Hola, bitches.
I'm enjoying my new job, but not the commute or the fact that there's nowhere to park. I like the idea of living in a town dedicated to walking and mass transit, but the reality of commuting there blows.
You know what else sucks when you have to walk to your car further than your garage? NATURE. That's what. All I see are ants running around and leafy greenery reaching out at me in a menacing fashion. It's really annoying. I like buildings. And concrete. I find their sterility soothing.
But that's not really news - I mean, you knew that about me anyway, right? I'm lazy and hate nature. Duh.
What is news? Besides the fact that I am so loving all of you who have been guest posting for me, and all you others who are planning on posting for me? Well, this is news:
Hosni Mubarak is being tried for crimes against humanity. Huh. Good. I am impressed that he showed up in Egypt for his trial, unlike most others who skeddaddle with all the country's loot. I'm less than impressed at his record of oppression. Props to his Ronald Reagan dye job.
I am righteously pissed at Obama and all the dumb fucks who decided that it's a good idea to cut funding when it's so desperately needed, and also to hold a country hostage for . . . what? Pandering to racist loons? Uterus up, you bastards, and do the right thing.
In China, where there are so many kinds of outrage for crimes against its people, there are new reports about Chinese officials seizing babies for adoption in the black market. I just don't even have the words for this. Here, Spain, I'm sure it goes on elsewhere. How heartless do you have to be to do something like this? I mean, I'm pretty callous, but this is beyond disgusting.
And finally, some good news: New York's Mayor Bloomberg and that bane of right wing crazies everywhere George Soros are donating $30million each to a fund in New York City to reach out to the chronically disenfranchised minority populations. The program will work to better the circumstances of over 300,000 young black and Latino men. Good.
What's new with you?
[PS COUNTDOWN TO MY BIRTHDAY - YOU'VE GOT JUST OVER A WEEK, PEOPLE!!!]
Showing posts with label Having Fun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Having Fun. Show all posts
Friday, August 5, 2011
Monday, August 1, 2011
What are you reading?
It is Book Report Monday, a day I officially made up when I realized I have 5 books going at the same time, plus a nice list of books you've all recommended [thanks again, you are brilliant]. And I need to discuss. So:
Unbearable Lightness by Portia de Rossi
I'm not sure why this was on my TO READ list, even though I love her in Arrested Development and on Better Off Ted [which, if you have not watched that sadly short-lived comedy brilliance, then you must do so immediately. Trust me. I've already blathered on about it here. You will thank me every day in your prayers. EVERY DAY. Even if you don't pray.]. I'm not a big biography reader, because most autobiographies are written by people who can't write and ghostwriters and most biographies are written by scholarly people who can't write. I'm not sure where Kitty Kelly falls in this, but I digress. Anyway, I've been reading this book while working out at the gym, and I just realized that maybe reading a book about a woman who suffered from severe eating disorders while hitting the [seated] elliptical is probably not the best idea. I like it ok, but I find her attention to her food issues kind of boring. Which begs the question, why am I reading a book about food issues? I have no idea.
Such a Pretty Fat by Jen Lancaster
I'm actually re-reading this. Thanks to Jenners for her audiobook recommendation of Ms. Lancaster, who I started reading many, many years ago when I was working in a bookstore and got an ARC of Bitter is the New Black and I don't AT ALL feel seven kinds of jealousy that she has gone on to WRITING SUPERSTARDOM while my half-completed manuscripts and fully finished novels are moldering away. What the fuck was I thinking, becoming a lawyer? Anyway, I'm re-reading this and for some reason it's in the bathroom, which I'm not a person who reads in the bathroom, because I am in there ALL THE FUCKING TIME ANYWAY, and I'd really rather not extend the time I have to spend in such a tiny place, but it's in there and sometimes I'll flip through a page or two before I realize that I haven't shut the door completely and the girl has a friend over.
What am I talking about? Oh, yes, so anyway, that's TWO books I'm reading about people with food issues and weight issues and yes, I get it, I'm not skinny anymore ladies, and maybe the ice cream maker is getting more of a workout than it should, but what the hell, subconscious? What are you trying to tell me?
Death of a Valentine by M.C. Beaton
I'm listening to this on the way too and from work. I've written before about my orgasmic love for the reader Graeme Malcom, and it's good to know that the guy can still bring it. By it, I mean good feelings in my you-know-where [MY VAGINA]. [Also my heart.] Anyway, I'm not quite sure what the story is about, except that there was a letter bomb explosion delivered in a valentine card to a pretty but bitchy girl who was on drugs. I think. I don't know. I just listen to the mellifluous voice and ignore the honk-beep-brake-swerve that is going on around me. So I think it's an excellent book.
The Secret of the Old Clock by Carolyn Keene
NANCY DREW!! NANCY DREW!!
I've loved Nancy Drew since I was little. I voraciously read all the books I could get my hands on, and passed that love of Carson Drew's detecting daughter on to the girl. We've collected quite a few of the books, and the other night I was heading to bed and couldn't think of what I wanted to read. I can't read something new, because then I'll stay up, so I like to re-read things so my brain will be o.k. with falling asleep because it already knows how the story ends. Anyway, I'm reading this and enjoying not only the stilted writing and deepening mystery [Will the Tophams keep the inheritance? Or will the good, kind people Nancy meets get their fair share??], and in particular, the passage where:
Undead and Unappreciated by Maryjanice Davidson
This is one of those vampire chick lit books, but it's fucking hilarious. Not only because the vampire queen is a bitchy, self-involved not always on top of it narcissist, but because Davidson doesn't seem to take the whole vampire premise too seriously. This is my pool book, which I enjoy reading not only because I've read it before, but also because it's just fun and fluffy and light and when it's hot and my brain is fried, that's what I'm looking for. And, for the record, Davidson is a GAJILLION times better writer than that purveyor of abstinence porn. And even Anne Rice [who, also for the record, really needed an editor].
What are you reading? Do you keep more than one book going at a time? WHAT IS THE SECRET OF THE OLD CLOCK?
Unbearable Lightness by Portia de Rossi
I'm not sure why this was on my TO READ list, even though I love her in Arrested Development and on Better Off Ted [which, if you have not watched that sadly short-lived comedy brilliance, then you must do so immediately. Trust me. I've already blathered on about it here. You will thank me every day in your prayers. EVERY DAY. Even if you don't pray.]. I'm not a big biography reader, because most autobiographies are written by people who can't write and ghostwriters and most biographies are written by scholarly people who can't write. I'm not sure where Kitty Kelly falls in this, but I digress. Anyway, I've been reading this book while working out at the gym, and I just realized that maybe reading a book about a woman who suffered from severe eating disorders while hitting the [seated] elliptical is probably not the best idea. I like it ok, but I find her attention to her food issues kind of boring. Which begs the question, why am I reading a book about food issues? I have no idea.
Such a Pretty Fat by Jen Lancaster
I'm actually re-reading this. Thanks to Jenners for her audiobook recommendation of Ms. Lancaster, who I started reading many, many years ago when I was working in a bookstore and got an ARC of Bitter is the New Black and I don't AT ALL feel seven kinds of jealousy that she has gone on to WRITING SUPERSTARDOM while my half-completed manuscripts and fully finished novels are moldering away. What the fuck was I thinking, becoming a lawyer? Anyway, I'm re-reading this and for some reason it's in the bathroom, which I'm not a person who reads in the bathroom, because I am in there ALL THE FUCKING TIME ANYWAY, and I'd really rather not extend the time I have to spend in such a tiny place, but it's in there and sometimes I'll flip through a page or two before I realize that I haven't shut the door completely and the girl has a friend over.
What am I talking about? Oh, yes, so anyway, that's TWO books I'm reading about people with food issues and weight issues and yes, I get it, I'm not skinny anymore ladies, and maybe the ice cream maker is getting more of a workout than it should, but what the hell, subconscious? What are you trying to tell me?
Death of a Valentine by M.C. Beaton
I'm listening to this on the way too and from work. I've written before about my orgasmic love for the reader Graeme Malcom, and it's good to know that the guy can still bring it. By it, I mean good feelings in my you-know-where [MY VAGINA]. [Also my heart.] Anyway, I'm not quite sure what the story is about, except that there was a letter bomb explosion delivered in a valentine card to a pretty but bitchy girl who was on drugs. I think. I don't know. I just listen to the mellifluous voice and ignore the honk-beep-brake-swerve that is going on around me. So I think it's an excellent book.
The Secret of the Old Clock by Carolyn Keene
NANCY DREW!! NANCY DREW!!
I've loved Nancy Drew since I was little. I voraciously read all the books I could get my hands on, and passed that love of Carson Drew's detecting daughter on to the girl. We've collected quite a few of the books, and the other night I was heading to bed and couldn't think of what I wanted to read. I can't read something new, because then I'll stay up, so I like to re-read things so my brain will be o.k. with falling asleep because it already knows how the story ends. Anyway, I'm reading this and enjoying not only the stilted writing and deepening mystery [Will the Tophams keep the inheritance? Or will the good, kind people Nancy meets get their fair share??], and in particular, the passage where:
Nancy was attracted to both girls.Did you know Nancy Drew was gay? I did not!
Undead and Unappreciated by Maryjanice Davidson
This is one of those vampire chick lit books, but it's fucking hilarious. Not only because the vampire queen is a bitchy, self-involved not always on top of it narcissist, but because Davidson doesn't seem to take the whole vampire premise too seriously. This is my pool book, which I enjoy reading not only because I've read it before, but also because it's just fun and fluffy and light and when it's hot and my brain is fried, that's what I'm looking for. And, for the record, Davidson is a GAJILLION times better writer than that purveyor of abstinence porn. And even Anne Rice [who, also for the record, really needed an editor].
What are you reading? Do you keep more than one book going at a time? WHAT IS THE SECRET OF THE OLD CLOCK?
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
GUEST POST: I’m So Mad At Amy Winehouse
As I've noted, Tuesdays are going to be a day for my wonderful blogging friends to use this space to let loose. There are no rules, not even that one rule about not talking about Fight Club.
First up is the ever-lovely Karensomethingorother. She writes at Ow, my angst, and is clever and witty and scathingly funny. These are a few of my favorite things.
Karensomethingorother is Canadian, which automatically makes her awesome, and she has a delightful view on things, such as the horrors of summer with children and her guilty pleasure and how awesome her daughter is and why she has such a twisted view of cherries.
Karensomethingorother graciously offered to be a guest poster in order to get this off her chest:
I'm So Mad at Amy Winehouse
I’m actually typing this in Word right now, instead of the much preferred blog editor, and that stupid Paper Clip guy just popped up. You know who the paper clip guy is: that idiot ass cartoon character who is supposed to be helpful when you have to ask a question like “how do I shut off AUTO CORRECT,” or “HOW DO I TYPE A GODDAMN LABEL FOR AN ENVELOPE? I USED TO HAVE A REAL JOB, AND I TYPED LABELS ALL THE TIME BUT NOW I’M A STAY-AT-HOME RETARD”.
So, that paper clip guy is kinda helpful, but then he just turns into “your anal friend who won’t get out of your business and can not seem to stop giving unsolicited advice.”
Annoying.
Anyhow, today should have been perfect. My two kids have gone off to their grandparents’ for a sleepover, where they can eat chocolate sweeties until they get tummy-tum aches, watch as many child-friendly videos as they like, and forget all about that awful word “NO” for an entire day. I’m happy because this means they can head-butt each other at someone else’s house.
So, that sounds right-on, right? Maybe I’d have mowed my lady lawn, mixed up some cocktails and forgotten that The Man keeps leaving his sweaty, mildew factory karate clothes in the laundry basket every. single. week. instead of taking a f*cking minute to hang them up on the line until they dry the eff out. And after some terrifying afternoon delight (terrifying because it would be in DAYLIGHT, and this party doesn’t roll these days unless it’s too black to see anything) we’d head off to the movie theatre to see THE LAST HARRY POTTER, YO! BOO YAH!
But no. I have wicked bad cramps, and I have to go out and look for tampons that are nearly as wide as a roll of paper towels, and fork over six bucks to the library for an over-due Wiggles dvd. I’m just waiting for the two aspirin to kick in.
In the meantime, I come to my friend Internet, to pass the time until said NSAIDS kick in, and see that Amy Winehouse has died. And stupid me? I’M SHOCKED.
How the hell am I shocked when her death is elementary, my dear Watson? But damn, she had a good voice, and damn, she had a cool vibe, and damn, that was one good album, and goddamnit, but that idiot Katy Perry will still be cranking out the crap forever, and when they stick the microphone in front of a group of young girls, and ask them who their favourite artists are, they’ll all cheep “ohmygod we LOVE Katy Perry!!!” And sadly, fantastic songs like “Back To Black,” will be overshadowed by whipped cream titty guns, and skin so hot it’ll melt yer popsicle, SQUEEEEEK!
Yeah, what a bummer.
First up is the ever-lovely Karensomethingorother. She writes at Ow, my angst, and is clever and witty and scathingly funny. These are a few of my favorite things.
Karensomethingorother is Canadian, which automatically makes her awesome, and she has a delightful view on things, such as the horrors of summer with children and her guilty pleasure and how awesome her daughter is and why she has such a twisted view of cherries.
Karensomethingorother graciously offered to be a guest poster in order to get this off her chest:
I'm So Mad at Amy Winehouse
I’m actually typing this in Word right now, instead of the much preferred blog editor, and that stupid Paper Clip guy just popped up. You know who the paper clip guy is: that idiot ass cartoon character who is supposed to be helpful when you have to ask a question like “how do I shut off AUTO CORRECT,” or “HOW DO I TYPE A GODDAMN LABEL FOR AN ENVELOPE? I USED TO HAVE A REAL JOB, AND I TYPED LABELS ALL THE TIME BUT NOW I’M A STAY-AT-HOME RETARD”.
So, that paper clip guy is kinda helpful, but then he just turns into “your anal friend who won’t get out of your business and can not seem to stop giving unsolicited advice.”
Annoying.
Anyhow, today should have been perfect. My two kids have gone off to their grandparents’ for a sleepover, where they can eat chocolate sweeties until they get tummy-tum aches, watch as many child-friendly videos as they like, and forget all about that awful word “NO” for an entire day. I’m happy because this means they can head-butt each other at someone else’s house.
So, that sounds right-on, right? Maybe I’d have mowed my lady lawn, mixed up some cocktails and forgotten that The Man keeps leaving his sweaty, mildew factory karate clothes in the laundry basket every. single. week. instead of taking a f*cking minute to hang them up on the line until they dry the eff out. And after some terrifying afternoon delight (terrifying because it would be in DAYLIGHT, and this party doesn’t roll these days unless it’s too black to see anything) we’d head off to the movie theatre to see THE LAST HARRY POTTER, YO! BOO YAH!
But no. I have wicked bad cramps, and I have to go out and look for tampons that are nearly as wide as a roll of paper towels, and fork over six bucks to the library for an over-due Wiggles dvd. I’m just waiting for the two aspirin to kick in.
In the meantime, I come to my friend Internet, to pass the time until said NSAIDS kick in, and see that Amy Winehouse has died. And stupid me? I’M SHOCKED.
How the hell am I shocked when her death is elementary, my dear Watson? But damn, she had a good voice, and damn, she had a cool vibe, and damn, that was one good album, and goddamnit, but that idiot Katy Perry will still be cranking out the crap forever, and when they stick the microphone in front of a group of young girls, and ask them who their favourite artists are, they’ll all cheep “ohmygod we LOVE Katy Perry!!!” And sadly, fantastic songs like “Back To Black,” will be overshadowed by whipped cream titty guns, and skin so hot it’ll melt yer popsicle, SQUEEEEEK!
Yeah, what a bummer.
Monday, July 11, 2011
I Love Tina Fey - the post you knew was coming.
I can't help it - I'm in love.
I've been a fan of Tina Fey's since Weekend Update on SNL and I've loved her in 30 Rock, but now? Listening to her read her audiobook of Bossypants? It's like the stars have aligned and I have found my soul mate. [Please don't tell her and scare her off. Thanks.]
She is brilliantly funny and very snarky and so. very. smart. I love this woman. I want us to be friends.
I want you all to read or listen to her read her book, so that we can talk about it and I won't seem like a complete lunatic for my NON-STOP yammering about how hilarious she is.
But she is! Really!
Funny and insightful and a badass.
And one of the things I love best is when she talks about how, when she and Amy Poehler were on SNL, Amy Poehler did something funny, and Jimmy Fallon was pretending to get all offended and said, "Oh, stop it, I don't like it," and Amy Poehler turned on him and said, "I don't fucking care if you like it," and I thought YAY! Yes! THAT is how I want to live my life.
I don't fucking care if you like it.
That is Tina Fey's advice for me. For us all.
I think most of the regrets and angst I've had are when I try and fit myself into someone else's idea of me. Someone else's opinion of how I should live or behave or act. It stifles me and I feel compromised and ridiculous and it never works out.
This is not to say that I'm going to do something as disgusting as removing my shoe and rubbing my foot on the carpeting in a public place [seriously? DISGUSTING!] but it does mean that I need to trust myself and my instincts and my abilities more. To just be myself and realize that people may like me or they may not like me, but it won't matter because I like me.
And now we have devolved into 1970s I'm O.k., You're O.k., and for that, I apologize.
Anyway, I can't stop recommending Bossypants, or Tina Fey in general. 30 Rock is one of the best things on t.v., which sounds like I'm damning it with faint praise, but I'm telling you it is GENIUS. Plus, Alec Baldwin? The sexiest of the Baldwins? Nice. And LL Cool J was on it for an episode. YUM. YUM.
Disclaimer: I did watch Baby Mama last night [I AM NOT STALKING TINA FEY THROUGH MY ELECTRONIC DEVICES] and while I loved her, I was underwhelmed by the movie in general. Then I realized that it was written and directed by a man, who I'm sure is lovely, but seriously? A singing scene? A dancing montage? How cliche. All they needed was another montage of Tina Fey trying on sexy clothes, which they mercifully skipped and instead just showed the end result of her being sluttily dressed by Amy Poehler and it would have been an 80s cliche trifecta. Still, my love for Tina Fey remains undimmed.
What do you think? Is this getting out of control? Or is my love for Tina Fey pure and righteous?
I've been a fan of Tina Fey's since Weekend Update on SNL and I've loved her in 30 Rock, but now? Listening to her read her audiobook of Bossypants? It's like the stars have aligned and I have found my soul mate. [Please don't tell her and scare her off. Thanks.]
She is brilliantly funny and very snarky and so. very. smart. I love this woman. I want us to be friends.
I want you all to read or listen to her read her book, so that we can talk about it and I won't seem like a complete lunatic for my NON-STOP yammering about how hilarious she is.
But she is! Really!
Funny and insightful and a badass.
And one of the things I love best is when she talks about how, when she and Amy Poehler were on SNL, Amy Poehler did something funny, and Jimmy Fallon was pretending to get all offended and said, "Oh, stop it, I don't like it," and Amy Poehler turned on him and said, "I don't fucking care if you like it," and I thought YAY! Yes! THAT is how I want to live my life.
I don't fucking care if you like it.
That is Tina Fey's advice for me. For us all.
I think most of the regrets and angst I've had are when I try and fit myself into someone else's idea of me. Someone else's opinion of how I should live or behave or act. It stifles me and I feel compromised and ridiculous and it never works out.
This is not to say that I'm going to do something as disgusting as removing my shoe and rubbing my foot on the carpeting in a public place [seriously? DISGUSTING!] but it does mean that I need to trust myself and my instincts and my abilities more. To just be myself and realize that people may like me or they may not like me, but it won't matter because I like me.
And now we have devolved into 1970s I'm O.k., You're O.k., and for that, I apologize.
Anyway, I can't stop recommending Bossypants, or Tina Fey in general. 30 Rock is one of the best things on t.v., which sounds like I'm damning it with faint praise, but I'm telling you it is GENIUS. Plus, Alec Baldwin? The sexiest of the Baldwins? Nice. And LL Cool J was on it for an episode. YUM. YUM.
Disclaimer: I did watch Baby Mama last night [I AM NOT STALKING TINA FEY THROUGH MY ELECTRONIC DEVICES] and while I loved her, I was underwhelmed by the movie in general. Then I realized that it was written and directed by a man, who I'm sure is lovely, but seriously? A singing scene? A dancing montage? How cliche. All they needed was another montage of Tina Fey trying on sexy clothes, which they mercifully skipped and instead just showed the end result of her being sluttily dressed by Amy Poehler and it would have been an 80s cliche trifecta. Still, my love for Tina Fey remains undimmed.
What do you think? Is this getting out of control? Or is my love for Tina Fey pure and righteous?
Thursday, July 7, 2011
People Who are Assholes - Public Pool Edition
I love swimming.
Or, more honestly, I used to love swimming and now I love floating around in the water, chatting with my friends and family and playing frisbee or catch or Marco Polo or taking part in our patented Cheating Races [which are awesome and I highly recommend - details at the end of the post]. What I don't love? The assholes at the pool.
The kids who decided to aim the geyser of water at the adults sitting around the edge of the pool? Assholes. It's o.k. to call kids that, right? I may or may not have said, "You little fuckers" kind of under my breath [really out loud] as I walked past JUST EXACTLY WHEN they decided to aim Old Faithful and got soaked on one side when I wasn't planning on swimming because I'm still not feeling that great and just wanted to take a bunch of kids out swimming and keep them out of my hair. Jerks.
The guy who is talking on his cell phone like he's part of NASA and is trying desperately to safely bring in the final shuttle landing instead of being a middle manager at CompuGlobalMegaMart trying to track down a missing shipment of copier toner. Not that big a deal, dude.
The woman who thinks a public pool is the place to wear her slightly too small bikini. This is not that crowd. Not during daylight hours, anyway.
The teenagers. Because they are teenagers.
The person who screams the entire way down the water slide. THE ENTIRE WAY DOWN. It's not that scary, and that really, really echoes and cuts in on my ability to eavesdrop on the group to my left who are talking about whether or not tiny bikini had her boobs done [probably yes].
Ah, summertime. I need my own pool. And possibly some happy pills.
Who pisses you off at the pool?
**************
Cheating Races - these are a lot of fun, especially for mixed age groups. You basically decide on a race, like whoever walks backward to the other side of the pool and back first is the winner and ALL CHEATING IS ALLOWED, which means kids can leap on adults, adults can pick up and move children, anything goes. It's hilarious.
Or, more honestly, I used to love swimming and now I love floating around in the water, chatting with my friends and family and playing frisbee or catch or Marco Polo or taking part in our patented Cheating Races [which are awesome and I highly recommend - details at the end of the post]. What I don't love? The assholes at the pool.
The kids who decided to aim the geyser of water at the adults sitting around the edge of the pool? Assholes. It's o.k. to call kids that, right? I may or may not have said, "You little fuckers" kind of under my breath [really out loud] as I walked past JUST EXACTLY WHEN they decided to aim Old Faithful and got soaked on one side when I wasn't planning on swimming because I'm still not feeling that great and just wanted to take a bunch of kids out swimming and keep them out of my hair. Jerks.
The guy who is talking on his cell phone like he's part of NASA and is trying desperately to safely bring in the final shuttle landing instead of being a middle manager at CompuGlobalMegaMart trying to track down a missing shipment of copier toner. Not that big a deal, dude.
The woman who thinks a public pool is the place to wear her slightly too small bikini. This is not that crowd. Not during daylight hours, anyway.
The teenagers. Because they are teenagers.
The person who screams the entire way down the water slide. THE ENTIRE WAY DOWN. It's not that scary, and that really, really echoes and cuts in on my ability to eavesdrop on the group to my left who are talking about whether or not tiny bikini had her boobs done [probably yes].
Ah, summertime. I need my own pool. And possibly some happy pills.
Who pisses you off at the pool?
**************
Cheating Races - these are a lot of fun, especially for mixed age groups. You basically decide on a race, like whoever walks backward to the other side of the pool and back first is the winner and ALL CHEATING IS ALLOWED, which means kids can leap on adults, adults can pick up and move children, anything goes. It's hilarious.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Week in Review - Still questioning what is wrong with people. Answer? EVERYTHING.
Oh, my lovelies, how ARE you? I'm delightful, what with my fun-filled week and the upcoming weekend of FAMILY TIME ALL THE TIME. Please come over. The week has been an interesting one, so let's check it out, shall we?
Evidently Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez has been in Cuba for the past few weeks seeking some of that excellent Communist medical care [seriously WHERE IS MY OBAMACARE?]. His supporters are praying for him to get better. I confess, I'm a fan of Chavez's outrageous antics, just like I am of Fidel's, so to have the two of them together? AWESOME. Also, you know how Fidel has his brother Raul stepping up to take over? Hugo has a brother who's got his back, too! Isn't that cool? Hugo's brother, Adan, has stepped up and is doing PR re: Hugo's health. I love my South American political firebrands.
France is kicking things up a notch by arming the rebels in Libya. I'm kind of o.k. with this. I'm not a fan of fighting or war or despotism, but I'm pretty good with leveling the playing field.
In what I can only hope is going to bring some much needed levity to the upcoming election [which is STILL over a year away. Take it down a notch, news people.], Stephen Colbert has set up a Super PAC so that he can create political ads to run on his show. I am more than a little excited about this.
This isn't really news, but it's been bugging me: How come it's all right when Glenn Beck and John Boehner cry like fucking babies, but when Hillary Clinton teared up while discussing her bid for the presidential nomination and her struggles as a woman, she was a pussy? An even bigger pussy than just being a woman makes her? That still pisses me off.
In news of the Of Course He Did variety, that guy who hosts To Catch a Predator was caught on tape having an extra-marital affair. Well, duh. I've never actually watched the show, but for an excellent recap of the show, the douche and his diddling, check out Hate You, Probably's latest post.
These two people, Will & Kate, are visiting Canada this week. Um, Canadian blogger friends, hook a girl up with some dirt, o.k.? Or an invitation to hang out. Hell, why don't you snag them and come over for our 4th of July celebration? I promise not to rub their nose in our FREEDOM! [Aside: I found some excellent decorations at the dollar store {which I loathe, because ugh, but I went to anyway, because poor} that included a screaming eagle like Stephen Colbert has on his intro. I waffled & didn't get it, but my sister stopped in and picked it up and IT IS AWESOME so be ready for photos of how patriotic and AWESOME our party will be. If you're too busy or cool to stop by. Whatever.]
In more personal news, I already loved Tina Fey, but I am listening to her read her Bossypants book as an audiobook and people? I LOVE HER MORE NOW. If you haven't read this, get it. I'm going to get a book copy AND an audiobook because that way I can not only read it whenever I want, I can also listen to her read and pretend we're friends and are hanging out. Shut up. It's not that sad.
And in other news, I'm over at The Scoop on Poop, where I'm The Best Scoop of the Week today [of ice cream, not poop, don't be gross], and where I'll be guest posting on Monday. Go on over now and see who I would be if I could be anyone for a day. Go on. You'll never guess who.
What are your plans for the weekend? Anything interesting happen that I should know about? Do you know Tina Fey and can you maybe give her my contact info?
Evidently Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez has been in Cuba for the past few weeks seeking some of that excellent Communist medical care [seriously WHERE IS MY OBAMACARE?]. His supporters are praying for him to get better. I confess, I'm a fan of Chavez's outrageous antics, just like I am of Fidel's, so to have the two of them together? AWESOME. Also, you know how Fidel has his brother Raul stepping up to take over? Hugo has a brother who's got his back, too! Isn't that cool? Hugo's brother, Adan, has stepped up and is doing PR re: Hugo's health. I love my South American political firebrands.
France is kicking things up a notch by arming the rebels in Libya. I'm kind of o.k. with this. I'm not a fan of fighting or war or despotism, but I'm pretty good with leveling the playing field.
In what I can only hope is going to bring some much needed levity to the upcoming election [which is STILL over a year away. Take it down a notch, news people.], Stephen Colbert has set up a Super PAC so that he can create political ads to run on his show. I am more than a little excited about this.
This isn't really news, but it's been bugging me: How come it's all right when Glenn Beck and John Boehner cry like fucking babies, but when Hillary Clinton teared up while discussing her bid for the presidential nomination and her struggles as a woman, she was a pussy? An even bigger pussy than just being a woman makes her? That still pisses me off.
In news of the Of Course He Did variety, that guy who hosts To Catch a Predator was caught on tape having an extra-marital affair. Well, duh. I've never actually watched the show, but for an excellent recap of the show, the douche and his diddling, check out Hate You, Probably's latest post.
These two people, Will & Kate, are visiting Canada this week. Um, Canadian blogger friends, hook a girl up with some dirt, o.k.? Or an invitation to hang out. Hell, why don't you snag them and come over for our 4th of July celebration? I promise not to rub their nose in our FREEDOM! [Aside: I found some excellent decorations at the dollar store {which I loathe, because ugh, but I went to anyway, because poor} that included a screaming eagle like Stephen Colbert has on his intro. I waffled & didn't get it, but my sister stopped in and picked it up and IT IS AWESOME so be ready for photos of how patriotic and AWESOME our party will be. If you're too busy or cool to stop by. Whatever.]
In more personal news, I already loved Tina Fey, but I am listening to her read her Bossypants book as an audiobook and people? I LOVE HER MORE NOW. If you haven't read this, get it. I'm going to get a book copy AND an audiobook because that way I can not only read it whenever I want, I can also listen to her read and pretend we're friends and are hanging out. Shut up. It's not that sad.
And in other news, I'm over at The Scoop on Poop, where I'm The Best Scoop of the Week today [of ice cream, not poop, don't be gross], and where I'll be guest posting on Monday. Go on over now and see who I would be if I could be anyone for a day. Go on. You'll never guess who.
What are your plans for the weekend? Anything interesting happen that I should know about? Do you know Tina Fey and can you maybe give her my contact info?
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
This day is already hella-long and not just because I'm stuck in a time warp where hella-long is still used.
I keep realizing, like I'm in Momento or I'm Dory, that it's almost JULY and I've not spent one afternoon outside enjoying this weather. What the hell? I mean, I know that the weather's been alternately 60 degrees and rainy or 95 degrees and humid, and I'm not much for nature anyway, and I hate bugs, but I get that weird I'M MISSING OUT feeling when there's a breeze and sunshine and I'm holed up in the house, ironing a 2 foot high pile of clothing because nothing says summertime like freshly pressed cotton. Or maybe I'm just sad that I'm ironing. Part of the reason I'm looking forward to having so many people over all weekend is that it will MAKE me be outside, enjoying stuff. Or at least I won't be ironing. I hope.
And a hearty thank you to all for your excellent advice for party activities. I'm simultaneously amazed/not even remotely surprised at the number of people who enjoy squatting over pressurized water. I'm debating getting disposable enemas and just passing them out as party favors.
[Many, many years ago, when the girl was small, my cousin and I took her to a nearby park that has water sprinklers/sprayers. There was a little boy who would squat over a near-volcano of water and had such a pleasured look on his face that it was like you were invading his privacy when you were looking at him. He'd squat there, for several minutes, get up and play with his friends for about 30 seconds and head right back over to squat some more. My cousin and I could not stop with the uncomfortable laughter, because he really, really, REALLY looked like he could have used some alone time.]
I'm heading out this week to get a sprinkler [that Mt. Tikisoki looks demented and awesome, but $50 is not in my budget right now], some sparklers, bubbles and lawn darts. Really, really pointy ones. And untangle our badminton set. And borrow one of those corn hole games. And then laugh about the idea that we are all going to corn hole. Because I am classy like that. And get a giant watermelon to spit seeds. Because we are also classy like that. And because if you can't be foolish with your family, who can you be foolish with? Besides just the general public, but they tend to be kind of judgy when you're in the middle of your third acappella rendition of The Pina Colada Song. [I'm sorry that now that song is stuck in your head. I hope you feel my pain.]
Last night, I made the most delicious strawberry sour cream ice cream. That ice cream maker? I am its whore.
I'm planning on making chocolate and maybe blueberry and another vanilla for the weekend. It's SO GOOD. Also, patriotic. Except the chocolate. Unless you count it as being the earth upon which this great nation is built. Wow. I should run for office or be in advertising or maybe just shut the hell up.
Sorry for the lame. Better stuff coming, I swear.
PS Just so you know, I would make out with the the non-mustachioed one - Hall. Mustaches just scream porn to me. I would also have to be very, very drunk.
And a hearty thank you to all for your excellent advice for party activities. I'm simultaneously amazed/not even remotely surprised at the number of people who enjoy squatting over pressurized water. I'm debating getting disposable enemas and just passing them out as party favors.
[Many, many years ago, when the girl was small, my cousin and I took her to a nearby park that has water sprinklers/sprayers. There was a little boy who would squat over a near-volcano of water and had such a pleasured look on his face that it was like you were invading his privacy when you were looking at him. He'd squat there, for several minutes, get up and play with his friends for about 30 seconds and head right back over to squat some more. My cousin and I could not stop with the uncomfortable laughter, because he really, really, REALLY looked like he could have used some alone time.]
I'm heading out this week to get a sprinkler [that Mt. Tikisoki looks demented and awesome, but $50 is not in my budget right now], some sparklers, bubbles and lawn darts. Really, really pointy ones. And untangle our badminton set. And borrow one of those corn hole games. And then laugh about the idea that we are all going to corn hole. Because I am classy like that. And get a giant watermelon to spit seeds. Because we are also classy like that. And because if you can't be foolish with your family, who can you be foolish with? Besides just the general public, but they tend to be kind of judgy when you're in the middle of your third acappella rendition of The Pina Colada Song. [I'm sorry that now that song is stuck in your head. I hope you feel my pain.]
Last night, I made the most delicious strawberry sour cream ice cream. That ice cream maker? I am its whore.
 |
| These tasty treats . . . |
 |
| . . . made this. |
Sorry for the lame. Better stuff coming, I swear.
PS Just so you know, I would make out with the the non-mustachioed one - Hall. Mustaches just scream porn to me. I would also have to be very, very drunk.
Monday, June 27, 2011
I did it! Suck on that, Ben & Jerry's!
Who doesn't love ice cream?
You?
Then you are dead to me.
I'm a huge fan of ice cream and frozen yogurt and even sherbet in its proper setting [tiny metal bowls at a sticky luncheon]. I've also become something of a foodie, and, when the latest Costco coupons came in the mail, found myself yearning for an ice cream maker.
***Dooododdoododooddoo*** [Memory music Intro]
When I was a small child, we were at our aunt and uncle's house and their neighbor, a loveable gruff old guy who was missing the tops of a couple of fingers, asked us if we wanted ice cream cones.
Of course we said, "YES!" and went into his house where he said he'd make us home made ice cream cones. Visions of a hand-cranked taste sensation went flying through my head. I had never seen such a thing, but had read about people making ice cream, and was thrilled I'd join the likes of Nancy Drew or The Bobbsie Twins in having REAL. HOMEMADE. ICE CREAM!
I told Old Neighbor Guy we usually got ice cream at the store or ice cream stand. He couldn't believe we'd never had home made ice cream cones, and proceeded to make them for us.
By scooping store bought ice cream onto store bought cones.
[No, there was no weird perversion here, although now that I re-read this, it kind of seems like a completely viable intro to a Lifetime movie. "Suniverse's Story: When Ice Cream Won't Wash Away the Shame."]
***Dooododdoododooddoo*** [Memory music Outro]
So anyway, I had ideas about ice cream. And was pleased to find an ice cream maker on sale at Costco. With a coupon! Further sale! We'd be MAKING money by buying this thing.
So the husband bought me an ice cream maker, and I made ice cream and now I'm sharing that recipe with you.
PS It was DELICIOUS.
Vanilla Frozen Yogurt
[Adapted from David Lebovitz's superlative ice cream recipe book, The Perfect Scoop]
Makes about 1.5 quarts. I'm not sure how much that is, but that's what the recipe says.
Ingredients
3 cups yogurt [regular / strained / Greek style]
2/3 cup sugar
Vanilla
Directions
1. Decide which type of yogurt you are going to use. Strained or Greek style yogurt will make a creamier, denser frozen yogurt. If you are going to strain your plain yogurt, realize this is going to add a day to your recipe, since you're supposed to strain 6 cups of plain yogurt through cheesecloth [which you have to go buy, after deciding that a paper towel probably won't cut it] in a mesh strainer [which you actually have, since the husband bought you a graduated set for Christmas] that is placed over a bowl [you know what a bowl is] and set in the fridge for 6 hours or overnight in order to get 3 cups of yogurt.
2. After you have strained the yogurt, add the sugar and vanilla and mix thoroughly. Or have your kid mix it. I added I don't know how much vanilla, because the girl was doing this part of the recipe. Let's say 1 tablespoon.
3. Open up your ice cream maker box. Read the directions and realize you have to freeze the cylinder for 24 hours.
4. Fuck.
5. Wash out the parts of your ice cream maker and dry thoroughly. Place the cylinder in your freezer. Decide that frozen margaritas are a much better and quicker method of enjoying summer.
6. The next day, have your kid go get the cylinder from the freezer.
7. She drops it on her foot.
8. In a move sure to win you Parent of the Year, yell at your kid for being clumsy and ruining EVERYTHING. As icing on the cake, don't ask if her foot hurts.
9. Calm down. Apologize. Continue to feel like the shittiest parent in the world, including those who are on reality shows.
10. Regroup and set up the ice cream maker.
11. Press start and pour in the ingredients and . . . that's it. Your work is done.
12. Keep peeking into the ice cream maker, wondering if it's working right. Keep pushing the ice cream around with your rubber spatula.
13. Step away from the ice cream maker.
14. After 20 minutes, turn off the ice cream maker, scoop out the delicious goodness and try some. Wonder why you've been paying out to ice cream makers like a sucker for all these years.
Store any leftover ice cream [HAHAHAHAHA] in a freezer-safe container.
You?
Then you are dead to me.
I'm a huge fan of ice cream and frozen yogurt and even sherbet in its proper setting [tiny metal bowls at a sticky luncheon]. I've also become something of a foodie, and, when the latest Costco coupons came in the mail, found myself yearning for an ice cream maker.
***Dooododdoododooddoo*** [Memory music Intro]
When I was a small child, we were at our aunt and uncle's house and their neighbor, a loveable gruff old guy who was missing the tops of a couple of fingers, asked us if we wanted ice cream cones.
Of course we said, "YES!" and went into his house where he said he'd make us home made ice cream cones. Visions of a hand-cranked taste sensation went flying through my head. I had never seen such a thing, but had read about people making ice cream, and was thrilled I'd join the likes of Nancy Drew or The Bobbsie Twins in having REAL. HOMEMADE. ICE CREAM!
I told Old Neighbor Guy we usually got ice cream at the store or ice cream stand. He couldn't believe we'd never had home made ice cream cones, and proceeded to make them for us.
By scooping store bought ice cream onto store bought cones.
[No, there was no weird perversion here, although now that I re-read this, it kind of seems like a completely viable intro to a Lifetime movie. "Suniverse's Story: When Ice Cream Won't Wash Away the Shame."]
***Dooododdoododooddoo*** [Memory music Outro]
So anyway, I had ideas about ice cream. And was pleased to find an ice cream maker on sale at Costco. With a coupon! Further sale! We'd be MAKING money by buying this thing.
So the husband bought me an ice cream maker, and I made ice cream and now I'm sharing that recipe with you.
PS It was DELICIOUS.
Vanilla Frozen Yogurt
[Adapted from David Lebovitz's superlative ice cream recipe book, The Perfect Scoop]
Makes about 1.5 quarts. I'm not sure how much that is, but that's what the recipe says.
Ingredients
3 cups yogurt [regular / strained / Greek style]
2/3 cup sugar
Vanilla
Directions
1. Decide which type of yogurt you are going to use. Strained or Greek style yogurt will make a creamier, denser frozen yogurt. If you are going to strain your plain yogurt, realize this is going to add a day to your recipe, since you're supposed to strain 6 cups of plain yogurt through cheesecloth [which you have to go buy, after deciding that a paper towel probably won't cut it] in a mesh strainer [which you actually have, since the husband bought you a graduated set for Christmas] that is placed over a bowl [you know what a bowl is] and set in the fridge for 6 hours or overnight in order to get 3 cups of yogurt.
2. After you have strained the yogurt, add the sugar and vanilla and mix thoroughly. Or have your kid mix it. I added I don't know how much vanilla, because the girl was doing this part of the recipe. Let's say 1 tablespoon.
3. Open up your ice cream maker box. Read the directions and realize you have to freeze the cylinder for 24 hours.
4. Fuck.
5. Wash out the parts of your ice cream maker and dry thoroughly. Place the cylinder in your freezer. Decide that frozen margaritas are a much better and quicker method of enjoying summer.
6. The next day, have your kid go get the cylinder from the freezer.
7. She drops it on her foot.
8. In a move sure to win you Parent of the Year, yell at your kid for being clumsy and ruining EVERYTHING. As icing on the cake, don't ask if her foot hurts.
9. Calm down. Apologize. Continue to feel like the shittiest parent in the world, including those who are on reality shows.
10. Regroup and set up the ice cream maker.
11. Press start and pour in the ingredients and . . . that's it. Your work is done.
12. Keep peeking into the ice cream maker, wondering if it's working right. Keep pushing the ice cream around with your rubber spatula.
 |
| You don't actually have to do this. Except at the end, to get all the ice creamy goodness out. |
14. After 20 minutes, turn off the ice cream maker, scoop out the delicious goodness and try some. Wonder why you've been paying out to ice cream makers like a sucker for all these years.
 |
| It's so sweet and tasty. Actually, it tastes almost sour cream/cream cheese-y. So GOOD. |
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Not as erudite as I thought.
Last week I got an email asking if I wanted tickets to go see Bizet's Carmen. Well, sure. I actually like opera and classical music and getting dressed up and going places.
Granted, this wasn't New York or DC or even LA. It was a Midwestern performance of an opera which, for some reason, I thought was Italian. It's not. It's French. Strike one for my aura of smartitude.
Anyway, the tickets were cheap.
So yeah, sure, the husband and I decided to go.
We get to Will Call and find that the tickets are so fucking cheap because the seats are in the LAST POSSIBLE ROW of the balcony. I knew they'd be in the balcony, but last row? COME ON.
Did I mention to you that I get vertigo? And not the Jimmy Stewart kind [which, seriously @modinkpeeb ? Jimmy Stewart is in no way sexier than Cary Grant. NO WAY.]. The swoopy kind of vertigo. It's not fun.
So we climb and climb and climb stairs and finally get to the BACK of the place and sit down and I'm deep breathing [o.k., almost panting, whatever, I'm starting my water aerobics this week, let's relax, o.k.?] and trying not to look down except you know what? DOWN IS WHERE THE SHOW IS.
So I spent the show with my head turned sideways and looking out of the bottom corners of my eyes. I highly recommend this viewing method next time you are at the opera.
ALSO - why the fuckity-roo do operas have to have those supertitles? I first saw them about 15 years ago when we went to see a Wagner opera [of course I don't remember which one. It was in German and had a boat. Das Boot, maybe?] I mean, I've got the libretto so I know what's going on, and I may not be fluent in the language, but I don't need to see exactly what words the people are singing, I can get that from the whole ambiance of the play, and also? The person in charge of the supertitles at Carmen? Was high or drunk, because they never matched up with what was going on.
So I kind of felt all superior and thought, "Screw these infidels, I'm not looking at the supertitles anymore because I am SO ABOVE ALL THAT [And not just because I needed a sherpa to get to my seat. And also not just because it made me dizzy to look at them.]."
Until I recognized Carmen's first big number, Habanera, in Act I. Because I recognized Carmen's song from Sesame Street.
I get props for it being Denyse Graves singing on Sesame Street, right? [If you have never seen this, please do. It's amazing.]
Then in Act II, I recognized the Toreador song from Gilligan's Island. I was pretty mortified and leaned over to mention this to my husband, who said, "That's o.k., I recognize the songs from Bugs Bunny." Yeah. We're together.
At the end of Act II, I asked the husband if we could leave, because it had already been well over 2 hours of sitting with my head twisted & there were two more acts, which meant at least 2 more hours and frankly? I was more than willing to just get a DVD and watch the last two acts. Don't get me wrong, I really love the music and I am a HUGE fan of live theater, but I realized that I am a huge fan of live theater on the main floor only.
So we left, after I carefully made my way down down down down down the stairs.
I highly recommend classing up your day with opera to see how much of a rube you are. I bet I win.
Granted, this wasn't New York or DC or even LA. It was a Midwestern performance of an opera which, for some reason, I thought was Italian. It's not. It's French. Strike one for my aura of smartitude.
Anyway, the tickets were cheap.
So yeah, sure, the husband and I decided to go.
We get to Will Call and find that the tickets are so fucking cheap because the seats are in the LAST POSSIBLE ROW of the balcony. I knew they'd be in the balcony, but last row? COME ON.
Did I mention to you that I get vertigo? And not the Jimmy Stewart kind [which, seriously @modinkpeeb ? Jimmy Stewart is in no way sexier than Cary Grant. NO WAY.]. The swoopy kind of vertigo. It's not fun.
So we climb and climb and climb stairs and finally get to the BACK of the place and sit down and I'm deep breathing [o.k., almost panting, whatever, I'm starting my water aerobics this week, let's relax, o.k.?] and trying not to look down except you know what? DOWN IS WHERE THE SHOW IS.
So I spent the show with my head turned sideways and looking out of the bottom corners of my eyes. I highly recommend this viewing method next time you are at the opera.
ALSO - why the fuckity-roo do operas have to have those supertitles? I first saw them about 15 years ago when we went to see a Wagner opera [of course I don't remember which one. It was in German and had a boat. Das Boot, maybe?] I mean, I've got the libretto so I know what's going on, and I may not be fluent in the language, but I don't need to see exactly what words the people are singing, I can get that from the whole ambiance of the play, and also? The person in charge of the supertitles at Carmen? Was high or drunk, because they never matched up with what was going on.
So I kind of felt all superior and thought, "Screw these infidels, I'm not looking at the supertitles anymore because I am SO ABOVE ALL THAT [And not just because I needed a sherpa to get to my seat. And also not just because it made me dizzy to look at them.]."
Until I recognized Carmen's first big number, Habanera, in Act I. Because I recognized Carmen's song from Sesame Street.
I get props for it being Denyse Graves singing on Sesame Street, right? [If you have never seen this, please do. It's amazing.]
Then in Act II, I recognized the Toreador song from Gilligan's Island. I was pretty mortified and leaned over to mention this to my husband, who said, "That's o.k., I recognize the songs from Bugs Bunny." Yeah. We're together.
At the end of Act II, I asked the husband if we could leave, because it had already been well over 2 hours of sitting with my head twisted & there were two more acts, which meant at least 2 more hours and frankly? I was more than willing to just get a DVD and watch the last two acts. Don't get me wrong, I really love the music and I am a HUGE fan of live theater, but I realized that I am a huge fan of live theater on the main floor only.
So we left, after I carefully made my way down down down down down the stairs.
I highly recommend classing up your day with opera to see how much of a rube you are. I bet I win.
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