I am one broke-down fattie.

Whine, whine, whine. That's what sucking down horse-choking antibiotics and associated goodies will do to ya. My delicate constitution is revolting, as am I (as a result of my delicate constitution revolting-verb, making me revolting-adjective. Got that, grammar fans?) I am exhausted, thirsty and not as functional as I'd like to be (lots of highly necessary domestic tasks falling by the wayside as I 'lounge' on the sofa attempting to crochet a horse which looks like a pregnant fish.)

The only thing amusing me at the moment is flipping between Reality Shows of Thing I Would Not Like to Attempt, including Project Runway, America's Next Top Model, and my new besties at Cheerleader U.

These girls and boys are Very Serious about cheerleading. The only person on the show with a sense of humor is the slyly masochistic trainer who loves dunking the kiddies into a 50-degree cold pool post-practice. Her, I like. The rest are Very Serious Indeed.

I'm going to have a nice bowl of acceptable herbal tea (Yogi brand Chai, without the syrupy nastiness of 'chai lattes') with some soymilk (just sweet enough). Otherwise, avert your gaze from me at all costs, or you will turn into a pile of ick.

I am one veiny fattie!

Man, that sounds gross! But, a pattern is a pattern and it's not time to break it yet.

The point is, I went to get some blood drawn today, and the nurse told me my veins were 'great' as opposed to 'terrible.' Great meaning 'not buried under ten layers of flab.'

McNulty! D'oh!

The Wire cast as Simpsons characters.

I am one sore fattie.

Two days in a row at the gym? Wow! Yes, I went yesterday - 20 minutes of sheer aerobic joy on the treadmill, just me and Mr Green Jeans 2.0 listening to my "HARSH" (depressing/angry) mix and watching snippets of ESPN on the TV and poorly captioned news feeds on CNN. I have to ask people I know who have captioned - isn't one supposed to know the basics of what's going on in the world as they transcribe? I know transcription's a bitch, but Michelle Obama is newsworthy enough for her name not to be spelled "My Shell Obama" in the captioning. And why the hell doesn't the gym screen their TV programs better? I don't want to watch "30 Minute Meals" while I'm trying to drain the starch from my body.

Whew, that was a five calorie rant at least.

Unfortunately, I couldn't dodge Mavis. I actually ran into her at the gym shop where I was looking for a pair of shorts (I'd managed to pack four upper-body garments and no lower-body garments into my sweaty silver gym bag.) I was despairing over the (expected, to be fair) lack of big gal clothes, and found a pair of men's XL shorts among the tiny tanks and hoodies. Mavis stuck her face next to mine (why does she do that? Her neck appears to telescope like a goose-neck iMac) and gravelly make no sense to me:

"Oh I left ya here last night! Good, yer shoppin." And then she was gone. It looks like she had a haircut this weekend; she had a shorter, straighter more straw-like blond coating on her head.

Mavis, please go away. Maybe I'll get the counterman to feed her some slightly toxic Gatorade Tiger (which according to him, tastes slightly toxic anyway).

Good news - the shorts looked dandy, I got sweaty, took a lovely shower and had a delightful evening at the theatre, listening to men talk about what pathetic athletes they were.

I am one thirsty fattie.

Just got back from the gym about an hour ago, with a raging dehydration induced headache. I'm quaffing the delightful "G2" from Gatorade, which got high marks from the Asian gentleman who staffs the snack bar at Equinox. Gotta love a gym with a snack bar. He gave the thumbs-down to the other new Gatorate product, "Tiger." I slugged some G2 right there and totally agreed that it was a tasty treat (and less sugary/overtly salty than Gatorade which makes me gag.) However, due to my delicate system, I cannot chug without repercussions and so I am sipping it but suffering the headache.

I'm sweaty too. But sweaty kind of feels nice. I noticed the tshirt I'm wearing - the Johns Hopkins one I bought at the last Reunion - is actually fairly baggy. And my boobs are tiny. (I have been obsessing over them as of late - keep in mind, dear readers, that 'tiny' means 'may be able to purchase a mass-market bra in a regular store....maybe.')

I was parking it on a bench at the gym (a gym with benches and a snack bar? what the eff?) and I was, unfortunately, assailed by an elderly (well, probably fairly close to my age) trainer that I'll call "Mavis" - partly because I don't remember her name, and partly because she's just such a Mavis. Every time I see her, she tries to chat me up and induce me to get a 'fitness analysis' with her (I already had the best trainer ever and I'm not inclined to sign up again). I have actively ducked her at times, but this time I was vulnerable.

"Howareya?" (She has a death-grip Long Island accent; usually I will regress to mine, but I just get snooty around old Mavis)
I told her I was checking out a yoga class (which was about five minutes from ending).
"ohyagoinin?"
No, Mavis. Now shoo!
"I don't know about yoga, vinata and whatever. But there's a class you'd like...." Blah blah blah "And there's men in there!"
I was rescued by a lovely young lady trainer who sent Mavis on an appointment and we chatted pleasantly for a bit.

Look, folks I understand the need for trainers to be salespeople, but I think I may be forced to rat old Mavis out. Not because she's old. Because she's effing annoying.

The gym is waaay crowded at 630. This is the only reason I'm glad my boss generally forces me to idle until 7ish.

Mmmm....hydration. I may limp over to the Key Food, although they probably don't have anything as highfalutin' as orange flavor G2.

Unbibium! Unbibium!

Isn't this neat? One of those heavy, heavy metals you glance over on the periodic table actually exists in nature! And 'unbibium' is a super cool name.

Viva Unbibium! And thanks to Thorium for helping out!

And slashdot, as always, brightens my day.

lord have mercy....

Tomorrow is Orthodox Easter. Besides taking care of a million other things, I am baking a 'lamb cake' for my aunt. It's a 2 piece aluminum mold; you fill half, and it rises to meet the other half. An easter miracle, no doubt.

Except-
(1) when you use chocolate cake instead of vanilla
(2) when the mold is a wee bit too full and leaks.

Then, you end up with a lamb perched serenely next to a pile of steaming poo.



Happy Easter, everyone! And happy Passover too!

Follow up: Somehow, the ears detached from the head (one, anyway); the head detached from the body; and random chunks dislodged. That poo was darn useful in patching up!

Out with the old....in with the newish

Thanks, Maddy, for Mr Green Jeans!

He's now happily loaded with aggro comedy, metal, chick tunes and cello sonatas. What fun!

Hey nerdz!

Maybe this will inspire you to go back and get that advanced physics degree! Hmmm!

physics is phun. and phundamental!

Pink is the new offense.

I can't walk five feet in Manhattan without being blinded by one of these:


And there are more, more, more of them in odious shades of pink than you can even imagine.

Last week in court I saw an elderly attorney of unknown foreign provenance flanked by two young blonde women in shocking pink trench coats. I couldn't stop staring. I know they are probably smart, competent legal professionals, but all I could think was "Pink Lady and Jeff."



Why, I ask, why??

Sadness abounds. Should it?

I lost my iPod last night. It was in its dirty black case with Dale's microphone plugged into it, on top of the piano. Something told me not to leave it on top of the piano, but we did for better sound recording. Which I'll never hear.

Yes, I know it's just an object. And I think 'lost' is the wrong word. 'left' is more applicable, but that makes me seem like more of a loser.

I know I'll never get it back and I'm sad.

I tried to use it as a reason not to go to the gym today but I decided in a fit of maturity that it wouldn't be a good excuse. Still it was sad to do leg presses without my aggro comedy workout mix. There was a profusion of old people in the gym this morning, and the sound track was clearly classic rock.

I am bummed. Oh well. I'll have to go to court next week without the joy of "Savage Love" pumping into my ears.

I feel stupid whining over an object. But it was mine. My mom got it for me before I had surgery a couple of years ago. It was a nice present.

I guess that makes it a bit more of a special object. But it's still a replaceable object, I guess. I really don't have the spare cash to kick around on a blatant luxury good that I rationalize as 'necessary' (to tape things, to motivate me and such) but it's just not a necessity.

Still and all, not happy.

The way to a woman's heart.

"First of all Rat, you never let on how much you like a girl. 'Oh, Debbie. Hi.' Two, you always call the shots. 'Kiss me. You won't regret it.' Now three, act like wherever you are, that's the place to be. 'Isn't this great?' Four, when ordering food, you find out what she wants, then order for the both of you. It's a classy move. 'Now, the lady will have the linguini and white clam sauce, and a Coke with no ice.' And five, now this is the most important, Rat. When it comes down to making out, whenever possible, put on side one of Led Zeppelin IV."- Mike Damone

Work it.

In this scene a gentlemen of my acquaintance and I were discussing my body. He was caressing my shoulder and was duly impressed with my incipient toning. An overly analytical discussion followed; in that, he felt that his favorable impression was 90% due to the fact that I was becoming better, stronger and healthier, and 10% was due to the fact that deep down, he believed that somehow I was doing it for him, and that was incredibly sexy.

Oddly, we were both wearing red T-shirts. Really nice dark red T-shirts.

Apparently I'm having a series of short, intense dreams with handsome-man commentary (see "Tim Gunn" earlier).

Just keep going!

Be afraid...I got my learner's permit today. I also ripped a thin strip of fabric from the bottom of my shirt to wear fetchingly around my neck.

A ridiculous conflict

ON THE ONE HAND....Old Navy, like too many retailers, has pulled their fat clothes from their stores, because apparently fat people and size 16 pants take up too much freaking room in their stores. Or, we'd rather shop while eating pounds and pounds of chocolate chicken pot pies. Or something. At any rate, it's online or nothing.

ON THE OTHER HAND...some of that stuff is cute and super cheap, which is what I require in clothing at this moment.

What's a semi-fattie to do?

Mistress of the Obvious

"You seem a little depressed."

- my shrink

Good thing all that learnin' didn't go to waste.

Make it wo-

I had an amazing dream the other night, where Tim Gunn was standing outside a suburban home with me, in the garage (the garage door was open and we were leaning against the hood of a car, drinking a soda). He was impeccably dressed, of course. We were having a serious, thoughtful discussion about how my personal skills aligned perfectly with that of a television producer, and how he thought I would be an excellent producer. When I asked him how I would go about that (did I need to be an assistant? go to school?), he started to answer...and then I woke up.

Tim - Call me! Or, I absolutely cannot make this work!

Diesel Sweeties is the best thing ever.

Check out the site for backstory on this fabulous babe (NOT indierock pete!)

Oh, too good...too good

But where's Timmy??

Real World Awards Bash

Late night haiku

The cool air feels crisp
on my face. I would like to
smoke a cigarette.

Full moon glows brightly,
thru my window as I slice
some Brie. I like Brie.

Grape Propel is nice.
Warm or cool it matters not.
Grape Propel is nice.

Blogs are for venting(whining)? Right? Huh?

Seriously, you guys!

Yes I know there were far worse troubles in the world today, great and small. But I am having a Most Annoying Day today.

1. Woke up too late to work out.
2. Left $20 in yesterday's suit pocket.
3. Fogged out all morning before a monthly client meeting. Minor office spat woke me up.
4. Monthly client meeting [boring contentious work issues here, that I can spare you.] Browsed at tacky yet girlacious bridal gowns on the way out.
5. Purchased a disappointing big salad at Pret (really I should know better, the chicken is spongy and the greens are weedy and no amount of honey mustard dressing will cure that.) Ate the Pret popcorn for lunch.
6. I'm dehydrated.
7. Race off to an audition (aka personal appointment) that I expected to take, oh, 30 minutes on a good day. Audition snapshot without glasses causes me to look retarded/cockeyed. Enjoy banter with "Nice Female Comedy Folks #1-3" and exchange potshots with "Undefined Male Comedy Friend #1."
8. After being out of my office for 1.5 hours I have apparently advanced barely at all in line. My feet hurt in wedgie heels. I have already told UMF#1 to fuck off, because deep down in my heart I know he was acting like a dick, even if he doesn't think so, because he's a dick, see how that works? (Note that I realize that writing slightly concealed blog posts about other's immature dickery kind of makes me an immature dick as well. So?)
9. Get called in, finally, to audition. Out of the 25 or so 20-35 year old males (yes, 35, I said it), I get called inside to audition with UMF#1 (see above).
10. Fuck. Shit. Channel barely suppresed rage into okay audition reaction shots.
11. Bid a cheery goodbye to NFCF#1, ignore UMF#1, and race to the elevator before conversation occurs.
12. Wander off towards the subway while sending panicked messages to the office. Nearly get blown over by the wind. Yeah, me. That's how bad the wind was, cause I ain't skinny.
13. In foot aching despair, flag down a cab by standing in the middle of Eighth Avenue.
14. Watch the driver develop rage in the Village while the meter leaps ever upward.
15. Back at work now, where I've signed on for the long long night to avoid bossly wrath and finish reports tonight. As a result, I am missing my own weekly standup comedy show. My. own. show.
16. Seriously regret choking down half a dirty-water dog. Ignore the dubiously old Diet Snapple on desk. Drink sludgy cold coffee and dig cookie shards out of desk drawer.
17. Moan. Whimper. Feh.
18. Still dehydrated.
19. Bad hair.
20. Indigestion.

The opposite of boobies.

A neat, touching and insightful blog post by my comedy partner in crime.

Would you say that I was flat chested?

If I asked you honestly? And relatively?

I have no idea why I'm writing this. I am sniffing at a bag of chocolate chip cookies but don't feel like eating them.

Last night I almost had a 'wardrobe malfunction' because my favorite, molded-cup, formerly-pushup bra now oddly hovers over my girlish curves in the most random of manners. I had to run to the ladies' room to replace the girls back into their now-large spare rooms.

(in the interests of full disclosure, that bra is a size 44DDD.)

Sigh.

Here's a picture of a 1940s 'sweater girl' for your amusement.

Beauty Tip #377

Philosophy's "Soap and Water" perfume should really be named "Baby Wipes/Diaper Fresh."

Seriously.

(Note to people who like to sniff at me: This is not the fragrance I bought. It is the one I absentmindedly tried on while I was blocking the path of the annoying woman and her annoying dog at Sephora.)

Holy Crap, are these delicious.

I don't really feel like talking at the moment. Or working. But, damn, the world HAS TO KNOW about these snacks!

Otters!

Now back to your regularly scheduled bitching.

You know, I'm not really an inept asshole.

Seriously. I'd rant some more but there'd be no stopping me at this point.

There are about three people in the world that I do not want to tell to go fuck themselves, either directly, indirectly or rather gently. The sentiment, however, would be the same.

Here's some balloons. You know what? I fucking hate balloons. There, a concrete reason to garner disapproval. Whisper, whisper, that bitch hates pretty pretty balloons! Damn!



I really hate Florida too: (from Slashdot, which I do not hate)

"In an attempt to defy the newly approved state science standards, Florida Senator Rhonda Storms has proposed a bill that would allow teachers to contradict the teaching of evolution. Her bill states that 'Every public school teacher in the state's K-12 school system shall have the affirmative right and freedom to objectively present scientific information relevant to the full range of scientific views regarding biological and chemical evolution in connection with teaching any prescribed curriculum regarding chemical or biological origins.' The bill's main focus is on protecting teachers who want to adopt alternative teaching plans from sanction, and to allow teachers the freedom to teach whatever they wish, even if it is in opposition to current standards."

You know who else I hate? "Margaret P. Jones", the highly successful stone cold liar. If I tell colorful tales of fiction about my 'past' will I get a book deal and an interview in the Times? Fuck you.

I smellll Bacon!

I've been reading alternative food blogs lately - vegan blogs, raw blogs and the like. I find them fascinating bits of lifestyle-y navel-gazing. Have too much time on your hands? Reduce all your food to juice and then tell me how little you crap. To be fair, some have appetizing, non-tortured and tasty looking food that I would consider ingesting and enjoying. But many are just, frankly, a little nuts. Unroasted nuts, of course.

Also, vegans are cheap as hell, apparently. On most of the sites, the recipes aren't free - Real compassionate, guys! Even better, they'll chat at length about the recipes, post some shiny healthy photos, and then sweetly suggest you buy their book, over and over again. Kind of like free porn teasers. Guess all that agave nectar is 'spensive!

Here's a fabulous quote:

Cashews are stimulating, not a good choice for just before bed. I forget the precise principle involved, but I always lie awake if I eat anything with cashews too late in the day. Wish I could think of a good substitute. Mmmm... cashews.

Life's just too short, man. Eat a freaking unroasted nut.

However, I did enter a veggie "meat" stick contest! Yum-yum!

In contrast, this is what I plan on eating this weekend:



Wow! Maybe I'm Lutheran!

Again, lazy. But this couldn't be passed up.

Fugly! The What Not to Crochet Blog.

I had something truly inspiring to write, but now I'm not in the mood, so instead you get this:

Liveblogging The Hills trailer

The view from my office window.

Followup commentary:
1. The cemetery is not really pink.
2. There are no gruesome tiny murders occurring in the windows surrounding it. Sadly.

Brrrring! Brring!

Remember this? The funniest thing EVER. From an unlikely source.

What @!#%! time is it?

Yeah, 345. I'm Very thirsty and my mouth and throat feel like they've been sandpapered. I've been dreaming about men's butts, Kitty Carlisle and musicals. I wish I were kidding. All the men were actually or based on people I knew and coincidentally had the same name. I also popped some Jiffy Pop (in my dream). Maybe that's why I'm so thirsty.

I just took some Claritin and Tums. Maybe my situation will improve.

Totally unrelated, but pretty neat quote

“There are so many clichés about love, food and cooking,” she said. “But cooking with your lover is a great way to see where your relationship is. I have been called an alpha cook, but when I am in love, the man can put as much salt, cream and butter into the dish as he wants. Even if it’s ruined, it’s still the best dish you’ve ever eaten.”

- Kim Sunee, in today's New York Times. She's had a pretty interesting life. I think I'm going to get her book.

Anna Karenina Quote of the Day

She hardly knew at times what it was she feared, and what she hoped for. Whether she feared or desired what had happened, or what was going to happen, and exactly what she longed for, she could not have said.

- Tolstoy, "Anna Karenina"

Things you think about when you're vomiting.

Will I stop vomiting?
Why can't I stop vomiting?
What exactly am I vomiting?
I need to clean the bathroom.
Boy I'd like to sleep, but I keep getting up to vomit.
Ick.

Did you ever wonder....

Whether you weren't good enough for him? Or, rather, maybe he wasn't good enough for you? Or, both? Neither?

Nope. Not at all.

I need someone to illustrate this character for me.

Stormy Pleather - Tales of a Vegan Dominatrix!

I need a talented and mildly kinky artiste with whom to collaborate. The only thing I can draw are happy faces and Snoopy sleeping on his doghouse.

A special, heartfelt message to several cast members of "Gauntlet 3: Real World Road Rules Challenge"

Dear Beth,

You are forty.

Dear Coral,

You are bald.

Dear Katie,

You are haggard.

Dear Robin,

You are a man.

Love,
Michelle

Hug the cow!

I want. I don't know why. No, I really don't want. But if I had counter space, I'd enjoy a whimsical toaster.

The Team: Mongolia

Very cool. Go click here and do your thing.

Featuring the voices of Jesse Falcon, Matt DeCoster and Margot Leitman. Created and written by Pete Olson.

Strange AND compelling!

Betcha can't watch it just once!

Bret Easton Ellis's "Velveteen Psycho"

"How do you become Real?" said the butter-soft, black glove-leather Rabbit.

"Real is when you are capable of feeling Real things. Only killing someone can make you Real." The Skinned Horse was old. So old he had become not quite Antique, but definitely Vintage. His pony-spotted coat had been sheared nearly off and tiny down feathers and lofty Egyptian cotton tufted from his battered form.

"But I don't feel anything, Skinned Horse. No pain, no happiness. Nothing. How can I feel Real things?"

"When you shoot a nail in the back of a beautiful girl's head. Or drive a gleaming ax into the body of some asshole you can't stand anyway. Or when you shoot a kitten, and maybe an old lady."

"Will this make me Real?" The Rabbit's shaky voice grew more determined as it echoed through the minimally-decorated bedroom, on the thirty-sixth floor of the best building in the West Eighties.

The Skinned Horse lit a Dunhill and dragged on it slowly, deliberately exhaling a stream of smoke towards the foot of the Conrans tubular-steel framed bed. "Better. Or worse. It will make you Human."

my afternoon if my afternoon was documented by Bret Easton Ellis

so I woke up in the middle of the afternoon kind of disoriented, and remembering the dream I just had where I was in the Sunshine Theater ladies room getting undressed and then I wondered why I had my pants off. I guess that's kind of weird but typical if you were the sort of person who analyzed dreams which I wasn't. My shrink was youngish and always wore boots and chewed Trident and told me every time she quit smoking except it never lasted and I always saw her when I was late, outside on her cell phone smoking her Parliaments. Stretched out, took a big slug of water from the half open bottle on my nightstand. Thought about ordering Burritoville, maybe some nachos. Bean burrito, extra guac. The usual. I flipped through an old Salinger paperback I picked up from the tiny book store on St Marks that got smaller by half every year. It wasn't one of the famous ones they made you read in school, it was pretty rambling bullshit but somehow cool. I stuffed it in the back pocket of my jeans, threw on my down coat, pulled up the hood of my red hoodie with the Looney Tunes cat on it that vaguely irritated me, and headed out for a walk. Anywhere. It was four-thirty and I hadn't been out all day. I never did get the burrito.

Yin/yang, yum/yuck....you decide.

The blog, "Offal Good" by the mad sexy contender from "The Next Iron Chef," Chris Cosentino. Damn, he makes me forgive bleachy faux-hawking. It's NSFDT (Not safe for delicate tummies).

Me, I have had some deliciously prepared tripe. Can't wrap my head around liver, although I'd eaten it when I was a kid. Same with kidneys, although the tiny 19th century anglophile in my head would love to try a steak and kidney pie. Kind of.

Rats.

Make Me a Stupormodel (too easy, I know)

"It's like a fraternity....except really good-looking"
- Make me a Supermodel

You know, watching Niki and Tyson (darling do you need a last name?) make me realize how great Heidi Klum is at her job. And, believe it or not, Tyra. She's fakey, but in a believable way. Genuinely fakey.

I know I don't make sense. I've eaten my weight in baked potatoes. I'm kinda miserable. I've been watching too much Bravo TV.

But given the choice between being a supermodel and a WWE Diva, guess which I'd prefer?

Yum yum....NOT

Did you ever notice those large cookies sold at 'healthy' places (like GNC, the gym snack stand, etc)?

(Did you ever wonder if I sound like Andy Rooney? I don't.)

You know, the ones that are 'fruit juice sweetened,' "high fiber," and the newest one, "no trans fats"? The ones that taste vaguely of dust and pineapple, even if they are chocolate chip?

They come, apparently, as two 'servings.' Yep. One of those cookies is two servings. Each serving, 220 calories.

One of those dusty, unpleasantly chewy, heavy and vaguely fruity doorstops is 440 calories.

A delightful McDonald's Double Cheeseburger is 440 calories too.

Yum yum!

completely different. I crochet. I don't knit.

Relationships are hard! Let's do math!

Yes, we have to divide up our time like that, between our politics and our equations. But to me our equations are far more important, for politics are only a matter of present concern. A mathematical equation stands forever.

- Albert Einstein (as shamelessly stolen from my Google front page)

Once upon a time,

There was a princess. A tiny, tiny princess. Well, tiny to you and me, at any rate. In her particular dimension, she was quite grand in stature. Her shoes were picometers-high, as high as her trailing-cape of muons was long.

This is why I don't write fiction.

Suspended anime-tion

I am in an odd place right now.

There is work on my desk and I have no desire to embark on completing it. I have additional work to do tonight, which I will likely enjoy, but it is not my main work.

I have an urge to do the following, in some combination perhaps, and in no determined order:
- write fiction
- consume chocolate
- work on audition material
- take a long walk
- check my cell phone voice mail
- disgorge the major and minor conflicts currently weighing on my brain and heart (metaphorically, not physically, thank goodness, knock on wood and all. I'm feeling relatively dandy, except for itchy eyes and slightly sore quads.)
- create a task list for cleaning my house this weekend
- locate a credit card bill and pay it
- go to the bank
- fictionalize one of the major conflicts that's brewing that I can't freely chat about
- clean out my personal email boxes
- crochet

What I am doing -
- rambling here for a short time
- reading old and infintely entertaining journals on the IRC
- readying myself for a dee-licious cup of Swiss Miss made with water-cooler hot water, thus making it slightly murky and not at all hot enough.
- debating whether I should gnaw on a stale unfilled cannoli shell (!) with my delicious beverage
- contemplating starting a new document of barfed-up fictionalizations of my current internal drama.

Yawn.

I'm wearing a smart suit, though. Shouldn't that count for something?

Rant-bo

Rambo gets a fine review in the NY Times.

- Should I want to see this movie?
- Should I want to see it more since the Times gave it a great review?
- Should I see it because I am guilty of 80s nostalgia, even though I never saw the other Rambo movies in the theater?
- Should I be bothered by the fact that I really want to go see it, I mean really, I do.
- Do you want to go see Rambo with me? I mean, I'm sure I can find a dude to go with me, but you know, people get busy.
- Should I be bothered by the fact that I want to see Rambo, but either alone or with a dude? And not with a chick friend?
- Does anyone really care about Sylvester Stallone and the fact that he took HGH to pump up for this movie?
- Should that lessen my possible enjoyment of Rambo?
- Mostly, I want to go with someone to share the medium popcorn, giant soda combo. I don't drink soda and I can never finish the popcorn. And even if you go with someone who doesn't want anything when you go to the snack counter, they end up eating your popcorn because it is tasty. Just saying.

Discuss.

I'm reading "Anna Karenina" again

"Yes, I understand it all now," said Darya Alexandrovna. "You can't understand it; for you men, who are free and make your own choice, it's always clear whom you love. But a girl's in a position of suspense, with all a woman's or maiden's modesty, a girl who sees you men from afar, who takes everything on trust,-- a girl may have, and often has, such a feeling that she cannot tell what to say."

"Yes, if the heart does not speak..."

"No, the heart does speak; but just consider: you men have views about a girl, you come to the house, you make friends, you criticize, you wait to see if you have found what you love, and then, when you are sure you love her, you make an offer...."

"Well, that's not quite it."

"Anyway you make an offer, when your love is ripe or when the balance has completely turned between the two you are choosing from. But a girl is not asked. She is expected to make her choice, and yet she cannot choose, she can only answer 'yes' or 'no.'"

huh?

I

am






BORED!

Write a wise saying and your name will live forever.
- Anonymous

Observations on Law & Order

Probably obvious but I've been watching lately...

1 - L&O is more pervasive than MASH or Seinfeld ever was. Remember when there was always a MASH rerun on? Or, maybe five years ago, there was always a Seinfeld rerun on? Of course, there are so many flavors of L&O on and an explosion of Unnecessary Cable Channels*. In a recent evening of channel surfing, I am pretty sure there were four episodes, on at least three different chanels.

2 - Exterior shots look like they are done in bulk, either in front of 60 Centre (the State courthouse with the impressive staircase) or the Federal building right across the way (the modern-y looking vertical-windowed one, where International Trade and a bunch of other Federal offices live). Let me tell you, those stairs are a fucking pain in the ass, especially in heels. And at least one in two L&O defendant shootings** takes place on those steps.

3 - You know, as much as I love SVU***, there are only so many scripts you can do about embryos. I want to know if there is a writer in charge of embryo continuity.

4 - Every crime show steals from Homicide.

5 - No matter what, I am unashamed to admit that I still love the Belz. Who was also stolen from Homicide. Even if he is starting to morph into Leonard Nimoy.


















(*more on this later, I'm sure.)
(**the mid-episode defendant shooting is a Cross-L&O Plot Device. It can be spotted a mile away when the first twenty minutes reveal the criminals AND their crime isn't too severe. but again, I digress.)
(***Keller! The pouty Mariska! Ice-T! Dann Florek! and the Belz! Best cast ever.)

Why I need more chick friends

- Seriously is it worth it to wax my legs?
- Wanna keep me company during my pedi?
- We so need to get measured for bras
- And what's the deal with the bikini wax? Can I wear my own underwear or what?
- That color is way too purple for you.
- Is that vanilla flavored? Nice!
- You can have these heels. They kill my feet.
- Um when you're working out does this ever happen to-

Never mind. This is all ridiculous anyway. Which probably explains the above.

With apologies to "Anonymous" and my other two or three blogreading Y-chromosomes.

Just buy this.

Don't think. Just purchase. You need this.

Now that's what I call fitness!

This morning I sweated out six whiskeys, freshly-fried chicken fingers, potato skins, frustration, rage and a pound of tears.

Look out for my new workout program, "Sweating to the Uglies" where I set a fast-paced, many-repped, heavy-lifting workout to hardcore death metal and Black Flag. Think Henry Rollins in a Richard Simmons violet tank-top.

Or don't.

Of course, it is now 3 PM and I have had 2 sugar cookies and some tofu for lunch.

Suck in your life.

Freaking evil.

I want this site to die. I want everything about it to die.

I am sure I have mentioned it before. I don't care if it is run by well meaning and sensible ladies somewhere. I don't care if it is run by a conglomeration of smug psychoanalysts or canny businessmen or both. I want it to curl up and die and take everything that it represents with it.

I want to find the woman who is sad enough to pay almost $100 (!) for unfashionable jeans that may make her look 5 pounds smaller, because moving around a tiny portion of body mass is certainly her key to spiritual fulfillment.

I want to take the ace bandage and clay 'detox' kit, that will presumably drain you of a tiny portion of body mass, wrap the bandages tightly around a smug psychoanalyst and choke them with the damp clay.

Being a woman of a certain age (I perversely love that phrase, but let's get into my contradictions some other time, I'm on a roll), I take this shit highly personally.

When you get four or five crows' feet, or maybe notice a bit of displaced flesh when you rise out of bed in the morning, high-waisted wide-leg jeans with pumps may seem like a good idea.

They're not. Snap out of it. I don't care if you have to dump some bourbon in your morning Folgers. Spend the $100 on quality booze rather than overpriced, tired lycra and inferior denim.

You will be better for it.

*All of the above also applies to the Quacker Factory and Denim & Co. If you are awake at stupid hours and enjoy staring slackjawed at Home Shopping Hostesses, you will know of what I speak. However, even QVC doesn't seem so sad in comparison; just weirdly earnest. And at least you can embrace your inner tunic for about $40. The only thing I hate worse than burying yourself alive is being ripped off in the process.

This quote describes several of my current relationships all too well.

"I think we have the kind of friendship where if I were the devil, you'd be the only one I would tell."

- Broadcast News

(I'd forgotten how much I loved this movie. It may be one of my favorite movies that I always forget is one of my favorite movies, if that makes any sense.)

Ah, those crazy jurists!

"As I recall my esteemed former colleague, Thurgood Marshall, remarking on numerous occasions: ‘The Constitution does not prohibit legislatures from enacting stupid laws.'"
- J. John Paul Stevens

06-766 New York State Board of Elections v. Lopez Torres

My brother and I -

- are exactly the same height
- otherwise look nothing alike
- once caused an explosion in a gas stove
- prefer Breyers over Ben and Jerrys
- enjoy Ovaltine wet or dry
- move at different paces
- but can be equally obsessive
- had some of the same teachers growing up
- have lousy handwriting
- know many, many Billy Joel songs by heart
- think we are both underappreciated geniuses
- contemplate opening a goat farm/dairy/bakery one day
- are fiercely protective and loyal
- throw out milk before the expiration date
- like a mean cup o' coffee
- kick ass
- love each other very much

Happy Birthday baby brother (slightly late, but that's how we roll)

(photos to follow when i get off my lazyish hyperactive butt)

Scrabbble is for cheaters!

Sponsor me!

Scrabble is for Cheaters

It's all for a good cause!

Robi wy mówicie język polski?

The theme song alone is killer but this is awesome.

Love stinx.

G'wan, eat that Twinkie!

American Apparel has a (tiny) selection of clothes for fatties!

And by fatties I mean the size I would be if I lost another 50 pounds or so. Maybe. Although the craving for an array of brightly-colored, LA-produced, creepy-advertised tiny rib tanks is INTENSE!

I own a pair of American Apparel 'thigh high' socks. And by thigh high I mean knee high. They're quite cute. I also purchased a strange polka-dotted headband and a smallish pair of mens' safety orange briefs, possibly to be gifted when it amuses me to do so.

What would you do, ladies and gents, if confronted with a pair of safety orange briefs (on another, clearly, not on yourself.) I may buy another few pairs and scatter them amongst the slim-hipped men of New York just for giggles. Kind of like marking a dollar bill with your name, or website, and sending it out into the world.

Indeed.

maybe baby

Putting my binky where my mouth is, so to speak. I just signed up with an agency to investigate adoptions. I'm not promising anything. I am putting off major purchases for awhile though. Better to pay down my debt then get a sweet new Mac which, although not as drooly, is only half as cuddly. And binkys ain't cheap.

If you want to dissolve into a warmish puddle of tears go browse the NYC kid adoption site. Like one of those stray pet sites but way more serious. As in, they are severely traumatized yet adorable children with a positive light straining over them. ("Kayla is nine and loves the Spice Girls! She takes medications to deal with her moderate psychiatric disorders....has four siblings in other placements she would like to remain close with...reads at a first-grade level and really progressing with her speech and anger issues.")

Adoption websites are almost overwhelming. Ads for 'prospective parents' (not the adoptive parents but the parents giving up the babies can't help but give a faint anti-choice whiff to the pages. Means well, one would hope, but it is enough to make me uneasy about my pro-choiceness. I don't want someone talked out of doing what would be best for them so that I can blot drool from a tiny chin.

I'm a tiny bit obsessed with drool in case you couldn't tell. I'm a drooler. Watch me fall asleep in your vehicle and you will know this. I guess I'm surreptitiously looking for a family resemblance from the get-go.

The blogosphere is daunting. It's almost too much. From loans and financing to immigration to cross-cultural hair care.

A new morning....

What am I wearing? A white tank and underwear. Lime green socks.

What am I drinking? GFIC "French Vanilla Cafe" with protein powder mixed in.

What am I thinking? Should I write a book? Can I get some laundry in? Raisin nut bread sounds nice.

What is required of me? Lunch with the family and the first Changing of the Linens.

What's the vaguely humourous retort in my head? Why do they call them linens anyway? What's the deal with that? I mean really are they actually made out of linen?

What's the burning question? Am I ready to watch Season 5 of the Wire?

A word of advice....

Ladies, you'll feel me on this one.

If you're running to the gym at the crack of dawn, make sure that you pull normal tights out of your underwear drawer and not Spanx.

Ouch.

Happy New Year, one and all!

Blah.

What's new with me? What's new with you?!

Bad: A wicked case of insomnia, with an ulcer chaser.

Good: I found a couple of muscles today. They're firm!

Neutral: A tiny case of the sniffles; lowfat chocolate soy milk; three hours of the Strongest Man competition.

Now, is THAT a steroid body?

I think not!

More Fun Facts!

(I am actually working on something interesting but my ADD seems to be flourishing today, with a light sprinkling of egomania)

Fun Fact #499: I enjoy silly blog memes. This one from Sassy Dr Snitterly.

1. What bill do you hate paying the most?
Credit card bills... And the awful interest rates.

2. Where was the last place you had a romantic dinner?
A coffee shop in Vegas, overhearing a couple of Neil Diamond impersonators chatting. Okay, maybe not 'romantic' per se.

3. Do you regret losing your virginity to who you lost it to?
Nope.

4. Do you own a guitar?
Nope. Gave it to my nephew.

5. Name of your first grade teacher?
Mrs. O'Sullivan.

6. Have you ever ridden in an ambulance?
Several times, for myself and for others.

7. Do you own a piggy bank shaped like a pig?
No. Tootsie roll bank.

8. How many colleges did you attend?
Six (Hofstra, JHU, Queens College, Mt. Sinai, CUNY, Fordham)

9. Why did you choose the shirt that you have on right now?
It's neat and pink.

10. What are your thoughts on gas prices?
They will ruin us; I'm glad I don't drive.

11. Do you shower facing the shower head or with your back to it?
Facing.

12. First thought when the alarm went off this morning?
Too tired to think.

13. Last thought before going to sleep last night?
Why can't I sleep?

14. Do you have anything in your pockets right now?
My cell phone.

15. How many windows are open on your computer?
Four.

16. What errand/chore do you despise?
Vacuuming. Maybe laundry.

17. If you didn't have to work, would you volunteer?
Yes.

18. Get up early or sleep in?
Earlier nowadays.

19. What is your favorite cartoon character?
Bugs Bunny. And Kyle from South Park.

20. Who was the last text you received from?
Ryan.

21. Are you a daydreamer?
Sometimes.

22. When did you first start feeling old?
Recently.

23. Favorite 80's movie?
The Breakfast Club.

24. Your favorite lunch meat?
Smoked turkey.

25. What do you get every time you go into Costco?
I don't go there or to Sam's Club either.

26. Beach or lake?
Beach.

27. Do you think marriage is an outdated ritual?
Perhaps. Not really.

28. Do you own property?
No.

29. Favorite guilty pleasure?
Bad reality TV.

30. Favorite movie you wouldn't want anyone to find out about?
Not sure. I'm pretty unashamed. Maybe, Love Actually.

31. What's your drink at the bar?
Jack on the rocks.

32. Cowboys or Indians?
As in football teams?

33. Are you sarcastic?
Noooooo.

34. Are you shy?
More than people think.

35. In the past week have you gotten sick?
No.

36. Norm or Cliff from Cheers?
Norm.

37. In the past week have you felt stupid?
Once or twice.

38. Worst relationship mistake that you wish you could take back?
I have no regrets.

39. In the past week have you gotten your hair cut?
No.

40. What famous person would you like to have dinner with?
Anthony Bourdain.

41. Indoors or Outdoors?
Outdoors.

42. Have you ever crashed your vehicle?
Yes, my bicycle.

43. Have you ever had to use a fire extinguisher for its intended purpose?
No.

44. Last book you read for real?
A book about a woman crossing the Arctic. I forget the title.

45. Has someone disappointed you recently?
Yes.

46. What was the last film you watched?
A Mighty Wind with director's commentary.

47. Somewhere in California you've never been and would like to go?
Monterey. LA.

48. Have you been outside the USA?
Yes.

49. At this point in your life would you rather start a new career or a new relationship?
Career.

50. Just how OLD are you?
A lady does not tell.

Fun Facts! About Me!

At the folky festival this year, I saw a meditation maze (like the one they painted on the gym floor in "Oz" but more earthy). It didn't relax me. It made me anxious and irritated. I ended up, in a very unzenlike way, hopping over the 'walls' and bugging out of it.

Fun Fact #421: Meditation mazes give me anxiety.

You know what's kind of relaxing? Curling 10 pound free weights.

Fun Fact #427: My butt hurts.

@#%!(*

In an effort to cheer myself up (I am currently choking on Vitamin Water and re-evaluating my career), here are some things that amuse me:

Happy Hannukah!

Celebrate Brazilian style!

http://correiogourmand.com.br/info_cozinhasmundo_judaica_02.htm

This is cute!

Quite safe for work!

I got this song in the mail yesterday. Isn't it cool?

Here you go! Perhaps this will help!

One, two, princes kneel before you
(thats what I said, now)
Princes, princes who adore you
(just go ahead, now)
One has diamonds in his pockets
(that sounds great, now)
This one, said he wants to buy you lockets
(aint in his head, now)

This one, he got a princely racket
(thats what I said, now)
Got some big seal upon his jacket
(aint in his head, now)
Marry him, your father will condone you
(how bout that, now)
Marry me, your father will disown you
(hell eat his hat, now)

Aww, marry him or marry me,
Im the one that loves you b baby cant you see?
Aint got no future or a family tree,
But I know what a prince and lover ought to be,
I know what a prince and lover ought to be....

Said, if you want to call me baby
(just go ahead, now)
An if youd like to tell me maybe
(just go ahead, now)
An if you wanna buy me flowers
(just go ahead, now)
And if youd like to talk for hours
(just go ahead, now)

Said, one, two, princes kneel before you
(thats what I said, now)
Princes, princes who adore you
(just go ahead, now)
One has diamonds in his pockets
(that sounds great, now)
This one, he wants to buy you lockets
(aint in his head, now)

Marry him or marry me,
Im the one that loves you baby cant you see?
Aint got no future or a family tree,
But I know what a prince and lover ought to be,
I know what a prince and lover ought to be....

Said, if you want to call me baby
(just go ahead, now)
An if youd like to tell me maybe
(just go ahead, now)
If you wanna buy me flowers
(just go ahead, now)
And if youd like to talk for hours
(just go ahead, now)
And if you want to call me baby
(just go ahead, now)
An if youd like to tell me maybe
(just go ahead, now)
If youd like buy me flowers
(just go ahead, now)
And if youd like to talk for hours
(just go ahead, now)

Said, if you want to call me baby

(just go ahead, now)

An if youd like to tell me maybe

(just go ahead, now)

If you wanna buy me flowers

(just go ahead, now)

And if youd like to talk for hours

(just go ahead, now)

Ohh baby

(just go ahead now) repeat to fade..

- Spin Doctors

40 years of turkey.

Here's a 40 year old Turk. Enjoy!

fascinating! (but do NOT steal this name for your shitty improv group, I want it for mine)

Fibonacci Rabbit. (I am seriously considering purchasing one. So cute. So nerdy.)

They are among us. (Or, go see "Men in Black" again)

I got into my elevator a few minutes ago to do some laundry. Two men entered from the 13th (!) floor. They were about sixtyish, in work jackets. One wore glasses and carried a strangely shaped black cloth satchel. The other had a protruding forehead with a few wisps of hair, and a hoodie under his work coat. He stared at me for a full minute, then was silent, then made a few wet chirpy sounds with his lips. Just before we left the elevator, they had a brief conversational exchange that I was hoping was some Slavic dialect. It wasn't. I don't know what it was.

I am fairly sure they were space aliens who need more practice passing as humans.

The world must know: George was wrong!

(Not Bush, or Washington....but Costanza.)




Via Steve Ex: Twix is not the only candy with the cookie crunch. Although the candy lineup was ingenious - What of the Kit Kat?? It's loaded with wafer. It could've been Twix on the mustache....or Kit Kat!



Are they not wafers? Are wafers not cookies?

The defense rests.

Confirmed sighting:

Oh, so tasty. So tasty indeed!

This is Samantha Baker and today is her sixteenth birthday.

tick tick huh?

I don't care which way the freaking clock goes, Daylight Savings Time always throws me off. It's more irritating than jet lag because there's no vacation involved.

I'm so moving to Indiana.

Use the Force (and lots of craft glue)

This was too adorable not to post. (L-R) Princess Leia, Yoda, Lando Calrissian. I proudly constructed the Lando cape. Neat, huh? (I take no responsibility for the jerri curls.)

Information, please.

The most uselessly generic phrase in the English language is "Take care of yourself." Meant figuratively, it's usually a kiss-off bye-bye when you're walking away from someone you'd rather not have run into. Meant literally, as when said to someone who's sick, it's a paradox. On the one hand, no shit. On the other hand, if the sick person (who happens to be a type A control freak asshole) knew how to do that, they wouldn't need you to tell them to. So as such, without elaboration, "Take care of yourself" means nothing to me. I mean, the generic 'me.'

Seriously, how does one do that?

It's the most wonderful time of the year.....

These...these are my people.

From Cousin Stephanie:

An elderly Polish man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite pierogi with fried onions wafting up the stairs.

He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed. Gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs.

Downstairs, he leaned against the door frame, gazing into the kitchen, where if not for death's agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were hundreds of his favorite pierogi.

Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of love from his wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?

He threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in a crumpled posture. His parched lips parted, the wondrous taste of the pierogi was already in his mouth. With a trembling hand he reached up to the edge of the table, when suddenly he was smacked with a wooden spoon by his wife.


'Back off!' she said. 'Those are for the funeral.'

Whatever. Yes, I'm lazy.

These are a few of my favorite things.

You were in the show?

Yeah, I was in the show. I was in the show for 21 days once - the 21 greatest days of my life. You know, you never handle your luggage in the show, somebody else carries your bags. It was great. You hit white balls for batting practice, the ballparks are like cathedrals, the hotels all have room service, and the women all have long legs and brains.

- Crash Davis, "Bull Durham"

I got a new haircut yesterday.

This is what I look like:

On the slightly lighter side...

As much as I try to stay apartisan (is that a word? Scrabulous is down, dammit), I found myself enjoying this little lefty blog.

I think Political Improv is making me a better citizen.

Anxiously await your thinly-disguised show plug.

History.

This is heartbreaking.

Music, music, music

Honestly, I've tried to like Bruce Springsteen. I've tried. But the only song I really enjoy is "Born to Run." Sung karaoke-style. Even "Jersey Girl" is tons better as sung by Tom Waits. Maybe it's a geography thing. Maybe, as a Long Islander, that regional-man-music square millimeter of my brain is firmly occupied by vintage (pre-Uptown Girl, naturally) Billy Joel.

I can't help but like Cat Stevens. I find his voice weirdly soothing.

Try making a 'Bob Dylan' station on Pandora. You'll get lots of mildly maudlin, somewhat soothing, acousti-men, bluesy-folksy-lyrical music. Johnny Cash, Townes van Zandt, Steve Earle, Cat Stevens. I've nixed out the Everly Brothers, Paul Simon (too maudlin even for me), and of course the "Boss."

Ooh, and the odd protest song! Woody Guthrie, of course. And now, Phil Ochs singing "I Ain't Marching Anymore." Why don't we write protest songs like we used to? Pete Seeger can't live forever, literally. (With apologies to my most Rabbity friend.)

I'm at work. Thank you, Pandora Radio, for keeping me amused, and allowing me to influence the base-pairing of the so-called 'musical genome.' Whatever that may be. I'm fixing to nix some more Bruce.

More about me!

1. If you saw my legs, you would think I was an extra in Law & Order (Maybe I should send a snap to Central Casting). I've got stripey bruises from riding in my uncle's fishing boat and knocking into stuff, and new roundish bruises from I don't even know what. And although the insect bites are starting to heal, they are pretty scabby red. Since my blood's 'thinner than onion juice' I have to be concerned about spontaneous, slow-healing bruises.

2. To my great consternation, I noticed this morning that one of my giant cans of GNC protein powder (purchased on sale naturally) was laden with high fructose corn syrup. Health, shmealth! Back to Spirutein....if I didn't feel compelled to use all this crap up first.

3. I'm still at work, and my boss just called and interrupted my train of thought (such as it was). Oh well.

Trauma!

I found my first gray hair today.