Wednesday, August 31, 2005

I am Outraged, But What Else is New?

I just finished reading The Other Man: A Love Story: John F. Kennedy Jr., Carolyn Bessette, and Me because sometimes I just need a break from The Wall Street Journal and all the classics. I don’t idolize the Kennedys, and I didn’t think that John and Carolyn were perfect human beings, but sister got sold out. Michael Bergin was her boyfriend before John and is best known for being the Calvin Klein underwear guy after Marky Mark. This book was so wrong in so many ways, that he should have waited for Carolyn’s parents to die before he published it. If any ex-boyfriend of mine wrote a book which revealed my crazy and violent behavior, clinginess, mood swings, sleeping around, two abortions, and cheating on my husband, I would rise from the grave and fuck his ass up. On the last pages he wrote about how he wanted to set the record straight, that she wasn’t a drug addict, etc. Well, thank you very much from Carolyn because you went above and beyond and portrayed a woman who was batshit crazy. I think she would have preferred people thinking she was merely a coke head. He gratuitously added in things like the time that Candace Bushnell came over to interview him and they slept together immediately. He also threw in specifics about Marky Mark being fired from the CK campaign. He tried to justify his behavior by saying that he was proud of the book and thought that Carolyn would approve, because the book told the real truth. Yeah, the real unflattering truth. This book was self serving and disrespectful, and he should be ashamed of himself. No wonder I found this on the clearance shelf and Barnes & Noble. Watch your back asshole, you’re not too pretty to hit.

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

You Know You're Getting Old When...

1. Your younger sister truly wants a station wagon.
2. You believe that you have arthritis in your left elbow.
3. You’re in no way interested in watching the VMA’s or the Teen Choice Awards.
4. You haven’t watched The Real World since the Chicago season.
5. You get so excited about buying new furniture that you are unable to sleep the night before it is delivered.
6. You remember the first time peasant blouses and skirts were in style.
7. You just saw a music video with an 80’s theme, and it was a parody.
8. You are no longer afraid to ask store employees to open another register if there is a long line.
9. You write a complaint letter to the manufacturer of your broken coffee maker.

Monday, August 29, 2005

Pet Peeve #753

Today I ate lunch at Sweet Tomatoes, which is an all-you-can-eat soup and salad bar place. I go there when I feel like eating a healthy lunch, and then I smother that healthy lunch with blue cheese dressing and bacon bits. And afterwards I make a sundae at the ice cream buffet. They have these little table cards to let your server know if you’ve gone back up to the buffet, or if you have left. One side says “We’ll be ripe back” and the other side says “See you next thyme.” I’d like to meet their advertising people so that I could punch them squarely in the pie. Get it? Like eye? I’m witty. I hate word play and stupid puns. These cards make me angry enough to eat my blue cheese dressing and bacon bits elsewhere.

They'll Call Me a Cornhusker, Won't They?

I am endlessly amused by the goings on at ebay. I have a theory that people lose sight of the item and its real value, because they get so caught up in beating the other people to win the auctions. Here are some examples of the things I have sold recently:

Metal cookie cutter in the shape of a wedding cake - $4.22 (I guess they didn’t realize that they could have taken their 40% off coupon to Michael’s and bought it for $1.00.)

Bottle of OPI nail polish that I got for free with a coupon from a magazine - $6.00 (dude, you only saved $1.50 by not driving to Trade Secret yourself to buy it.)

My personal favorite: a bird cage thing from Pier One that I spray painted silver and used to hold cards at my wedding - $16.50 (I believe that I paid $10.00 for it and even said that I bought it at Pier One in the listing.)

I think that I have lived in a big city for so long that I have forgotten that other people don’t have access to the same stores, etc. I will probably be punished for this little racket I have going by being transferred to Nebraska or Wyoming one day.

Sunday, August 28, 2005

How Do You Say "White Trash" In Français Ya'll?

Yesterday Joe and I met my father for lunch. The restaurant my dad originally picked out was closed, so we drove around town to find something else. His friends had recommended a place that was supposed to be good, so we stopped there. “Uh oh”, I thought when I realized it was a fancy French restaurant. “I am with the two pickiest eaters I know, and we’re all wearing jeans and sneakers.” We sat down anyway and they were finally able to find something on the menu, though neither of them would dare to try my crepes. We had a nice lunch and were finishing up when a family sat down at the table next to us. One of the women folded her t-shirt up so that her midriff was exposed because she was hot. One of the men wiped his mouth on his napkin that had never been unfolded from its fancy design, much less placed on his lap. Then, they piled all of their empty Red Bull and Arizona Iced Tea cans on an antique table next to them. I never had anything to worry about in the first place.

Friday, August 26, 2005

I've Already Been Told I Have Issues

Today I was talking to my sister on the phone while she was at work. She whispered into the phone that someone in her office was slathered from head to toe in baby powder and it was nauseating her. She could not escape and I believe it was even making her sweat. She asked if I had any triggers like that. Boy do I have triggers. Some of my triggers even cause obsessive compulsive behaviors. I work with adults who are mentally retarded, some quite severe. This morning I was around one who had been chewing on his hand. If you’re not familiar with that smell, here’s an idea: the next time you sneeze, instead of immediately wiping your hand on your jeans, let it air dry, then smell it, then multiply that smell by ten. I am in no way making fun of my clients, as I adore them and can’t imagine working with any other population. I have changed more diapers, cleaned up every manner of shit and vomit, and performed the Heimlich maneuver more than any woman without children ever should. One thing I have never gotten used to is the smell of saliva. This man today grabbed onto my purse straps with his wet hand and started pulling it toward him. I am phobic of germs, cooties, and communicable diseases so I started hyperventilating and saying letgoletgoletgoletgoLETGO. He finally did and I immediately walked over to the wall dispenser of hand sanitizer and rubbed it all over my purse straps, my hands, and my arms up to my elbows. I’m quite sure they will have to refill it today.

I always love to hear about other people’s weird things. Another of mine is the sound of Styrofoam rubbing together. It gives me the skeeves to put it mildly. I have a hard time buying eggs because I can’t touch the carton, if I buy something that is packaged in Styrofoam I have to leave the room or plug my ears so someone else can get it out of the box, and no Styrofoam cooler is permitted within 100’ of my home. I used to feel weird admitting this because I knew it was bizarre, but I have actually heard some that make me look pretty normal, even when I’m running from room to room covering my ears while yelling “Don’t touch it yet, get it out of the house!” One person I met could not handle white ice. Clear ice was okay, but the idea of digging into a bin of white ice was too much for him. A friend could not handle wood coming in contact with body fluids i.e. chewing on a toothpick or a wooden coffee stirrer. My mom can’t stand for her hands to be sticky or greasy, and can’t eat anything blue. I was listening to a morning show this week where people were calling in and confessing their weird things. Razors, clowns, spiders, etc. One guy could not touch smooth wood, so every Thanksgiving someone sets the table with silver, but his place is set with a big wooden knife from the Outback. My absolute favorite was the woman who said that blue cake icing scared the bejesus out of her. Was that you Mom?

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

There Are No Words

Dear Littermaid Cat Box Corporation,

Recently I spent almost $100.00 on your “new and improved” litter box. If this is new and improved, I would be frightened to see the old version. Since bringing it into my home, I have been woken from a dead sleep more than once thinking that an intruder was breaking in, when in reality the sweeping arm was stuck and making such a loud noise that I had to get out of my bed to reset it. My cats have aged years from this sound and the unpredictable nature of this contraption. Your product is obviously so expensive because it comes with its own brain, but I want my money back because I got one with a schizophrenic brain. When it decides to sweep back and forth incessantly, get stuck, make bizarre noises, etc. my cats have taken to watching it in the pounce and attack position. I have no doubt that they spend their entire days watching it and waiting for the time that they have to attack it to protect themselves and their master because it has begun to walk around the house as if possessed by Satan. I bought this thing because it is supposed to be self sufficient, and cleaning the cat box is not one of my favorite chores. I now spend more time playing in this box than I did playing in the sand box in elementary school. I already have a Zen garden, thanks for asking, so I do not appreciate the added benefit that others may get by raking the litter and making pretty patterns. Have I mentioned the huge mess that this product makes? I am tired of walking around with cat litter stuck to the bottom of my feet. I recommend that you get back in your lab and start from scratch making a product that is at the very least functional, then work your way up to one that you can legitimately call “new and improved.”

Hating you more every day,
Cory and Cats


Monday, August 22, 2005

I May Have Stolen This

10 years ago: I was working at Gayfer’s Department store and attending UNF. I was staying at Christine’s apartment because on campus housing was closed for about 3 weeks. Going out a lot.

5 years ago: I was working at P.C. and The Chart House. Going out a lot.

1 year ago: I was working at Crazy Land, was having regular panic attacks and felt like I was getting an ulcer. Living with Joe and planning the wedding. We had just gotten back from a week at the beach with his family and were surrounded by hurricanes. Going out not at all.

Yesterday: Woke up at 9:45 a.m., read paper, played on computer, watched The Secret Window, played around with the idea of going out, cleaned house, did laundry, read, cooked dinner, bathed (finally) and changed into clean pajamas, was in bed by 9:45 p.m. Perfect day.

Today: Woke up at 7:45 a.m., was out the door by 8:30, went to work where we had a meeting with the woman who is auditing us, went to a psychiatrist appointment for a client, saw three people I knew at the psychiatrist’s office, talked to Christine approximately 8-10 times, worked some more, made dinner, played on computer, watched TV, in bed by 10:00 p.m.

Tomorrow: Wake up at regular time, go to work, dodge the auditor, work on a project that I am dreading, see a client or two, come home, order pizza because Tuesday is pizza night, hunt down the little girls who have my $20.00, but have not brought me my coupon book yet, read, play on computer, in bed by 10:00 p.m. My life rocks.

5 snacks I enjoy: Chocolate chip cookies, K.C. Masterpiece barbecue potato chips, cheddar cheese, Goldfish crackers, fun size candy bars. I’m healthy too.

5 bands/singers that I know the lyrics of most of their songs: Coldplay, Liz Phair, The Strokes, Radiohead, and just about every cheesy pop band who I truly hate.

Things I would do with $1,000,000: Move far away from here, buy a bigger house with a pool, go on a couple of Caribbean vacations, give my peeps some money, donate some to charity, buy a new car, etc.

5 locations I’d like to run away to: Tahiti, St. Barth, Fiji, Martinique, Antigua.

5 bad habits I have: Procrastinating, gossiping like I’m 16 again, spending too much time on the computer, doing laundry and forgetting to hang it up or fold it, not returning phone calls in a timely fashion.

5 things I like doing: Sleeping, reading, eating, watching TV, relaxing.

5 things I would never wear: A bikini, low rise jeans with my belly hanging out, anything with the name “Babyphat” on it, a tube top, short shorts.

5 TV shows I like: King of Queens, Saturday Night Live, Lost, Rescue Me, Barefoot Contessa.

5 movies I like: Sixteen Candles, Lost in Translation, A Beautiful Mind, Sixth Sense, Good Will Hunting.

5 biggest joys at the moment: My marriage, my family, my cats, my home, my life.

5 favorite toys: Laptop, digital camera, DVR, cell phone, surround sound which is also my worst foe.

Sunday, August 21, 2005

The Answer is Probably Yes on all Accounts

Is it wrong to look at your spouse and laugh each time a loud noise on television amplified by the surround sound makes your sleeping cat jump straight up into the air? Is it also wrong to then point and laugh some more and call her "Puff Daddy" because her fur is standing straight up? Do we have to start calling her "Diddy" because "Puff Daddy" is so seven years ago?

Thursday, August 18, 2005

Karma is a Bitch, and So am I

I was driving home this afternoon behind a van towing a huge trailer. The huge trailer had no turn signals or brake lights and was weaving in and out of lanes endangering many lives. For several minutes I debated about what to do, if anything. I ended up calling the police non-emergency number and reporting them as a dangerous driver. Making the call did not make me feel any better and I had the huge moral dilemma of “Am I a concerned citizen, or just a bitch?” Concerned citizen vs. bitch went through my mind all the way home, until I decided that I would leave it up to the Karma Gods. I stopped by Walgreens for Theraflu and Halloween candy (it is August after all), and as I was walking out the door, the criminal beeper went off. So embarrassing. I let the cashier look through my bag, then left again, and off the beeper went. Bitch it is. I just bought a shitty coupon book from a couple of kids who knocked on the door, so maybe the universe is balanced once again.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005


I am not a good flyer. I don’t know how or why this happened, but I if I ever fly alone or over water, it is only because I’ve had a Xanax or a cocktail beforehand. On Friday night, my plane was delayed by 2 hours due to the rain in Atlanta. While I was waiting I noticed a group of men who were obviously in a band waiting for the same flight. I could tell that they were musicians because they had the long stringy hair that is indigenous to rockers in their fifties. To say that they stood out from the crowd would be an understatement. Some women gushed and asked for their autographs (thank God no breasts were bared), others like me and the lovely homosexual man next to me whispered to each other sideways “Who the hell are they? Lynyrd Skynyrd? Molly Hatchett? 38 Special?” Yes internet, I live in the south where there is actually a genre of music called “Southern Fried Rock.” One of the band members had on a shirt that said “If I Leave Here Tomorrow, Will You Still Remember Me?” and the face of a Van Zandt. I don’t mean any disrespect toward the dead, but I just don’t know which one it was because I try my best to avoid rock that is southern fried in nature. I could only think of two things while I sat and stared at them. 1) If these are the surviving members of Lynyrd Skynyrd and they have already lived through one plane crash, they can’t continue to cheat death forever, therefore I am totally fucked. 2) I can’t live in this city much longer.

**After I later Googled the bands I realized it was 38 Special, which is comprised of a Van Zandt brother and a surviving member of Skynyrd. (I was right when I thought I was fucked) Holy shit, I just called them Skynyrd like the locals. FREEBIRD!

On my way home Sunday, I was dropped off at the airport at 8:15 p.m. to catch my 9:20 p.m. departing flight. As soon as I got into the airport the heavy rain and lightning began almost immediately (is it me?). I checked in, yada yada yada, and then saw that my flight had been pushed back to 10:00 p.m. due to the weather. Ok, no problem. I sat there with my book and my assload of IKEA merchandise and waited. And waited. And watched the departure time move all the way back to 12:30 a.m. Since I was sitting across from a Houlihan’s, I decided to go over and have a pre-flight cocktail or two. This place was crazy. Apparently everyone in Terminal A thought that getting drunk was a good way to pass the time. I somehow got a seat at the bar and drank my Jim Beam because I don’t fuck around when it comes to pre-flight cocktails. At about 12:00 a.m. I gave up my plum barstool because my plane was taking off in 30 minutes. Right? Wrong. Now the time was pushed back to 1:30 a.m. I sat back down and heard an announcement that there were no other flights to Florida that night, so if you were on the flight to Orlando, you were basically screwed. The airline regretted that the weather was causing an inconvenience, but there were no hotel rooms available in Atlanta that night. Give me a fucking break. Did they really think that anyone believed that? It’s not like the Olympics were going on, and God knows that the IKEA had been open for a month or two already, so surely that wouldn’t account for the lack of rooms. This airline was clearly lying. What they meant to say was “there are no more rooms at the airport Motel 6, and we are not willing to pay for you to stay at the Marriott.” I will not name the airline because a dear friend gave me a buddy pass, and I was flying for a fraction of the cost. I may be a bitch, but I’m not an ungrateful one.

Around this time I got a call from my sweet, sweet Joey who had woken from a dead slumber and driven to the airport to pick me up. The last time we talked, and the last time he had checked online, my flight was still leaving at 12:30 a.m. Overcome with guilt, I sent him back home and instructed him to go back to sleep until I called him.

I continued to watch people frantically running for planes, yelling at each other, and dragging poor, sleepy toddlers around by their shirt sleeves. By this time a group of men had gathered just outside of Houlihan’s and were doing shots. When I count my blessings each day, I include no longer being in college, no longer having to go to nightclubs, and the fact that I did not marry a philandering drunk. These guys--who incidentally were all wearing wedding bands--were getting louder and calling out to the pretty girls who walked by to “Come sit on my lap and have a drink.” I guess they adopted the motto “What happens at Houlihan’s, stays at Houlihan’s” for the evening.

Since I was flying standby, I started to get knots in my stomach when I saw how many people had been transferred to my flight. I heard one of the clerks say that there were plenty of seats, but that they were waiting on some new pilots because the original pilots had been flying for 18 hours, which is the limit. WHAT? I could have lived the rest of my life without knowing that. I don’t think I could sleep for 18 straight hours, much less stay conscious, sit in one place, and be responsible for hundreds of people’s lives. Jesus.

My name was finally called and by this point it was a free for all. There were no more seat assignments, so I had to find my own seat which happened to be next to the meanest man on earth. I take that back, maybe everyone is that grouchy at 2:30 a.m. when they have been traveling all day. But still, he was a dick. Oh, and FYI: people who have been traveling all day smell. Really bad.

I was home and in bed at the reasonable hour of 4:00 a.m., almost 8 hours after my journey had begun. Unfortunately I woke Joe in the wee hours because I was talking in my sleep: “Attention customers, for your safety, do not let your bag out of your sight. Do not let anyone give you unknown objects to carry for them…” And so forth and so on.

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

IKEA = My Idea of Hell

This past weekend I flew to Atlanta for my mom’s birthday. There are way too many stories to fit into one post, so I’ll start with the one where we went to the new IKEA store. I’m not sure how many millions of people live in the Atlanta area, but I do know that approximately 1/3 of them were shopping at IKEA after church on Sunday. Being the good Genericans that we are, my mom, sister, and I drove downtown and saw the big looming blue box that was akin to the size of a football dome. We drove around in the parking garage for what seemed like hours, but was probably just a mere 30 minutes or so. We literally stalked people who were coming out of the store and followed them to their cars. After about 4 failed attempts where we were outwitted by another rabid parker, we found a spot.

Dizzy from exhaust fumes, we entered into another dimension that I can only describe as a cross between a slaughterhouse and Disney World. The masses were herded into the building by escalators. The first stop was the bathroom, which I swear they pump in cinnamon roll fragrance through the air vents to entice you to eat in the restaurant. I’m not sure I will ever eat another cinnamon roll since I now associate them with squatting over a public toilet, trying to keep my pant legs from falling into puddles of urine.

The IKEA staff then took out their cattle prods and directed us into the showrooms of furniture, which were my favorite part. They reminded me of the Carousel of Progress attraction at Disney World. It was hard to fight the urge to curl up on one of the little beds and take a nap.

I got swept up in the amazing deals and low, low prices and crossed the very fine line of “just looking” to balls-to-the-wall Christmas shopping for everyone I know. This is probably how regular people feel when they go to Wal Mart. I remember thinking “I better buy everything I see, because I am never coming back here.”

We wound around the entire place and found a spot in the shortest checkout line. We got lucky because there were only 15 families in front of us. Because my mom, sister, and I never talk about the weather or gas prices, we launched into a discussion about their upcoming trip to Italy and their wishes, should they all perish at one time. We discussed the problem of finding homes for 2 cats and 3 dogs, life insurance, organ donation, and funeral arrangements. I will attest to the fact that we are not your average family, but the notable part is that we had enough time to have this deep discussion, make plans, wipe away our tears, and wrap things up before we were even able to see the cashier on the distant horizon.

For all the thought that went into the IKEA store, something went terribly wrong at the checkout counter. The conveyor belt is blocked on both sides by plexiglass, and is so narrow that it is a balancing act to send the purchases through. Then, there is the fact that you have to wrap and bag your own purchases. I felt like I was shopping at Sav-a-Lot grocery store. Perhaps that is how they keep their prices down.

We refueled on free samples in the gourmet section, compared our bruises from other people’s purses/strollers/shopping carts, and then boarded a cross between an escalator, a ramp, and a moving side walk. The crafty Scandinavians fashioned the metal flooring to grip the shopping cart wheels so that no one in front of us would be taken out by our cart, should we let go of the handle. Don’t tell me that they thought of this, but that I imagined the pumping of the cinnamon roll scent through the bathroom vents.

Overall, I would rate the experience somewhere between a gynecological exam and a root canal. I have decided that any and all future IKEA purchases will be made online or by catalog from here on out.


Friday, August 12, 2005

If My Mom Was Your Mom

1. She'd make you sweet iced tea and fried chicken any time you asked.
2. She'd laugh hard at your jokes.
3. She'd give you lots of hugs.
4. She'd automatically dislike anyone who was mean or unkind to you.
5. She'd get all of her church friends to pray for good things to happen to you.
6. She'd do all of your mending without complaining.
7. She'd sew you a homemade Cabbage Patch doll when you were 10.
8. She'd never nag you about producing grandchildren.
9. She'd bake all your favorite treats.
10. She'd dance with your crazy high school friends at your wedding.

Happy Birthday Bettina. I love you.

Thursday, August 11, 2005

I Live a Life of Embarrassment and Shame

Last Friday I discovered that The Cheesecake Factory has begun to garnish some of their cheesecakes with peanut butter cookie dough. I fantasized about my plans to eat and/or roll naked on an entire cheesecake when they start doing that with chocolate chip cookie dough. Saturday I thoroughly enjoyed the fact that they said the word “cock” on Rescue Me. Sunday I stayed in my pajamas all day. I did shower, but then I just put on more pajamas. Monday I ate an entire pint of Ben & Jerry’s for dinner. Tuesday Janice Dickinson’s new book arrived in the mail and I may have read some of it. Wednesday I watched Kathy Griffin’s My Life on the D List and definitely enjoyed it. I don’t know what today will bring, but I’ve already given some neighborhood kids the finger while they were walking to the bus stop in the middle of the street and wouldn’t get out of my way.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

I Have a Soulmate Out There Who Also Shops at Walgreens

I had to stop by Walgreen’s today after work to get my prescription filled. (I can’t ever say that line without singing the rest of “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” by the Rolling Stones.) Anyway, I walked back to the pharmacy and passed one woman yelling at her insurance company who she had been on the phone with for the past 50 minutes. I had to wait in line for more than 5 minutes. This is outrageous in this day and age where waiting is no longer tolerated in this country, plus I’ve never been to this particular pharmacy when less than 8 people were working behind the counter. While I was waiting in line I was hungry, had to pee, had just sat through a 3 hour meeting, and was quickly becoming annoyed. When it was finally my turn, I swiped my card and reached for a pen to sign the receipt. The pen was one of those freebies from Prilosec. It was anchored to the counter, and someone had written “fuck this” on the white anchor part. This made me laugh out loud, and made the pharmacy tech look at me strangely.

Fuck this, indeed.


Tuesday, August 09, 2005

Once a Smart Ass, Always a Smart Ass

Albertson’s grocery stores have gone out of business, at least in this area. I have never enjoyed shopping at Albertsons, and have spent many frustrating moments trying to figure out why the spices are located next to the sunscreen, and why the pickles are in the cookie aisle. Some stores were sold to Publix, but the one closest to me was sold to Rowe’s, which I have never heard of. Rowe’s is affiliated with the Independent Grocer’s Association, or IGA.

When I saw the familiar IGA sign it brought me back to a time in my late teens when I lived in a town with one stop light and worked in a small grocery store which was a member of the IGA. My uniform consisted of a red smock with an oval IGA patch sewn on, which included the registered trademark symbol. I cannot even count how many morons said “Thanks IGA” (rhymes with Ida), or asked me if IGA was my name. In my smart ass 17-year-old mind I would always think “Yes, you dumb fuck. My Mom named me IGA, then registered my name as a trademark, then embroidered it onto a patch so I could look just like the mechanics across the street.”

My thought patterns haven’t changed very much in the past 15 years.

Monday, August 08, 2005

Hey Hunan Wok - Suck It!

We finally had the pleasure of dining at P.F. Chang’s on Friday night. I understand that this is part of a chain, but unless you live far away from here; there is no decent Chinese restaurant. Every strip mall in a 5 mile radius of my house has a Chinese take out place. They are to Chinese food what Krystal’s is to a hamburger: poor quality fast food. I have a couple of questions for the strip mall places: Do your margaritas have lychee juice in them? No. Will your waiter stand next to my table and wrap up my mu shu in pancakes so I don’t have to be bothered? No. Do you even make real pancakes? No. Do you play Tori Amos music? No. Will you wrap up my leftovers tableside and package them in a cute shopping bag? I think not.

We had to get there early to avoid the three hour wait, but it was totally worth eating dinner at 4:45 p.m. like a couple of senior citizens.

Sunday, August 07, 2005

Don't Cha Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me?

I am embarrassed to admit how much I love that Pussycat Dolls song. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, they came out with a new version featuring Busta Rhymes. I have been making a fool of myself all over town because I am compelled to sing it and dance in my seat every time it comes on. I’m going to be 32 next month people. I can’t get away with this behavior much longer.


Thursday, August 04, 2005

If Brown is the New Black, I Have a Serious Bone to Pick

I didn’t go looking for NY&Co., they came looking for me. When I first got a real job which required grown up clothes, I started shopping at Lerner. Probably because there was a store very close to my apartment, which had great sales with the added bonus of never being crowded. I apparently got on their email list, because they send me coupons once or twice a month now. I can’t resist a coupon that says “take $30.00 off any $75.00 purchase.” Ooh – I just got an adrenaline rush thinking about it. I have walked out of there before and seen on my receipt that I saved more money than I actually spent. So necessity turned into habit turned into addiction, and here I am today.

Yesterday all of the planets must have aligned because I received a coupon, Christine’s baby shower is this weekend and I had nothing to wear, and the NY&Co. had just reopened after their remodel.

I drove over after work (I think it is very dangerous that I work exactly 2 blocks from a mall) and I was all excited. I stepped into the NY&Co. and simultaneously stepped into a tear in the space/time continuum, because I was suddenly 13 again and shopping at RAVE. After recovering from the de ja vu, my senses were literally bombarded all at once. The walls and floors were bright white and the music was so loud that I couldn’t open my eyes all the way. Oh, and the best part was that all the clothes were ugly, slutty, or a combination of the two. I probably spent 45 minutes walking around and around because I was determined to find something to wear, dammit. The fall clothes were out and apparently everything is going to be brown this season. I don’t hate brown; it’s just that my love for black is overwhelming. I have a strict code of ethics by which I live my life. The list is very long, but examples include not using the word “ain’t,” not exposing my midriff or stomach in public, not drinking beer before liquor, and not buying a pair of brown shoes and a brown purse to go with one skirt that I may wear twice in my life. I do not exaggerate when I say that every accessory I own is black, or has black in it.

I finally gave up and left the store. Empty handed, but with a brand new migraine. I just hope I don’t embarrass Christine on Saturday when I show up in my favorite pajama pants and last year’s black purse and black shoes.


Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Questions That I Will Never Have the Answers To:

1. Why is the vending machine room at my office complex filled with fuzzy caterpillars in various stages of death?
2. Why do Zaxby’s salads always sound so much better than they actually are?
3. What has happened to the magazine distributor in my area that People is not being put out on Fridays anymore? Unacceptable.
4. Why would a woman name her son Pac Man Jones?
5. Why would 52 million people buy a LIVESTRONG bracelet, only to look like 51,999,999 other people?

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

Things I Would Do Differently If I Was The Very Pregnant Britney Spears:

1. Put on a bra.
2. Stop wearing short shorts.
3. Brush my hair.
4. Make an attempt not to look homeless.
5. Ask my husband to get a job.

Adventures In Cooking

I bought a cookbook that I'd wanted for years called Top Secret Restaurant Recipes. I was very excited that I would be able to make some of my favorite chain restaurant specialties in the comfort of my own home. And if I wanted a second slice of The Cheesecake Factory’s cheesecake, I wouldn’t have to feel ashamed or pretend it was to take to a sick relative in the nursing home.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but these recipes are freaking hard. I like to cook, and I still found myself rolling my eyes and muttering swear words when I read that some things have to be marinated overnight, or cooked in the oven for two hours and then put on the grill for 5 minutes. Some recipes require random ingredients that my Middle American grocery stores don’t even carry. On weeknights, if dinner can’t be cooked in less than 30 minutes, I’m out. And that’s when I’m in a good mood.

My first venture was Shoney’s country fried steak (not my choice if you knew me, but marriage is about compromise). This involved a trip to the store, putting the steaks in water, then flour, then water, then flour again, and freezing them overnight. Something about preventing the breading from falling off, or something about making life difficult, I can’t remember which one.

The following evening I was ready to cook the steaks we were hungry for the night before, but had ended up eating peanut butter sandwiches instead. I personally don’t believe in deep frying things at home because I think that we both get enough fried food in our regular diets, especially at lunch. But again, compromise. Anyhoo, I heat the oil and drop in the steaks, only to receive tiny 2nd degree burns all over my hands and face. “This sucks” I thought, and I still had to make the gravy. I followed the directions to the letter, but the gravy would not thicken by the time the steaks were done. Though I knew better, I thought it would be a good idea to sprinkle in a little flour while the gravy was boiling. Not a good idea. While it tasted fine, it was now gravy with hard flour balls, or dumplings as I chose to call them. After about 1 ½ hours dinner was ready. This was after taking the shortcuts of making canned corn and instant mashed potatoes.

I put everything on the dinner table, which others would call a coffee table, but it’s my house and I’ll call it whatever the hell I want. My kitchen and my entire person were covered in grease and the whole house smelled like a Shoney’s, minus the anticipation of having a slice of their strawberry pie later. I said to Joe “I hope you enjoy this because I’m never making it again.” It worked out well for me that it wasn’t very good.

My next venture was Outback’s Walkabout Soup which is usually my favorite part of my meal when we go there. The worst part was slicing the 3 onions. I don’t mind the watering of the eyes or the running of the nose, but I don’t remember it ever being that painful before. My eyes stung for hours. The soup turned out pretty well, probably because it called for a cup of heavy cream. I froze the leftovers and reheated them for lunch a couple days later, and the result was not very good. I ended up having Pringles for lunch that day.

I don’t know what my next try will be. I’m thinking the Key Lime cheesecake, but it will probably require me to wait for the full moon to fall on a Tuesday, and for me to actually drive to Key West to get the juice.


Monday, August 01, 2005

Dizouble Dizutch

Did you know that Willie Aames is only 5’5”? I love Celebrity Fit Club because of all the craziness. They fight more than the Surreal Life people. Willie refused to exercise, so they staged a 7:00 a.m. workout intervention. He was so pissed that he punched his front door, gritted his teeth, and said “You’ve got me so infleshed right now!” I know I wasn’t a child star or anything, but what the hell does that mean?

Sandra Lee bugs me. But like Rachael Ray, for some reason I can’t stop taping and watching her show. Maybe I enjoy the feeling of contempt. Today she was making an authentic Indian Dinner, if you can call anything she makes authentic. She goes nuts with the themes each week, right down to the window treatment and her outfit. I guess she couldn’t find a Sari or anything this time because she was wearing a t-shirt with a June Cleaver silkscreen. Go figure.

Saturday night we attempted to eat dinner at the new P.F. Chang’s. We got there at 6:30 p.m. and were told that there would be a 3 hour wait. Hahaha. That’s hilarious. We already knew that the Cheesecake Factory across the street would be a 3 hour wait as well, so we didn’t bother. We walked down to Maggiano’s, and their wait was a mere 2 ½ hours. Apparently we have no original thought. Both of these restaurants had revolving doors. I always thought people with fears of escalators and elevators were weird, because really, what’s the big deal? I am scared shitless of these doors. I can handle it if I am the only one in the door, and I can propel it myself. If it’s already spinning, forget about it. I get all nervous and feel like I am playing double dutch, and if I don’t jump in at exactly the right moment I will lose an appendage. We ended up walking down to Target and eating hot dogs and popcorn for dinner. Not really, that would have been too original for us.