Things you realize when watching too much "Platinum Weddings"

1. Words and phrases you never want to hear again are 'very unique,' 'most unique' and any mispronunciation of 'Swarovski.'
2. Cocktails shall all be known as 'stupid name-tini' forever more.
3. Why would you want to dance on a lit-up floor projection of your own name?
4. It's Swahr-ahf-ski.
5. Okay, the photo booth is a neat idea.
6. Morphine withdrawal makes you tear up at the slightest provocation.

It's amazing what occurs to you at 3 AM.

Impulse control. I realize that, on both sides of the fam, we are severely lacking. That explains, perhaps, why I am bingeing on cran-grape juice.

Juice. When you're off solid foods, you exercise your badness in any way possible.

Juice, indeed.

Not to mention vitamin water, propel, and an odd combination of soy milk and Fox's U Bet.

Juice.

How many wishes do I get?

I wish I could STOP BEING CRANKY!

Benign neglect

I have been shamefully neglectful of this blog, and lazily tumblin all over the place. (To my #1 cousin who thinks I have endless free time, posting stuff on the tumblr is way, way easier than using thought and typing about things!)

In other news, I am striving to be memorable, lovable and fit. In some sort of order. I may or may not have given up on incredibly wealthy.

Bloggity blog!

Yet another place to see my stuff (hooray!)

I Can Bring Home the Bacon

for women in business for themselves!

Dreams revisited.

I am lucky to have such good friends, even those who are yaks.

This deserves reprinting in its entirety (a comment on the previous post) because it says much about the writer and the writee, as it were. Who may be the only people to whom it makes sense, which is fine.

Thanks. Keep on trucking, dogsledding and skateboarding.

I would say that you have what others call dreams, but you just don't call them that. Perhaps "don't consider them that" would be more accurate?

Here's a game. First solve for X in

I want to _____X______

Now solve for Y1 or Y2:

I want to X because I want to Y1 or because of Y2.

Now solve for Z1 or Z2:

I want to Y1 because of Z.

The reason Y2 affects me is Z.

Once you get to Z (or perhaps a few more iterations), I think you may be on to something.

On the other hand, if it takes getting to Z (or a few more iterations to ZZZZ...), doesn't that mean sleeping, which counterfeeds back into the title of the post?

Off to sleep myself ...

Dreams are for people who sleep.

It is horrifying to wake up at a rather advanced age and realize you don't have a life's dream.

Watching too much fair-to-middling reality TV will bring this home.

I wish I was blissfully ignorant enough to think that I could just pick up and 'make it' in New York, Las Vegas, LA, wherever.

Unfortunately, all I see are broken plans and downsides and struggle and unanswered phone calls and three-AM sweats.

What, I say, the fuck?

Do you hear the people sing?

Who's your favorite Valjean?

Merry Christmas!

Dear Asshole Artisanal Cheese Vendor on Avenue A at the Greenmarket,

If you offer samples to people, you can expect that some people won't like them. Especially when your cheese tastes like fermented Elmer's Glue. Don't glare at me with a frozen smile and try to blame me for wanting a "strong" cheese. Asshole.

Dear Bitchy Lady in the Laundry room,

Don't cut in front of me coming from the elevator with your cart. Don't take three washers at once. Don't accuse me of slamming a washer door. Don't try to manipulate me with tales of grief. And don't fuck with my laundry.

Dear Mom of Bitchy Lady in the Laundry room,

Yes, I will take down the picture of Jesus in the lobby. And put it up in my apartment, because Jesus loves me. And was Jewish.

If you want to amuse yourselves

all three of you who read this (I've been admittedly lax)

check out my short attention span, link o rama Tumblr:

Enjoy!

Not a great day in lawyer land.

Currently in a holding pattern.

Yikes.

#447: Things that make me happy.

Dancing.

(Apologies for the lousy copies, best I could find)

What I need

A bungalow with a deck on a breezy desert island, convenient to seafood and Internet access. And big thick towels.

or

A cabin in the woods with a crazy well-stocked kitchen, a wood burning fire that I know how to operate, and Internet access. And flannel.

Vibes, whatever.

I'm not much for crystals, vibes, auras, nonspecific positivity and whatnot. But when gleefully shredding old bills and papers (I love my paper shredder, it's like a big noisy confetti maker), I came across a small, smooth stone in a tiny grey suede bag. It was from the hotel in Toronto we stayed at during the Toronto Improv Festival, when I performed with Harsh. And, immediately, I remembered, that outside from checking out Toronto itself and seeing some shows (that I could've caught in the US, for the most part), I had a generally miserable and shitty time, from the endless train ride to the personality clashes and general lack of acceptance and enjoyment. Except for my $1.00 combat boots, some decent food and drink, and checking out the film set that is Toronto, what a fucking miserable trip that was.

I threw out the freaking tranquility stone without a second thought. I feel better already. Positivity, man.

Delightful! Splendiferous!

If you haven't watched the 200th episode of "Inside the Actor's Studio," hosted by Dave Chappelle and guest James Lipton, I must emphatically say, Watch it. Watch it now.

Here's a taste:

http://www.hulu.com/watch/43525/inside-the-actors-studio-james-lipton-on-the-actors-studio

It's not you, it's me.

If you want a really cool but nonprescribing shrink, I can recommend one, highly. She's very cool and yet takes no shit.

I just quit therapy today. This is a good thing, I'm convinced of that.

So much for "keeping it to myself for awhile." (That was the original plan. Until someone notices. I guess. If I tell my mom I'm finally "cured" she'll ask "Are you sure?" Then again, I'm really sick of her asking me if I'm cured. But I digress.)

In some form or another, I've been in therapy for 18 years off and on. Not Woody-Allenesque analysis, just the talky kind. Again, there were often breaks in between. There was the short-termers - the dear, sweet old lady I was convinced was the soul of evil living in the coolest apartment in the city; the burnt-out NYU doc who went medieval on a terribly fragile me for cancelling an appointment (he was reported to administration; do not fuck with even a fragile me). There was my first real doctor at Mt. Sinai, a hulking babyfaced Westerner who I'm surprised survived me; last I saw he was an ER shrink in the Bronx. There was the curmudgeouly but handsome psychiatrist on the Upper West Side; the hippie-ish psychotherapist who, for a few years, I followed to Westchester - eventually the train ride was the most thereapeutic part of the day. And there was the woman, before this one, who I reduced to tears, and then she "forgot" our next (last) appointment. I hope she's in retail now.

I didn't necessarily plan it, although I'd been planning it awhile. She was terribly nice about it, more fair than I'd ever believed a therapist would be. "Perhaps you need to leave here, to put some of this stuff into practice." I think closure is overrated; I chose "goodbye for now" and was nice to know the keys to the sofa were always available. Which is a good feeling. I think if I was a twittering basket case, she'd perhaps have advocated against me returning to the light of day solo.

Anyway. I meant to say more, display all kinds of brilliant insight as to my mental evolution. Reflect, you know.

But right now I just can't sleep. For real.

For Jesus loved an icy cold Bud...

Lamb of God Can Insulators.

Trust me on a few things.

I am a big moron. Or maybe, I can just be a big moron.

I should not eat so much buttered popcorn.

Sports bras, even swell comfy red ones, can give you a uniboob.

The No Yarn till 2009 resolution seems to be working.

Facebook can be fun and can be incredibly lame.

I would like to coat some candied peel in chocolate, but it has to wait until the peels dry.

Honestly, I don't like candied peel, but it makes a swell gift.

Rats.

Coolest case name of the day.

I'm a bit researched out at the moment, but here, I defy you to turn this into an improv group name:

KATHREINER'S MALZKAFFEE FABRIKEN MIT BESCHRAENKTER HAFTUNG et al. v. PASTOR KNEIPP MEDICINE CO., 82 F. 321 (1897).

A delightful array of slightly overpriced korean deli snacks

Ka-Me plain rice crackers, Slim-Fast, Babybel cheese, Leibniz whole wheat butter biscuits.

An odd array of New York office-grazing comfort foods.