Not really. Just random spewage. Duck!
1.) Can I just say, this is my favorite of all possible New England weathers. It was so nice today and yesterday. Doesn't it make you just want to go walk for miles? Everyone who has kids in school or jobs which revolve around the academic calendar or who go to school themselves is all, oh, summer's over, boohoo. While I, on the other hand, having none of those constrictions, look forward to six more weeks or so of probably very pleasant weather, perfect for outdoor activities (especially if you're willing to wear a hoodie) and I'm not conceding the end of anything yet.
2.) So. Yesterday. I don't want to tell you how many hours I spent trying to clean the inside of my range hood. Despite my admissions herein about the state of my cabinets prior to last week's scrubbing, I am not a complete disgusting slacker. I do regularly attempt to clean the outside of the hood. The inside? Um, not so much. And I gotta say, even trying to clean the inside with much effort? I have small hands but there are places I can't get to. I can see the caked-on grease (by hanging backwards over the stove and looking up into the fan thingy), but I can't reach it. I bought some super grease cleaner stuff today (yesterday I was just using your regular nondiluted Mr Clean) that I can spray on. I'm hoping that'll get some of what's left. Also? I bought a new stove five years ago. Why didn't I buy a new hood then? That makes no sense. I dunno what I was thinking.
3.) Also over the past few days, in following a link about pros and cons of different countertop materials, I found that chowhound has a cookware/appliance/kitchen design board so I've had pages and pages of fascinating threads to read. Damn, those people know everything about kitchens. I found out the explanation for why my refrigerator periodically spews water out of it in hot weather, though I haven't yet attempted to perform the cure. I found out that because my range hood (I'm 99% sure) isn't vented to the outside (I didn't know that was even an option) that's why there's so much grease buildup in my kitchen. It's a whole different world reading what people who think their kitchens are primarily for, y'know, cooking and baking in think about kitchen design and all as opposed to what people who think kitchens are primarily for looking pristine and increasing the resale values of their homes (aka RMS) think. Though I have to admit, there are some "two dishwasher" proponents on chowhound too.
4.) I ordered some free countertop samples. High end laminate. Feel free to mock. M1, who has a nice house on a lot of land in the country, told me she has laminate. And she's replacing it with more laminate. She has Corian in one of her small bathrooms, and she loves that (she's spilt a whole thing of hair color on it without a freaking stain), but she thinks that's too expensive for a whole kitchen. Even though her husband installs it himself.
5.) I know you people are sick of me talking about things I want to do to my house or am doing to my house.
6.) But I have nothing interesting to say and this is taking up a lot of space in my brain.
7.) The end.
xoxo
Monday, August 31, 2009
felons on parade again
It's been awhile since we did prison bus conversations, eh?
Today we boarded the bus to an in-progress conversation between three people (two guys and a woman, if it matters) about how an acquaintance, mutual or otherwise, had sadly met the criteria for habitual offender and thus was looking at a long sentence for merely stealing some tylenol. Well, I'm sure it was tylenol with added codeine for your narcotic pleasure, but still. This somehow segued to a spirited discussion of the differences between supervised and unsupervised parole and how that affects what one can get violated for.
Which then led Felon #1, a junky, to a misty-watercolored-memory-type reminiscence of his career in robbery. "I don't do 'sick' well. I can't deal with stealing stuff, then having to try to sell it, when I'm sick. I'm all about the cash. 'Gimme your money, and a lot of it.' I'd rob dealers, anyone. My last armed robbery? I did two years at Walpole for robbing a dealer!" (Editorial note: we can only surmise from Felon #1's tone of voice, but he seemed to feel there was a great unfairness in having to do so much time for robbing another felon. Alas for him, the judicial system does not apparently recognize such fine distinctions when meting out justice.)
Fear not, however. Felon #1 has been in a program for nine months, "with not one dirty urine!" Thus your correspondent was in no danger of being jacked for the forty six dollars and change she had in her purse.
xoxo
Today we boarded the bus to an in-progress conversation between three people (two guys and a woman, if it matters) about how an acquaintance, mutual or otherwise, had sadly met the criteria for habitual offender and thus was looking at a long sentence for merely stealing some tylenol. Well, I'm sure it was tylenol with added codeine for your narcotic pleasure, but still. This somehow segued to a spirited discussion of the differences between supervised and unsupervised parole and how that affects what one can get violated for.
Which then led Felon #1, a junky, to a misty-watercolored-memory-type reminiscence of his career in robbery. "I don't do 'sick' well. I can't deal with stealing stuff, then having to try to sell it, when I'm sick. I'm all about the cash. 'Gimme your money, and a lot of it.' I'd rob dealers, anyone. My last armed robbery? I did two years at Walpole for robbing a dealer!" (Editorial note: we can only surmise from Felon #1's tone of voice, but he seemed to feel there was a great unfairness in having to do so much time for robbing another felon. Alas for him, the judicial system does not apparently recognize such fine distinctions when meting out justice.)
Fear not, however. Felon #1 has been in a program for nine months, "with not one dirty urine!" Thus your correspondent was in no danger of being jacked for the forty six dollars and change she had in her purse.
xoxo
Sunday, August 30, 2009
do you know what today is?
Today, kids, is my blogiversary. I'm thinking I should have been better prepared and there should have been party games and door prizes and guest speakers(bloggers) and a retrospective of everyone's favorite posts and maybe a new FAQ. Sadly, you're getting none of that. Lemme just say instead, it's been an honor to spew the contents of my brain on you for two years.
Salud!
xoxo
Salud!
xoxo
Saturday, August 29, 2009
sitting on my typing fingers
I want to tell the Nevada woman on Rate My Space with the tacky conspicuous-consumption kitchen (two dishwashers which "are great for entertaining!", two bar areas plus another eating area, custom cabinets blah blah blah) who claims her Fiestaware is her great-grandmother's and "almost 100 years old" that Fiestaware first came out in 1936. By that kind of reasoning, I'm almost 70.
I also want to ask the woman whose 12 year old has that ubiquitous Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffanys picture from Tarzhay in her bedroom whether she's aware that Holly Golightly was a whore. Just because the whore in question was played by the ever-lovely, fashionable, and charming Audrey doesn't mean you really want your twelve year old daughter emulating a prostitute. Well, maybe *you* do. I, on the other hand, think it's kinda inappropriate.
And I want to tell all the people who have dinning rooms and cabnits that if you cannot spell *common* English words related to houses, perhaps you shouldn't be posting on decorating websites. I feel guilty about feeling that way, but it really torques me when people who appear to be functionally illiterate have nicer houses than mine. I think I was sold a bill of goods about what studying hard and getting a good education was going to do for me, I'll tell you what.
xoxo
I also want to ask the woman whose 12 year old has that ubiquitous Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffanys picture from Tarzhay in her bedroom whether she's aware that Holly Golightly was a whore. Just because the whore in question was played by the ever-lovely, fashionable, and charming Audrey doesn't mean you really want your twelve year old daughter emulating a prostitute. Well, maybe *you* do. I, on the other hand, think it's kinda inappropriate.
And I want to tell all the people who have dinning rooms and cabnits that if you cannot spell *common* English words related to houses, perhaps you shouldn't be posting on decorating websites. I feel guilty about feeling that way, but it really torques me when people who appear to be functionally illiterate have nicer houses than mine. I think I was sold a bill of goods about what studying hard and getting a good education was going to do for me, I'll tell you what.
xoxo
Thursday, August 27, 2009
gray
I have done some bad things in my life. I'm not talking about things other people might see as "bad" because their morals or ethics differ from mine. I am talking about things that are against my own morals and ethics, things that are indefensible, things that make me shrivel up with shame when I think about them for more than a few split seconds.
Oh, I can explain them. I can tell you clearly how fucked up and unstable I was when I did them. I can blather on about my chemical imbalances and my lack of good role models in certain matters and blah blah blah. But I can't excuse them. They were bad things. I did them. I can't undo them. I can't take them back. All I *could* do was to realize they were horrible things and that I didn't want to be that girl anymore, didn't want to be the person who acted like that. All I could do was change. All I could do was to try to do better, to be better.
So I have. And I guess when I die, my mourners (remember: Red Rock Park, my cremains in individual glass vials for y'all to toss into the Atlantic, then roadtrip to Kellys for everyone, be there or be square) can debate amongst themselves whether I succeeded, whether whatever good things and kindnesses I have done have made up for the shitty things I have also done. I'm hoping if they're my mourners, they'll vote in my favor, but you never know.
And in case you haven't figured it out, this is my obligatory commentary on Teddy Kennedy's death. I am, once again, a citizen of the blogosphere in good standing.
xoxo
Oh, I can explain them. I can tell you clearly how fucked up and unstable I was when I did them. I can blather on about my chemical imbalances and my lack of good role models in certain matters and blah blah blah. But I can't excuse them. They were bad things. I did them. I can't undo them. I can't take them back. All I *could* do was to realize they were horrible things and that I didn't want to be that girl anymore, didn't want to be the person who acted like that. All I could do was change. All I could do was to try to do better, to be better.
So I have. And I guess when I die, my mourners (remember: Red Rock Park, my cremains in individual glass vials for y'all to toss into the Atlantic, then roadtrip to Kellys for everyone, be there or be square) can debate amongst themselves whether I succeeded, whether whatever good things and kindnesses I have done have made up for the shitty things I have also done. I'm hoping if they're my mourners, they'll vote in my favor, but you never know.
And in case you haven't figured it out, this is my obligatory commentary on Teddy Kennedy's death. I am, once again, a citizen of the blogosphere in good standing.
xoxo
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
see this man?
That's Sam Trammell, who plays Sam Merlotte on True Blood. He's also done guest spots on a bunch of other TV shows and been in some movies you've mostly never heard of. (I did the imdb for you, because this is a full service blog. You're welcome.) So basically he's Sam Merlotte. He's also, y'know, fairly hot.
The picture above was taken from gofugyourself, where they have a fairly new feature, unfug it up, where comments are open and readers are welcome to fix what's wrong with the celeb's fashion choices. Well, Sam here was a subject of unfug it up this week. We needn't discuss the cream suit with the white shirt, or the black shoes for that matter. We needn't discuss the transparency of said shirt and the woeful lack of undershirt beneath. We needn't discuss that Sam apparently left his belt somewhere. We needn't even discuss that those pants are just too damn tight and are making me stare at his crotch. (I know, I know, "you say that like it's a bad thing.")
This is what we need to discuss. A number--not one or two--a number of commenters left advice amounting to "shave!" Excuse me? Excuse me? What is wrong with womankind these days?
RESPECT THE SCRUFF, people. There's nothing hotter than a hot man with scruff. Good god, what do they teach these kids in school? Sigh.
xoxo
i have questions
They're not all in, y'know, good taste, but you all have come to expect that from me, right?
So, on TWoP, in a forum devoted to horrifying commercials, I saw some discussion of a product I myself had been blissfully unaware of up until that point. I don't remember what it's called (and you know I'm too lazy to go back and look it up) but it was basically a stick to attach your toilet paper to. It was being marketed as a more sanitary way to wipe, which pretty much made a whole lot of people ask WTF? Until someone else pointed out that actually this was a *brilliant* marketing strategy because what this product was really for was people who are too fat to reach their own butts to clean themselves properly on the toilet. Such people, the target audience, might be too embarrassed to purchase this contraption, but when they see the perky thin blond 30-something typical-commercial-model woman earnestly talking about how this is so much more sanitary, they can convince themselves that sure! anyone might buy this, even her! It's cleaner!
(As a digression, I was into my forties before I ever even *knew* that there were people too fat to wipe. I mean, yes, I work in health care, but it's pediatrics. Certain things I don't have to think about. But the reason I found out was that a friend confided to a bunch of us that her husband's ex-wife had weighed 500 pounds, and she indeed was too obese to wipe. I gotta say, to my shame, this piece of [too much] information forever after colored how I looked at my friend's husband.)
Anyway, in this TWoP thread, someone admitted that they wondered about blind people: how do they know they're done wiping? I gotta say, that was another thing that had escaped my consciousness until then, but it's a valid question.
Okay, now just keep that in the back of your mind whilst we segue. My dad, as you know, we (sorta) fondly refer to as Helen Keller. He's got macular degeneration and he's getting blinder by the day. And as some of you may remember me saying, doing the dishes has always been my dad's "job." At least after he retired, since my mom always cooked, and usually cooked elaborate meals, he always cleaned up. Dishes, cleaning the kitchen, the whole nine yards. And after my mom died and I had to take over cooking for him lest he waste away on a diet consisting solely of Hot Pockets, hot dogs, and fried eggs, he continued to do the dishes.
Well, for the last couple years at least, as his eyes have gotten worse, so has his ability to not leaved caked-on food on every pot, every bowl, every kitchen surface. He just can't see what he's missed anymore. It got to the point where I just assumed if I took something out of a cupboard to cook with, I'd have to re-wash it before using. But he refused to relinquish his "job" through a combination of really actually wanting to help and not wanting to admit there was yet another thing he couldn't do for himself anymore.
I don't know if I mentioned it, but this weekend in the cabinet washing and pull replacing, I (mostly) finished up another little project I'd started the weekend before: cleaning out and reorganizing the cabinets. After being hit upside the head with the realization that I had *25* cabinets and drawers in there, I had to say to myself, Andrea, there is no reason for you to have to have all this crap all over your counters--a person with 25 kitchen cabinets and drawers has plenty of storage space. So I threw out and I reorganized and I freed up a crapload of counter space. (If anyone needs/wants any baking ware, by the way, lemme know: I still have way too many ramekins and custard cups and cake pans and stuff like that that were my mom's that I will never use.) It is so nice. Not only does it look better and less cluttered, there's less juggling when I'm cooking. There's plenty of space on both sides of the sink and both sides of the stove now.
But now that I have emptyish counters and cleanish cabinets, I want to keep them that way, so I've been making sure to get to the dishes and kitchen cleaning up before my dad gets in there--which also gives me the side benefit of not having dried up food on every already "washed" pot, etc. My dad has given in gracefully, without much argument, which is actually kind of sad.
Which leads me to my related question. Just as "how do blind people know they're done wiping?", how do blind people know they're done cleaning? How do they know they haven't missed a spot? How do they know they've gotten all the crumbs? How do they vacuum? How do they pre-treat their laundry? Does being blind mean you just necessarily have to have a very casual attitude towards spots on your shirt and such? What if you're some super clean-freak who goes blind later in life? Do you then go insane from the stress of not knowing? It's kinda fascinating.
xoxo
So, on TWoP, in a forum devoted to horrifying commercials, I saw some discussion of a product I myself had been blissfully unaware of up until that point. I don't remember what it's called (and you know I'm too lazy to go back and look it up) but it was basically a stick to attach your toilet paper to. It was being marketed as a more sanitary way to wipe, which pretty much made a whole lot of people ask WTF? Until someone else pointed out that actually this was a *brilliant* marketing strategy because what this product was really for was people who are too fat to reach their own butts to clean themselves properly on the toilet. Such people, the target audience, might be too embarrassed to purchase this contraption, but when they see the perky thin blond 30-something typical-commercial-model woman earnestly talking about how this is so much more sanitary, they can convince themselves that sure! anyone might buy this, even her! It's cleaner!
(As a digression, I was into my forties before I ever even *knew* that there were people too fat to wipe. I mean, yes, I work in health care, but it's pediatrics. Certain things I don't have to think about. But the reason I found out was that a friend confided to a bunch of us that her husband's ex-wife had weighed 500 pounds, and she indeed was too obese to wipe. I gotta say, to my shame, this piece of [too much] information forever after colored how I looked at my friend's husband.)
Anyway, in this TWoP thread, someone admitted that they wondered about blind people: how do they know they're done wiping? I gotta say, that was another thing that had escaped my consciousness until then, but it's a valid question.
Okay, now just keep that in the back of your mind whilst we segue. My dad, as you know, we (sorta) fondly refer to as Helen Keller. He's got macular degeneration and he's getting blinder by the day. And as some of you may remember me saying, doing the dishes has always been my dad's "job." At least after he retired, since my mom always cooked, and usually cooked elaborate meals, he always cleaned up. Dishes, cleaning the kitchen, the whole nine yards. And after my mom died and I had to take over cooking for him lest he waste away on a diet consisting solely of Hot Pockets, hot dogs, and fried eggs, he continued to do the dishes.
Well, for the last couple years at least, as his eyes have gotten worse, so has his ability to not leaved caked-on food on every pot, every bowl, every kitchen surface. He just can't see what he's missed anymore. It got to the point where I just assumed if I took something out of a cupboard to cook with, I'd have to re-wash it before using. But he refused to relinquish his "job" through a combination of really actually wanting to help and not wanting to admit there was yet another thing he couldn't do for himself anymore.
I don't know if I mentioned it, but this weekend in the cabinet washing and pull replacing, I (mostly) finished up another little project I'd started the weekend before: cleaning out and reorganizing the cabinets. After being hit upside the head with the realization that I had *25* cabinets and drawers in there, I had to say to myself, Andrea, there is no reason for you to have to have all this crap all over your counters--a person with 25 kitchen cabinets and drawers has plenty of storage space. So I threw out and I reorganized and I freed up a crapload of counter space. (If anyone needs/wants any baking ware, by the way, lemme know: I still have way too many ramekins and custard cups and cake pans and stuff like that that were my mom's that I will never use.) It is so nice. Not only does it look better and less cluttered, there's less juggling when I'm cooking. There's plenty of space on both sides of the sink and both sides of the stove now.
But now that I have emptyish counters and cleanish cabinets, I want to keep them that way, so I've been making sure to get to the dishes and kitchen cleaning up before my dad gets in there--which also gives me the side benefit of not having dried up food on every already "washed" pot, etc. My dad has given in gracefully, without much argument, which is actually kind of sad.
Which leads me to my related question. Just as "how do blind people know they're done wiping?", how do blind people know they're done cleaning? How do they know they haven't missed a spot? How do they know they've gotten all the crumbs? How do they vacuum? How do they pre-treat their laundry? Does being blind mean you just necessarily have to have a very casual attitude towards spots on your shirt and such? What if you're some super clean-freak who goes blind later in life? Do you then go insane from the stress of not knowing? It's kinda fascinating.
xoxo
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
oh!
And thanks to the bad influence of one of my blog readers, and you know who you are, I bought that freshly ground chocolate peanut butter at Whole Foods today. I have not yet tried any, being kind of unsure what I'm supposed to eat it on. I'm preliminarily thinking "a spoon", but I'm open to other suggestions.
But do you know what else they had at Whole Foods today? Dolmates! Oh.my.god. Just like my Greek friends' moms used to make, seriously. I highly recommend these. For prepared food, these are above and beyond good. I had some for late lunch/early dinner, along with some olives and artichoke hearts, and my belly is happy.
And, yes, I know I am not supposed to be shopping at the Whole Foods anymore since they are apparently as bad as the Evil WalMart, politically speaking, but my principles buckled beneath my love for antipasto and Greek food. I am only human. God.
xoxo
But do you know what else they had at Whole Foods today? Dolmates! Oh.my.god. Just like my Greek friends' moms used to make, seriously. I highly recommend these. For prepared food, these are above and beyond good. I had some for late lunch/early dinner, along with some olives and artichoke hearts, and my belly is happy.
And, yes, I know I am not supposed to be shopping at the Whole Foods anymore since they are apparently as bad as the Evil WalMart, politically speaking, but my principles buckled beneath my love for antipasto and Greek food. I am only human. God.
xoxo
in my mid-forties
...and I swear to god, I still am not quite confident in my understanding of how the world works in certain situations. It's a pity. I wonder if there's neuropsych testing they could do to identify exactly what part of my brain is lacking.
So here's the situation, boys and girls. Remember my story about my free taxi ride to work on Friday, and how it was a delightful and amusing surprise? Well, I got another one today, and while it was a surprise, it wasn't quite so delightful. More...slightly uncomfortable. Because now there's this whole layer of: when does "nice guy" turn into "creepy stalker guy"? Not that I think this guy is really creepy stalker guy. We kind of got that out of the way right away with a joke.
Me: So, what? Are you just driving back and forth aimlessly between [blank] and [blank], haha?
Him: Yeah. Looking for you, haha.
And, yeah, the real deal is that he wasn't actually supposed to be driving, but he'd given one of his employees a day off and then someone else called in sick. He really didn't think they needed him, and he really didn't want to be working, so he'd told his dispatcher not to call him unless they got backed up, and he was headed back to his house. Which is, coincidentally, near my place of employment. All innocent enough, right?, and if he happened to see me standing at the bus stop and he's going my way...
Except, yeah. Do I need to start avoiding him because now he knows what time I go to work on the days I go to work early, and apparently he's in my neighborhood a lot at that time, and there's only so many free taxi rides I can accept before I think I'm sending a message I don't want to send? I mean, is there any way in hell this guy is doing this *just* to be nice? He's doing it to be nice because he thinks I'm cute. Or, much more uncomfortably, because he thinks I'm cute and he'd like in my pants. Which, needless to say, has no chance of happening.
So I do what? Avoid him? Start "innocently" bringing up "my boyfriend" in conversation? Bluntly say, "Look, dude, I can't keep accepting free transportation from you"? I tried today with the, "So, can I pay you?" as he was dropping me off and he said, "No. Get out of my cab. Haha." The whole thing is really ridiculously awkward. Especially since I would like to be able to maintain a business relationship, since D occasionally has to take a taxi, and I *like* this company. Sigh.
I'm sorry if you've heard this story from me before, but it's sort of my go-to lesson on how, as a woman, you can't just blithely assume a guy is being nice and how confusing it all can be. A good friend of mine's parents lived in sort of a resort community and when she would visit, she would often frequent a funky/artsy coffee shop in the area. And being, unlike me, a sociable and chatty sort, she would converse with the other patrons. Well, come to find out, one of them, older than she, was (early) retired from an industry my friend was very interested in getting into. They had a bunch of professional conversations about that when they'd run into each other, and my friend really thought this guy was interested in advising her in a friendly, mentorly way. So much so that when he invited her to come to his house for dinner and more chat, she accepted. Until the day of (or day before?) the dinner, she started then getting very strong hints that, unlike the offer was presented, the guy was actually thinking of this as a date. To forestall any awkwardness or unpleasantness about that, she told him outright that she was in a relationship. At which point he--and I'm not making this up--withdrew the dinner invitation. All the offers of help and advice and friendship fell by the wayside immediately when he realized there was no chance he was getting sex.
My friend was pretty nonplussed by this whole thing, as was I in the retelling, because it's like, what? You can't ever accept kindness from a guy you don't know well? You can't ever assume someone really wants to be your friend, even if that's how he's presenting himself? You always have to be a complete bitch if you're not interested? Why does it have to be so confusing? And we're in our forties. Shouldn't we have figured all this out a long time ago?
I suppose I might have, if I wasn't socially retarded. Again, sigh.
xoxo
So here's the situation, boys and girls. Remember my story about my free taxi ride to work on Friday, and how it was a delightful and amusing surprise? Well, I got another one today, and while it was a surprise, it wasn't quite so delightful. More...slightly uncomfortable. Because now there's this whole layer of: when does "nice guy" turn into "creepy stalker guy"? Not that I think this guy is really creepy stalker guy. We kind of got that out of the way right away with a joke.
Me: So, what? Are you just driving back and forth aimlessly between [blank] and [blank], haha?
Him: Yeah. Looking for you, haha.
And, yeah, the real deal is that he wasn't actually supposed to be driving, but he'd given one of his employees a day off and then someone else called in sick. He really didn't think they needed him, and he really didn't want to be working, so he'd told his dispatcher not to call him unless they got backed up, and he was headed back to his house. Which is, coincidentally, near my place of employment. All innocent enough, right?, and if he happened to see me standing at the bus stop and he's going my way...
Except, yeah. Do I need to start avoiding him because now he knows what time I go to work on the days I go to work early, and apparently he's in my neighborhood a lot at that time, and there's only so many free taxi rides I can accept before I think I'm sending a message I don't want to send? I mean, is there any way in hell this guy is doing this *just* to be nice? He's doing it to be nice because he thinks I'm cute. Or, much more uncomfortably, because he thinks I'm cute and he'd like in my pants. Which, needless to say, has no chance of happening.
So I do what? Avoid him? Start "innocently" bringing up "my boyfriend" in conversation? Bluntly say, "Look, dude, I can't keep accepting free transportation from you"? I tried today with the, "So, can I pay you?" as he was dropping me off and he said, "No. Get out of my cab. Haha." The whole thing is really ridiculously awkward. Especially since I would like to be able to maintain a business relationship, since D occasionally has to take a taxi, and I *like* this company. Sigh.
I'm sorry if you've heard this story from me before, but it's sort of my go-to lesson on how, as a woman, you can't just blithely assume a guy is being nice and how confusing it all can be. A good friend of mine's parents lived in sort of a resort community and when she would visit, she would often frequent a funky/artsy coffee shop in the area. And being, unlike me, a sociable and chatty sort, she would converse with the other patrons. Well, come to find out, one of them, older than she, was (early) retired from an industry my friend was very interested in getting into. They had a bunch of professional conversations about that when they'd run into each other, and my friend really thought this guy was interested in advising her in a friendly, mentorly way. So much so that when he invited her to come to his house for dinner and more chat, she accepted. Until the day of (or day before?) the dinner, she started then getting very strong hints that, unlike the offer was presented, the guy was actually thinking of this as a date. To forestall any awkwardness or unpleasantness about that, she told him outright that she was in a relationship. At which point he--and I'm not making this up--withdrew the dinner invitation. All the offers of help and advice and friendship fell by the wayside immediately when he realized there was no chance he was getting sex.
My friend was pretty nonplussed by this whole thing, as was I in the retelling, because it's like, what? You can't ever accept kindness from a guy you don't know well? You can't ever assume someone really wants to be your friend, even if that's how he's presenting himself? You always have to be a complete bitch if you're not interested? Why does it have to be so confusing? And we're in our forties. Shouldn't we have figured all this out a long time ago?
I suppose I might have, if I wasn't socially retarded. Again, sigh.
xoxo
Monday, August 24, 2009
Target fashion story, now with added digressions!
So, in the first of my three--count 'em, three--trips to the Tarzhay this weekend, I bought myself this gauzy peasant-y dropped-waited very loud paisley-ish top. Because it was from the Tarzhay, I went up a size from my usual, since (as my female readers know) cheap tat is often sized smaller than good quality stuff and I was afraid I wouldn't be able to fit my boobs in my regular size. Well, I wore it, and really, I didn't actually *have* to size up. It didn't look ridiculously big or anything, but it was slightly sack-like. (Though I guess I really shouldn't be worried about that too much, since I was recently approvingly told that a cute but sack-like dress that I wear to work could best be referred to as a goody sack. Which, I guess, Trick or Treat, little boy? N E Way. [I wasn't told that *in work*, btw, so don't feel like you need to call the sexual harassment police for me or anything. In case you were concerned. Because I know you people worry about me.])
Nevertheless, on my third trip to Target, I bought the same shirt in a size smaller and a different but equally loud print/color combo. I am wearing it right now in work with black yoga pants that I like to pretend pass as dress pants so that I can pretend that I am not actually wearing gym clothes to work. It is so cute/ugly I can hardly stand it. I feel like Mrs Roper. (If you do not know who Mrs Roper is, you are too young to be reading this blog. We have mature content in here, y'know.) If only I were wearing my bling-y gold sandals, this outfit would be tackily complete.
In other news, I think the reason my feet/ankles were swelling the other day during the cabinet cleaning extravaganza is that *somehow* I fucked up my right ankle again. I swear to you by all that is holy and unholy, I did not twist it, roll it, do anything unusual to it, walk anywhere in any shoes that I don't always walk in, or the like, but for the first time in months it is stiff again and slightly swollen. Son of a bitch.
And in other, other news, a woman on Rate My Space today said that she and her husband spend alot (sic) of time in their bedroom, sleeping, napping, and watching movies. Is it just me, or did she forget the quotation marks around "napping"?
Okay! Happy Monday!
xoxo
Nevertheless, on my third trip to Target, I bought the same shirt in a size smaller and a different but equally loud print/color combo. I am wearing it right now in work with black yoga pants that I like to pretend pass as dress pants so that I can pretend that I am not actually wearing gym clothes to work. It is so cute/ugly I can hardly stand it. I feel like Mrs Roper. (If you do not know who Mrs Roper is, you are too young to be reading this blog. We have mature content in here, y'know.) If only I were wearing my bling-y gold sandals, this outfit would be tackily complete.
In other news, I think the reason my feet/ankles were swelling the other day during the cabinet cleaning extravaganza is that *somehow* I fucked up my right ankle again. I swear to you by all that is holy and unholy, I did not twist it, roll it, do anything unusual to it, walk anywhere in any shoes that I don't always walk in, or the like, but for the first time in months it is stiff again and slightly swollen. Son of a bitch.
And in other, other news, a woman on Rate My Space today said that she and her husband spend alot (sic) of time in their bedroom, sleeping, napping, and watching movies. Is it just me, or did she forget the quotation marks around "napping"?
Okay! Happy Monday!
xoxo
Sunday, August 23, 2009
and one more consumer problem
When the Benevolent L and I went to see Tori this week, we went to the North End for dinner beforehand. Eggplant ftw. But just for the hell of it, I got the flight of cabs they had on the menu with my dinner. One of them was yucky (I'm sorry, South America, but I realize that I don't think I ever have had a Chilean wine that I liked), one was pretty good, and one, the Five Rivers, was absolutely delicious. Benevolent L, who was tasting my tasting, agreed. Neither of us are wine connoisseurs by any means, but we both agreed that was one yummy cheap wine.
So since then I have looked in the liquor store closest to my house, and the liquor store closest to my work (which has a much bigger wine selection) in order to buy a whole bottle of my very own, and neither of them carries it. Wine.com doesn't carry it. I found the Five Rivers website and while it's lovely, it doesn't tell me where I might be able to purchase their fine product.
I would appreciate if you all keep me in the back of your minds and if you see Five Rivers Cabernet for purchase in any of your local liquor stores, give me a shout out. Or y'know, buy me a case. There's only four more shopping months till Christmas, you know.
xoxo
So since then I have looked in the liquor store closest to my house, and the liquor store closest to my work (which has a much bigger wine selection) in order to buy a whole bottle of my very own, and neither of them carries it. Wine.com doesn't carry it. I found the Five Rivers website and while it's lovely, it doesn't tell me where I might be able to purchase their fine product.
I would appreciate if you all keep me in the back of your minds and if you see Five Rivers Cabernet for purchase in any of your local liquor stores, give me a shout out. Or y'know, buy me a case. There's only four more shopping months till Christmas, you know.
xoxo
so, speaking of
Isn't this an awesome light fixture for my kitchen? Imagine it in the context of those cabinet pulls.
Unfortunately, it only takes a 60 watt bulb. I suppose if all I had for lighting in the kitchen was a couple of those, no one would be able to see the grease adhered to the upper cabinets, though. So that's a plus. Seriously, though? If anyone sees any vintage/industrial-ish lighting that would look good with the plan in my head (ha!), send me a link, ok? I looked at Restoration Hardware (because isn't that what those assholes are *supposed* to sell?) but they had nothing good.
xoxo
Unfortunately, it only takes a 60 watt bulb. I suppose if all I had for lighting in the kitchen was a couple of those, no one would be able to see the grease adhered to the upper cabinets, though. So that's a plus. Seriously, though? If anyone sees any vintage/industrial-ish lighting that would look good with the plan in my head (ha!), send me a link, ok? I looked at Restoration Hardware (because isn't that what those assholes are *supposed* to sell?) but they had nothing good.
xoxo
before and aftah
Before:
After:
After:
I wish my mom was alive so I could ask her (seance, anyone?) but as I was screwing in my 25 new cabinet pulls, it occurred to me that the reason I probably picked these is that *I think* they are very similar to the ones we had on the cabinets in the triple decker I grew up in. There's a definite gut familiarity to me in how they look and how they feel and that can only be why.
The more that I look at other people's design decisions and the more I examine my own longheld preferences, I realize that what looks and feels "right" to me, especially in relation to bathrooms and kitchens (i.e. pantries, clawfoot tubs, beadboard, soapstone, super-deep [I think they refer to them as "farmhouse" these days] kitchen sinks, and apparently this cabinet hardware), is all predicated on my growing up in that house/apartment that had all those 1920s fixtures that hadn't (thank god!) been updated. When I was a young woman, I admired people who had new houses, because to me, that was what rich people had, while old houses were what poor people like me had, but I nevertheless always preferred how old houses looked.
Anyway. The other revelation I had when I was screwing in all those pulls on Friday night was that my kitchen cabinets were that delightful mixture of disgustingly greasy and grossly sticky. DON'T JUDGE ME. So when I was at Target for the second straight day yesterday (and I gotta go back today, because something I got was wrong; Jesus wept), I bought me some Murphy's Oil Soap and I spent three and a half hours last night scrubbing my cabinets. Unfortunately, I left the upper cabinets closest to the stove for last. I probably shoulda done those when I was fresh, because Oh.My.God. I gave up around 11:45 because I was just too tired and my ankles were swelling from apparently standing on chairs and counters with my arms over my head, or something.
I felt the cabinets this morning and they still aren't all perfect. (They do look better though.) I should probably give them another once over. Again, DON'T JUDGE ME. You people know I'm not good at this domestic shit.
xoxo
Saturday, August 22, 2009
my favorite
...Rate My Space comment of all time. At least until something else tops it with stupidity today.
Regarding someone's patio, behind the gates of which verdant woodlands can be seen: "TOOO much green"
Um, yeah, Mother Nature really dropped the ball on that one, huh? Doesn't she know she needs a "pop" of color? Where's her focal point? It's too busy! Your eyes don't know where to rest. Bad design sense! Start over!
I'm pretty sure--not positive, but pretty sure--that the Rate My Space website is where people go to relax after a long, hard Town Meeting where they yelled themselves hoarse about Obama killing their Gramma. It all fits.
xoxo
Regarding someone's patio, behind the gates of which verdant woodlands can be seen: "TOOO much green"
Um, yeah, Mother Nature really dropped the ball on that one, huh? Doesn't she know she needs a "pop" of color? Where's her focal point? It's too busy! Your eyes don't know where to rest. Bad design sense! Start over!
I'm pretty sure--not positive, but pretty sure--that the Rate My Space website is where people go to relax after a long, hard Town Meeting where they yelled themselves hoarse about Obama killing their Gramma. It all fits.
xoxo
Friday, August 21, 2009
today just gets better
...or the cabinet pull stories!
So, today after work, I went to the Home Depot to buy new cabinet pulls (more about that later!) and the cashier was so excited because I "look just like a dark-haired--what's her name? she was on Letterman last night--she's so adorable and funny--you could go to Hollywood and be her double..." Um, come to find out, do you know who was on Letterman last night that I supposedly look just like? Renee Zellweger. Or, as the Home Depot lady kept calling her, "Renee Zinswinger." (I think the entire North Shore is on heavy duty hallucinogens today. If any of you all is responsible for the LSD in the water supply, shame on you. That was naughty!) Anyway, as you all know, I look nothing like Renee "Zinswinger", but as soon as she said it, I knew why. Ms Z and I both do that unfortunate squinchy thing with our eyes when we smile, so it's not so much that I look like her, it's that we sometimes make the same facial expression. Which, I dunno, probably isn't quite enough to guarantee me fame and fortune, unfortunately.
So, Andrea, what about those cabinet pulls? Okay. Well, while I was at Mr Barma's house recently, he had to go out to play some soccer, and as I was making myself at home in his absense, waiting for the Sox to start, I was putting some things away in his kitchen. And I had a brilliant idea. Like lightbulb over the head inspiration. So, anyway, Mr Barma came back, we ate, and then we went out for some music and drinks. And somewhere in the middle of my third Magners (which is to say, the point at which I am just buzzed enough to cheerfully start dispensing unwanted and unsolicited advice to my friends) I said, "Hey! While you were out, I figured out what you need to do to your condo!" Mr Barma, who was somewhere in the middle of his third beer (which is to say, not nearly drunk enough to take any advice from me without a huge grain of salt), looked at me very dubiously and said, "But, Andrea, I don't want any sparkly furniture." "Nononono. No sparkly furniture. What you need to do is replace all your cabinet pulls. Because those ones you have are, no offense, heinous."
Mr Barma started listing all the *other* things he dislikes about his kitchen and saying "someday..." Implying, you know, something like one of those $25,000 "budget" redos and I was advocating for the "...but in the meantime you can replace those ugly pulls for like $40 and it's a cheap fix..." option. Explaining, of course, that I'm going to do mine, and that if it really really helps, I might not even have to paint my cabinets! (Which led to a side discussion on my side about how women like painting cabinets/trim/woodwork/molding/doors while men Like Wood and find that a crime against nature.) But anyway, all my advocating for how cheap and easy this is motivated me to get working on it. Plus, this weekend is 6.25% off, (i.e. faux tax-free weekend) at Home Depot, so I figured I'd save some money if I bought now.
In *my* kitchen, it cost more than my predicted forty bucks, I gotta say. The pulls I went with were $4 each and I needed twenty five of them. Honestly, I'd never have guessed I had that many cabinets and kitchen drawers if I hadn't counted.
But I bought these: http://www.decorglamour.com/amerock-bp1590-wid.html which, as you can see, are cheaper online, haha. But if I had to wait for them to be shipped, I couldn't try attaching them tonight, could I? Huh? Huh?
xoxo,
Renee Zinswinger
So, today after work, I went to the Home Depot to buy new cabinet pulls (more about that later!) and the cashier was so excited because I "look just like a dark-haired--what's her name? she was on Letterman last night--she's so adorable and funny--you could go to Hollywood and be her double..." Um, come to find out, do you know who was on Letterman last night that I supposedly look just like? Renee Zellweger. Or, as the Home Depot lady kept calling her, "Renee Zinswinger." (I think the entire North Shore is on heavy duty hallucinogens today. If any of you all is responsible for the LSD in the water supply, shame on you. That was naughty!) Anyway, as you all know, I look nothing like Renee "Zinswinger", but as soon as she said it, I knew why. Ms Z and I both do that unfortunate squinchy thing with our eyes when we smile, so it's not so much that I look like her, it's that we sometimes make the same facial expression. Which, I dunno, probably isn't quite enough to guarantee me fame and fortune, unfortunately.
So, Andrea, what about those cabinet pulls? Okay. Well, while I was at Mr Barma's house recently, he had to go out to play some soccer, and as I was making myself at home in his absense, waiting for the Sox to start, I was putting some things away in his kitchen. And I had a brilliant idea. Like lightbulb over the head inspiration. So, anyway, Mr Barma came back, we ate, and then we went out for some music and drinks. And somewhere in the middle of my third Magners (which is to say, the point at which I am just buzzed enough to cheerfully start dispensing unwanted and unsolicited advice to my friends) I said, "Hey! While you were out, I figured out what you need to do to your condo!" Mr Barma, who was somewhere in the middle of his third beer (which is to say, not nearly drunk enough to take any advice from me without a huge grain of salt), looked at me very dubiously and said, "But, Andrea, I don't want any sparkly furniture." "Nononono. No sparkly furniture. What you need to do is replace all your cabinet pulls. Because those ones you have are, no offense, heinous."
Mr Barma started listing all the *other* things he dislikes about his kitchen and saying "someday..." Implying, you know, something like one of those $25,000 "budget" redos and I was advocating for the "...but in the meantime you can replace those ugly pulls for like $40 and it's a cheap fix..." option. Explaining, of course, that I'm going to do mine, and that if it really really helps, I might not even have to paint my cabinets! (Which led to a side discussion on my side about how women like painting cabinets/trim/woodwork/molding/doors while men Like Wood and find that a crime against nature.) But anyway, all my advocating for how cheap and easy this is motivated me to get working on it. Plus, this weekend is 6.25% off, (i.e. faux tax-free weekend) at Home Depot, so I figured I'd save some money if I bought now.
In *my* kitchen, it cost more than my predicted forty bucks, I gotta say. The pulls I went with were $4 each and I needed twenty five of them. Honestly, I'd never have guessed I had that many cabinets and kitchen drawers if I hadn't counted.
But I bought these: http://www.decorglamour.com/amerock-bp1590-wid.html which, as you can see, are cheaper online, haha. But if I had to wait for them to be shipped, I couldn't try attaching them tonight, could I? Huh? Huh?
xoxo,
Renee Zinswinger
but now I'll get with the complaining
So, yeah. Here's the story, taken from another blog.
Woman writes in to an advice column. Obviously because she has no real friends (or, y'know, blog readers) to tell her troubles to. Her problem is thus: she is no longer physically attracted to her husband. He wants sex all the time; she wants sex (with him at least) never. She *tells* him she doesn't want sex because she finds him repulsive. Though maybe she doesn't use language quite that blunt. But I'm sure the message gets across. He gets angry and hurt. He tells her that if she really loved him, it wouldn't matter what he looks like. They fight a lot. Sometimes she gives in and has sex with him just to stop him from yelling, whining, and bitching. Then she feels "violated."
There are so very many layers of wrong to the above, I can't even hardly start listing them. But I can use a nice double negative because my writing skillz rock so hard. Where was I? Oh, yeah. There's the fact that people who don't have sex, have frequent arguments (some of which involve screaming on the part of at least one of the parties involved), and at least one of whom finds the other to be gross, are not just drawing up the divorce papers even as we speak. You want to stay together why, now? There's the fact that anyone would actually come out and tell somebody they have entered into matrimony with that they won't have sex with them because "ewww, I hate your body." And the fact that the person who would do such a thing would not then understand why the other party would be upset, rather than saying, "oh, sure, sweetheart, I'll just change my appearance for you so you can love me again!" And the fact that the person being so humiliated and insulted and disrespected by their spouse would still be seeking sex with her. (I mean, I *know* you guys have penises and all, and it leads to behavior I myself often do not understand, but if my [imaginary] spouse told me he found my looks nauseating, I wouldn't be begging him to reconsider and screw me, I'd be out finding someone else who'd be all too happy to do me.)
But the layer of this that absolutely makes me apoplectic is that the blogger who went off on it claimed that the wife was being "raped." Um, no. I'm sorry. I am a feminist. I stick up for myself and my fellow womankind. But I am not down with the idea that you can consent to sex with your husband just to shut him up and then consider that you have been "violated" or have other people use the word rape in conjunction with the incident.
If no means no, then yes also means yes. Okay, if someone coerces you into fucking them because if you don't they'll fire you or beat you up, that's sexual assault. But if someone "coerces" you into fucking them by whining, pouting, yelling, or otherwise behaving like a tantruming two year old, and you let them, you have not been raped, assaulted, or violated. Just because the next day you feel weak and shitty about having said "yes" doesn't mean you get to withdraw your consent retroactively. You violated yourself, honey. Deal.
In summary, I hate both members of this couple, and I don't even know them or know that they in fact exist. But I *still* got a free taxi ride to work today, so that's cool.
xoxo
Woman writes in to an advice column. Obviously because she has no real friends (or, y'know, blog readers) to tell her troubles to. Her problem is thus: she is no longer physically attracted to her husband. He wants sex all the time; she wants sex (with him at least) never. She *tells* him she doesn't want sex because she finds him repulsive. Though maybe she doesn't use language quite that blunt. But I'm sure the message gets across. He gets angry and hurt. He tells her that if she really loved him, it wouldn't matter what he looks like. They fight a lot. Sometimes she gives in and has sex with him just to stop him from yelling, whining, and bitching. Then she feels "violated."
There are so very many layers of wrong to the above, I can't even hardly start listing them. But I can use a nice double negative because my writing skillz rock so hard. Where was I? Oh, yeah. There's the fact that people who don't have sex, have frequent arguments (some of which involve screaming on the part of at least one of the parties involved), and at least one of whom finds the other to be gross, are not just drawing up the divorce papers even as we speak. You want to stay together why, now? There's the fact that anyone would actually come out and tell somebody they have entered into matrimony with that they won't have sex with them because "ewww, I hate your body." And the fact that the person who would do such a thing would not then understand why the other party would be upset, rather than saying, "oh, sure, sweetheart, I'll just change my appearance for you so you can love me again!" And the fact that the person being so humiliated and insulted and disrespected by their spouse would still be seeking sex with her. (I mean, I *know* you guys have penises and all, and it leads to behavior I myself often do not understand, but if my [imaginary] spouse told me he found my looks nauseating, I wouldn't be begging him to reconsider and screw me, I'd be out finding someone else who'd be all too happy to do me.)
But the layer of this that absolutely makes me apoplectic is that the blogger who went off on it claimed that the wife was being "raped." Um, no. I'm sorry. I am a feminist. I stick up for myself and my fellow womankind. But I am not down with the idea that you can consent to sex with your husband just to shut him up and then consider that you have been "violated" or have other people use the word rape in conjunction with the incident.
If no means no, then yes also means yes. Okay, if someone coerces you into fucking them because if you don't they'll fire you or beat you up, that's sexual assault. But if someone "coerces" you into fucking them by whining, pouting, yelling, or otherwise behaving like a tantruming two year old, and you let them, you have not been raped, assaulted, or violated. Just because the next day you feel weak and shitty about having said "yes" doesn't mean you get to withdraw your consent retroactively. You violated yourself, honey. Deal.
In summary, I hate both members of this couple, and I don't even know them or know that they in fact exist. But I *still* got a free taxi ride to work today, so that's cool.
xoxo
this morning!
I have a bunch of miscellaneous stuff to catch up on in here, which usually leads to a long post with bullet points, right? But since I am woefully behind on my blogging, I'm thinking that perhaps I'll just write separate posts and jack my numbers. (It's not cheating when you're making up the rules yourself. Seriously.)
So first I'll just make mention of how the day started out fabulously. I got a free taxi ride to work, dropped off at the front door like a princess, which you really can't beat with a stick. I thought for the first five minutes of the taxi ride that the owner of the taxi company who proffered it did so because he recognized me and knew who I was. Turns out he was just picking up wimmins, and didn't realize we were acquainted at all! Hahaha. To compound the hilarity (and the perfectness of the morning) he also thought that D--who is why he should have known me--was my brother and couldn't believe I was old enough to have a grown child. Oh, way to get on my good side, dude. Between this and the lady letting me get in front of her at Stop & Shop last week, I have some serious karma debt to repay. People are just being so damn nice and helpful lately.
Maybe everyone's just in a generous mood because it finally feels like summer (now that it's almost over.) In any case, I ain't complaining!
xoxo
So first I'll just make mention of how the day started out fabulously. I got a free taxi ride to work, dropped off at the front door like a princess, which you really can't beat with a stick. I thought for the first five minutes of the taxi ride that the owner of the taxi company who proffered it did so because he recognized me and knew who I was. Turns out he was just picking up wimmins, and didn't realize we were acquainted at all! Hahaha. To compound the hilarity (and the perfectness of the morning) he also thought that D--who is why he should have known me--was my brother and couldn't believe I was old enough to have a grown child. Oh, way to get on my good side, dude. Between this and the lady letting me get in front of her at Stop & Shop last week, I have some serious karma debt to repay. People are just being so damn nice and helpful lately.
Maybe everyone's just in a generous mood because it finally feels like summer (now that it's almost over.) In any case, I ain't complaining!
xoxo
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
brett favre?
Dude. How can I miss you if you won't go the fuck away? As I said recently in reference to one Mr Pedro Martinez, "Can't you just chillax and count your piles and piles o' money while you contemplate the next chapter of your life and/or your place in the universe? Please?"
In other news, I really am going to take a closeup picture of the leaves on my bush from hell and upload them, but I was distracted by other important matters like going to see Tori (excellent!), watching Torchwood: Children of Earth, and sitting on the loveseat with my laptop on my belly while watching ESPN. I'll get to it. At some point. I have to go get my chi adjusted, though.
xoxo
In other news, I really am going to take a closeup picture of the leaves on my bush from hell and upload them, but I was distracted by other important matters like going to see Tori (excellent!), watching Torchwood: Children of Earth, and sitting on the loveseat with my laptop on my belly while watching ESPN. I'll get to it. At some point. I have to go get my chi adjusted, though.
xoxo
Sunday, August 16, 2009
batteries are in the camera
And the package swears to me that they last *4x longer* in electronic devices. So here we go.
The new storage ottomans beneath the mirror (and I am pissed this wall color is still showing up beige--I need a new, better camera):
The new storage ottomans beneath the mirror (and I am pissed this wall color is still showing up beige--I need a new, better camera):
Super-adorable throw pillows on new slipcover, with ugly 80s style kitchen showing in background (oops!):
New lamp and a bunch o' photos that need to go elsewhere I am sure:
New tray on coffee table which theoretically is supposed to hold all the remotes and such as well as being purdy, with a little of my new rug showing beneath:
More comprehensive view of the tray/table/rug (and I think that's my son's elbow--don't tell him I posted it on the internet or I'm in big trouble, kthx):
Above the sofa (and I think my kid's other elbow, hahaha):
The bush from hell (any ideas what it is?) and the vertical blinds I'ma supposed to be embarrassed about, apparently:
Thanks for looking!
xoxo
you'll be happy to know
My son knows who Bob Dylan is. This comes up in relation to the news story in which Mr Dylan, in NJ for a concert, was wandering around the streets, idly looking at houses, and apparently looking like a suspicious (and probably homeless) person, had the cops called by the neighbors. The responding officers, in their early 20s, did not recognize him, had never heard of him on being told his name, apparently did not believe him on being informed that he was there on tour, and took him back to his hotel where the staff vouched for him as a harmless, and famous, person.
A fairly hilarious story, right? But, not believing the "these kids these days" angle, I told Mr Indemnity (who had forwarded me the link) that I was fairly sure D would know who Bob Dylan is, despite definitely not being an aficionado of Mr Dylan's oeuvre. (And neither am I, so it's not like he's heard him being played in this house.) So I tested it out.
"D! Do you know who Bob Dylan is?"
"Yeah."
"Who is he?"
"He's a singer."
"Would you know what he looks like?"
"Probably. Maybe."
See that?
xoxo
A fairly hilarious story, right? But, not believing the "these kids these days" angle, I told Mr Indemnity (who had forwarded me the link) that I was fairly sure D would know who Bob Dylan is, despite definitely not being an aficionado of Mr Dylan's oeuvre. (And neither am I, so it's not like he's heard him being played in this house.) So I tested it out.
"D! Do you know who Bob Dylan is?"
"Yeah."
"Who is he?"
"He's a singer."
"Would you know what he looks like?"
"Probably. Maybe."
See that?
xoxo
Saturday, August 15, 2009
bunch of unrelated home things
1.) I have this bush/shrub/whatever in front of my bay (?) window that, despite total neglect and my ability to kill any and all plant life that I go near, grows like crazy. Even though I cut the hell out of it in spring 2007, it as of yesterday was overtaking my front window again. So last evening I got out my badass electric hedge trimmer and trimmed. Not so dramatically, but enough to ensure the whole window is visible. I mention this only because, as you people know, using power tools that I only have a vague knowledge of how to work is so satisfying and enjoyable to me, it might as well be sexual.
2.) A woman on Rate My Space posted her "$25,000 budget kitchen redo" which leads one to think, "oh fuck you." The comments she got, while perhaps not so blunt, boiled down to: 25k is not budget for most people, bitch, and for 25k, you only got refaced/repainted cabinets, not new ones? I think you got hosed. I'm kind of wondering whether this is the case of someone who is so out-of-touch that she doesn't realize $25,000 is a lot of money *or* that she just wants people to think she thinks $25,000 isn't a lot of money. Frankly, both options are unappealing and don't reflect well, y'know? I'm thinking I could do everything I wanted to do over in my kitchen for $4500, especially if I painted the cabinets myself, which is a shitload of work, but which I am not afraid to do. And I could probably do it for even less, if I was capable of putting in a new floor myself, which I *am* afraid of.
3.) Which leads me to some questions. What do *you* think is the optimal flooring for a kitchen? I know everyone is putting in hardwood or fake laminate wood these days, but I think that's kinda stupid. I'm not gonna have flooring in my kitchen that I'm worried about getting wet. Plus, since there is hardwood in the adjoining dining/living room, it would be obvious that it didn't match. So then there's tile, which can be beautiful and is easier to take care of, but which is cold on the bare feet and *hard* when you stand on it awhile and therefore not so back-friendly. Which isn't a problem in the bathroom, since I don't spend so much time standing in there, and I do have bathroom rugs (which I know people think are gross, but too bad). But I *do* cook quite a bit, even if against my will, so I stand in the kitchen a lot. In my white trash heart, I want to say, why? why can I not just get really nice vinyl flooring? it's cheap, you can get it wet, and it's comfy on the bare feet and back.
4.) Segueing from that, I hate granite. I will not get granite countertops. I don't think most of it is that pretty and I resent that it's what you're "supposed" to have, whether you like it or not. In fact, I think it's trendy and in ten or fifteen years all these people who had to have it in their kitchens are going to be trying to sell their houses to other people who sniff and go, "did you see the granite in there? it's so mid-2000's!" My ideal countertops would be butcher block. I love the way wood looks on counters. Warm and nice. I also know this makes no sense for someone who *just said* she doesn't want wood floors in her kitchen because of the water question. But, in fact, over my (nonfunctional antique) dishwasher, there's a piece of butcher block instead of counter, right next to the sink, original to the house, and though the finish is off it in a certain spot where my dad insists on leaving certain damp things and thus the wood is soft in that spot and I actually sanded the fuck out of it last Sunday, *other than that* I think it held up pretty well for a quarter century of use and abuse and I don't see how butcher block counter tops wouldn't be any different, especially if you didn't abuse them.
5.) Lastly, what's up with all these people who don't have beds or at least headboards, just a bedframe with a box spring/mattress on it? Headboards are not that expensive, as furniture goes. If you can afford the fucking flatscreen in your bedroom, you can afford to actually have a bed that looks like a bed. Or am I totally out of touch with the kids these days and this is just like when my ex-inlaws used to make snide remarks about my lack of drapes when I was 22?
xoxo
2.) A woman on Rate My Space posted her "$25,000 budget kitchen redo" which leads one to think, "oh fuck you." The comments she got, while perhaps not so blunt, boiled down to: 25k is not budget for most people, bitch, and for 25k, you only got refaced/repainted cabinets, not new ones? I think you got hosed. I'm kind of wondering whether this is the case of someone who is so out-of-touch that she doesn't realize $25,000 is a lot of money *or* that she just wants people to think she thinks $25,000 isn't a lot of money. Frankly, both options are unappealing and don't reflect well, y'know? I'm thinking I could do everything I wanted to do over in my kitchen for $4500, especially if I painted the cabinets myself, which is a shitload of work, but which I am not afraid to do. And I could probably do it for even less, if I was capable of putting in a new floor myself, which I *am* afraid of.
3.) Which leads me to some questions. What do *you* think is the optimal flooring for a kitchen? I know everyone is putting in hardwood or fake laminate wood these days, but I think that's kinda stupid. I'm not gonna have flooring in my kitchen that I'm worried about getting wet. Plus, since there is hardwood in the adjoining dining/living room, it would be obvious that it didn't match. So then there's tile, which can be beautiful and is easier to take care of, but which is cold on the bare feet and *hard* when you stand on it awhile and therefore not so back-friendly. Which isn't a problem in the bathroom, since I don't spend so much time standing in there, and I do have bathroom rugs (which I know people think are gross, but too bad). But I *do* cook quite a bit, even if against my will, so I stand in the kitchen a lot. In my white trash heart, I want to say, why? why can I not just get really nice vinyl flooring? it's cheap, you can get it wet, and it's comfy on the bare feet and back.
4.) Segueing from that, I hate granite. I will not get granite countertops. I don't think most of it is that pretty and I resent that it's what you're "supposed" to have, whether you like it or not. In fact, I think it's trendy and in ten or fifteen years all these people who had to have it in their kitchens are going to be trying to sell their houses to other people who sniff and go, "did you see the granite in there? it's so mid-2000's!" My ideal countertops would be butcher block. I love the way wood looks on counters. Warm and nice. I also know this makes no sense for someone who *just said* she doesn't want wood floors in her kitchen because of the water question. But, in fact, over my (nonfunctional antique) dishwasher, there's a piece of butcher block instead of counter, right next to the sink, original to the house, and though the finish is off it in a certain spot where my dad insists on leaving certain damp things and thus the wood is soft in that spot and I actually sanded the fuck out of it last Sunday, *other than that* I think it held up pretty well for a quarter century of use and abuse and I don't see how butcher block counter tops wouldn't be any different, especially if you didn't abuse them.
5.) Lastly, what's up with all these people who don't have beds or at least headboards, just a bedframe with a box spring/mattress on it? Headboards are not that expensive, as furniture goes. If you can afford the fucking flatscreen in your bedroom, you can afford to actually have a bed that looks like a bed. Or am I totally out of touch with the kids these days and this is just like when my ex-inlaws used to make snide remarks about my lack of drapes when I was 22?
xoxo
Friday, August 14, 2009
logic fail
Two comments taken from a blog called We Are the Real Deal:
"I would ask folks who think fat people are an unfair drag on the insurance pool, and therefore have a “responsibility” to lose weight, whether they jump to the same immediate belief about people who engage in risky extreme sports (or really any competitive sport–there are a lot of injuries, physical therapy, etc. that come up there). If not, why?"--spacedcowgirl
"And on the topic of “fat people make things worse for the rest of ‘us’ by costing more in health insurance”, if you take that line of thought (taking society’s assumptions about a marginalized group and using it to justify your own “righteous anger”) and apply it to other minority groups you can see why it is truly troublesome.
Women cause higher insurance rate because they’re more likely to have babies. Childbirth is really expensive.
Homosexual men cause healthcare to be expensive because they’re more likely to have STD’s.
Black people are driving up the cost of healthcare because they’re more likely to get that pesky sickle-cell anemia.
Are we going to start shaming procreating women for having the nerve to raise our healthcare costs?
Do we now live in a society when anyone who actually uses their healthcare for anything other than preventive care deserves to be shamed for their “poor choices”?"--Emily S.
Can I just say, I am so glad to see other people trying to articulate the same problem *I* have with all the "preventative care" hooha that's been all over the media in the past months. Some of you all have heard me try to articulate this in person and have given me, generally, the "WTF are you talking about,Andrea?" look that I know so well, or have seized on some minor point of my thesis, so I *know* I haven't been able to articulate my point. I'ma try again.
There's this weird and fallacious idea being bandied about and accepted as a True Fact without anyone looking at it critically or, indeed, applying (omg!) logic: that being, if we Americans just started Taking Care of Ourselves Right, eating right!, exercising!, drinking the one glass of red wine a day that's good for your heart and no less and no more!, getting our pap smears and mammograms and prostate checks and cholesterol screenings!, always using condoms!...and whatever else the public health wonks are pushing today, we will never get sick, never develop cancer or any chronic disease or condition, never need expensive medications, never need to see a doctor except for That Preventative Care, stop being a drain on the economy of this country, and then somehow magically die in bed at age 95 without ever having to spend a night in a hospital. Um, logic fail.
Let's take a hypothetical example. Let's say there's a woman named Andrea who is 46 and she's been getting her mammograms faithfully since they first told her to get one at age 39 and those mammograms usually show something like calcifications or cysts, which require coming back for extra films and/or an ultrasound or a follow up in six months instead of a year, such that instead of the six mammograms Ms Andrea "should" have had at this point, she's probably had ten and an ultrasound, all to tell her her boobs are just fine in the end. Now suppose Ms Andrea finds out at her mammogram at age 48 that she *does* have something that isn't just a cyst or a calcification; it needs biopsing. Then perhaps the biopsy comes back malignant. Then Ms Andrea needs surgery and radiation and maybe chemo, all of which is very very expensive. But she is cured and goes on to live another forty years full of preventative care and various other maladies that happen even though she's a Good Person who eats her vegetables and walks everywhere.
Now suppose Ms Andrea has an evil twin, Isobel. Isobel never gets her mammograms. Isobel never checks her boobs in the shower every month like she's supposed to. Isobel never goes for a physical. Isobel develops a lump in her breast the same time Andrea does, but because she's not looking for it, she doesn't notice it until she's 49. Then she goes lalalala, and ignores it. Eventually at 50, it spreads to her brain, she has a seizure in the bathtub, and dies from drowning. Or maybe she has a seizure on the street, gets taken to the ER, admitted, and told she's got 3 weeks to live, and ends them in the ICU.
Whose healthcare costs more over the course of her life, even *if* Isobel gets taken to the ER? The good twin, absolutely.
You want to *not* be a drain on the healthcare system of this country? Live unhealthily, never go to the doctor, and most importantly, DIE FUCKING YOUNG because of it. Or, y'know, just have good genetics like my dad, and live to be over 80, only taking one pill a day and going for your physical only when dragged, demanding cupcakes and CheezIts to the very end.
Either works. But Living Right, as a panacea? Uh, nope. Really. The logic doesn't pan out, sorry to say.
So maybe we ought to stop talking about How Much Money Those Horrible Unhealthy People Are Costing Us All, and instead, look at good health as a complex matter that is not under our control in a whole lot of circumstances and healthcare as a right in a civilized country and, y'know, take fucking finances and morality out of it.
xoxo
"I would ask folks who think fat people are an unfair drag on the insurance pool, and therefore have a “responsibility” to lose weight, whether they jump to the same immediate belief about people who engage in risky extreme sports (or really any competitive sport–there are a lot of injuries, physical therapy, etc. that come up there). If not, why?"--spacedcowgirl
"And on the topic of “fat people make things worse for the rest of ‘us’ by costing more in health insurance”, if you take that line of thought (taking society’s assumptions about a marginalized group and using it to justify your own “righteous anger”) and apply it to other minority groups you can see why it is truly troublesome.
Women cause higher insurance rate because they’re more likely to have babies. Childbirth is really expensive.
Homosexual men cause healthcare to be expensive because they’re more likely to have STD’s.
Black people are driving up the cost of healthcare because they’re more likely to get that pesky sickle-cell anemia.
Are we going to start shaming procreating women for having the nerve to raise our healthcare costs?
Do we now live in a society when anyone who actually uses their healthcare for anything other than preventive care deserves to be shamed for their “poor choices”?"--Emily S.
Can I just say, I am so glad to see other people trying to articulate the same problem *I* have with all the "preventative care" hooha that's been all over the media in the past months. Some of you all have heard me try to articulate this in person and have given me, generally, the "WTF are you talking about,Andrea?" look that I know so well, or have seized on some minor point of my thesis, so I *know* I haven't been able to articulate my point. I'ma try again.
There's this weird and fallacious idea being bandied about and accepted as a True Fact without anyone looking at it critically or, indeed, applying (omg!) logic: that being, if we Americans just started Taking Care of Ourselves Right, eating right!, exercising!, drinking the one glass of red wine a day that's good for your heart and no less and no more!, getting our pap smears and mammograms and prostate checks and cholesterol screenings!, always using condoms!...and whatever else the public health wonks are pushing today, we will never get sick, never develop cancer or any chronic disease or condition, never need expensive medications, never need to see a doctor except for That Preventative Care, stop being a drain on the economy of this country, and then somehow magically die in bed at age 95 without ever having to spend a night in a hospital. Um, logic fail.
Let's take a hypothetical example. Let's say there's a woman named Andrea who is 46 and she's been getting her mammograms faithfully since they first told her to get one at age 39 and those mammograms usually show something like calcifications or cysts, which require coming back for extra films and/or an ultrasound or a follow up in six months instead of a year, such that instead of the six mammograms Ms Andrea "should" have had at this point, she's probably had ten and an ultrasound, all to tell her her boobs are just fine in the end. Now suppose Ms Andrea finds out at her mammogram at age 48 that she *does* have something that isn't just a cyst or a calcification; it needs biopsing. Then perhaps the biopsy comes back malignant. Then Ms Andrea needs surgery and radiation and maybe chemo, all of which is very very expensive. But she is cured and goes on to live another forty years full of preventative care and various other maladies that happen even though she's a Good Person who eats her vegetables and walks everywhere.
Now suppose Ms Andrea has an evil twin, Isobel. Isobel never gets her mammograms. Isobel never checks her boobs in the shower every month like she's supposed to. Isobel never goes for a physical. Isobel develops a lump in her breast the same time Andrea does, but because she's not looking for it, she doesn't notice it until she's 49. Then she goes lalalala, and ignores it. Eventually at 50, it spreads to her brain, she has a seizure in the bathtub, and dies from drowning. Or maybe she has a seizure on the street, gets taken to the ER, admitted, and told she's got 3 weeks to live, and ends them in the ICU.
Whose healthcare costs more over the course of her life, even *if* Isobel gets taken to the ER? The good twin, absolutely.
You want to *not* be a drain on the healthcare system of this country? Live unhealthily, never go to the doctor, and most importantly, DIE FUCKING YOUNG because of it. Or, y'know, just have good genetics like my dad, and live to be over 80, only taking one pill a day and going for your physical only when dragged, demanding cupcakes and CheezIts to the very end.
Either works. But Living Right, as a panacea? Uh, nope. Really. The logic doesn't pan out, sorry to say.
So maybe we ought to stop talking about How Much Money Those Horrible Unhealthy People Are Costing Us All, and instead, look at good health as a complex matter that is not under our control in a whole lot of circumstances and healthcare as a right in a civilized country and, y'know, take fucking finances and morality out of it.
xoxo
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
more supermarket thoughts
Half my plans were cancelled today (boo!), so instead of spending my early afternoon doing something fun, I decided to spend it doing something useful. The most crucial useful thing that I needed to do was go to the post office since I was completely out of stamps. But since the post office is half way to Stop & Shop, I decided to go there too and get a few things I wanted. (Not needed, wanted.)
Well. The supermarket was not inordinately crowded, but there were not enough lines open, so they were all backing up. And the first thing that I must tell you all about was that the woman in front of me in line, just as she was about to start unloading her cart, took a look at me and said, "Oh, you've only got a few things. Why don't you go ahead of me?" I haven't seen anyone do that in living memory, never mind have it happen to me. (But you can bet I will be looking for an opportunity to pay that forward now!) So, thank you again, kind woman in the Stop & Shop!
Secondly, being thus moved up in line, I found myself behind an immigrant woman and her three little children. And she was using up all her WIC coupons, buying lots and lots and lots of condensed milk, cans of juice, peanut butter, etc. (Is it still WIC or have they changed the name of it like food stamps? I dunno, I am out of the loop.) Now, if you are blissfully unaware of how this works, not only can she only get certain items, but only certain amounts and combinations of items for each coupon--such that, for example, the cashier who had to very carefully check all this, had to let her know that she had one too many jars of peanut butter, but she could get an additional carton of eggs and did she want that? This turns what should be a simple five minute transaction into one that takes three times as long.
And as I stood there behind her, I wondered if there were any way they could possibly make this a *more* humiliating experience. Not just the oh, Poor Person, obviously you are too stupid and lazy to properly feed your kids without us telling you what you must get--which frankly I understand is set up to benefit agribusiness more than it is the real nutritional needs of growing children. But rather in making this such an incredibly time-consuming and tedious bit of business, you can guarantee the the woman using those WIC coupons is going to be subject to the judgment and grumbling and resentment of all the other patrons, including those who know better. Like me.
The fact that it took fifteen minutes for this woman to check out was not her fault. Nor was it the cashier's. (The cashier, indeed, a little high school girl, was as efficient and conscientious with this as could be, and actually very kind, showing the woman's oldest son the egg carton when he was going to run back into the aisle to get another one: "See, honey, it has to look just like this one. It has to say 'large', see?") And it certainly wasn't those little children's. But as I stood there, trying really hard not to get impatient (having skipped ahead in line and all) I couldn't help but notice the woman had a fake LV bag and think, "well, yeah, it must be fake, of course." But so what if it wasn't? What if someone gave it to her as a gift? What if she found it ridiculously cheap at a consignment shop run by morons? Why would it be my business if she had WIC coupons and a real designer bag?
I certainly don't believe that in one of the richest countries in the world someone should have to be absolutely destitute to get help. You remember how chagrined I was when D was turned down for SSI simply for having a small amount of savings in the bank and some savings bonds. When an unemployed friend recently discussed applying for food stamps with me, and told me that the last time she was unemployed she was turned down for having some money in an IRA, I was flabbergasted, and encouraged her to try for it again this time. Hell, when I was a small child and there was no such thing as food stamps, my beloved little widowed Polish grandmother got the gov'mint cheese and so forth. I don't see anything wrong with that, even though strictly speaking she was in no danger of starving, my parents obviously being willing and fairly able to help her.
So, no. Even if this woman *did* have a nice handbag through one circumstance or another, I don't think she ought to have to sell it to buy her kids peanut butter. Standing there with my fucking $7 worth of calamata olives and the expensive cat food (because Evil Kitty turns her nose up at the cheap shit) I have no basis or right to judge. I *do* think the government ought to be helping poor women with little kids before they give tax breaks to people like me with fairly good jobs and calamata olive habits so that we can buy new sofas sooner rather than later. I do believe that. And yet I have uncharitable thoughts as I stand there endlessly in the grocery line that's not moving.
It shouldn't be that hard. It shouldn't be so humiliating. There shouldn't be any way that the person behind you in the Stop & Shop line knows how you are paying for your groceries, never mind have a chance to judge you for it. That's what I think.
xoxo
Well. The supermarket was not inordinately crowded, but there were not enough lines open, so they were all backing up. And the first thing that I must tell you all about was that the woman in front of me in line, just as she was about to start unloading her cart, took a look at me and said, "Oh, you've only got a few things. Why don't you go ahead of me?" I haven't seen anyone do that in living memory, never mind have it happen to me. (But you can bet I will be looking for an opportunity to pay that forward now!) So, thank you again, kind woman in the Stop & Shop!
Secondly, being thus moved up in line, I found myself behind an immigrant woman and her three little children. And she was using up all her WIC coupons, buying lots and lots and lots of condensed milk, cans of juice, peanut butter, etc. (Is it still WIC or have they changed the name of it like food stamps? I dunno, I am out of the loop.) Now, if you are blissfully unaware of how this works, not only can she only get certain items, but only certain amounts and combinations of items for each coupon--such that, for example, the cashier who had to very carefully check all this, had to let her know that she had one too many jars of peanut butter, but she could get an additional carton of eggs and did she want that? This turns what should be a simple five minute transaction into one that takes three times as long.
And as I stood there behind her, I wondered if there were any way they could possibly make this a *more* humiliating experience. Not just the oh, Poor Person, obviously you are too stupid and lazy to properly feed your kids without us telling you what you must get--which frankly I understand is set up to benefit agribusiness more than it is the real nutritional needs of growing children. But rather in making this such an incredibly time-consuming and tedious bit of business, you can guarantee the the woman using those WIC coupons is going to be subject to the judgment and grumbling and resentment of all the other patrons, including those who know better. Like me.
The fact that it took fifteen minutes for this woman to check out was not her fault. Nor was it the cashier's. (The cashier, indeed, a little high school girl, was as efficient and conscientious with this as could be, and actually very kind, showing the woman's oldest son the egg carton when he was going to run back into the aisle to get another one: "See, honey, it has to look just like this one. It has to say 'large', see?") And it certainly wasn't those little children's. But as I stood there, trying really hard not to get impatient (having skipped ahead in line and all) I couldn't help but notice the woman had a fake LV bag and think, "well, yeah, it must be fake, of course." But so what if it wasn't? What if someone gave it to her as a gift? What if she found it ridiculously cheap at a consignment shop run by morons? Why would it be my business if she had WIC coupons and a real designer bag?
I certainly don't believe that in one of the richest countries in the world someone should have to be absolutely destitute to get help. You remember how chagrined I was when D was turned down for SSI simply for having a small amount of savings in the bank and some savings bonds. When an unemployed friend recently discussed applying for food stamps with me, and told me that the last time she was unemployed she was turned down for having some money in an IRA, I was flabbergasted, and encouraged her to try for it again this time. Hell, when I was a small child and there was no such thing as food stamps, my beloved little widowed Polish grandmother got the gov'mint cheese and so forth. I don't see anything wrong with that, even though strictly speaking she was in no danger of starving, my parents obviously being willing and fairly able to help her.
So, no. Even if this woman *did* have a nice handbag through one circumstance or another, I don't think she ought to have to sell it to buy her kids peanut butter. Standing there with my fucking $7 worth of calamata olives and the expensive cat food (because Evil Kitty turns her nose up at the cheap shit) I have no basis or right to judge. I *do* think the government ought to be helping poor women with little kids before they give tax breaks to people like me with fairly good jobs and calamata olive habits so that we can buy new sofas sooner rather than later. I do believe that. And yet I have uncharitable thoughts as I stand there endlessly in the grocery line that's not moving.
It shouldn't be that hard. It shouldn't be so humiliating. There shouldn't be any way that the person behind you in the Stop & Shop line knows how you are paying for your groceries, never mind have a chance to judge you for it. That's what I think.
xoxo
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
ah, well
There were going to be new pictures today, since all my stuff has been brought home or delivered: (red!) ottomans, rug beneath the coffee table, tray on top of the coffee table, new throw pillows on top of the new slipcovers, et voila. But as usual the batteries in my camera are dead.
So you'll all have to trust me that everything looks nice. If you ignore the saggy furniture beneath the slipcovers. And the cheap makeshift table the TV and satellite box are on. And, of course, the vertical blinds in the front window that would get me all kinds of snotty comments on Rate My Space. And if you ignore the fact that I am continually driving my poor kid crazy saying, "Does this need to go left? Right? Forward? How about that? Is this straight? Should this be closer?" But, really, if you ignore all that, everything looks nice.
xoxo
So you'll all have to trust me that everything looks nice. If you ignore the saggy furniture beneath the slipcovers. And the cheap makeshift table the TV and satellite box are on. And, of course, the vertical blinds in the front window that would get me all kinds of snotty comments on Rate My Space. And if you ignore the fact that I am continually driving my poor kid crazy saying, "Does this need to go left? Right? Forward? How about that? Is this straight? Should this be closer?" But, really, if you ignore all that, everything looks nice.
xoxo
Monday, August 10, 2009
i h8 ppl who txt
Let me tell you the story of the cell phone and me in my professional capacity.
Back in the mid-late 90s when regular people were just beginning to have cell phones, most of them (if you'll remember) didn't keep their phones on 24/7 and pretty much all of them, cowed by the NO CELLULAR PHONES signs in the hospital, were convinced that if they so much stepped into the lobby with their phones on, they'd kill everyone in the cardiac cath lab. So, people's mobiles were not a problem for me.
As the years went on, people started to use their phones more and most of them came to realize that, indeed, having your phone on wasn't likely to short out some old lady's pacemaker or interrupt the telemetry. (Though even to this day, I get the occasional inquiry about whether I would prefer someone's phone off in case it should interfere with my equipment.) But, in any case, most people were also smart enough to realize that if they were coming to see me, I was going to need their kid asleep at some point and so either turning off their phone or putting it on silent was the thing to do. I never felt the need to post a sign about this. On infrequent occasions, someone will forget to silence their ring and their phone will go off at an inopportune moment. Rarely is it at the worst possible moment, so I accept their embarrassed apologies with good grace and let their own humiliation be their punishment, so to speak. Again, in general, people's mobiles are not a problem for me.
However, in just the last year--I swear it *never* happened before then--I have come across a new phenomenon: parents who are unable to spend 45 minutes or an hour in a quiet room without constantly texting or playing with their iPhone/Blackberry. It is absolutely infuriating. I had, a few weeks ago, a young couple bring their little toddler in. The mother and I spent half an hour or more trying to settle the absolutely hysterical baby with no success while the dad sat there and played on his Blackberry (answering *absolutely critical work emails that could not wait*, I am sure [she said with an eyeroll].) I kept looking at him and thinking, "Douche! Why are you even here if you aren't going to help? Why didn't you stay the fuck at work?" But it isn't my place to say that. Finally his wife *asked* him to please come help. He got that kid to sleep in like ten minutes. Once he was forced to put away his precious phone, that is.
Today I had a mother who spent a good forty minutes in a dim quiet room texting (probably her boyfriend or BFF) continually--I mean continually--instead of paying any attention to her six year old. Or, y'know, zoning out. Taptaptaptaptaptaptap. TAP. After the first fifteen minutes of that, I swear to god, I wanted to take that fucking phone out of her hand, throw it on the ground, and stomp on it. Repeatedly. The noise was like water torture, it's rude, and c'mon now. Nobody ever texts anybody anything that's important. It's fucking inane chitchat or plan-making that can wait till you leave your kid's medical appointment, thankyouverymuch.
So for the very first time since the cell phone era began, I am seriously considering putting up a sign on the interior door of my office that says IF THIS DOOR IS CLOSED, YOUR PHONE SHOULD BE OFF! Because you all don't want me to join the horrendous unemployment statistics in this country when I go mental and smash someone's electronic device, right? Right?
xoxo
Back in the mid-late 90s when regular people were just beginning to have cell phones, most of them (if you'll remember) didn't keep their phones on 24/7 and pretty much all of them, cowed by the NO CELLULAR PHONES signs in the hospital, were convinced that if they so much stepped into the lobby with their phones on, they'd kill everyone in the cardiac cath lab. So, people's mobiles were not a problem for me.
As the years went on, people started to use their phones more and most of them came to realize that, indeed, having your phone on wasn't likely to short out some old lady's pacemaker or interrupt the telemetry. (Though even to this day, I get the occasional inquiry about whether I would prefer someone's phone off in case it should interfere with my equipment.) But, in any case, most people were also smart enough to realize that if they were coming to see me, I was going to need their kid asleep at some point and so either turning off their phone or putting it on silent was the thing to do. I never felt the need to post a sign about this. On infrequent occasions, someone will forget to silence their ring and their phone will go off at an inopportune moment. Rarely is it at the worst possible moment, so I accept their embarrassed apologies with good grace and let their own humiliation be their punishment, so to speak. Again, in general, people's mobiles are not a problem for me.
However, in just the last year--I swear it *never* happened before then--I have come across a new phenomenon: parents who are unable to spend 45 minutes or an hour in a quiet room without constantly texting or playing with their iPhone/Blackberry. It is absolutely infuriating. I had, a few weeks ago, a young couple bring their little toddler in. The mother and I spent half an hour or more trying to settle the absolutely hysterical baby with no success while the dad sat there and played on his Blackberry (answering *absolutely critical work emails that could not wait*, I am sure [she said with an eyeroll].) I kept looking at him and thinking, "Douche! Why are you even here if you aren't going to help? Why didn't you stay the fuck at work?" But it isn't my place to say that. Finally his wife *asked* him to please come help. He got that kid to sleep in like ten minutes. Once he was forced to put away his precious phone, that is.
Today I had a mother who spent a good forty minutes in a dim quiet room texting (probably her boyfriend or BFF) continually--I mean continually--instead of paying any attention to her six year old. Or, y'know, zoning out. Taptaptaptaptaptaptap. TAP. After the first fifteen minutes of that, I swear to god, I wanted to take that fucking phone out of her hand, throw it on the ground, and stomp on it. Repeatedly. The noise was like water torture, it's rude, and c'mon now. Nobody ever texts anybody anything that's important. It's fucking inane chitchat or plan-making that can wait till you leave your kid's medical appointment, thankyouverymuch.
So for the very first time since the cell phone era began, I am seriously considering putting up a sign on the interior door of my office that says IF THIS DOOR IS CLOSED, YOUR PHONE SHOULD BE OFF! Because you all don't want me to join the horrendous unemployment statistics in this country when I go mental and smash someone's electronic device, right? Right?
xoxo
Friday, August 7, 2009
in the news
From the ridiculous to the sad to the...
1.) So, M1 just told me about the big story from Wisconsin, wherein a gentleman who was, apparently, cheating on four women simultaneously had his penis superglued to his leg when said ladies found out about each other and decided to team up to exact revenge. On the one hand, I'm loathe to approve of assaulting someone because they were unfaithful to you, even if the cheater is a man and the cheatees were women. Assault ain't right, man. On the other hand?
Dude. You thought you could juggle four different women without any of them finding out about each other? You, sir, are both stupid and overconfident, a combination that would surely lead you to even more grief than a little Gorilla Glue on the genitalia in the future. So I would counsel you to take this as a beneficial learning experience. Or, you are a sociopath, in which case, I can't really get overly outraged about your being assaulted, sorry to say.
2.) I was going to talk about an absolutely horrific news story next, but you know what? I just can't segue from the comic relief of some idiot being punished with adhesives by his insane harem to this, so never mind.
Happy Friday!
xoxo
1.) So, M1 just told me about the big story from Wisconsin, wherein a gentleman who was, apparently, cheating on four women simultaneously had his penis superglued to his leg when said ladies found out about each other and decided to team up to exact revenge. On the one hand, I'm loathe to approve of assaulting someone because they were unfaithful to you, even if the cheater is a man and the cheatees were women. Assault ain't right, man. On the other hand?
Dude. You thought you could juggle four different women without any of them finding out about each other? You, sir, are both stupid and overconfident, a combination that would surely lead you to even more grief than a little Gorilla Glue on the genitalia in the future. So I would counsel you to take this as a beneficial learning experience. Or, you are a sociopath, in which case, I can't really get overly outraged about your being assaulted, sorry to say.
2.) I was going to talk about an absolutely horrific news story next, but you know what? I just can't segue from the comic relief of some idiot being punished with adhesives by his insane harem to this, so never mind.
Happy Friday!
xoxo
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
vote one more time
I bought new chocolate brown slipcovers for the living room this week (and a sorta beige-y stripy one for the chair--keeping in mind I hate stripes, but it was the only slipcover at Tarzhay that would fit this particular chair and I can't throw that chair out on the sidewalk like I might like, because the old man uses it when he watches the Red Sox). N-E-Way. I decided on new slipcovers because I decided new furniture isn't in the cards for this room for at least 6 months, not when every single thing I like is $2000. And I'm not buying some cheap piece of crap just to have a new sofa.
So, having the new slipcovers, which really do help, and the new paint color, and an awesome new lamp, and the mirror on the wall, I'm feeling this room is just about done for now. Except I'm looking at area rugs for beneath the coffee table and I decided (because I have these two wicker baskets in here, without covers, and full o' crappe) I want a couple of those storage ottomans to keep the crappe in, to go under the mirror on that emptyish wall, and to serve as extra seats in a pinch. I like these ones from Crate and Barrel:
http://www.crateandbarrel.com/family.aspx?c=998&f=24003
which come in black and brown and cream and red and apple green.
So, I'm thinking there's too much brown in the room already. Green goes with nothing in the room. I'm thinking maybe black leather is too masculine or stark. Red??? I have a dark red rug in the adjoining dining room space, as well as some cranberry red accessories in the foyer which adjoins in the opposite direction, so that's definitely a possibility. I'm afraid the red of those ottomans might be a touch brightish though, comparatively speaking. But dark brown/gold/red is a nice color scheme, right? Or cream? Cream with dark brown and gold is nice too. Is cream leather too modern for my design aesthetic as you know it?
Vote on a color! Or, y'know, tell me to figure it out my own damn self.
Thanks!
xoxo
So, having the new slipcovers, which really do help, and the new paint color, and an awesome new lamp, and the mirror on the wall, I'm feeling this room is just about done for now. Except I'm looking at area rugs for beneath the coffee table and I decided (because I have these two wicker baskets in here, without covers, and full o' crappe) I want a couple of those storage ottomans to keep the crappe in, to go under the mirror on that emptyish wall, and to serve as extra seats in a pinch. I like these ones from Crate and Barrel:
http://www.crateandbarrel.com/family.aspx?c=998&f=24003
which come in black and brown and cream and red and apple green.
So, I'm thinking there's too much brown in the room already. Green goes with nothing in the room. I'm thinking maybe black leather is too masculine or stark. Red??? I have a dark red rug in the adjoining dining room space, as well as some cranberry red accessories in the foyer which adjoins in the opposite direction, so that's definitely a possibility. I'm afraid the red of those ottomans might be a touch brightish though, comparatively speaking. But dark brown/gold/red is a nice color scheme, right? Or cream? Cream with dark brown and gold is nice too. Is cream leather too modern for my design aesthetic as you know it?
Vote on a color! Or, y'know, tell me to figure it out my own damn self.
Thanks!
xoxo
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
not just for cataract prevention anymore
So, there I was at the spa this afternoon, getting my monthly pedi, and my solicitous and charming Eastern European aesthetician handed me a stack of magazines to peruse while she tended to my feet. And in the stack there were a number of gossip rags, People, US Weekly, and so forth. Now, I never read these things except in the salon setting. (I swear!) And when I do, they are full of articles and items and pictures of those people from The Hills and the stars of the Harry Potter movies and Disney Channel celebs and all kinds of other folk I barely recognize or am aware of.
But in one of these magazines this afternoon I came across a picture of two gentlemen I very much am aware of: Mr Barack Obama and Mr Nicolas Sarkozy. What were they doing? Well, they were attending some summit or other, and apparently, staring at the very voluptuous ass of a young woman whom the magazine identified as a 16 year old junior delegate from Brazil.
Now, I say apparently, because in the photo Mr Obama's gaze is indeed downward (i.e. assward) but whether he is in fact checking her out or is innocently looking at something else, one really couldn't say from the camera angle. Mr Sarkozy is looking towards Mr Obama (and the girl) with a huge grin on his face. But who knows? Maybe someone said something really funny just as the photo was snapped. And, c'mon now, even if they were looking, there's no way anyone could tell from behind that the buttocks in question belonged to a 16 year old, not a 25 year old. And, as we all know, those Brazilians are, in general, a very attractive people.
So I'm willing to give Barack and Nicolas a pass. I mean, I'd've looked at something that round in a skirt that tight and I'm a heterosexual woman.
But I do have a piece of advice. Sunglasses. If you're a major world leader (or other extremely famous personage) and apt to be having people snapping your picture left and right the second you go out in public, wear the dark glasses if you can't be all stony-faced and apparently oblivious in the presence of the sexy and the tightly-clad. Do you *want* to be mocked in US Weekly and then the blogs of your constituents or fans? No, you do not. Trust me.
xoxo
But in one of these magazines this afternoon I came across a picture of two gentlemen I very much am aware of: Mr Barack Obama and Mr Nicolas Sarkozy. What were they doing? Well, they were attending some summit or other, and apparently, staring at the very voluptuous ass of a young woman whom the magazine identified as a 16 year old junior delegate from Brazil.
Now, I say apparently, because in the photo Mr Obama's gaze is indeed downward (i.e. assward) but whether he is in fact checking her out or is innocently looking at something else, one really couldn't say from the camera angle. Mr Sarkozy is looking towards Mr Obama (and the girl) with a huge grin on his face. But who knows? Maybe someone said something really funny just as the photo was snapped. And, c'mon now, even if they were looking, there's no way anyone could tell from behind that the buttocks in question belonged to a 16 year old, not a 25 year old. And, as we all know, those Brazilians are, in general, a very attractive people.
So I'm willing to give Barack and Nicolas a pass. I mean, I'd've looked at something that round in a skirt that tight and I'm a heterosexual woman.
But I do have a piece of advice. Sunglasses. If you're a major world leader (or other extremely famous personage) and apt to be having people snapping your picture left and right the second you go out in public, wear the dark glasses if you can't be all stony-faced and apparently oblivious in the presence of the sexy and the tightly-clad. Do you *want* to be mocked in US Weekly and then the blogs of your constituents or fans? No, you do not. Trust me.
xoxo
Monday, August 3, 2009
august "oh, hai"
I had a nice weekend, kids, and hope you did as well.
Lulled by my Glostahhhh co-worker's assertion that the water on Cape Ann is indeed now warm enough to swim in, I went to the beach after work on Saturday. And, yes, it was, primarily, however, because I was at Crane's beach which has that awesome sandbar which creates the little lagoon which is probably ten degrees warmer than the water on the other side of the sandbar. Be that as it may, I did go waist/chest-high, primarily so that I could perform nefarious activities. (Oh, c'mon, it's a big ocean and long walk back to that public restroom. And don't tell me you've never done it. And did you ever stop to think about all the fish that pee in there? I rest my case.)
Baseball trading deadline was interesting. After 2007 and Gag-me, I continue to be glad when the Sox do *not* go for August pitching help. Surprised Halliday didn't go somewhere, though.
And I think I have eaten my body weight in black olives over the past few days. Apparently my body wants salt and good fat! Give your body what it wants.
xoxo
Lulled by my Glostahhhh co-worker's assertion that the water on Cape Ann is indeed now warm enough to swim in, I went to the beach after work on Saturday. And, yes, it was, primarily, however, because I was at Crane's beach which has that awesome sandbar which creates the little lagoon which is probably ten degrees warmer than the water on the other side of the sandbar. Be that as it may, I did go waist/chest-high, primarily so that I could perform nefarious activities. (Oh, c'mon, it's a big ocean and long walk back to that public restroom. And don't tell me you've never done it. And did you ever stop to think about all the fish that pee in there? I rest my case.)
Baseball trading deadline was interesting. After 2007 and Gag-me, I continue to be glad when the Sox do *not* go for August pitching help. Surprised Halliday didn't go somewhere, though.
And I think I have eaten my body weight in black olives over the past few days. Apparently my body wants salt and good fat! Give your body what it wants.
xoxo
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