and I need to spend some serious time together. He's single, right? I know I'm *technically* married to the husband, but come on.

Anyway, after listening to Eminem, I made an Eminem Pandora station and you know what? IT SUCKED.  I'm not a big JayZ fan - I only like 2 of his song, and one of them mostly because of Alicia Keyes - but my JayZ Pandora station has way better songs.  What the fuck, Pandora? I know you're not a mindreader, but this is bullshit.

*****

Realizing I have 143 messages in my email box and I will never, ever, EVER get the initiative to deal with labeling/moving/deleting them. There's a job in this for someone.  I'm not sure how, exactly, it would go down, but I think it has great growth potential.

*****

The fact that for the past couple of weeks, basically since Blogger bogarted my nice, old, I-know-how-to-use-it dashboard and replaced it with this bullshit new one, my scheduled posts have not been posting. NOT HELPFUL, BLOGGER.

*****

Old people racing me to the checkout lanes in the grocery store.  Listen, I know you are nearing the end of days, but you are going to take TWICE as long for half the items because you are either going to write a check OR you are going to try and come up with exact change using your bony, arthritic fingers WHICH NO LONGER FIT IN YOUR CHANGE PURSE. Just let me and my debit card and my as of yet still limber limbs go in front of you and not make it seem like I'm a dick for cutting off the old person who is s-l-o-w-l-y edging in front of me.

Now that I'm going straight to hell, what are things that have been kind of bugging you, but not enough to make your head explode?