O New England

First, a confession apropos of nothing: You know that song “MMMBop?” I … I kind of love it. No, I TOTALLY love it, and I’m always happy when it comes on the radio. And I know all the words. And the Hanson brothers are so delightfully wholesome that I can’t help but feel warm and fuzzy towards them, okay? *I* want squeaky-clean children whose delicate internal systems have seen nothing wilder than the occasional glass of chocolate malt. How do I arrange that?

This weekend, by the way, we’re off to the wilds of Virginia to hang with the in-laws in a belated Thanksgiving celebration that is not likely to involve turkey, which saddens me, despite the fact that I just ate leftovers YESTERDAY. (That’s the last of them in their current form. I know, look, I KNOW I was pushing it, but still. So good.) I can attribute this constant turkey craving to last week’s Top Chef, where we were supposed to believe they were serving Thanksgiving dinner around Thanksgiving, but given that they were wearing short sleeves outside in Rochester, anyone could realize it was probably JULY. I would also like to add that I have never held greater disdain for Padma than I do this season. I just want her to a) stop talking; and b) put her boobs away. And typically, I’m a fan of extra boob. But no, Padma. No. Put them away.

By the way, after no fewer than three lengthy conversations with my general contractor brother, I have determined that the shower is a) likely fixable, hooray! and b) will probably only cost around $2,000. Which: I KNOW. TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS. But look, yesterday we were at around $5-$6K, so while I’m still half-peeing myself over it, I’m mysteriously viewing it as a three thousand-dollar savings. Next up: a luxurious Caribbean vacations with our windfall! HAHAHAHAHA … ha? No?

No.

I ran into two people I know while picking something up downtown today, and both of them remarked on my girth which, once again, oh dear crap, no. No. I’m not particularly vain (though more on that later), but really? Is greeting someone with “Wow, you’ve gotten so BIG! You look UNCOMFORTABLE!” really the best thing to say to someone who’s already so aware of their size that they’re WADDLING? Really? I put on my pajamas last night and folded laundry at the foot of the bed and Adam just announced, “Wow, you are PREGNANT. Like all bumping around and stuff.” I glanced in the mirror and realized I looked precisely like Tweedledee and/or Tweedledum. It’s a very graceful feeling, you see.

I will likely post pictures of my terrifying girth tomorrow, just because, but I have to admit that the reason I haven’t is because last week’s haircut was the worst, and I mean, THE WORST haircut I’ve received in recent memory. It requires at least 20 minutes of careful construction so as not to horrify, and I’ve never, and I mean NEVER, spent more than five minutes on my hair.

It sticks up in parts! And is spiky and butchered and short in some areas, mysteriously long and strange in others. I … I don’t even know what’s going on here, but I’ve already been through two (2) salons in this town of approximately five people, and if I move on again, I’m one false move away from gaining A Reputation, not unlike the one my dentist has with every plumber in town. Dude’s been BLACKLISTED, y’all, and let’s all pray that he never has a toilet stop up, because no one will help him after he haggled a little too harshly with one of the plumbers in town. And what’s even sadder is that I know about it — hell, everyone knows it — and he has no idea, for no one will tell him, and he continues to publicly lament about how he wants to remodel his bathroom but no one is available to do the work. You know, in a recession, when plumbers are flush with extra-large projects.

This is life in a small town, I’m afraid. I could become Dr. Kleinfeldt of hair salons. It’s not that big of a leap, my friends.

And finally, two things of no particular importance:

– David Gregory is rumored to replace Brokaw on Meet the Press. FROM THE BEGINNING, I have said that I would be fine with many options, so long as it wasn’t David Gregory, who a) looks like a Muppet; and b) is a douche. I know he’s a douche. I have no proof that he’s a douche, as we’re not friends, but trust me: if you met David Gregory in person, he would be a douche. I am positive of this. POSITIVE. And is that really the tone we want to set on Meet the Press? A DOUCHEY one? I didn’t think so, and I can’t be sure that Tim Russert, the earthiest of down-to-earth non-douchey dudes, would be behind this. WWRD?

Not this, though he’d be too kind to say so.

I cannot think of a single celebrity who has passed on that I have missed as much as I miss Tim Russert. More than Peter Jennings, even. I miss him daily.

– I found pumpkin eggnog in the grocery store today. PUMPKIN EGGNOG. MADE WITH PUREED PUMPKIN. It’s like a PUMPKIN PIE IN A GLASS. Is Hood a New England-only brand? Because if it is, and you can’t find it, then I am very, very sorry for you. However, if you’re a New Englander, run, do not walk, to your nearest retailer for the pumpkin eggnog. And then die of happiness.

Happy Wednesday!

*The Decemberists

40 comments December 2nd, 2008