Thanks for all of your comments on my last post about letting friends go. I loved your stories, and I feel significantly less guilty, which is, I think, a good thing. Honestly, it wasn’t until I wrote out the situation to a local friend who doesn’t know the party in question that I saw it all in writing and realized, errrm, yes ma’am, all done!
Unfortunately, it bred a bit of paranoia among myself and a few friends when we started discussing what we found morally repugnant and there were a few e-mails exchanged and one friend, God bless her, submitted a LIST of what she found morally repugnant in the friendship-ending sense and PHEW, aren’t we glad we got that out of the way? Our friendship can resume! (I’m not really kidding about that, because ding dong, paranoia, HII-LLOO!)
I’m so grateful the Olympics are over — not because I didn’t enjoy them, because really, I did — but I have only so much tolerance for watching people hurtle down things at a dangerous speed. I spent the majority of the games feeling vaguely nauseated, with a blanket over my head — particularly the bobsledding, because when that shit flips, those dudes go hurtling down on their effing HEADS. Over! OVER!
While I’m at it, let me also add that I am irrationally irritated by Lindsey Vonn — or rather, the media’s obsession with her. It REALLY bugs me that even in something as seemingly egalitarian as skiing, the pretty one always gets the attention. Frankly, I don’t blame Julia Mancuso if she did snark about Lindsey, because as unfair as that is (it’s not Vonn’s fault), I’ll bet that’s annoying and distracting as hell. It happens everywhere. Looks matter. Everywhere, particularly with women. Hell, even in the blogosphere, where writing is supposed to reign supreme, pretty, photogenic bloggers generally perform better than their ordinary counterparts. Heather Armstrong is an extraordinarily talented writer and blogger, but it’s impossible to pretend that her success is not assisted, at least in part, by her model looks — and I do not mean that to denigrate her talent, for it is very real, just as mere fact.
Bah.
And now! Bullets:
– Book Lushes! Look under the PollDaddy tab on the site, for we’re starting something new: Genres! Themes! THEN picking books! It’s an effort to branch out and keep the selection fresh, as well as pick books with plenty of notice for library-going folks. As soon as I’ve finished the poll, that is. Give me five, yo.
– Sam is saying “HIIIII!” all the time, to everything. To Daddy, the dog, me, the couch, her books, the babies on television. Everything must be greeted with wild enthusiasm, and man, is it ever awesome. She’s also learned how to open her OWN flaps in her peekaboo books, thankyouverymuchMama, and she blows on her food before she eats it, just like I do before I give it to her. The other day, she ate an entire zucchini, sliced up and sauteed with garlic and parmesan and I swear, she would have eaten more of it if she hadn’t already sucked down the whole thing.
While these are simple, mundane details, this is the kind of shit that BLOWS YOUR MIND as a parent. How a small person goes from a little farting blob to a prescient being with food preferences and the ability to verbalize things, however rudimentary, is effing NUTSO. Like an ACID TRIP, I swear to GOD. Not that I would, um, know!
– So the other day, I was watching Regis & Kelly (don’t judge!) (Also, someone please give Kelly Ripa a goddamn CHEESEBURGER already) and Kelly, who annoys the piss out of me, was talking about sheet hygiene, and by that I mean, how often you change your bedsheets. I’m … well, I’m not sure I’m willing to make any admissions just yet, but I WILL say I was comPAHletely aghast when she shared that she (or, you know, her maid, Esmeralda), changes the sheets EVERY OTHER DAY. Am I … is this not excessive? Like, EXTREMELY excessive? Like, EXTREEEEEEMMMMELY excessive? I mean, if you think that’s normal, then, hey! I do, too! I was just kidding!
(OMFG.)
So, erm, how often do you change your sheets, if you don’t mind me asking? And worse, if you have them, your KIDS’ sheets? (OMFG)
This is how it goes, sleep with kids: It’s bad. It gets better! It’s bad again. It’s bearable. It’s unbearable! It’s perfect. It’s the worst thing ever. I’m well rested! I may never sleep again.
It’s all surprisingly bearable in the scheme of things, but when it isn’t, it kind of sucks. Sam has three (3) teeth coming in at once, and I can see them — all three of them — lurking just beneath the surface, and … urkkkk. This is in addition to the one she cut last week, which was … urrrkkk. Plus, there’s um, a yeast diaper rash (urrrkkkk), which I left to quite literally fester for a few weeks, thinking that if I applied enough Desitin, it would just! go! away!, which led to a super-itchy crotch, I AM SURE and … well, what you have here is the reason I went back to bed during her morning nap just about every day this week, waking from a facedown position on a drool-soaked pillow and wanting just! eight! more! hours!
Urrrkkk.
Friday bullets, with a question!
- One of my favorite things about the Internet is that finally — finally! — there are other people who have seen the most random, ridiculous movies and television shows I did as a kid. It’s so … VALIDATING, in a way I can’t properly explain. Grease 2 is no longer the embarrassing secret it once was, and I now believe there are many OTHER people who can sing the words to “Let’s Bowl!” (“Hey Paulette, take a look over here! I’m your kingpin, honey, and I’m gettin’ in gear!” — Johnny Nogerelli, sung whilst doing some sort of weird split-type dance on his knees) Other discoveries: The Electric Grandmother (thanks, TJ!), The Worst Witch and others who were ALSO obsessed with The Dark Crystal. Oh, Internet. You are my people.
(Related: I could not — still cannot — figure out the fake love triangle of Stephanie, Paulette and Johnny. Was Stephanie still considered his chick? Why was Paulette so bitter? Yes, they just broke up, but there seemed to be something more, because she couldn’t be a Pink Lady without being a T-Bird chick and …? Oh, the politics of T-Birds and Pink Ladies! So complex!)
– American Idol. They’re all terrible. Ellen is awkward and terrible, and I LOVE Ellen, but not like this. There’s a shark in the water and American Idol just leaped right over it.
– Have you ever walked away from a friendship because of something not done to you personally, but was still morally repugnant? I’m wrestling with this right now, and I’ve done it once before, though I don’t think I knew it at the time. The historical example is this: A longtime friend of mine was always a little, um, mercenary, I guess, and a bit on the morally ambiguous side when it came to financial gain. And cheap! She was always so cheap, and in that awkward, Is She Trying to Rip Me Off? kind of way. You know this way, yes? Like, they’re always trying to screw you on the bill in group dinners by throwing in a few bucks without ever looking at the bill? That kind of thing, but … well, sometimes a lot worse and more insidious, and CONSTANT.
Anyway! So! Fast forward several years of this known behavior and she’s hit by a car. I know! A car! And it was deemed a total (TOTAL) accident due to freak solar glare and really, she was fine, save for a few minor injuries. Yes, it was traumatizing but it was an ACCIDENT and … oh man, you guys, the dude who hit her was all broken up about it. He paid her medical bills, visited her in the hospital and cried his face off every time he saw her, apologizing all the time. He was such a mess over it, and made so many offers for reparations. He was a FATHER and oh he … well, he was HEARTBROKEN. I felt so bad for him, because it could have been anyone, honestly.
And she was fine and happy and everything was fine and then she heard through a friend of hers that someone she knew sued someone after a motorcycle accident and got enough money for a down payment on a house! And she could always use more money and … well.
She sued him for pain and suffering and it was just! so! awful! I’m all for suing when you’ve actually SUFFERED or suing, say, an unrepentant asshole who was negligent, but when you’re essentially ruining someone else’s life for nothing more than money, I … well, as it turned out, I was done with her. I never looked at her the same and we’re not friends anymore. It just slowly fell apart, and we slowly grew apart, but when I look back on it, that was the turning point. I couldn’t tolerate her anymore. I couldn’t be friends with someone who would do something so selfish and awful.
So! I’m faced with a similar situation. Something not done to me, but something I find just as repulsive, and I’m not sure I can go on. Has this ever happened to you?
(Unrelated: Every time I hear the statement, “Has this ever happened to you?” I automatically fill it with, “You lost a friend because you got a boring doorbell?”)
Happy Friday!
*Mos Def. Oh, you guys. I LOVE Mos Def. I have such a CRUSH on Mos Def, and I want to put him in my pocket and carry him around.
I’m pretty sure that you, Internets, will never find this as amusing as I do, because you aren’t her mother. And I know! Indulgent videos of child, I KNOW. But goddamn, if this doesn’t make me laugh — hard — every time I watch it. I’ll be back with the regular drivel tomorrow.
I wonder, um, who she’s modeling after here? Talk about realizing you need to, uhh, watch yourself.
Reading about World War II — every time I read about it — makes me realize how we, as Americans, have lost our stomach for what war really is. I say this as a person who lost a friend in the current mess that is Iraq — he left a wife and four-month-old baby behind, for chrissake — so it’s not as though it’s something that should be easy to tolerate, or that the loss of any life is something we should be able to stomach.
Not that anyone is waiting with bated breath or anything, but I’m still reading Suite Francaise (along with books in-between), and it’s no longer a slog-fest — in fact, I quite love it, and recommend that everyone read it, if only because it makes you (well, me, anyway) think about war differently. As background, it was written by a Jew (who converted to Catholicism, by way of futile self-preservation, for she later died in Auschwitz) in France during World War II, and is perhaps the first fictional account of the events taking place, for it was written as it was happening.
(Morrigan, are you out there? I LIKE IT. WIN.)
There’s no denying that the greatest tragedy of WWII was the Holocaust. I’ve been to Dachau and it was … well, it was what you’d expect, times a thousand. There really aren’t words, so I won’t even try. Suite Francaise, ironically, illustrates the plight of the non-Jews, which is eye-opening in a different way, because, uh, Jesus, everyone paid a price in that war — some more than others, but it seems like everyone paid something, which isn’t necessarily true of our current conflicts. Many people pay — please, just ask the military spouses, who should be thanked as much as their husbands and wives who serve — but not necessarily EVERYONE.
This is the longest way ever of telling the story of the single most shocking conversation I’ve ever had, that is kind of related, but not, um, really at all. Welcome to my mind. But really! Most! Shocking! Ever! A few years ago, I met with a bunch of WWII veterans for a series I was doing around, uh, Veterans Day (there’s an original concept). It was, by and large, so fucking cool, and they were very obviously the Greatest Generation, just as Tom Brokaw promised. I’d never seen such an attitude of self-sacrifice and understanding that this world is so much bigger than we are — they may not have been the most sophisticated people I’ve ever met, but in many ways, they were much more worldly. It was an immense privilege I will truly never forget, and I am so thankful to have been able to experience some of the last members of that generation.
One of the men I met with was … well, honestly, he was incredible. A relatively high-ranking black Army officer in the 1940s — when there was little tolerance for African Americans at all, much less in a position of power — that was the least of his accomplishments, if you can believe it. The guy was a highly successful newspaper publisher, a hit songwriter (!), eventual presidential appointee and … oh MAN, it just went on and on and on. He did so many things, and did them so well, that I half expected my fact checking to come out that he’d made it all up, except of course, he hadn’t. I have, to this day, never met anyone else who has done so much with their life.
He was brilliant and kind and had lived this insane life full of loss (his first wife died in a fire while he was trying to rescue her, oh my LANDS) and love and … whoa, man, he was the coolest guy I’d ever met. I developed such an affection for him that I was deeply sorry when the piece was finished, because I just wanted more time with him. In total, I’d spent many days — weeks, even — talking to him, and he and his wife invited Adam and me to dinner on multiple occasions, and we just never got it together to do so.
And, in retrospect, THANK GOD WE DIDN’T.
During our very last conversation, when everything had been filed and finished, and I was merely tying up loose ends, he was talking about his ties to the music industry, and offhandedly mentioned the prevalence of Jews in entertainment. Which, you know, I guess is somewhat true, but I’d never really given it much thought beyond the occasional Ari Gold-led joke on Entourage. It is at this point that he — a man whose life, for a little while at least, had been DEFINED by discrimination, and was, um, a WORLD WAR II VETERAN — announced, “You know, I hate them .. the Jews.”
I’MSORRYWHATDIDYOUSAY?
(It is at this point that I would like to remind/inform those who don’t know that I am, a) an aspiring Jew, as Adam always teases me, for I am always UPSET that I wasn’t born Jewish and jealous that he was; b) married to a Jew; and c) have a very obviously Jewish last name, which apparently ESCAPED this man. For all of his purported hatred, I have to wonder if he could pick a Jewish name or person out of a line up)
I think I just stared, openmouthed.
“They are a hateful, awful, greedy people. I’ve never met a Jew — or a person who LIKES Jews, even — that I’ve liked. Ever.”
I mean, what the fuck, right? Oddly, he sure seemed to like me. And because I was WORKING and was supposed to be impartial, I just … I don’t know, you guys, I just SAT THERE, totally stunned and silent and stupid, and said nothing. On the one hand, I hate myself for staying silent. On the OTHER hand, my God, the guy was 88, and I highly doubt he was going to change his mind and plus, again, I was working and was a journalist and free speech and all that and … oh man. Besides, even if he did know, he’d decide that Adam and I were exceptions, not the rule.
Shocking, right? Or is it just me? I mean, what the EFF, right? WHO SAYS THAT, least of all someone who has VIVID, VAST PREJUDICIAL EXPERIENCE that he’d just spent the last several weeks DETAILING TO ME?
(Edited to add: This part was what surprised me so much. It wasn’t that people feel that way — I mean, I know they exist, and it wasn’t the first time that happened, sadly — it’s that someone who spent all this TIME saying how AWFUL prejudice was and how it had impacted his life so NEGATIVELY went forward and … well, DID THE SAME THING. I was FLOORED.)
Most! Shocking! Ever! I still can’t get over it. I can’t! I can’t! I was so disappointed — AM so disappointed, rather. I really, really liked him, and still think about him all the time. I often wonder if he’s still alive — he was, you know, 88, and while he was healthy as a horse, he smoked about two packs of Pall Malls a day. His wife was much younger — much younger than my parents, even, and maybe ten years older than my sister — and sometimes, I think about calling her to check, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
(Housekeeping note: The next Book Lushes book has been decided, and we’re now going on a regular monthly schedule from March 1 – April 1, so this book is MARCH’s book, if that makes sense. And it’s The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. Win!)
(PS, I haven’t deleted the poll because I can’t figure out how to close it without deleting it. Am computer genius!)
(PPS, the book is on Amazon for pre-order! I mean, my anthology! Am total geek about seeing my name on Amazon, when all of these other regular authors are all, OH MY GOD GET OVER YOURSELF IT IS NOT A BIG DEAL. I bring this up ALSO because though I don’t mention it here for Google reasons, I don’t hide my last name, and since I mentioned it being obviously Jewish, I’d be curious if I were you, so now you know, if you didn’t already. If you don’t know which one I am, I’m Phillippa Ballantine. I KID.)
I’m alive! I’m ALIVE! Look at me, all TYPING SOMETHING I’M NOT CONTRACTUALLY OBLIGATED TO DO! Or, you know, something that’s not making me miserable. Not that work makes me miserable! Au contraire! I love what I do, really, I do, but there was a bit too many things going on there at once, all DUE at once, and … well, no one needs to hear about any of this, really, except that I have three obvious pro tips for you:
1) There is such a thing as seeing too much True Blood. I had to re-watch the whole show from start to finish. Many times. You want to know what happened in any episode? What Bill was wearing? What Eric was wearing? Oh, just ask me! I’ll tell you in excessive detail! My favorite Eric outfit, if you were wondering, was the zip-up track suit he wore in the department store with some kind of, um, horn around his neck. Oh, it was the first episode where he debuted his new haircut and, wait, where are you going?
2) No matter how much work you have to do, writing in a moving vehicle is ill advised. As is taking no breaks whatsoever (except to Shred) and not leaving the house or seeing your friends or getting your BABY out of the house. If you do what I did, which was to NEVER LEAVE OR STOP WORKING, you find yourself coming completely undone, your baby coming undone and having your husband gently take you aside and suggest that you walk the dog to “see the trees” and get perspective. SEE THE TREES.
3) Again, folks, LEAVE THE HOUSE. TAKE A BREAK. DO NOT BE ME. LEEEEAAAAVVEEE THE HOOUUUUSSSEEE. Twitter is great, but it is NOT meant to be your only form of social interaction. Repeat, Twitter does not substitute for actual human friends and conversation. Like, AT ALL.
So that’s what you missed. My slow descent into madness. I’m slowly clawing my way back to normalcy. I’ll write more normal stuff when I start acting … normal again.
But! I have Book Lushes news! Voting is now open on the next book! Here’s the poll!
Still busy out the hoo-ha, and Jillian Michaels has taken my knees hostage, which has resulted in me on a foam roller every night and HOBBLING by 9 p.m. HOBBLING. Thanks, Jillian! You’re a bitch!
Thank you, Wii yoga, for at least giving me something to DO.
Anyway, to get rid of that trainwreck of a post (MOLESTERS, BLACK PEOPLE AND MICHAEL JACKSON OH MY), allow me a moment of annoying mommyblogginess with my kid and her hummus-smeared table during dinner tonight. Excuse the shaking of the camera, because I’m laughing too hard and also, uh, my poor husband’s hat head.
P.S., Jennie and I did Valentine’s Day shopping guides on Style Lush. One for chicks and one for dudes.
When it comes to motherhood/kids, I think I’m pretty reasonable. I get why people don’t have them — really, I do — and it’s a choice I almost made and would have been quite happy with. It’s not for everyone, and there are plenty of people who have children who shouldn’t have, and plenty who want to, but can’t, and that’s impossibly hard. And there are plenty more who just don’t want to, because their life is full with something else, or frankly, they just don’t like kids. Which is totally fine! FINE! I mean it.
And I KNOW that my kid isn’t the center of the universe, and that while *I* think she’s beautiful and smart and interesting and funny, YOU don’t share those sentiments, and with perfectly good reason! She’s NOT YOUR KID! She’s just a kid like every other kid and no single kid is special, or at least, I like to think they ALL are, but not to people who don’t know them. If that makes sense.
HOWEVAH. My kid is a person, you know. So if she’s waving at you and smiling and clearly trying to say “HIII!” to you while you’re standing next to me, acknowledging ME, would it kill you to extend the same courtesy to her? And if she’s in a room with a bunch of adults, just do me a favor and SAY HELLO to her, and acknowledge that she’s IN THE ROOM. I mean, you wouldn’t do that to another grown-up, would you? No one’s asking you to sit on the floor and play with her, but if she’s grinning at you and waving, just SAY FUCKING HI. Yes, yes, I KNOW she’s only a baby, but see also: human being. Plus, this is how she learns how social interactions work. After you say hello, you can go back to your business. You don’t have to make goo-goo eyes at her, you don’t have to wave a toy in front of her, just acknowledge her existence with a simple hello.
I know that sounds like a crazy rant, but it happens all the time! Her little waving arms and a big old “HIIII!” in a tiny, baby-speak voice as she waits for the other person to acknowledge her, and then they just GLARE at her, like she pooped on their shoe, and it’s … it’s rude. Kids aren’t everyone’s cup of tea, but they’re still people.
I can’t believe I just wrote that, but it happened yet again in the grocery store today, when Sam waved at the lady in front of us and said “Hi!” (it’s rudimentary, but she’s learning!) and the woman shot her a look that could wilt America’s gardens while saying HELLO TO ME. And it happens like, ONCE A WEEK.
Speaking of Sam, one of her little friends likes her a, um, whole lot, and is always trying to hug her — he’s two and a half to Sam’s 11 months, for reference. While at my girlfriend’s house the other day, he kept lying on top of her, hugging her and kissing her, and once — no, TWICE — he (literally) lured her into his bedroom to lay on top of her some more, and SHUT THE DOOR. Worse, he became angry and agitated when I wanted him to leave it open. And EVERY TIME I OPENED IT, he was on top of her. I know, I know, he’s TWO AND A HALF, but how lame am I that I was all, hey, kid? Stop rubbing yourself all over my daughter and LEAVE THE DOOR OPEN.
Am proving to be not as reasonable a parent as I proclaimed to be at the outset, right? Or is that creepy and I’m being TOTALLY REASONABLE?
And finally, Real Housewives of Orange County. What the everloving FUCK, Lynne? Oh, these women! They’re so awful, every last one of them. Zero redeeming qualities whatsoever. And their KIDS. OH MY STARS. Lynne’s daughters are DISASTERS and she has no idea how to parent whatsoever, my God. It’s just an effing TRAINWRECK all around. A RIVETING TRAINWRECK. And yet? I love them. I love Gretchen so very much, I don’t care if she takes pictures of herself with vibrators up her ass and puts them on the Internet. I LOVE HER. I CANNOT BE CONVINCED THAT SHE IS EVIL.
Happy week! Not sure when I’ll see you again, but I’m sure I will.
A brief weekend update to what I alluded to on my last entry, this time with purpose!
About a month ago, Jennie mentioned her company was doing an upcoming anthology on True Blood. And people, you KNOW how I feelaboutTrueBlood, considering it’s the only show I’ve seen in its entirety more than twice since the Golden Girls. Ergo, and perhaps totally unsurprisingly, she suggested I submit a topic to the editor, and I did, and surprisingly, they accepted it.
The first time my words will be in something bound and it’s about … vampires and sex. Fitting! Anyway, I’m obviously very excited and can now totally come out with it (and out with Jennie, now that she’s outed herself). We’re all out! And proud! Or something.
The point of this is that the anthology is announced (it’s being released in June, with at least two or three updates on the essay from me throughout the third season), and you can go vote on the cover.
If you’re wondering, by the way, if my essay is on the sexy beast that is Eric and why/how/whatthefuck Alexander Skarsgard was thinking with those purported silicone back implants, you’re wrong. My essay is about Bill. BILL! I know! I didn’t see that one coming either, but it seems I have STRONG FEELINGS on what Alan Ball and Stephen Moyer are doing to Bill, and by association, Sookie, and folks, it’s not good. (SOOKEH! BEEEEL!)
Separately, Smart Pop Books are fantastic, you guys, and I’m not just saying that. I’ve contributed to a lot of things here and there and just taken the money and ran without making a thing of it, because the product (other than my brilliant contribution, of course), has sucked. These, however? Are beyond awesome. If you’re a fan of Television Without Pity or any of the recapping sites, you’ll love these. They have all the wit and smarts, plus deeper analysis. I’m not sure what they were thinking when they agreed to let me write for them. My personal favorite, if you were wondering, is the Charmed one (oh a pun!), which makes the series seem smart and a total win for feminism, meaning I no longer beat myself up for all those hours I spent parked in front of TNT while pregnant. Charmed! Who knew? And Lost! The Lost one is great, too. I’m sure the rest of them are ALSO spectacular, but a) I haven’t gotten to read them all yet; and b) I’m not a fan of all the shows/products they cover, so some of them won’t mean that much to me yet.
I’m not kidding. There is an entire brilliant essay on why the producers of Charmed were BALLS OUT to kill off Prue and I ATE IT UP, because it was SO TRUE and suddenly I didn’t feel so cheated by the way they just left us all dangling there with the whole Shax Did-He-Or-Didn’t-He thing.
Anyway. That’s the scoop. I’m writing and posting now in a separate post not to make a big thing of it intentionally, but because the poll is only up for the weekend, and I want to know what you think. I have an opinion of course, but I’ll save it for the very end.
I went to Costco today with Julie, and frankly, either one of those things on their own (a visit to Costco OR a visit with Julie) is swoon-worthy and enough entertainment for an entire week, but in combination, hoo boy, it was practically the perfect storm of wonder and delight. Witty banter! Towering 80-packs of K-cups! Giant packages of pregnancy tests placed strategically next to the condoms! A remarkably funny woman to give me a tour! A four-pound container of brownies that my husband has been complaining about all night! (“I wanted ONE brownie, Jonna, not NINETY.”)
See? Perfection. Delight! A BLT for lunch marred only by a briefly choking infant! And then I got in the car, where all hell proceeded to break loose, for it started snowing rather, uh, heavily, shall we say, and just as suddenly, to the point where I couldn’t see the road and my eyes were going all buggy from trying to focus on anything but the snowflakes hurtling toward the windshield. In fact, my eyes are quite literally crossing at the memory, and my heart rate has now elevated to 30-Day Shred levels (speaking of, my right knee is about to stage a coup). I pulled my trembling self to a gas station, where I had a serious conversation with Adam about whether I should stay in the Ho-Hum Motel (note: actual name) until the following day, because I was certain that death! destruction! torment! were all that lay ahead, and we’d NEVER MAKE IT HOME.
And apparently I was RIGHT, for before I knew what was happening, traffic (three cars, whatever) came to a total standstill amid the terrifying whiteout (the LAST THING YOU WANT, as no one can see your stopped car), because there were at LEAST seven cars all skidding off the road, and the next thing I knew there were sirens! stretchers! People ON the stretchers! Crunched cars! Three ambulances! Two fire trucks! POLICE.
(None of the cars were ours. Beebs and I were fine, although one of us was more fine than the other, perhaps because she slept through it.)
And then: sunshine. No snow. Smooth sailing. Whatthefuck. I mean, thank GAWD I didn’t stay in the Ho-Hum, because … HO HUM, you know what I’m saying?
(That line was genius, that. It’s a real shocker that I didn’t make it on Jeopardy, isn’t it?)
Occasionally, like, say, driving in a blinding snow squall, I look back on our years in Florida with a warm, golden affection, and imagine raising Sam near the Gulf of Mexico in a land where it never snows and sixty degrees is considered “cold.” The fantasy is fun for a few minutes, until I am slapped back to the reality that while yes, there is warm sunshine, there are also torrential downpours and lightning close enough to singe your face off. And the grass! Sam would never be able to sit in the grass, because it’s hard as a pile of razor-laden straw AND it is fraught with fire ants that would gladly eat your face off faster than a Fatburger.
And the ocean is great, right? Great, yes, great. It is also teeming with sharks — real ones — and wearing silver is inadvisable during the warmer months, lest you be mistaken for a mackerel. It is also true that shuffling your feet is a necessity from May through October because, oh ho ho HO! it’s stingray season, oh happy day! And what Floridian fantasy is complete without elderly drivers being wheeled away on gurneys as they got in yet another traffic accident at a six-way stop as you sit in traffic, your face melting directly into the pavement? And GAWD, we haven’t even talked about the threat of hurricanes, which is a constant source of anxiety throughout the season, because even if you aren’t hit with one, the weathermen are perpetually full of doomsday predictions about whatever clouds are swirling in the Caribbean on any given day.
Yes, I will take snow squalls and warm fireplaces, thank you very much. Frankly, if not for the driving, I am a winter person. I love winter, so long as I’m properly dressed for it, and have no problem throwing Sam in her snowsuit, packing her into the Ergo, and heading out for a tour of downtown and some errands, no matter how cold it is. Mmmm, cold weather. Snuggly!
To close the loop on the Costco excitement, I walked out with 168 Kirkland diapers, and have high hopes, despite their lack of whatever that little comfort flex thing was on the side of the Pampers that made them seem … comfortable and flexible. (See? Am marketer’s wet dream!)
And in housekeeping news, I will likely be a little on the sparse side next week and the week after, as I finish several LOOOOOOMING deadlines on projects that are due at or near the middle of February. Most of them are not thrilling at all, but one is VERY THRILLING, at least to me, and involves something that people! like you! and my parents! can buy! in a place called a BOOKSTORE! And you can read all about it HERE.
So there was a time, once, when I considered myself to be a smart person. Then, sadly, I took the Jeopardy online test and was rendered a drooling cro magnon, because GEEZUZ, you guys, that shit is HARD. How is it possible that a show — a show I consistently ROCK, I hasten to add — can be so DISCERNING in its search for contestants?
The format is this: they just start THROWING questions at you — oh, excuse me, ANSWERS, which is such Jeopardy bullshit — and you have fifteen seconds to answer them, and oh. Oh dear. I couldn’t even figure out that there were categories until it was too late, and look, I’m just going to say that during one particularly horrific, panic-stricken moment there was a clue about some desert that Chile and Peru are (were?) fighting over, and I misread it as dessert, as in who was claiming … origin, maybe? And I just typed, “CREME BRULEE” because THAT sure sounds Chilean, don’t you think?
What I’m telling you is that you should not expect to look for me on Jeopardy anytime soon, and that if you DO know someone who is on Jeopardy who does not wear a pocket protector and/or spend their entire days studying obscure facts about Russian politicians of the 18th century, you should be in fucking AWE.
CREME BRULEE.
Bullets! Because I am tired:
– LOST is back on next Tuesday for the final season. Lost! LOST LOST LOST LOST. And I am hopeful that it will be fraught with lots of JACOB, because I find Jacob weirdly attractive, even though the first time we were introduced to Jacob — or rather, the actor who PLAYS Jacob — was when he was Rita’s abusive husband in the first (second?) season of Dexter. And it will be, sadly, the last time we see Sayid in character. So much hotness. So little time left.
– Few things seem less pointless to me than giving up caffeine or salt. I realize that for some people, they are unhealthy habits, but you will pry the salt shaker from my cold, dead hands (or when high blood pressure kicks in, whichever comes first) and dude, coffee has ANTIOXIDANTS, no kidding, and the health benefits far outweigh the risks, in my opinion. (And several medical professionals as well.) Further, when I recently saw green tea recommended as a substitute for caffeinated beverages and coffee, it was all I could do not to laugh, because yes, green tea is good for you, but, um, it is caffeinated. Highly so. So while yes, green tea is awesome, I must heartily and happily say that, hey, coffee is, too.
This bullet point sponsored by Keurig. (NOT REALLY.) (I ONLY WISH.) (KEURIG, CALL ME. WILL SHILL FOR K-CUPS.)
– I’ve been holding out on you with my most inappropriate, odd crush, and I can’t keep it in any more. You know those Free Credit Report commercials? With the jingle? And the guy in the, um, mullet? Him. Yes, him. I find him strangely attractive, particularly in the most recent ANNIVERSARY ad, if you will, and … oh forget it, it’s too awful to elaborate on, but yes, Free Credit Guy, this one’s for you.
– An update on the Pampers situation: They gave me my money back. And, uh, frankly, it was a little too easy, which means THEY KNOW. They know the new Cruisers suck and they’re BUYING US OFF. I’m onto you Pampers! I should start a crazy-ass campaign/crusade and act like a total lunatic on Twitter and start a Facebook group and comment in baby forums about how PAMPERS CONSIDERS ME THE ENEMY and … oh, wait.
(Sadly, it’s true. They’re totally buying people off so we don’t flip out on them. Dude, I didn’t even have to give them a RECEIPT to prove what I paid for them. They just fired me off a check, and I didn’t even have to ASK. They were, within five seconds of the call, “Well, let us reimburse you for those diapers!” ORILLY PAMPERS?)
(I’m done with Pampers. Forever. Up yours, PG&E I mean, P&G (wow, someone watched Erin Brockovich one too many times). But you are also totally right that if you DIDN’T reimburse me, things would be even more hideous. Am sheep!)
– Still shredding. Can now move quadriceps, but my calves are still screaming in agony after cardio circuit one and it’s the ONLY THING that will force me to stay at level 1 for the entire month. THE ONLY THING. Well, that, and I’d like to live. That, too.
