the marvelous adventures of...

going all ebert on your asses

2012-02-02T12:25:00.000-05:00

In the last week, I have seen three movies, totally because I realized that I'd seen absolutely nothing that was nominated for anything and because these three movies were playing at the (slightly) cheap(er) and very convenient theater. Plus, did I mention? My bank balance was looking satisfactory.

Movie #1: The Descendants

I don't think this is a spoiler, because it's all in the friggin' trailer to the movie, but this is a film in which George Clooney becomes a Better Man and a Good Dad when he finds out his comatose and soon-to-be-taken-off-life-support wife had been cheating on him. I have three things to say about this film.

First thing: the beginning twenty minutes or so of it are so freaking slow and boring that had I not been sitting in the middle of a row, I might seriously have thought about getting up and leaving, which is something I never, ever do. After that, however, it picks up and I ended up quite enjoying it. I'm not sure Clooney is a great actor, but he does hold your attention on the screen. Second thing: this is exactly the kind of movie that always gets nominated for an Oscar. It's supposed to instruct us or illuminate for us the human condition, blah blah blah. I read an interview recently--I think it was Brad Pitt talking about why he chose to star in Moneyball, even though he's not a baseball fan--and the point was made that somewhere in the 80s or 90s, it became mandatory for the characters in a film to Grow and Change by the end of the film, and Moneyball was more of a throwback to the 70s kind of movie, where the character stays the same but maybe the world around him/her just shifts a little, and that was the appeal. Well, Brad's friend George's movie is a stunning example of the Grow and Change cliche. I mean, there's absolutely no surprise to the ending. (slight spoiler) Do we really think his little family is *not* gonna pull together and become closer and more functional? Do we really think he's *not* gonna make the noble business decision that's good for the people of his state, rather than the one that'll net him a huge amount of easy money? The only interesting twist to that is that the noble business decision also screws the guy who was screwing his wife, so at least there's a little depth there. Third thing: if I had known this movie was by the guy who did Sideways, I'd have never have gone to it, because that, along with Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, is one of my top two acclaimed movies of recent years that I hate with the fiery passion of a million suns. So, yeah, it's a good thing I didn't realize! Final Grade: B.

Movie #2: Incredibly Loud and Extremely Close

Another movie that is exactly the kind that always gets nominated for an Oscar, this one because it's supposed to be terribly touching and sad and uplifting and blah blah blah. It didn't touch me at all, yo. I could not have cared less about the kid in it and his healing from his beloved father's death in 9/11. The kid was obnoxious and unsympathetic. And I say this as someone who sobs every time she watches The Sixth Sense*** which it pinged for me slightly, even though there's no similarity between them other than being about a weird fatherless boy in pain. I am really over people with mental differences (this kid is supposed to be maybe Aspergers, maybe not) as protagonists just because their weirdness allows the film-maker or author to then do things with the plot that they couldn't if the character was "normal." (Know what other film I fucking despise? Forrest Gump. Yeah.) I also realized when watching this movie that there's probably never been a Tom Hanks movie that I've seen that I actually liked, though I will admit I've managed to avoid some of his most popular movies. This is not due to any dislike of Mr Hanks per se, not as a person or as an actor. I think I just don't like his taste in scripts! Finally, and this is probably a spoiler, but I have a plot question. When the kid meets The Renter, is that a set-up by his mother/grandmother so he'll have someone to watch over him on his search, and I'm supposed to infer that when his mother later reveals that she knew what was going on all along? Because otherwise, it makes no sense that his grandmother was out in the middle of the night. I mean elderly Jewish ladies from the Old Country are not known for being party animals. I mean, as far as *I* know. Also, the fact that The Renter was mute was another example of a ridiculous plot contrivance. I realize that's the fault of the author of the book, and not the filmmaker, but whatev. Final grade: C-.

Movie #3: My Week With Marilyn

I liked this one the best. No "message" but it was charming and touching and the acting was very good. I think they did a good job of showing just how fucked up Marilyn was while still making her sympathetic. And it was short. And the makeup/clothes/scenery were cool. And I would definitely read the book this one was based on. Maybe it was just more my type of film than the other two, but I enjoyed it. Final grade: A-

That's it, kids!

xoxo

***I was writing this review in my head the other night on my way home and I could not think of the title of this movie. It was on the tip of my brain and driving me insane and I couldn't wait to actually get home and look it up. So I texted Mr Indemnity "Dude! Help! What's the name of the movie about the kid who sees ghosts and Bruce Willis is his dead shrink?" But because I was trying to text with my gloves on, I accidentally texted it to M2 first. Twelve hours later when she finally checked her texts, she wrote back "Dude! It's the sixth sense. The ONLY good movie by m night shyamalan." Which frankly was hilarious. I will also say Mr Indemnity did *not* make his usual dig about how if I had an iPhone I could have looked it up myself. He's slipping!

life is just a series of small victories

2012-01-31T12:59:00.003-05:00

I had a pleasant surprise when I checked my bank balance this weekend before mailing the city my big ol' whopping property tax check. There was more money in there than I was afraid there was going to be, which means my recent mega-economizing has worked. I have not been going out hardly at all. <--[that's a very badly constructed and grammatically incorrect sentence right there but I don't love all y'all enough to fix it and you know what I mean, even with the double negative.] I have been bringing food to work almost every day and not buying lunch. (Both the not-going-out and the bringing-my-sad-little-lunch were undertaken not just for economical reasons, but because I was on a diet for the month of January. And can I just say? thank god tomorrow's February. Dieting sucks, but dieting when you're not actually fat sucks more.) The thermostat in my house remains at 66 or under. Usually under. And I have held off on most discretionary purchases.

Extremely happy that I could pay my taxes and not be broke, I figured I could now buy some stuff which is not essential to life, but is damn close, and that I have been holding out on. I bought four different DaVinci syrups and the protein bars I like but have not had for months from netrition.com. I bought creatine and non-ghetto whey (chocolate peanut butter flavor--it better be good) from bodybuilding.com. I bought eye liner and primer (aka face spackle) from Sephora. And I bought a Buffy bar from Lush. And then I felt complete.

Oh shut up. Not really. But it felt good that scrimping here and there meant I could then buy some things I really wanted without guilt or worry. Or, y'know, debt. And that's even after losing five bucks last week! [insert winky face here]

I'm almost tempted to blow some money on a pedi too. You should see my feet. Not pretty. But I'll probably scrimp some more before that. I'm sure my new eye liner and face spackle will keep people looking at my beauteous visage and not my sad toenails! Ahem.

Happy final day of January in which there is no snow on the ground (unless it's snowing now, yo), bitches. Did I mention I'm loving this winter?

xoxo

life is just a series of minor irritations

2012-01-26T11:49:00.005-05:00

I was gonna tell you the whole long story about how I came to have a $5 bill in my jacket pocket last night that isn't there this morning, but then I figured, dude! you are being one of those minor irritations. No one cares. So let's skip ahead to the fact that somehow, somewhere, on my way home last night I lost $5, and I hope whoever finds it a.) is a little kid or b.) really needs it. Nevertheless, losing five bucks pissed me off greatly this morning, mainly because I know it is my own stupid fault for putting money in my jacket pocket during the winter when I am also always shoving my gloves into my pocket so that I can do things like get my keys out or add money to my CharlieCard.

In my effort to not be so irritated by this, I have told myself two things. #1, that this balanced out all those times when I have put on a jacket or pair of pants I haven't worn in six months and found cash in the pocket I didn't know was there. #2, $5 is a trip to Starbucks if you tip, which I usually do, so I can just tell myself that I went to Starbucks last night on my way home and I've developed amnesia about it. So that five bucks, while still wasted, was wasted on caffeine, not just wasted on nothing.

Whatever.

Put your cash directly into your wallets, kids, and learn from my stupidity.

xoxo

on your television tonight

2012-01-23T22:43:00.003-05:00

Okay, on my television tonight. Tomato, tomahto, cucumber.

I realize I am going to type all this out and it will amuse no one but me--and it's already amused me so very very much--because most of the joke would need to be explained if you aren't me. Nevertheless, onward we plow.

First up, new episode of Hoarders. One of the stories is a lady who has had no plumbing in her house for three years. With predictable results. Well, predictable if you've ever watched Hoarders. Think a house chock full of bottles o' pee and piles of human poop. (No, that's not the funny part.) The woman is very glib in being able to attribute her dysfunction to all the trauma in her life, including being raped twelve times. Or maybe it was seventeen. (No, that's not the funny part either, but it does make my bullshit antenna go up.***) The part which made.me.die. is the little reveal at the end where the crew has made a new room for her to meditate in and she is shown chanting at her new altar. Remember when M2 took me to the Buddhist chanting and I found it a wee bit cult-like and not for me? Um, yeah. That's exactly the chanting poop lady was doing. I cannot wait till M2 sees this episode. She will.also.die.

Then Intervention comes on. I don't watch Intervention ever, but since it's not time for me to take my clothes out of the dryer, I catch the first few minutes. The apparent subject is showing off a room in her house to the camera crew. "This is our wine room," she says slurrily, pointing to some mostly empty racks. "As you can see, there's not much wine in it. I drank it all." Oh, the lulz. Oh, the fucking lulz. Then my clothes were done.

In totally non-television-related news, I've been hearing this loud beep in my house on and off for like 3 days and I thought I was going insane because I couldn't figure out what it is. Until now. It's my FIOS setup in the garage, telling me the battery in the battery backup needs to be replaced. Damn you, Verizon.

xoxo

***When Our Lil MILF came by a couple months ago and was telling us stories about her new job with the Commonwealth, one of them concerned one of her clients calling to tell her that her landlord had raped her. Understandably concerned but also puzzled why the woman was calling her, not, say, THE POLICE, she ran it by a co-worker. Co-worker rolled her eyes. "Again? She gets raped every three months. Ask her how many months behind in the rent she is." Answer: a few. But it's totally justified because the light is out in her hallway!

cause and effect

2012-01-23T13:27:00.003-05:00

That's right, isn't it? I never know when to use "affect" other than psychiatrically. It is, along with lay vs lie, my grammatical nemesis.

So, my water bill is $20 less this quarter and I wonder if that is due to my water heater dying for those two weeks or so. Did lack of bathing and extremely quick showers for two weeks really save me $20? Should I just start showering at the Y every day and use the proceeds to go on vacation?!?? Doesn't sound possible. My water bill is one of those things where I have no idea whether I am getting screwed or not. Sometimes it's higher and sometimes it's lower and I just can't understand why, in either direction. Hell, it probably should have been HIGHER this quarter due to those times I left the faucet running in the sink in my menopausal brain fog. Just imagine how much water that wasted! I am probably entirely responsible for the impending collapse of our ecosystem. On the other hand? Guess who has never watered her lawn EVAH?

I read an interesting discussion the other day about new appliances and how their being energy efficient is what causes them to break in 5 years rather than last 20 or 30 like they used to. I'm not quite sure I'm buying that. I think they're purposefully built to only last five years because the manufacturers have figured out that's how they make more money. Who is going to buy a new refrigerator if their old refrigerator is still keeping the food cold? (And their shelves aren't held together with duct tape. Ahem.) I mean, besides the stupid consumers who buy into "oh, it has to be x color because y color is out of style" or "ooo, look! it has a computer in the door!" I mean, you can always count on some people being a.) sheep or b.) distracted by shiny nonsense, but you can count on *more* people not wanting $100 worth of meat in their freezer to go bad.

I think I've tangented. Oh well. Happy Monday, all y'all.

xoxo

linguistic news

2012-01-20T14:10:00.002-05:00

I have a new favorite (cranky) saying: "You/they can just suck my non-existent dick."

Feel free to borrow it if you'd like. It works better if you're a girl, though.

Also, in light of recent revelations that Newt asked wife #2 for an open marriage, I would be remiss in not reminding you that when presidents get laid, YOU get paid. /important political discourse

Um, happy Friday, bitches. Carry on.

xoxo

it occurs to me

2012-01-17T12:24:00.001-05:00

...that I totally blew the joke on that last post.

The line should have been "...take a nice long vacation to somewhere you've never been in the company of family or friends that you actually like. If none of them are available, you could always take me!"

I miss my own obvious setup? See. I do need a vacation.

xoxo

P.S. Shutting up now!

the benefits of being out of the office

2012-01-17T11:03:00.002-05:00

My boss just returned from three weeks in Cambodia and Vietnam. Well, actually 2 1/2 weeks strictly speaking, because when you are going to the complete opposite side of the world, there is much time wasted in traveling. Anyway, we were expecting him back in the office today, but as of early this morning his office door was open, but he wasn't in there. As the staff trickled in, everyone was like, "Is he back? Is he back? Where is he?" (In case it is not clear, we look forward to his return.) I went over to the ATM to get twenty bucks so I could buy breakfast (broke on Tuesday, that's sad) and ran into him. He'd gone to grand rounds on us.

I cannot even tell you how much better he looked. Smiling. Relaxed. Rested. Non-gray (a good color for gowns and hoodies, I maintain, but not complexions.) I remarked on this and he said that he wasn't in fact rested, that they'd been on the go the entire trip, walking, hiking, climbing. And I pointed out that that is *totally* different than being here, swamped with work and aggravation. Seriously, he looks five years younger.

It made me wonder whether, if I could take three weeks away from my normal life (yeah, right), the huge circles and bags under my eyes would disappear and my complexion would regain some of its youthful healthy flush. Barring some kind of miracle, I'm never gonna find out, but it's nice to think about! My advice to you: screw the groupon plastic surgeons and dermatologists and, if you can afford it, take a nice long vacation to somewhere you've never been in the company of family or friends that you actually like. Don't check your email very much while you do. Beauty treatment, yo!

xoxo

and in more celeb news

2012-01-17T07:54:00.003-05:00

I needed something to read on the kindle while doing cardio. Y'know, something to distract me, at least until the endorphins kick in. And so, having enjoyed Keith Richard's autobiography immensely last year, I thought I would take a chance on the reminiscences of another drugged-out rock star, and I downloaded Steven Tyler's book.

Well. All I can say is, where was the editor? Was there an editor? Did the editor make the editorial decision that Mr Tyler's charm would be, like on American Idol, in his nonsensical and out-of-context babbling? Because, if so, wrong decision. What works as comic relief on a TV talent show doesn't hold up as, y'know, literature. I am only 7% through and we are still in Steven's childhood. Except not really in chronological order. Now Steven's 14! Now he's nine again! It's as if every time a train of thought led him to another memory, he just threw it in there. I am not sure I am going to be able to finish this. I may just have to skip ahead to the drugs, groupies, and dramatic fights with Joe Perry. (Speaking of which, Steven's already mentioned that later he would meet Joe as the best fry cook in NH and Joe would be at his fryolater with his glasses mended with tape. Much like Keith with Mick, I suppose there's no sense in writing a rock n' roll autobiography without taking the opportunity to make subtle, or not so subtle, digs at your bandmates.)

The only other thing I have unread on my kindle at the moment is an anthology of Lovecraft-inspired short stories, and I've already read the one by Neil Gaiman. So I am sure it's all downhill from there. Anyone read anything good lately? Gimme a rec, please.

xoxo

this

2012-01-16T21:24:00.006-05:00

...is a very pretty old woman.

This

...is apparently a woman who started drinking early. There's been a lot of internet and other media opinion that this dress is ugly, in particular the color. Is it wrong that I myself would think it were awesome if it wasn't completely see-through? If I were invited to a major awards show, I might wear a gray gown. Gray! It's the color of hoodies!

This

...is a woman who is rumored to be wearing fingerless gloves in all her recent appearances because she's trying to hide her old lady hands. If I were invited to a major awards show, I might need to do the same. Naaahhhhh. Madonna, we all know how old you are. We can google it. Your silly gloves are silly.

I'm too tired to do more.

xoxo

here's today's questions

2012-01-14T10:10:00.002-05:00

I got a groupon this morning offering me 67% off liposuction. I've in the past also seen them for laser eye surgery, spider vein treatment, and...I dunno, other medical treatments of the elective variety. Would it disturb you if your MD was resorting to groupon? I admit, it would me. Also, if they can afford to discount it that much, what is the markup on the original price?

Secondly, I clicked on it (yeah, yeah, I know) and it's actually a "noninvasive, FDA-approved Exilis radiofrequency system", not traditional liposuction per se. They blast your fat cells with radio frequencies. Is it me, or does this sound like a scam? Also, the fine print tells me that while I *may* see improvement after two sessions, a series of four is recommended. Oh! So that's how they can afford to discount it so much--they just suck you into buying another package. Does "FDA-approved" mean it isn't a complete scam or does that just mean it ain't gonna kill you?

I guess hope springs eternal. Everyone wants the magic bullet that's gonna make them thin without them doing any actual, y'know, work. Five people have bought this discount the last time I checked. I wish them and their cellulite the best of luck. I might just hold my thighs close to the microwave when I'm nuking a sweet potato for ten minutes. I'm sure that will do the same thing!

xoxo

things we must discuss

2012-01-10T09:52:00.003-05:00

I feel awfully behind. I have too much writing to do and not enough mental energy/concentration to do it. I blame that on the fact that I am back on a diet for the month of January. My body and brain function better with FOOD. LOTS of food. However as soon as February rolls around, I'ma go back to bulking and I'm bulking for the rest of the year, bitches. You will probably not be able to shut me up then. Anyway, amongst the emails I owe people and the journals and blogs I mean to comment in but haven't and the fact that I have a half-written (okay, quarter-) post waiting for me to finish on the other blog, there's also the fact that I want to discuss some shit with you all. We'll do that...now! Go!

1.) Unless you've been living under a rock/haven't seen any media the past couple days, you'll know by now that my favorite celeb couple, Jay-Z and Beyonce, finally had that baby of theirs. Her name is Blue Ivy. Ivy Blue would have sounded better, but no one asked for my imput. Hmmph. There's also a kurfluffle about them supposedly renting a whole hospital floor for a million bucks to deliver in, which the hospital denies, and also other maternity patients of the hospital bitching that all the extra security and so forth made their own hospital experience less than stellar. The Carter-Knowleses should just shut those whiners up with a ten thousand dollar college scholarship for each of their babies, nomsayin'? Also, in the song Hova wrote about his daughter's birth he confirmed that they did have a prior miscarriage. I'm glad to know that I figured that one out correctly.

2.) What's the deal about Ron Paul? Could someone please explain this to me? I saw this fluff piece on CNN over the weekend where they went to various bars in NH and asked the drinkers what beer they were having and whom they were voting for in the primary, and all the people drinking hipster beers like PBR were voting for Ron Paul. Also, there's this girl on one of my boards who's like 20, apparently a feminist, is planning on going to grad school for literature and becoming a college professor, and who is--how shall I put this?--um, not white, who has had a Ron Paul for President sig line for months, which I always was confused by and wondered if it was some kind of ironic thing I didn't get. But now I presume it isn't. Why do all these college kids and hipsters apparently like this Libertarian guy un-ironically? Can someone clue me in here. (I shoulda hooked up with that off-the-grid NH gun lover when I had the chance; I'm sure he could have filled me in on this shite.)

3.) I keep making streetlights go out when I walk underneath them. Seriously, I went out of a walk last night because I didn't make it to the gym, and it happened three times in 45 minutes. And it's been happening for weeks. Do you think I am developing super powers? Did a radioactive spider bite me when I was unaware? Oh! I forgot to tell you (I think). I woke up last weekone day with a bruise over the vein leading to my right thumb. It looked *exactly* like I had had an IV inserted there. I posited that blackmarket organ thieves broke into my house while I was sleeping and took a kidney but I couldn't find an incision. So then I went with my second theory, alien abduction. So this streetlight thing must be a side effect of my theoretical anal probing or whatever they did to me. See? I cleared that one up without your help. Still tells me nothing about Ron Paul though.

4.) I've wanted to say this for like three weeks but I've been afraid to jinx it. But now that we had a little snow flurry/dusting overnight it's safe. So: Guys! Isn't it awesome that it's the middle of winter and we have no snow and/or ice on the ground and that we've only had a few real cold days interspersed with a bunch of nice lovely warm ones???!?? This is a winter I can get behind, yo.

Okay. That's it for now.

xoxo

silver service

2012-01-06T16:48:00.000-05:00

Did you all know that those of us with mental illness and other associated brain problems have our own ribbon now? We do! It's silver. I learned this fact here.

Have I mentioned The Bloggess in here before? An online friend, someone with whom I discuss weightlifting and our past (and occasionally present) body image problems and our difficulties with getting the tradespeople we hire to actually come do work in our homes and the complexities of having male children--in other words, someone who really doesn't much know me at all, turned me on to this blog last summer, saying, "I think you'll like her. She writes just like you, so funny and witty." (Actually, since The Bloggess is fairly well-known and makes a living from her writing, the proper phrasing of that sentence is that *I* write just like her, but friends are friends, y'know?) I can't say that I am surprised that a writer who is funny and witty and smart and profane, someone who writes "just like me", turns out to struggle with severe depression, severe enough that she self-harms.

It calls to mind when M2 turned me on to David Foster Wallace, whose writing I had never to that point read. Mr Foster Wallace (Mr Wallace? I dunno if Foster is a middle or last name, mea culpa), in case you don't know, committed suicide a couple years ago or so. In that conversation M2 told me that his voice reminded her of me: really smart, really funny, but with a dark place.

It makes me wonder about the correlation between a certain kind of humor and the crazee. Obviously, it's a defense mechanism. I know I can tell all y'all a story about things my son did and said when he was psychotic in a way that is both hilarious and heartbreaking. But why the humor? Because it keeps the heart from actually breaking. "You gotta laugh or you'll cry." I grew up hearing that and I know the truth of it. Unfortunately in some cases--David Foster Wallace's suicide, The Bloggess's self-harm--it doesn't protect enough. Me, I'm still laughing more than I'm crying most of the time.

So, yeah. Silver ribbon. I'ma hold my breath till they start making silver mental illness awareness toasters and cosmetic bags and shoelaces. And when I turn blue, please apply mouth-to-mouth. I ain't lost my will to live yet.

xoxo

random things i like

2012-01-02T11:35:00.002-05:00

Happy New Year and namaste, bitches. Here are some pictures I have saved recently, most of which don't fit together stylistically in any kind of vision. But I really want that second light. There's got to be somewhere in this house it would go.

Yeah, yeah, I know this is what pinterest is for, and I really was gonna sign up for that, but they make you link it to a facebook account which, bite me, facebook.

xoxo

PS. I really should have had a tag for all my design posts, but I never made one and it's way too late now.

like a horror movie, only bettah

2011-12-28T20:42:00.000-05:00

Oh, hai. I know nobody's reading--a good portion of all y'all are on vacation this week, unlike your hard-working (ha!) blog hostess I might add, or otherwise occupied with your "lives" n' shit--but I will nevertheless babble on. It's what I do. Consistency and all.

So today I decided to move out my refrigerator and clean behind it while I was also cleaning the hell out of the rest of the kitchen. The reason for that we'll get to later<--foreshadowing, bitches. Now lemme say this. You all know I am seriously domestically challenged in some matters. There are huge holes in my knowledge base when it comes to these things and also a certain disinterest. I tend to clean what I can see is dirty when I notice it's dirty (which sometimes is promptly and sometimes is well after a naturally housekeeping-alert person would notice same) and clean everything else when the planets align correctly. Or never. Whichever comes first. Which is all leading up to the fact--which you can probably guess, 'cause my readers are an intelligent bunch--that I haven't moved the refrigerator all the way out in, well, a number of years that would probably embarrass the average person to admit. I, on the other hand, have no shame. But also? In my defense, I didn't realize that refrigerator pulled out so easily. <--more foreshadowing, yo.

I wish I had taken pictures. There was in places about half an inch of...gunk...stuck to the floor. Also, dust bunnies so big that one of them actually clogged the hose in my dyson. I had to take it apart to clear it out. It takes one hell of a killer dust bunny to disable an expensive vacuum cleaner. You have to admit that's impressive. I turned three buckets of water/Mrs Meyers pitch black before I got all the gunk off the floor. That's also pretty impressive. If I do say so myself.

It occurs to me that "normal" people probably pull out their refrigerator and clean behind and under it like twice a year or something. (The first person who tells me no, they do that every month, is getting a punch in the head.) I dunno. Where's the satisfaction in that? When you do it every ::mumble:: years, it's a fun big project that leaves you feeling like you've really accomplished something, *and* gives you amusing anecdotes. When you do it twice a year, it's just another tedious chore.

After I did that, I washed my walls and my cabinets. Remember the last time I decided to completely degrease everything in my kitchen? That lead to a trip to the ED and then three months of freaking out I was going blind from eye fungus. Fun times! I did not spray anything above my head and look up at it today. Who says I never learn from experience? Also, washing my cabinet doors only took like an hour or two as opposed to two days like it did then. See, you do *that* every two years and you get no good stories out of it. Sigh. I have to say, however, that with the new hardware I put on the cabinets then and keeping them clean and without a build-up of dulling crud on them, I have decided I actually kind of like them, unfashionable as they may be. Which is just as well, because they aren't getting torn out anytime soon.

Now here's where we go back to why I tried to move the refrigerator and I ask you for an opinion. Which is a waste of fucking typing because a.) y'all aren't reading and b.) any time I ask for opinions or advise, no one can even be arsed to give me some anyway. (I swear, it's okay to tender advice. I won't hold you to it. If I don't like it, I won't take it. NO PRESSURE.)

As mentioned previously, I've been looking at lighting. Looking at lighting for the hallway has me also looking at lighting for the kitchen. And thinking about other things for the kitchen. I've been reading design/decorating forums again. Someone on one of these forums where people have fancy shmancy kitchens, many of which are the size of some people's friggin apartments, said she had moved into a new house with a kitchen that still had cabinets from the 50s but had vinyl flooring that had been put in within the last ten years. And to her surprise, she found she kinda loved it. Not the looks of that particular vinyl, but the fact that it was soft and warm and very easy to care for and didn't shatter whatever you dropped on it. She started asking about alternative flooring to the standard fancy shmancy hardwood or tile in kitchens. (You may or may not remember, but two years ago when I was last thinking about this *I* told y'all I didn't want tile or hardwood in the kitchen, no matter that I was supposed to.) People told this lady about trendy shit like cork and marmoleum, but a surprising number of them said, hell, yeah, luxury vinyl tile! It's come a long way and you shouldn't discount it. Then they showed pictures of their fancy shmancy houses with vinyl flooring in their kitchens or baths or laundry rooms or mudrooms.

Which eventually led to to looking at this on the Home Depot website.

At least in the picture, it is very close to the wood color of my cabinets, my baseboards and my hardwood in the other rooms. It is also dirt cheap. I think I figured it out and it would cost me like $300 for a new floor. And all the reviews say it's ridiculously easy to install and looks good. (Except for the one disgruntled customer. There's always one disgruntled customer. Who types in all caps.) So I was thinking about it. It's floating. You put it down on top of the floor you got. That's why I experimentally tried moving the refrigerator, because I thought that might be a bitch. It wasn't. I don't even think I'd have to move the stove. The vinyl that's in there now doesn't go all the way to the wall beneath it.

So my question is, do you think I could attempt this? I was thinking I could maybe bribe a couple of my friends who also know nothing about installing floors to help me with it in exchange for food. Just for, y'know, moral support. (Mr Indemnity, if I could convince him to help, is at least good at measuring shite. I helped him put up new curtain rods a few months ago and he was very precise with that measuring tape. Ell oh ell.)

Okay. I'ma go wash my kitchen floor, because the rest of that hasn't been done yet.

xoxo

in which i probably get myself in trouble

2011-12-26T20:20:00.001-05:00

Again.

So, last night after I had had three...possibly four, I lost track...glasses of vinho verde and my son was napping on the couch with his belleh full of chocolate molten lava cake instead of amusing me with Scrabble, I amused myself. (This is, I may say, one of the most useful parts of being an only child. You learn at a very young age to amuse yourself. Comes in handy.) What'd you do, Andrea? Well, kids, I watched many many different youtube clips purporting to teach me how to change out my own light fixtures. They all agreed that this is an extremely simple procedure that any moron can do in, like, 15 minutes or less. In my semi-drunken state, I agreed that, yes!, it looks moron-proof.

So then I spent tons more time looking at flushmount fixtures online so I can replace the ones in the hallway I just painted. (One of them is fairly non-offensive other than the shiny brass 80s trim on it; the other is the ugliest thing you will have ever seen, unless you also saw the chandelier that used to hang over my dining room table until I had the new pretty one put in a couple years ago--that thing was even more heinous.) I am thinking of replacing both of them with these:

Boob lights. I am really not overly fond of boob lights, but your choices of simple, inexpensive flushmount lights suitable for a hallway are not extensive. Most of them are boob lights. Or they are these:

which are basically the same as the non-offensive one that's already up there, in a different finish. All well and good, but I hate changing the lightbulbs in those things. Hate. Thinking the boob light might be easier.

Anyway, I went to my favorite store today to look at what they have not on the internet in way of lighting and while I was there, I bought something that some, but not all, of the youtube videos told me I should have for this job: a voltage detector. Just in case flipping the breaker didn't really work. Or something. I dunno how that could happen, but better safe than sorry and it only costs $15 and it is a cool tool. Fool n' her money, blah blah fucking blah. I also looked at new toilet seats because my son cracked his, but didn't buy one because when I was standing there in the aisle I could not swear to you what shape the old one is. I was 90% sure it was "elongated" rather than round, but there was the little nagging seed of doubt. Then I wandered down another aisle I usually don't go in and what did I find but new registers for the heat. I want some of those too! But, again, I couldn't tell you by eyeballing what size all the different ones I have are, so I need to whip out my tape measure and return at another time.

Provided I don't electrocute myself first.

Love n' kisses,
Any Moron

xoxo

merry xmas, adventurers

2011-12-24T20:15:00.001-05:00

See title.

Do you know what Santa brought me for Christmas? After it hasn't happened since July, and blood tests that showed my FSH was through the roof, and I gave the Benevolent L almost every tampon and maxipad I had in this house? That's right! My period! Should I be surprised? Probably not!

My theory is that my little mini-diet I went on to shed my bulking fat liberated some of the stored estrogen my chub cells were hanging onto and spat it out into my bloodstream.

What Santa (really my boss E) actually brought me today was a Christmas Eve deep tissue massage. Holy fuck, did I need it. I don't know if I mentioned it but I screwed up my right shoulder doing dips several weeks ago, and since then both my shoulders and my neck have been so tight I've been waking up with faux carpal tunnel syndrome from my brachial plexis being compressed. Fun times! Meanwhile I think I also tweaked my SI joint a little and my hips and low back got really tight too. So basically I was a mess. (I hope someone bought me the foam roller I put on my wishlist! I thought D would, but my Christmas present from him is the wrong size for it to be that.) I didn't realize till I was on the table today that my IT bands were also fucked. I could barely stand for her to touch them. Eek! Think that's contributing to the tight hips, kids? Anyway, my massage was very nice, though I kind of wish I had had enough prezzie money to spring for a 90 minute treatment.

Downtown Salem was surprisingly deserted today. Then I went to TJMaxx and found out where the populace was. Sigh. I decided at the last minute to get D a new hoodie because I realized the auxiliary one he wears when the one he likes is in the wash has a huge rip in the sleeve. And since I won't turn up the heat, it's the least I can do, right? While I was there I bought myself a Bruins hooded t-shirt for the gym from Santa. Then I went to the wine store for...oh, you figure it out. At the cash register, much like candy for children, they had tempting nips. I bought myself a mini ~~Baileys~~ Godiva liquer which I will begin drinking very shortly, as Christmas Eve calls for cocoa, no?

I hope all y'all get everything you wish and hope for...

...without any Grinchiness in your life to spoil it...

...and without your having to pimp yourselves out for prezzies...

And for those of you whose fondest Christmas wish is that I stop posting stoopid cat pictures, here is my present to you:

Feliz Navidad, mis dulces amigos y amigas.

xoxo

wrapping...

2011-12-22T15:10:00.000-05:00

up some odds n' ends. (Oh, a Christmas-related pun. We're all topical up in here, bitches.)

Mr Waldman's minions (one familiar, one new) came yesterday as scheduled and I have a correctly working kitchen faucet, a garbage disposal, and the ability to use both sides of my double sink. I am very sure this is worth the huge check I wrote them, if not least for the fact that my friends will no longer spray themselves in the face accidentally while attempting to use said sink. Plus, my new faucet is pretty. So pretty and retro. Mr Waldman's minions told me it's a good faucet, too, nice and heavy and sturdy. Got the thumbs up. They had to re-pipe because the new garbage disposal didn't connect exactly the way the other one did, even though I bought the exact model they told me to. They didn't charge me for this, on the hush-hush. I promised I would not call their boss and demand to be charged more. Ha!

Plumber #1 and I bonded over the fact that I made them listen to 90s music the whole time they were in my house. (Hey, I was paying them enough that *they* did not get to pick the radio station, you know?) He told me he was going to see Tool at the Gahden and also that he had seen No Doubt and Bush tour in the 90s, which is the tour Gwen and Gavin hooked up during. I told him that was historic. Lulz. This was, by the way, after they already told me they weren't going to charge me for putting in the new pipes, so it wasn't like our embarrassing shared musical tastes were responsible.

In other news, I still have not finished painting the back door. Also, I think I fucked up my dryer when I pulled it out from the wall to paint. Smooth move, Andrea. I need an effin' keeper. Should have ascertained whether Plumber #1 was single. Maybe he needed a date for Tool.

And in other, other news, I have eaten nothing today but cookies. And I am not even ashamed to admit it. I went to Costco yesterday after my plumbing adventures and there were people handing out food samples literally every twenty feet. We tried all of them, pretty much, from the tempting (tiramisu, six kinds of cheese) to the not-so (granola bar chunks, dry cereal), JUST BECAUSE IT WAS THERE. I will be detoxing after New Years', but right now my body is saying, yo! feed me moah! and I am listening.

Okay. Happy December 22, all y'all.

xoxo

this is weird

2011-12-20T19:13:00.002-05:00

I had on CNN in the background and there was a commercial for... Kazakhstan. The country. In Central Asia. Opining on what a wonderful, modern place it is. It wasn't even suggesting we all pack our suitcases and come visit or anything. It was just saying, yeah, Kazakhstan's cool.

Okay.

I kept waiting for it to be some kind of parody or something, but it wasn't.

Has anyone else seen this? I swear to god, if I ingested any psychoactive drugs this afternoon, it was by accident.

In other news, I came home this afternoon to (besides very odd advertising on CNN) a very warm, comfortable house. Then I realized that was because my son put the thermostat on 68 while I was at work. Oh, we are gonna have a talk about this later. It ain't gonna be 68 in here this winter unless he gets a job to pay my electric bill. Grr.

Finally, did I tell you about my experimental banana bread last week? I can't remember. Anyway, it didn't come out very well, but I'm trying again tonight. After I run to the store, which I should be doing instead of typing to you all. Long, long time readers will remember my historic inability to make zucchini bread, even though I tried for many summers in a row with a plethora of different recipes. Banana bread seems to be going down the same route. But yet I persist. Just like, um, Kazakhstan! Yeah, that's it...Kazakhstan!

xoxo

this morning's little adventure

2011-12-17T13:23:00.000-05:00

My doorknob malfunctioned and I was locked in my bedroom. I was like, huh. I have no tools in here to take the doorknob off. How'm I getting out? (In future I'll have to start sleeping with a screwdriver beneath my pillow.) Luckily my son was awake, heard me rattling the knob, and came up to see if I needed help.*** Then he freed me with a very specialized piece of equipment, by which I mean a quarter. One two three: you can't make this shit up! That would have been the best call-in of all time: "Uh, yeah, I'd love to come to work, but unfortunately I am trapped in my bedroom." Okay, okay, I could have done an Evil Kitty move, popped out my window screen and climbed out onto the garage roof if I really had to. None of the neighbors were probably awake at 5:45 on a Saturday to witness it, so I'd have even probably kept my dignity intact. If I didn't break anything getting off the roof.

Speaking of you can't make this shit up: prison bus convo the other day. Young woman bitching on her cell phone for twenty straight minutes about someone (relative? freeloading friend?) who is living at her house and pissing her off at every turn. "She don't want to work. She wants to sit at home all day, smoking and eating. She's a stripper--she can't afford to get any fatter!" Ell. Oh. Ell. Honey, you just said she doesn't want a job. What does she care if she outgrows her pasties and thong?

xoxo

***People who live alone: learn from my experience and keep tools in your nightstand! Though I guess most people who live alone don't close their bedroom doors at night? I would anyway in the winter, because it maximizes my space heater output. It was like a sauna in there this morning. Cozy! But, yeah, my skin looks like shite.

i am bemused

2011-12-16T08:11:00.003-05:00

As of this morning, IT refuses to let me look at my own other blog because of pr0n content. Apparently pictures of me in my underwear WITH ALL MY PARTS COVERED are too hawt for Partners Healthcare. And this is probably going on my permanent record somewhere. I can't even tell you how amused/appalled this makes me. Should I appeal it?!??

I will of course have to write a post on it over there, ranting about how some computer dweebs are sexualizing totally non-sexual pictures that are meant to show my muscular development, muscular development which is a hard-won product of many hours at the gym working my ass off, and which is done for me, not for "the male gaze." Fuckers. I bet I could out-deadlift every one of them.

Um, hi, kids. How are you all? I finally got almost all of my Christmas shopping done. This is what my son asked for: a multi-pack of the fish oils he likes, two pairs of Champion (so not even expensive) basketball shorts, and a $50 amazon gift card. It is a far cry from the days when I would have to hit up every Toys R Us and discount store in eastern Massachusetts, looking for some illusive action figure that everyone was sold out of, lest my kid's Christmas be totally ruined. On the one hand, yeah, a much more pleasant shopping experience. On the other? It's kind of sad to me that he really wants nothing--sad for reasons that are hard for me to explain. But I don't wanna get all holiday-melancholy here, because you know this time of year is hard for me and I've been doing pretty good staving off those feelings. Better just to channel them into rage against those IT bastards.

xoxo

people get paid for this writing

2011-12-13T12:14:00.003-05:00

I mentioned how recently I've been getting a gazillion emails a day from retailers who wish to sell me their merchandise for the holidays? Well, I am on the email list of Spanx. You know, the "shapewear" (i.e. let's not call a girdle and controltop tights a girdle and controltop tights) people? And in my email box RIGHT NOW I have a missive entitled "It's the Most Wonderful Time for the Rear!"

R U Serious? Someone signed off on that groan-inducer?

I think this is one of those cases in which really bad advertising would actually deter me from buying what is in reality a good product. Especially when they go on to tell me that I should give myself "the ultimate gift of lift". Who the fuck thinks this is clever? I'm just...wow.

xoxo

P.S. I scared myself yesterday listing how behind I was on Christmas, so I went out and bought almost all my son's stocking stuffers. That's something, right?

i'll take "caved" for $400, alex

2011-12-12T12:53:00.003-05:00

1.) Okay, Saturday night I turned on the heat. December 10th, baby.

2.) Decided on a paint color for the back door without another fucking $4.00 sample and started painting. It's gonna take four or five coats to cover the poop brown, even with the primer in the paint. But it *has* begun.

3.) I also bought two Christmas presents Friday, which makes a grand total of...3. I better cave on that a little quicker.

4.) Despite having one more week to go on my pre-Christmas diet, I made dinner for the Benevolent L yesterday and ate a shit ton.

5.) And I'm about to cave and call the plumber to come back and install my new faucet and garbage disposal, since, y'know, I got a bonus.

What have you caved on recently?

xoxo

money changes everything

2011-12-09T12:32:00.002-05:00

I'm recycling. Apparently it's ecology day here at The Adventures. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, don't worry. It's not you, it's me. Ha!)

Now, onto business. My boss just informed me this morning that with Albert Pujols' new contract, he will be making $63,000 every day for the next ten years. Not every day he plays baseball. Every day that he is breathing. "How could you even spend that much money?" I mused. We agreed it would be difficult, but that we'd like to try. Just for, like, a year. No need to be greedy.

My boss also told me that Albert has a kid with Downs, so he has a Downs charity. We thought that was a good way for him to spend some of his moolah. Also, he should be tipping every cab driver and every waitress he comes into contact with with hundred dollar bills. That's what we would do. E said that he himself would buy a private plane so he could say screw the TSA. I would buy beachfront property, plus a really nice apartment right in town (maybe Man-well's old place?). And a sailboat, that I would then hire someone to sail for me. I don't want to learn how to sail, I just wanna go out onto the ocean in the summer and lie in the sun and swim off the side and drink. Swimming *before* drinking, yo. Safety first! And of course I would give to charity and take care of my friends and loved ones. I'm not a douche.

Ahhh, it's been nice daydreaming with all y'all. But for now Mr Pujols will continue to make more in a day than I do in a year. Sigh. If only I had been born the other gender, maybe my Bulgy Polish Catcher's Thighs would have gotten me somewhere in pro athletics.

xoxo

is it...is it...

2011-12-06T21:32:00.005-05:00

Why, yes! It is Kitschmas time again!

The (in)famous tree:

Yeah, yeah, the shot's a little crooked. Lean when you look at it.

This year's dining room centerpiece:

You wouldn't believe how many times I emptied that vase out and tried again till I got it how I wanted.

Rope lights up the stairs:

The woodstove:

End table:

Foyer:

And, lastly, tasteful candle in the window:

xoxo

aesthetic notes

2011-12-06T10:12:00.000-05:00

1.) Because I do a lot of online shopping, I have been getting a shitload of emails trying to sell me stuff for Christmas. Every morning I delete and/or read about twenty and then more dribble in throughout the day. This is in addition to the giant stack of catalogs my poor postman has to dump into my mailbox just about every day. If these companies are tanking, it ain't due to lack of trying. But, anyway, I got an email from CB2 (which is to Crate and Barrel as West Elm is to Pottery Barn, and why yes, I did kick ass on those analogy questions on the SATs 30+ years ago) this morning, trying to sell me this:

Um, yeah. It's a wooden Connect 4 game, suitable for display. Now, as you know, there is a very long tradition of people having beautiful, elaborate chess sets that are left out as part of their decor. What message does it send to your giftee, or what message would they be conveying if they did leave this out on the ol' coffee table? "Too stupid to actually play chess!" (Which, frankly, I myself am, but I feel no need to broadcast it.) "Think I'm a clever, ironic hipster, but don't have the balls to display an *actual* Connect 4 game!" "People who really could give a shit about me, or might just actively dislike me, nevertheless are forced to buy me holiday gifts!" Did I miss any?

2.)I was walking by a real estate office the other day, and as I always do if I'm not in a rush, I looked at the listings up in their windows. Well. This one had a four bedroom condo in downtown Salem, in which everything like heat and electrical had been totally updated in 2007, listed at $279,900, which I thought was a damn attractive price for 4 bedrooms in a prime, convenient location with a water heater that probably isn't about to burst anyday now. Not that I'm in the position to buy it, but I was curious. So last night I went on mls to see if I could find it. This is it, if you're curious. So, naturally, while looking for it, I got sucked into looking at a bazillion other listings. And my takeaway was this: looking at other people's furnishings? people who apparently are doing the best they can to sell their homes? Most people have absolutely no taste or ability to arrange their possessions in a pleasing manner. Do you know how many condos I looked at that had beautiful hardwoods with absolutely NO area rugs? The furniture is just dropped there without anything to anchor it, and it looks idiotic. Plus there's an epidemic of my pet peeve: beds without headboards. And then there are all the living rooms centered on the gigantic TV without anything else pretty in the room to draw the eye. I guess I get brainwashed by rate my space and apartment therapy and the like into feeling like my house is super inadequate because it needs repairs and updating and I can't afford new furniture, but man, this is a nice counterpoint to reminding me that I at least am trying to make my crappy stuff look as attractive as I can.

3.) Speaking of which, figuring out what color orange to paint that door is killing me. First sample was all wrong. Back to Home Depot and the drawing board later today!

xoxo

things i must tell you, part whatever

2011-12-02T19:31:00.003-05:00

Okay, no one's holding a gun to my head or anything. I just want to share. We'll get back to substantive posts sometime soon, but right now I'm not really up to it. Some of you know, I'm on a diet again. Just till the week before Christmas. I've also not been sleeping well in general. Put the lack of proper sleep together with the absence of the 2200 calories a day to which I have become accustomed and you have an Andrea who is dragging ass. I have all these ideas for things I want to write about, here and elsewhere, but when I sit down at the computer I can't summon up the energy to be coherent, never mind entertaining. So, soon. But not now. Now you just get odds n' ends.

1.) Found out yesterday on the hush-hush that the hospital is giving us bonuses this year. Substantial bonuses. (Well, substantial if you get paid what I do. Not substantial for people who have actual well-paying jobs. I'm sure some of you all get bonuses that make the one we're getting look like couch change.) We *never* get bonuses. Usually employee appreciation is like "join us for an ice cream social in the cafeteria!" So this is good. Official announcement is supposed to be on Monday. Money's supposed to be in our checks Thursday. Yay.

2.) My hallway paint looks better after sitting a week. I'm sure you were worried.

3.) I still haven't put my heat on this year and no one's gone down with either frostbite or hypothermia. I do, however, want one of these or similar. I asked D if he wanted one, like for Christmas, and he said no. He sleeps in a hoodie anyway. Sometimes with the hood over his head. Fruit of my womb.

4.) I got email yesterday from a guy who wants to, and I quote, jizz on my bicep. That's...charming. I think I'm going to Northeast Animal Shelter this weekend and start on the cat collection. This whole heterosexual relationship business seems like more trouble than it is worth.

5.) I have pretty much stopped having hot flashes. Also, I have not done anything spectacularly stupid lately. Apparently my hormones are settling down.

6.) I did NOT see that ending of The`Walking Dead coming, but I'm glad that plot line is tied up. Now no more shows till February. WTF?

7.) I have bought exactly one Christmas present and haven't even begun thinking about what to do with decorations this year. Well, I take that back. I'm toying with the idea of putting up the infamous white Xmas tree. Maybe.

Okay, enough's enough. Smooches, bitches.

xoxo

damn you, internet

2011-12-01T10:48:00.003-05:00

I can't find this online yet to share with you, but on CNN they just showed a clip from Conan O'Brien spoofing Herman Cain's latest ad.

Pic of Jimmy Carter. Pic of Jimmy and Roslyn. Voiceover: Jimmy Carter never cheated on his wife, and we had x% unemployment, and 7(?)% inflation. Pic of Bill Clinton, then pics of all his paramours. Voiceover: Bill Clinton cheated on his wife every chance he got, and we had (smaller)x% unemployment, 1% inflation, and a balanced budget. Pic of Herman Cain. Voiceover: Herman Cain. Because when presidents get laid, YOU get paid!

hahahahaha

I died. I am dead. I hope you can see this clip yourselves, and damn you, internet, why is this not on youtube immediately?

xoxo

Remember: when presidents get laid, YOU get paid!

in the news

2011-11-28T13:56:00.000-05:00

Leaving aside all other considerations, can we just discuss how abysmally stupid a person would have to be to be looking at illegal porn on his laptop in an extremely cramped public space like an airplane? I mean, is this one of those "cries for help, begging to be caught" kinda things or is this pedophile just that stupid? And I mean, WHY? Are you actually going to wank on an airplane? (Don't answer that. If that's common practice, I don't want to know, and god knows, I never even go anywhere anymore. But, ewwwww.)

I'm just assuming you know what I'm talking about but if not, here you go.

The other interesting point to be made is that since everyone's got camera phones and video now, you should think twice, thrice, and another time for good measure, before you do anything in public you don't want the cops, your boss, your mom, or your significant other to see. There's no plausible deniabilty when some stranger captures you on video. Big Brother may or may not be watching, but your fellow citizens probably are. Which is good when it means criminals and predators are caught, obviously, but perhaps not so good when you have certain parts of your life you'd like to keep compartmentalized from other parts. There's nothing illegal or immoral about, say, dressing up like Dolly Parton on the occasional Saturday night, but you might like to have the neighbors or the guy in the next cube over remain blissfully ignorant of your propensity to do so. Which could be difficult should you inadvertently end up on youtube, nomsayin?

In summary, what color should I paint my damn door?

xoxo

the door

2011-11-27T18:19:00.003-05:00

Okay, I dunno what that wall color looks like on your monitor, but it's supposed to be a medium grayed-down aqua. (I say supposed to be, because I'm not sure it's not looking in reality somehow both brighter and darker than it did on the sample I've been looking at on my walls for two years. We'll see after it cures.) The door is poop brown. Ignore the blue painter's tape. The woodwork is oak (I think.) The carpet's being pulled out. I just bought an orange runner on overstock that's gonna only cover a bit of the hardwood.

My first thought is the door should be shiny black, because I like black and aqua together. It looks klassy. But what light comes through that door is the only natural light that hallway gets, and it ain't much. I'm afraid the darkish color on the walls is already too dark and a black door, even if shiny, would look horrid. The next thought is that the door should be cream or the like to lighten shit up. Except I don't wanna think how many coats of paint it would take to cover that brown. Then I thought...orange? That would be cheerful and Andrea-ish. Too much? Other suggestions?

Help me, blog readers of exquisite good taste and discernment.

Also? More 90s channel listening today has brought to my attention that they play far more Bush and No Doubt than would be correlated to how important either of those bands were. The only explanation that makes sense is that Gwen Stefani owns Sirius/XM and/or DirecTV. Hey, she's rich as fuck. It could happen.

xoxo

seasonal music and decor dilemma

2011-11-27T08:34:00.002-05:00

I woke up with this song stuck in my head.

I was lying there in bed, waiting for my arm to become functional again after being lain on for x number of hours, and I thought "I will look that up on youtube when I get up and post the video on my blog, because it's seasonal." You know, because of the line "they have never been poor, they have never had the joy of a welfare Christmas" which is, face it, a genius line. Then my mind wandered and I started thinking about the time Mr Barma and I were in this bar and the teeny little Asian cocktail waitress had a huge tattoo that said SUBLIME and it was impossible to know whether she was a mega-fan of the band or whether she just had really solid self-esteem. Imagine my chagrin when I actually got out of bed and to my computer and realized that that song is *not* a Sublime song.

Sigh. The Benevolent L and I just went over this last summer. Bradley Nowell and Art Alexakis are not the same person. Bradley Nowell was the lead singer of Sublime and he OD'd. Art Alexakis was the lead singer of Everclear and he is, as far as I know, still very much alive. But listen to this:

Don't they have a very similar vocal quality? Plus, the 90s were a long time ago. How the hell am I supposed to keep this shit straight?

Anyway, the reason I had "I Will Buy You a New Life" stuck in my head when I woke up was that I must have heard it yesterday while listening to the 90s channel on satellite radio again while I was...wait for it...wait for it...painting my hallway. Yup, if it's a major holiday weekend, that means Andrea is painting shit again. When I finish painting later today, I will try to get a picture up, because I need advice, all y'all. The back door to my porch, which is painted a horrible poop brown, looks especially bad next to the new wall color and I need to know what I should do with it. But now I must go get ready and get my ass to the gym so I can come back and finish that.

Later!

xoxo

anyone wanna come clean my kitchen?

2011-11-24T19:29:00.006-05:00

No? Well, it was worth a try.

I guess I'll just lie here on my loveseat awhile longer, listening to the Reality Bites station on satellite radio and digesting. (Nothing says the holidays like Alice in Chains, yo.) Maybe the good-dishes-washing fairy will come while I get my grunge fix.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.

xoxo

stop the insanity!

2011-11-21T12:18:00.003-05:00

Remember this chick?

This post has nothing to do with her. I just wanted to use her catch phrase as my title and it dinged something in the recesses of my brain.

Nope, the insanity I would like to stop is the fact that last night on the way to my house, the Benevolent L and I saw three houses already completely festooned with Christmas lights, one on the Revere Beach Parkway, and two on 107. There was another one we almost counted, but it was decorated in orange lights and we kinda thought it probably was someone who hasn't taken down their Halloween decorations yet. Or maybe they're just gonna multi-purpose them.

N E Way, I do not approve of Christmas lights going up on people's houses the day after Thanksgiving, so I sure as hell do not approve of them in mid-November. I am sorry to bitch about this every year (look back, I'm pretty sure I have!) but it really pisses me off.

But you know what is hilarious? Another thing The Benevolent L and I were talking about is my now-official menopause, and I was telling her that the one bright spot she has to look forward to is that the hormonal mood swings are g.o.n.e. Things that used to irritate me so fucking much (at the wrong time of the month, obvs) no longer do so! I think that is leading us to more of a rant-free and possibly less entertaining blog, boys and girls, but take solace in the fact that some things, like Christmas decorations in the autumn, will continue to prod me to complain.

Plus, if the choice is between entertaining yous people and not having my boobs be sore twenty days out of every month like during the perimenopause hormonal flux, I will take the non-sore boobs. Sorry, but that is just the way it is.

xoxo

intrigued, horrified...

2011-11-17T12:46:00.000-05:00

It's all on the same continuum, right? This both makes me kinda want to gag, but also to try it. It looks very labor-intensive though. Maybe it's the kind of thing you make for guests you really don't like all that much, such that you get to mess around and make it, then have the added satisfaction of watching them politely eat it when they maybe want to gag? I've given up ever entertaining people I don't actually like, though, so I can't even do that. But maybe it's actually tasty? I know some people swear by Thanksgiving-leftover sandwiches, but that was never a "thing" in my family. As far as I am concerned, cranberry sauce goes on the side of your plate, gets eaten with a fork, and doesn't touch your other food.

What's up with Thanksgiving being so early this year anyway? It seems too close to my birthday, even though it's NOT on the earliest possible date. Maybe I'm just in denial because I ain't ready for all this holiday nonsense, followed by the two to three months of freezing cold and snow nonsense.

In other news, I really need a massage.

Happy Thursday!

xoxo

really, I'm stepping up to the plate on titles any day now

2011-11-12T11:50:00.000-05:00

So. In the last two days I have received two packages from amazon containing birthday presents. (Not too late to visit my wishlist, kids. You have till Friday not to be tardy. You'll just have to pay expedited shipping for your slacking.) One of them contained a medium-sized item (new George Forman grill with the removable plates) and one contained a small-medium item (Total Gym pull up bar). Both of them came encased in giant cloth bags cinched with ribbon. I mean, giant bags. You could fit small children in them. It's fairly hilarious.

My son, purchaser of the pull up bar, sneered at it and said, "I THOUGHT they were going to gift wrap that for me." I was like, "That's it. That *is* the gift wrapping." This was not apparently what he was envisioning when he paid the gift wrap surcharge. On the other hand, I'm sure that giant bag has the potential for many re-uses. Like we could...hide a toddler in there? I dunno. But I'm sure it'll come in handy someday.

It did crack me up. I'm sure this is a cost-cutting device, because now you don't have to pay someone to nicely cut and fold and tape wrapping paper. Some warehouse worker now just needs to select a giant bag that more or less fits the item, plop it in there, and cinch the bag. Et voila!

Does anyone remember the mid-90s amazon? Whenever you bought anything, you got a plethora of freebies: sticky notes, notepads, pens, all kinds of swag. I mean, I know it was advertising, but it was useful shit for free. Eventually, as they took over the world, that got downgraded to bookmarks. And now, not only don't you get anything for nothing, you don't even get real gift wrapping when you pay for it. I do think they were the online company that started the free shipping bandwagon, though, and now most places have it, so I do give them props for that. But, otherwise? Customer service/appreciation has gone down the tubes.

And such is life, I guess. I did notice yesterday that CNN had changed their Penn State terminology to "sex abuse scandal" so apparently I wasn't the only person enraged by their nomenclature on Thursday.

Happy Saturday, kids! Hide n' Seek with giant gift bags starts...NOW!

xoxo

you know what is pissing me off? and more again!

2011-11-10T12:53:00.000-05:00

CNN keeps referring to the Penn State business as a "sex scandal." No. A married politician cheating on his or her spouse is a sex scandal. A public figure's embarrassing sex tape being leaked is a sex scandal. A celebrity being arrested for visiting prostitutes is a sex scandal. Little boys being fondled and/or sodomized by a grown man in a locker room shower is not a sex scandal. It is a child abuse scandal. Rape =/= sex. Sorry, CNN, you morons, you.

.....................................................................................

In kinder, gentler, much more happy news, I think I forgot to tell you all, but guess who stopped by our offices last week? Our Lil MILF! She is alive, well, still working for the Commonwealth approving people for subsidized housing, still working on her degree, and still without a man. And full of hilarious anecdotes as usual. Miss her! I hugged the crap out of her before remembering she doesn't like to be hugged. Heh. She was hugging back though. I think working here, we desensitized her to the whole not liking to be touched business.

.....................................................................................

And can you stand one more (okay, maybe two more) stories about the online dating fiasco?

1.) So, last week, I added some stuff to my profile. An additional answer to the question "I spend a lot of time thinking about..." was how snoozeworthy all the profiles on here are; try harder, muthafuckas. And we wonder why I don't have me a man. I'm sitting home alone polishing my Miss Congeniality trophy every night. No, seriously though, if you're not gonna love me for me, I don't want you, muthafucka. But I was noticing that since I added that I hadn't gotten any mail from any new people who I hadn't already corresponded with. Which made me conclude that the men of OKC are either humorless, easily intimidated, or offended by comic profanity. Or all three! But then I got mail yesterday from this dude who said, "I *am* trying harder, muthafucka!" and "I think I may be in love", wink wink. Apparently he likes cranky chicks. He invited me to peruse his profile and write back if I thought we might click. Well. First of all he lives 72 miles away in East Bumfuck, NH. Secondly, whilst living in East Bumfuck, NH, he is "mostly off the grid", likes week-long wilderness trips, and thinks everyone ought to own a gun. But he also believes in most of the liberal blue state hooha I do, like gay marriage and abortion rights blah blah. So, I ask you: scary Libertarian survivalist or no? And I probably shouldn't respond to say thanx but no thanx, right?

2.) So the other thing that happened while I was on last night checking out possibly scary Libertarian survivalist profiles was that I got on the side of my screen a "you might like..." of a gentleman whose compatibility with me was apparently so low that on the profile tab where you can see how they answered their multiple choice questions and compare with your own answers, a tab which usually says something like "about you two", it instead said "y'all got problems." I think I laughed for five minutes when I noticed that. I should probably go on a date with someone who the computer says is 40% my enemy just so I can report on the conversation to you all. Maybe including cell phone footage of me throwing my glass of wine in his face or something! Good times.

Okay, that's all for now! Happy Thursday that's really like a Friday...muthafuckas.

xoxo

update

2011-11-09T17:44:00.002-05:00

I did wash my hair before going to Home Depot, but I also went to the gym before going to Home Depot, so the sweat probably cancelled out any beautifying effect. Indeed, not only did I not meet my contractor future second ex-husband today, the plethora of orange-clad gentlemen who usually flock to help me did not appear. It was kinda demoralizing. I must really look like shit today. However, even without any help, I found the Badger5, and it costs $99.99 there, as opposed to the $77.whatever it's going for on amazon. With tax, that's close to a thirty dollar difference! God bless the internet. Didn't see any (reasonably priced) kitchen faucets that grabbed me any more than the one I posted, either. I was glad to see the finishes in person, though. The "nickel" is definitely the way to go. D and Ms Crispix, you guys are absolutely correct.

Oh, and despite my apparent un-attractiveness today, I did get a nice compliment (and, hey, if I got it while looking like poop, it must have been genuine) at the gym. The older guy I told you said I deserved to have a case of beer bought for me the other week? Well, I saw him again today. I was doing rack pulls (at 135, muthafuckas) and I waved at him in between sets. He apparently had seen that I was having grip problems and mimed at me to use a mixed grip. Which I did, and it worked. (Thank you, Gym Guy Whose Name I Don't Know.) So afterwards, when I was doing my seated cable rows, he came over and said, "You're moving more weight than I can." He looked where in the stack I had the pin, smiled and shook his head, and said, "Scary!" Ha! Made my day. I may be poor and losing my looks, not to mention atrophying important body parts, but I'm in prime physical condition, yo.

xoxo

live mics, expensive hot water n' decorating decisions, + more

2011-11-09T07:34:00.005-05:00

Plus more!

I was gonna write this post last night but I was feeling a little bit too down.

I have a nice brand new hot water heater, which I will appreciate shortly when I attempt to bathe my (not really) stinky body, but the whole shenanigans cost a lot more than I was expecting. I had two very nice minions of Mr Waldman in my basement all afternoon, so obviously the labor was money. (Steer your children into a career in plumbing, boys and girls, and they can support you in your old age when your federal government stops sending you social security and the bank eats your 401k!) I'm also getting a new garbage disposal and very much needed kitchen faucet, but the very nice minions basically showed me the figures for what it costs if they supply the faucet rather than buying it myself (whoa!), so they're coming back when I have the parts. And then one of the very nice minions told me I should pick up my own garbage disposal too if they're gonna do that, 'cause that'll save me a big markup too. And helpfully told me exactly which one to get and what color box it comes in. Ell oh ell. They were very nice. Anyway, I found it on amazon for $77, which is 59% off list price, so I'ma order it tomorrow.

Oh, P.S., my very nice plumbers confirmed that 14+ years was a damn good lifespan for my water heater, because they usually last ten years or less. I think the hard water croaks them.

Meanwhile, I also spent hours yesterday, while they were here and after, looking at faucets online. I need one that fits a "four hole sink". [Insert that "sex orgies" joke I missed the other day here.] I think I have made a decision.

Nice, huh? $95 on amazon, which is also more than half off. I had to confer with my son on which finish would best go with our stainless steel sink, and he thought the less shiny, darker one, and I think I concur. If you think otherwise, vote now before I order my plumbing supplies tomorrow. I am gonna stop by Home Depot today too, just to make sure none of this stuff isn't cheaper there and/or that there isn't a faucet on their shelves that kicks this one's ass, but I'm pretty sure my bargain amazon prices with no tax will be better.

Now, onto international politics. I am lulzing over Obama and Carla's husband trash talking the Israeli dude and getting caught. Though, Mr Obama was pretty circumspect, you must admit. I woulda been, "Oh, yeah, isn't he a douche??!!!??" which is why I am not involved in international politics, boys and girls. Anyway, I think it's hilarious that there's all this handwringing over this. Are we supposed to believe/pretend that just because another country is our ally, their leader and our leader will automatically be BFFs? We all live in the real world, right? We all have to work occasionally with people we heartily dislike yet must make nice to, and we all in that situation will roll our eyes and vent about them when given the chance.

In domestic politics, I am pretty sure Herbert Cain is a douche. A sleazebag douche. Also, thank god that "personhood" law was defeated in Mississippi. BRB, banning oral contraceptives because some people don't understand human physiology!

Alright, I think I have given you all the news and opinions I had to share. Happy Wednesday!

xoxo

i just lost half a post

2011-11-07T13:55:00.002-05:00

...in which I asked for your advice and also made a really good joke. But now you will never read it. Son of a fuckin' bitch. It's too long to recreate.

Blogger, you owe me one.

xoxo

obviously I use this product to write this blog

2011-11-06T18:38:00.004-05:00

Obviously, yo.

xoxo

lost treasures of the andreaolithic

2011-11-03T09:55:00.003-04:00

So, yeah, I was down in the basement cleaning again the other day. As much as I like to blame the hoarding problem on my dad (RIP), since he cannot defend himself, the truth is, a lot of the crap down there *is* mine and D's. Case in point, I excavated a few boxes of glassware that were never unpacked when we moved here. Proof? All the breakables were wrapped in newspapers from 1995. And, no, I did not stop to read what was going on back then when I was unwrapping it all, though it was tempting. That's the kind of procrastination technique we here at casa Andrea try to avoid.

While I was unwrapping and unpacking and trying to make a decision about whether I was going to keep any of this crap (answer: no) or donate it all, I had it all lined up on the basement stairs. I almost climbed over it and went upstairs to get my camera, so I could share. As much as I would like to think I am not the kind of person who ever owned a.) music boxes b.) four matching cat-themed porcelain mugs or c.) one of those light-up ceramic Xmas trees, the proof is in a donation box downstairs. In my defense, the fact that all that shit was never unpacked suggests I didn't ever even want it. One cannot help what other people give one. I mostly blame my former M-I-L (RIP). She meant well, but that woman had the worst taste of anyone I have ever met. You know what else I found? Some giant margarita glasses, still with the Princess House stickers on them. OMG. I think I was roped into having a "crystal party" at one time in the early 90s, but I had mercifully blocked it from my memory. Can you people imagine me as the sort of person who would ever have a crystal party? I swear, at one point I tried to fit in with the other mommies, but it was hopeless.

And finally, I found some more shredding for D to do for me. I guess I don't need my bank statements from 1993. He's been doing it for an hour or so every night since I gave it to him. There's only so much of that you can do at once. Shredding is really tedious. Well, this morning I came down to find a pile of polaroids on my coffee table, that he apparently found in the box. Pictures of me from that era call up a lot of emotions: oh, look, remember when I was young and pretty? along with OMFG, the *hair*. But you know what shocked me? I had bags and circles under my eyes even then. If I looked like that in candid photos when I was 30-ish, I can only imagine what I look like now.

Plus, my vagina is atrophying. In case you forgot.

Love you!

xoxo

vaginal atrophy starts...NOW, and other news!

2011-11-02T18:43:00.003-04:00

Oh, hai, kids. Did I tell you I went to my PCP last week? I can't remember. (And this is part of the problem.) Well, I did. And in the mail today I got my lab results. It's official. My estrogen has bottomed out and my FSH is through the roof. I'm in menopause. Woofuckinhoo! Not surprised, what with the hot flashes and the incredible, scary stupidity, but as detailed before, I'm not sure I'm ready for this. Not that I have a choice.

So I popped my letter from the doctor into my purse and went off to meet M2. We were meeting in Central Square and repairing to Inman Oasis to redeem my $5 soak from RueLaLa (the one that took me a month of calls and emails to get the voucher for, because apparently it was getting blocked in my email somehow? yeah, that one) and then go to lunch. There I was, on the Red Line, getting my phone out to text M2 that I was almost there, when I looked up to see the doors closing and then hear the overhead announcement that the next stop was Harvard. Son of a bitch. I thought we were only at Kendall. So I had to text M2 instead that I missed the stop and was hopping on a train coming back at Harvard. Sigh. When the fuck am I going to get my brain back? M2 says the stupidity and spaciness does not last forever. Either that, or your memory gets so bad, you don't actually remember you don't have one anymore. Oh, the lulz. Thanks, M2!

In any case, the soak was great, and then we went to the All Star Sandwich Bar, where I had a tuna melt and M2 had deviled eggs and salad, and we split (at her insistence) an order of poutine. I did not have the heart to point out that I was pretty sure that gravy isn't, y'know, technically vegetarian. Besides, once she mentioned it I really wanted that poutine.

And eventually I popped back on the commuter rail, headed for the gym. And started dozing. I think it was the poutine carbs. Felt like Thanksgiving dinner, yo. In any case, I woke up with a start, looked out the window, and saw we were passing Bridge Street and were about to go into the tunnel leading to Salem Depot. In other words, for everyone who's reading this and isn't Uncle and knows nothing about the North Shore, I almost missed my stop for the second time in one day. Which would have been really tragic had I not come to until Rowley or something. Sigh. I'm telling all y'all, I'm becoming a danger to myself and others.

I hauled my sleepy ass off the train and to the gym, where I proceeded to burp up poutine throughout my squats and my SLDLs. You haven't lived till you've continually burped poutine for fifteen minutes in the power rack, kids. Going to the weight room in Quebec must be quite the experience.

Well, I hope you all had a lovely Wednesday that lacked bad news about your private parts, transportation snafus, and digestive distress after tasty food. Kiss kiss.

xoxo

best comeback EVAH

2011-10-31T18:39:00.002-04:00

I just had three little trick-or-treaters at my door, two boys and a girl. They were jockeying for position to get their candy, i.e. "I go first!" "No, I'm first!" Well, I filled the little girl's pillowcase first and (I'm assuming) her brother said, "She goes first every time." "Ladies first," I said, semi-seriously, and the kid goes, in a serious, aggrieved tone,

...wait for it...wait for it...

"But she's not a lady! She's a little girl!"

I.die. I.am.DEAD.

Watch out for that kid! He's got a future in politics!

xoxo

son, i am disappoint

2011-10-29T13:42:00.001-04:00

So not happy with the Texas Rangers. I mean, I know, they are not my real team, they are just the team I adopted for the playoffs, but nevertheless watching them blow a World Series that they were so close to winning was heartbreaking. And now baseball season is *really* over and I have a long winter of sports boredom ahead of me. Tragic.

You know what else is tragic? The weather forecast. I refuse to believe it's going to actually appreciably snow before Halloween. I will not accept it as a possibility until I look out my window and see white shit on the ground. It's ridiculous.
Also, the heat is not going on in my house until Thanksgiving. Till then, it's sweatshirts, UGG sweater boots, couch blankets, the space heater, and using the oven a lot to warm up the kitchen.

Can I tell you another sad online dating story? I guess I have to explain the background. So, on OKC, they have all these questions that you can answer. Not only do you answer your own answer, you answer what answers you'd accept from a prospective partner, and then you rank how important the question is to you. This all allows them to give you a fakeass compatibility score with other people and for them to suggest matches for you. Well, filling these out as honestly as I could, I may have left open the possibility that I am open to non-monogamy. Which I am. Of a very circumscribed type. OKC, however, has taken that to mean that I am up for banging married guys. (Hence, I suppose, the 60-something Boston lawyer who wanted me to commit adultery with him.) Well, no, that's not what I'm looking for, but thanks anyway. I see no way to edit my questions honestly yet rule out that assumption. Probably gonna have to come out and say something in the body of my profile for those horndogs who actually, y'know, read.

But anyway, to get to the point, this guy writes to me yesterday and says in a very smarmy tone (yes, sometimes there *is* tone in email), "I wonder why our compatibilty is 80%?" So I check out his profile. He's 40 years old, he's from Gloucestah, and he's in an "open" marriage. I wonder if his wife is too! (Oh, I kill myself.) So that's what the smarminess is about. He thinks I'm interested in banging married guys too. If it wouldn't cause me untold embarrassment, I'd show his profile to Townie Girl and see if she knows him and if he's as big a douchebag as it seems. I'm sure she knows him. She's 36-ish, so close enough in age to him, and she's very social--she knows everybody. But since no one in work can ever know I have an online dating profile, alas I cannot get the dirt. Son, I really am disappoint.

Stay warm!

xoxo

guess what i did yesterday?

2011-10-26T21:57:00.002-04:00

Squatted my body weight for 5 reps, bitches! Okay, I squatted 115 for 5 reps, and I'm 118-ish these days, but fuckin' close enough. When I was just getting under the bar to start my last set, the 115 set, one of the old guys at the gym that I know to say "hi" to, saw me, caught my eye, and nodded and smiled. Later when I was doing what are either SLDLs or Romanian DLs (there's some discrepancy about terminology, yo) and resting between sets, I saw him heading over to me, so I popped out an earbud to hear him. "I was gonna say you're a glutton for punishment today," he said. I laughed and said, "I squatted my body weight for the first time today. I feel like someone should buy me a cake!" You know, with Happy Squatting Achievement, Andrea! written on it. And he says, "Never mind a cake. Someone should buy you a case of beer!" Oh, the lulz. Lacking anyone to pony up either the cake or the beer, I bough myself a cookie dough brownie at Coven later. Mmmmmm, brownies.

Hope your athletic and fitness accomplishments are also continuing apace! (Rumor has it Uncle is hiking like whoa and Ms Crispix is still yoga teacher training. I don't know what the rest of you slackers are up to.) And remember, if only fuckin' Lackey's surgeon drinks a little too much the night before his Tommy John's, we could conceivably never have to watch him pitch again. Someone buy *that man* a case of beer!

xoxo

and just because this keeps making me laugh

2011-10-24T21:34:00.001-04:00

That cat looks exactly like Evil Kitty (RIP) and that is exactly the expression she would have had, if we had ever successfully gotten a little pirate hat on her head.

xoxo

hoarders! north of boston edition!

2011-10-24T14:46:00.000-04:00

Still cleaning out the basement, all y'all, throwing things out little by little and testing the limits of what I think the trash guys will take. I have seen some of the around-the-corner neighbors put, like, recliners out on the curb and they're not still there in the evening, so either the city takes them or those people drag 'em back into the house in a very timely manner.

Anyway, last night besides my three trash barrels and one lone Hefty bag, I put out two chairs that were down the basement: one green molded plastic "outdoor" chair that no one uses and one decrepit metal framed kitchen chair with a ripped seat that obviously was left behind by the lady who owned the house before us. There's another similar one down there, but I wasn't pushing my luck by putting out three trash-worthy chairs in one week. This morning when I got up, I peeked out to see if the garbagemen had come yet. They had not. However, that metal chair was gone! Somebody liberated it from my trash. Why anyone would want a 25 year old kitchen chair with a ripped seat that doesn't even have a mate, I could not fathom.

However, then it came to me: someone, riding around my neighborhood in the dawn hours, is a freakin' hoarder. It's the only sensible explanation for why anyone would take that. Though why they didn't take the plastic chair that was in better condition, I don't know. Maybe that metal chair is some kind of valuable retro antique and I was too stupid to know it was worth hundreds of bucks. Next week I'll try putting out the other chair and see if it disappears too.

I have to say, throwing shit out is so liberating, I am getting close to hiring a dumpster. I think it would be cheaper than the 1-800-junk guys and at this point I think I'm past caring about the neighbors hating me. This requires some thought. Hmmm. I'd like to take a week off from work in order to throw shit out, but I just cashed in a week of earned time to help with my cash flow, so I'm hoarding (see what I did there?) time off at the moment.

Happy Monday. Stay out of your neighbor's garbage, unless you're absolutely sure they're tossing out antiques. Antiques that are certified bedbug-free.

xoxo

having a bad day at work?

2011-10-21T16:29:00.002-04:00

It could be worse!

xoxo

yesterday, today, and tomorrow

2011-10-20T16:14:00.002-04:00

Yesterday I stayed home all day and did some more fall cleaning. This involved removing some more crap out of the basement, spending *an hour* cleaning the microwave (I dunno what the hell D has been exploding in there, but damn), and stripping everything off my bed, including the bedskirt, washing it all, and remaking it with the winter linens, including stuffing the goddamned down comforter into the muthafuckin duvet, and then dusting and vacuuming and picking up some clutter in there. I had been doing so well keeping on top of the housecleaning for awhile, but I slipped this summer and I hadn't dusted the bedroom in way too long. This morning I woke up and I was 75% less stuffy than I usually am in the morning. Coincidence? Probably not!

Today one of our patients who had been away at college in Montreal and had what is probably going to turn out to be a psychotic break, poor kid, came in for testing. He saw a psychiatrist in the hospital in Canada who thought he may be having seizure activity and recommended he come home to MA, because there was no way the testing he needed could be done there without a nine month wait. I kinda wish M1 was around and not on vacay in Las Vegas so she could have gone on one of her tea partier socialized medicine rants. Ha!

Also today, I got email from a 60-something married Boston lawyer who wants to know if I am up for being the friend and lover of an older married man. Jesus wept. Ashley Madison--->that way. I mean, good god, even if he *wasn't* a lawyer. I'm torn between a.) ignoring it as I do all comeons from people I'm not interested in, b.) answering with a short, sweet "hell, no" or c.) asking what's in it for me. Option c.) might be amusing, but on the other hand, I'm really not mean. Only to you guys.

Tomorrow. I will write a really good blog post that isn't as boring as this one. Maybe. Stay tuned.

xoxo

my cat, Booney, and seasonal randomosity

2011-10-19T10:40:00.003-04:00

When I was just in the kitchen getting coffee, a centipede ran across my floor. In the time it took me to a.) shriek and b.) get a paper towel to squish it with, it disappeared, probably beneath the refrigerator. And it made me think, I wish Booney were still alive.

Booney, besides being the best cat EVAH (more later), looked on centipedes as fancee people look on Beluga caviar and black truffles. The day or two a year when one made it into the house were like Christmas to him. Though he was not a cat with the propensity to hunt--no Evil Kitty, that's for sure--and never one to get too excited about trying to catch shit, he somehow had the instinct to pounce on those gross mofos and slurp them right up. It was disgusting, and yet useful. ('Cause, like, do you think squishing those things with a paper towel *isn't* also disgusting?)

The story of how we got Booney is thus: when I was twenty, my cousin A who was two years younger than I, lived at home, was a frequent guest at our apartment and thus very close to me and my future ex-husband, was moving and her parents said she could NOT take all 3 cats with her to their new apartment. S stopped by their house and, already charmed by the best kitten EVAH, brought him home, because there was no way that cat was going to the shelter on our watch. Booney, who had recently been bought by my cousin at a pet store (probably when she was high to be honest), was unfortunately flea infested and so soon was the wall-to-wall carpeting in our apartment. It was horrible. I remember calling my *other* uncle who was an exterminator in tears, asking him what kind of flea bomb to use. He talked me out of it. I don't remember how exactly he told me to get rid of the fleas without dangerous pesticides, but eventually we did. My point being, this cat was so friggin' lovable, even infesting my house with parasites did not lower our opinion of him. I can't explain exactly what it was about him, but even people who didn't particularly like cats loved him.

He was a spazzy little kitten, but unlike Evil Kitty, he was not destructive. He just ran around a lot. One day while I was at college, I got called out of class to take a phone call about a family emergency. (Remember the days before cell phones? Yeah.) Needless to say, I was freaking out, thinking someone had died. No. It was S. He was at the vet with Booney, who had a broken front leg. Supposedly from trying to jump up onto the top of the refrigerator, though I always had my doubts. (When my ex woke up from his coma and was having his brief moment of repentance for all the shit things he'd done in his life, I shoulda gotten the real story. Alas, I was a little too freaked out at the time to think of it.) The vet was giving him three options, which is why he needed me to tell him what to do. We could have a pin put in the cat's leg for, like, $600. We could have a cast put on for $200, but there was no guarantee he'd walk right after that. Or we could put him to sleep. For reference as to how much money this was in 1983 dollars, the rent on our apartment was $450 a month. (I have no idea why I remember what my rent was in 1983 when I can't remember wtf I did yesterday, but it's just one of those numbers that stick in my mind, like the fact that I weighed 118 at my first prenatal visit.) We picked the cast, as that was as much as we could afford, and even that was stretching it. The cat healed perfectly without the extra $400, by the way. This was my first clue that vets, much like dentists and auto mechanics, are thieving bastards who will happily try to fleece you out of your life savings by trying to convince you that unnecessary expensive procedures are absolutely crucial.

But while Booney had the cast on, he provided many hours of entertainment to visitors, even those who weren't high!, because he would run spastically around our apartment on his three legs, the casted leg out to the side, and get the cast stuck on door frames. Then his little legs would be moving a hundred miles an hour, but he wouldn't be going anywhere. Like a real life roadrunner cartoon. If only there were youtube in 1983, that cat would have been the fucking celeb he deserved to be. If only.

I could tell you many other stories about how awesome this cat was, but we'd be here all day. Let me just say, I had him from the age of 20 till the age of 37, he died on my lap on the way to the vet's [from a bad heart], and I still miss him. Especially when there are centipedes about, but y'know, otherwise too.

....................................................................................

And now the seasonal randomosity! You guys know what I do every freakin' October, right? I buy a Dunkin' Donuts pumpkin muffin, I eat it, it sucks, I bemoan the fact that I haven't learned from previous sad experience and the fact that I wasted 600 calories (really! look it up, it's crazy!) on something that sucked, and then I tell you people I'm not going to do it again. Well. Yesterday was that day.

And then today I got some mini pumpkins and put them on my centerpiece on the dining room table. (The weekend before last, I changed up my dining room table stuff and my foyer stuff for the season. After I'd had a little wine. I was telling someone about this in email after I did it, commenting that I thought it looked good, but I probably had to wait till the next day after I hadn't been drinking to be sure, and they said "rearranging furniture after you've been drinking:...wait for it...wait for it...Feng Sway." And you people think *I'm* the only one. Ha!)

But there it is, with added pumpkins. Festive, no?

And if it's time to decorate with mini pumpkins and eat crappy calorie-bomb pumpkin muffins, you know what time it also is, right? Time to peruse my amazon wishlist and figure out what you're getting me for my birthday which is T minus 30 days. Don't wait till you have to pay for expedited shipping, is all I'm sayin'. You're welcome! No, no, no, your friendship and lurve is all the present I could ever want. (Believe that like I believe that cat really fell off the refrigerator, bitches. Kiss kiss.)

xoxo

yur govmint at work

2011-10-18T12:14:00.001-04:00

No, no, no. I'm not gonna talk politics. I'm just going to let you know that I got an automated phone call from the city the other day informing me that we on the lower North Shore have been designated a Federal disaster area for the October 4th flash flood. This means that had my flooded basement actually caused me any damage that my insurance company did not pay for***, I would have been eligible for a low interest loan to fix that shit up. Go, Mr Obama's minions! There's an office set up to process this at the Salem city hall annex. Not that I needed to know this, but I did listen to the whole recording.

My city government, in totally unrelated news, is rolling out these new test recycling bins that are bigger than my actual trash barrels. You could fit hella stuff in them. Unfortunately, only a few streets got them. Including the one around the corner from me, but not mine. I am stuck with two little tubs the size of a milk crate. So every recycling day, I walk past the neighbors' giant bins with seething envy, cursing their good fortune. I would *love* to recycle everything possible, but sometimes my bins are full before pickup day and I have to throw plastic in the trash, like a very, very bad girl.

And finally, my mayor (and former blog subject) is bitching because apparently the UN has been resettling refugees here and the school department is stuck trying to educate kids who come from tribes with no written language and/or who have never set foot in an actual school before. This costs, as you may imagine, lots and lots o' money, and our mayor thinks the UN ought to be ponying up some cash or else stop sending people here. It is kind of bizarre that the UN would single us out as some place to resettle people who heretofore were herding cows or some such. Wouldn't some place a.) warmer and b.) less,um, aggressively urban be less of an adjustment? Arizona! They should send them to Arizona! They like immigrants there!

Oh, I kill myself.

xoxo

I forgot the motherfucking footnote again. This isn't even funny.

***I don't think I told you, but the day I was bailing out my basement, the insurance guy finally called me back noon-ish and I told him I had it under control and wasn't going to need to hire anyone, so Ididn't need his help. And then I hung up without finding out whether it *would* have been covered. So I still don't know. D'oh.

varied things, now a trilogy!

2011-10-13T14:00:00.000-04:00

Seriously, guys, I wish I had something substantive to write about that would take up a whole post. Then I could stop just spewing the random contents of my brain at you. However, until that day comes, this is what you get.

1.) You can't expect me to be intelligent or clever today anyhow, because I had like three hours of sleep. Why did you have three hours of sleep, Andrea? Because I could hear it raining hard outside and I was afraid/paranoid/flipping out my basement was flooding again. I went down to look at 1 am and all was fine. I was wide awake at 6 am and all was still fine. None of that helped me to sleep. Sigh.

2.) Monday on the holiday I was out walking all over the city of Boston, drinking and eating crap, and incidentally getting my feet chewed up by my sandals. Tuesday I had a big weird blister on the bottom of my right foot. I put a blister bandaid on it and hobbled all day. Yesterday, however, not being in work, I wore my UGG sweater boots--without socks--and walked about in fleecy comfort. Four miles in fleecy comfort, to be exact. Today my bad foot is all better. Coincidence? I think not. Still trying to justify that expense? Shut up.

3.) If this offends anyone reading this, apologies in advance. Every time I write a post saying I disapprove of or mocking something, I find out my blog readers all run up the stairs at Porter Square station or some such shit, and I've just insulted them. It's not personal, I swear to god. If I make fun of something and you do it or like it, you are the only exception to the rule. Remember that, por favor.

Okay! Here goes.

3.) I have never approved of people naming their kids after themselves. You know, like John Smith, Jr. I, first of all, have a visceral reaction to it, like, "Give the kid his own name, don't make him share yours. Damn." That doesn't necessarily make any logical sense; it's just a visceral reaction. But secondly, it leads to the kinda thing where a friend of mine calls her (26 year old, for god's sake) grandson "Little Ronny." This is to distinguish him from his father, Ronny, and his grandfather, Ron. The lack of dignity grows all down the line. The chance of having a grownup name kinda depends on the forebears kicking off. Do you want to be referring to your child as "little So n So" or calling him Junior when he's a Supreme Court justice? C'mon now. (Though, I must say, I do know a [Dominican] kid or two whose legal name is Junior, the mom just liking the sound of it and it not necessarily having the same connotations to her if her native language isn't English. I suppose this is better than naming your child Apple or Blanket, especially if you don't have a fortune for them to inherit.)

But it just occurred to me the other day that there is another pitfall to naming your child the same first name as his father, from the mother's point of view. If your husband's name is Harry and your son's name is also Harry, does it not make it impossible to then gasp out, "Oh, Harry, fuck me harder!" at the appropriate moment? Wouldn't doing so kill the mood, like, irreparably? So, yeah, you'd have to train yourself to only call your spouse by a special nickname in those, uh, intimate moments or you'd be back to only ever thinking of, or referring to, your child as Junior or whatever. Am I off base here? Is it just me? (Bonus points for figuring out what brings this up, ahahaha.)

4.) I was watching ESPN news yesterday morning and they were talking to Nomar, who does a lot of work for them, about the story in the Globe alleging all that stuff about Tito being ineffective because of his marital separation and/or pain pill usage, and the starting pitchers drinking beer and eating takeout fried chicken in the clubhouse while their teammates were out there sucking, and all the rest. So Nomar says, "Well, first of all, I haven't read it, because I don't read tabloids." Ooooo, burn. I guess Nomar is still a wee bit bitter, huh?

5.) OMG, I'm so excited, you guys. Beauty and the Beast, the TV series from the 80s with Linda Hamilton, is on Netflix instant view now! I watched a couple episodes last night while I was having my insomnia. The 80s really really were a bad fashion decade. But I like Linda Hamilton, even without her metaphorical and literal guns. She should get some acting jobs again, now that she isn't married to whatshisface anymore. She'd probably need to get a little work done, though.

55 year old women aren't allowed to look like 55 year old women in Hollywood.

I think that's it for now. Kiss kiss.

xoxo

varied things, the motherfn' sequel

2011-10-09T11:33:00.001-04:00

1.) I forgot this one yesterday. Yesterday morning I was about to miss my bus to work, as it was coming and I was on the corner waiting to cross the street, when the bus driver saw me, gestured questioningly to me, and then stopped and waited for me to get across. I bet *she* never holds up the line at CVS either. Thank you, nice bus driver.

2.) So, then at work yesterday, I had this woman come in with her almost 8 yo, and she asked if she could speak to me privately before we did anything. It seems that she had told the kid that the reason he was having a test was that his soccer coach wanted all the players to be checked for concussions, and she wanted me to go along with this. Um, okay, fine. It's not for me to tell you that you shouldn't lie to your children in an attempt to not freak them out about something, but c'mon. The kid was about to turn 8, not 5. Don't you think at some point he's going to talk to his teammates and find out that they indeed did NOT go have their brains checked too? Then, after we were done and all went swimmingly (despite the woman's fears that this perfectly cooperative little boy wasn't gonna do well), the mom who obviously had an anxiety disorder to the power of 11 herself, asked me anxiously if the fact that I wrote in my little book meant something REALLY BAD. Um, no, it meant I was logging him in. God knows, I have uber sympathy for people with the crazee--especially the crazee that resembles my own--because I know what it feels like. But it occurred to me that I *would never* verbalize my irrational anxieties to a stranger like that, because I know when they are probably irrational. I just tell you people about them. That's good, right?

3.) In the Georgian language, "zeg" means the day after tomorrow. Why is there no word for that in English? I am going to adopt zeg in this blog. Try to keep up.

4.) There was this story on CNN this morning about some little sixth grade girl in (Kansas? Texas? some place like that, lulz) who was forbidden from wearing a rosary-style necklace to school because it's against the dress code. It's against the dress code because some gang members also wear rosaries as a gang sign. Naturally the parents, the archdiocese, etc are all outraged! outraged, I say! about this, and have the little girl on TV saying how she really wants to wear the necklace to help her think about Jesus dying for her sins (though she phrased it clumsily, like trying to remember something someone told her to say). I dunno, I know 12 year old girls and I was a 12 year old girl, and I think her initial reason for wanting to wear this piece of jewelry was probably more like, oooo! pretty! And also? The whole flipping out about how her religious freedom was being infringed upon? Do the parents not see that this is not some kind of evil discrimination but a safety measure? When D was in high school there was a whole litany of things that were against the dress code because they were possible gang signifiers. (How many times to I have to tell you, I live in a klassy area. God.) I don't think he or any of his fellow students objected too much to this--and you know teenagers object to fucking everything--because, y'know, you do not WANT to accidentally wear something that suggests you have a gang affiliation that you do not in fact have. It could be dangerous to your fucking health, noimsayin? The mother in the piece was all, "well, obviously, we're not gang people." No, you stupid cow, you are not, but do you really want to open the possibility of someone who *is* starting shit with your little girl at school over a fucking necklace, when there are a whole bunch of other crosses, etc, she could wear to express her faith, if that's what she's really expressing?

There's more, but I should get dressed, yo. Happy Sunday!

xoxo

varied things

2011-10-08T10:14:00.002-04:00

1.) I realized yesterday that there's a simple test to tell what kind of person you are. If you are in line at a store and the cashier hands you back your change or credit card and/or receipt and/or coupons and you need to sort these things out and put them in your wallet or bag, do you step to the side to do so in order for the person behind you to be taken care of, or do you stand where you are, clogging up the wheels of progress for the next minute and a half? It's along the lines of, do you say please and thank you to your waiter and tip decently for adequate service? or if you are driving and not in a terrible hurry because you are late for an appointment or some such, do you at least occasionally stop and let someone pull out in front of you? or do you offer your seat on the T to the elderly person, the obviously pregnant woman, or the parent trying to balance a 2 year old on their hip? You know, the How Rude and Self-Centered Are You? quiz. More people fail these tests than you, my polite and generous readers, may imagine.

2.) Also, yesterday. I got a check in the mail for 11 dollars and change for something I wrote in 1996. Oh, the lulz. Do you remember me telling you that I realized a few months ago that an anthology I was in years ago was on the kindle? I think this is my royalties for that. Though there was no accompanying letter or any indication on the check, so I'm just assuming. See? I'm still a real writer, goddamnit.

3.) An email that I received and read yesterday is mysteriously not in my old mail, my recently deleted mail, or my saved mail. It's just...gone. Huh.

4.) I got my new netbook yesterday. Did I tell you? I ordered one for myself that's just like the one I got D for his birthday last spring. Except his is brown and mine is orange. For less than $300, you really cannot go wrong. Now my computing is mobile again. Prepare yourself for the resumption of posts written from my bed, bitches. I still kinda want an Amazon Fire thingy when they come out, though. Although, I've heard a lot of people saying they're gonna wait for the second generation because it will probably have 3G. Not that I really understand what 3G is or how it works or why I would really need it.

5.) I have SO MUCH trash to put out after the whole basement trauma and, because Monday is a holiday, I can't even do it till Tuesday. It's all in my garage, getting stinky in there. :sad face: I'm toying with the idea of having the 1-800-gotjunk guys come out again, because I still have stuff in the basement that I can't otherwise get rid of, like two old mattresses and a broken recliner. It's muy expensive, though. :sad face again:

6.) I don't know what I did squatting yesterday, but the left side of my butt really hurts. And I thought I would share.

7.) I wanted the Phillies to win. Sigh. All my other teams won though. I want a Brewers-Rangers World Series. Let's see how that pans out.

Happy Columbus Day weekend, all y'all.

xoxo

noah's ark, day 2

2011-10-05T10:53:00.000-04:00

Since i know how you all care so very very much about my problems and you probably tossed and turned all night worrying about chez andrea, here's the update. The water removal company never called me back. Not last night, not so far today and it is almost 11 am. Meanwhile, though those bastards at my insurance company have been at work for three hours now, they have not returned my call either. If I had a question about buying more insurance, do you think I'd have gotten a timely response? Yeah, me too.

Nevertheless, the point is moot, because between the bailing D and I did last night, and the water removing itself, I woke up this morning to a basement that no longer had an inch of water covering the entire floor. Instead I had a few remaining large puddles and a thin layer of dirt covering the rest of the floor. I've been shopvacing for probably 2 1/2-3 hours with breaks, and I have more than 50% of it cleaned up. I've got the dehumidifier back down there and cranking. I might go out and buy a second one and/or a big fan, because the internet tells me those are good for drying out basements too. Then I have to get everything out of there that's gotten wet. Luckily, since D and I have been cleaning down there, there are far less wet cardboard boxes to mildew than there would have been otherwise. We did put down an area rug that we found rolled up down there (shit my mom bought at Building 19, part two billion) when we were cleaning on a part of the floor that *never* gets wet, and it got wet, so that'll have to be trashed. Other than that, all the cleaning we've done helped, not hurt.

So I think, other than the backbreaking labor involved, this is gonna turn out fine and not cost me a shit ton of money. OTOH, I still will need to get the sump looked at, 'cause when it's working, we've never gotten this level of water down there.

Oh, and my only other question is whether it would be good to keep the sliders open to the basement to air it out. I've been going in and out that way to emptying my shopvac into the raised part of the flower beds. I don't expect you people to tell me, because did you have words of wisdom for me last night? No. No you did not. What the hell you people think, having "lives" n' shit, rather than sitting about, waiting to listen to and solve my fucking problems, I don't know. God.

So I shall soldier on, unadvised. I do want credit for how calm I am being, however. I do great when something bad actually happens. I only fall apart worrying in advance about something possibly bad happening. I know. It makes no fucking sense. Believe me, if I could swap this brain out for one that works better, I would.

xoxo

well

2011-10-04T16:53:00.003-04:00

My basement is too flooded for me to deal with by myself.

I called one of those water removal companies and they're gonna call me back, because they don't know when they could get here. They're kinda busy today. Go figure. The girl on the phone said I should call my insurance company and see if I am covered. I kinda thought I probably am not, because don't they always say shit on TV about how flooding is not covered by homeowners insurance?

So I called and, of course, my agent closes at 4:30 and I called at 4:31. Left a message. I'm looking at my policy effective 9/06/11 and I have "description of additional coverages: limited fungi, wet or dry rot, or bacteria coverage, section I limit of liability $10,000, section II limit of liability $50,000" I don't know what the fuck any of that means. I suppose someone who has their shit together would know, but you are all well aware I do not have my shit together. Oh! And I believe the reason I have 2 inches of water in my basement is that my sump failed. It hasn't come on at all. When I was down there, it made an anemic little noise a couple times and that was it.

If anyone has anything intelligent to say about any of this, hit me up. I could use some words of wisdom.

xoxo

weather people, what are they good for, part whatever

2011-10-04T09:00:00.003-04:00

Oh hai again, kids!

I left my house this morning at 7:04 and got to work at 8:28. That's one hour and twenty four minutes to go three miles, if you are counting. I could possibly have walked quicker except it would have required those fishing boots that come up to your crotch. My basement is under water and I can't wait to get home and start shopvaccing. Hopefully I can dry it out with the shopvaccing. My boss got here 2 1/2 hours after he left the house. Our other doc just got stuck in a puddle right near the hospital, stalled, and had to be pushed out onto dry ground by some good Samaritans. AAA said they'll probably be able to come and get his car started in, oh, 3-4 hours. Our nurse practitioner who lives ten minutes away, in the opposite direction than I do, called to say she'd left her house an hour before and was nowhere even close to getting here. Meanwhile Receptionist Without Colorful Nickname called to say she'd made it into town, but could not find a way to get to the hospital that wasn't underwater from where she is, so she'll get here when she can get here.

My point being, this is all way way worse flooding here than that frigging hurricane that they whipped us up into frenzy about, all from two hours of severe thunderstorms this morning. Did anyone whip us all up into a even minor frenzy over the possibility of this? NO. Which means I didn't worry about it and the fact that I was an hour late for work and my basement is flooded is not stressing me out. It's all just, eh, whatcha gonna do?

Hope y'all are warm and dry and that if you are stuck in traffic reading this on your iPhone or whatever, you don't have to go the bathroom really really badly.

xoxo

poser

2011-10-03T13:46:00.004-04:00

Oh hai, kids. Happy October. Want to talk about a book I'm reading? Too bad.

It's called Poser: My Life in Twenty-three Yoga Poses by Claire Dederer. Yes, it's a yoga memoir, much like that book I hated. Apparently after Eat, Pray, Love made a gazillion dollars, this has become a genre, marketed to 30- to 50-something, middle class, liberal women like myself. Unlike that book I hated, Poser does not suck, mainly because the author is apparently an intelligent woman with some degree of self-awareness and the ability to reflect on her own actions and choices and explain them to an audience. One of the things she learns about herself in the course of the book is that because she had an unconventional childhood--her hippie mom left her dad for a younger man, but stayed married to him, and all three of them (her mom, her mom's boyfriend, and her dad) came to the same events even though her parents were legally still together--she as an adult is highly invested in creating a "perfect" nuclear family and thus denies the elephants in the living room, like her husband's severe depression or the fact that she is boiling over with resentment about how her parents and in-laws are always popping in and out of her house.

I find it kind of interesting that she was apparently so scarred by her parents' unconventional relationship. It's funny, because my good high school friend LL, who's been referenced here before, had a very similar situation in her life, though it occurred at a much older age than Ms Dederer's. Sometime when we were either towards the end of high school or the beginning of college (I can't remember, yo) LL's mother Diane, who was still married to and living with LL's dad, got herself a boyfriend, and they all apparently got along fine. I clearly remember attending LL's college graduation party with all three of them there. We, LL's friends, kinda thought, eh, that's a bit weird, but Diane's cool, we all love Diane, and just accepted it. If LL was embarrassed in any way, she never seemed it. She vaguely suggested that the reason her parents stayed legally married and living together was all financial, and that was that.

I guess my point in all this is, as a parent, you never know what you're going to do that'll screw your kids up. Or not screw your kids up. It's all a big mystery. I mean, I myself would think that your parents not legally divorcing even though they're living separate lives, and continuing to get along together wouldn't mess a person up, but apparently I'd be wrong in at least one case, right?

Eh. We gotta keep the therapists of the world employed. So there is that.

xoxo

are you people sick of me yet today?

2011-09-29T14:43:00.003-04:00

[In my defense, the first post was really yesterday. It could have posted at 11:59 pm had I walked up the stairs faster.]

I knew this was going to be a comedy goldmine full of blogging potential. It's almost as good as riding the prison bus without earbuds in. Let's have a tutorial this afternoon on how to not win at internet dating! I'm sure none of all y'all need it because you have enough social skills not to NEED internet dating or you're all happily coupled up with the love muffin of your fondest dreams. Or both. But just in case some random person wanders through here, let's be instructive.

Tip #1 for not winning: send a woman you have never spoken to before an email in which you say, "I'm interested, but I need more pictures." Dude. No, you do not. I can guarantee you I am too hot for your 57 year old, balding ass, even with my rapidly atrophying vagina, and I do not intend to prove it to you photographically before you deign to speak to me. Besides, you don't know the difference between "seen" and "scene". Get someone who's not illiterate to proofread your profile, and while they are doing that, you can contemplate whether the reason you've never been married and/or found "that one special person" is that you are a clueless, and apparently entitled, dick.

Tip #2: send a woman you have never spoken to before an email in which you nicely ask how she is doing and then say that you are doing fine, except for the crushing loneliness. Leading off with a portrayal of yourself as incredibly needy and pathetic will not make chicks take pity on you or even give you points for honesty. Instead, it will make them fear that you will cling like Saran Wrap on Tupperware and that you have the potential to go full stalker mode if rejected.

Tip #3: send a woman you have never exchanged a word with a short email in which you suggest that since you live close together, you meet for coffee or a drink. When woman does not immediately reply with enthusiasm to go out with a complete stranger, wait a couple hours and email again, this time saying that you're now at your computer, not on your Blackberry, so you can write more. Tell woman that your compatibility score is in the upper 80s and it doesn't get much better than that. So you should go out for coffee or a drink. Hint: this is roughly equivalent to approaching a random attractive woman on the T and suggesting she go on a date with you because you are getting off at the same stop. And when she is not enthusiastic about the prospect, trying to convince her that since you've read that book she's carrying too, you really really need to go out.

Okay, and when all of the above are blissfully married by next year while I am still planning my LL Bean Sex Repelling wardrobe, you can tell me the reason that I am still single is that I'm a big bitch and that my advice is worthless. I will not argue with you.

xoxo

tropical facial conditions

2011-09-29T10:50:00.005-04:00

Don't say I don't deliver on my promises. Here it is--the hot flash post.

When I was telling y'all about my ill-advised boot buying Sunday, what I didn't mention was that, as I was out and about, running my errands, there I was in Marshalls, ripping off the thin cotton hoodie I had on over my t-shirt and mentally cussing them out. As in, "What the hell is wrong with these people? Why is the A/C not on in here?!!?? OMG, I'm gonna die!" Then, of course, I realized it wasn't them, it was me.

Yup. It may have happened a time or two this summer without my realizing what it was, but for the last two to three weeks, it's suddenly happening every day, multiple times a day. The sudden spreading warmth from my chest to my face, the flushing and wanting to rip my shirt off. Apparently my estrogen levels have suddenly dropped like the proverbial rock. It's the strangest feeling. It happened to me yesterday as I was putting a package of chicken breast into the freezer. There I was with freezer air blowing directly into my face, and I felt like I was in front of a furnace.

It's pretty bittersweet, of course, the acknowledgment that I'm getting closer to The End. Not that a person relishes having their period. It's messy and inconvenient and sometimes painful and, over a lifetime of buying pads and tampons and pantyliners, expensive and it has the propensity to stain your underwear and your sheets and to leave you depleted of iron. It's a big pain in the ass. But not having one ever again means, well, yeah, you're transitioning into a dried up little twig of a woman who is no longer full of youthful juices. The chronic annoying dry eyes for the past two years has pissed me off enough. I can't WAIT for it to start happening with my vagina. I mean, seriously? You do the reading and it's scary as hell. Vaginal atrophy? Once the chances of my popping out even a two headed baby have passed, Mother Nature doesn't want me having sex. Evolutionarily, what's the fucking point? I should crawl off and die and leave more resources for the people who can still procreate.

Luckily I don't have to go that far, since we are no longer living in Paleolithic times. No, I can just buy some of those I Never Want Sex Again clothes from LL Bean and start collecting cats.

I was thinking something along these lines:

But if you have links to anything dowdier, I'll consider them. No turtlenecks, though. Those are hard to rip off in the cereal aisle of the Stop & Shop when my upper body suddenly thinks it's in Delhi during monsoon season.

Addendum: And how's this for the first cat? Awwwwww...

xoxo

last baseball post of 2011

2011-09-29T10:28:00.002-04:00

We have come not to bury the Red Sox but to praise Alfredo Aceves.

When he hit two of the first three batters he faced last night, I felt sick. I had to leave the room for awhile. This is it, I thought. It's his fourth day in a row pitching, after a season in which he has pitched more than he had ever done in his life. No matter what Jerry and Don told me the night before in tones of wonder and awe about his "rubber arm" and apparent inability to tire, he's reached his limit. They've asked too much of him.

But then he got out of the inning.

You, Mr Aceves, are my man. How many times this year were you called upon to pitch three and four innings because the stellar Sox starting pitchers couldn't get out of the third or fourth inning? How many times did you then come through for them? If it weren't for you, there would have been no shot at the wild card to blow with two outs in the 9th inning of the final game of the season. I don't know if you will be with the Sox next year, but if you are, I'ma cheer for you like I once cheered for Mikey Lowell or Jason Bay. Good job, dude.

xoxo

goddamn mothereffing papelbon

2011-09-29T00:00:00.002-04:00

That is all.

xoxo

electronic CHAOS

2011-09-27T13:59:00.000-04:00

Saturday in work, my Pelco video camera just decided to stop working for no apparent reason. I assumed it was a hardware, not software, problem because when you turn on the computer and the whole system boots up, the camera rotates, and it didn't. So yesterday we called clinical engineering and they sent over "Pierre". I'm not sure they have Pelco cameras in Haiti (is that cruel to say? racist? xenophobic? sorry, Pierre) but he knew about as much as what could be causing the problem as I did, which is nothing. Nevertheless, I logged him into my computer and he gamely took down as much information as he could about the video system and repaired back to his office to call the company that makes my system. You may or may not remember, but I could not do my job for weeks in July while the hospital and the company dicked around with replacing the computer part of my system. And then last month the monitor stopped working for reasons that were unclear, though clinical engineering did manage to fix that mysteriously at a time I was not here. My point being, I'm sick of things on this system just randomly failing. Well, Pierre called me back and asked if he could come take the system back to his office. Sure, no problem, I didn't have patients scheduled yesterday afternoon anyway. Cut to the chase, the company is sending us a whole new camera, but it missed the overnight deadline, so it'll come tomorrow while I'm not here. That's okay. Pierre and his cohorts will install it and I'll have video capability again by Thursday. RIGHT??!?

Meanwhile my laptop at home, which has been limping along with no display for months and months and which I've had to keep connected to the TV in my room (which kinda defeats the purpose of a laptop), has of Sunday failed to register there's a battery in it. I guess the battery's time is up. I was kinda debating about whether I should buy a new battery for it or not, whether it was worth it. Then this morning the TV it is connected to lost video. I thought it was the computer, but no. If I turn the TV to DVD mode, I still don't get any display, just sound. So the freaking TV is broken? Seriously? It's not that old.

My point being in all this, I think it's ME. I must have some kind of electromagnetic field around my body that is killing electronic devices left and right. Or else all this cheap ass Chinese-made garbage is just coincidentally failing at once. I think it's me, though.

Sigh.

xoxo

true confessions

2011-09-26T14:00:00.002-04:00

What do you think is the modern day equivalent of those '40s and '50s confessional magazines? Could it be...blogging??!?!!??

Not in my case, I hasten to add, because everything I tell you is 100% true. Mainly because, really, you can't make this shit up, as I remind you every freakin' week. The things I see, hear, and do are far stranger than most fiction***, and that's not even taking into consideration that I don't tell you people EVERYTHING. But, I digress. I'm here to unburden myself. Bless me, father, for I have sinned (against good taste and judgment)...

Yesterday was apparently National Bad Decision Day. I went to the gym, as I do almost every Sunday afternoon, it being my most favorite day to work out, and then I proceeded to do some errands. There were a few things I needed to pick up. My son needed minutes for his ghetto cell phone, and I prefer to buy an actual card, because I don't trust the Tracfone website. I also needed some mineral powder so that I can continue to look beautiful (ahem) and some conditioner (ditto, and also, ahem.) None of those errands would, on the surface, require a person to go to DSW, since, y'know, all they sell is shoes. Nevertheless, there I was.

You see where this is going, right? They had UGG sweater boots for $99.95, which is totally the universe telling me I should have them. (Plus, I never spent the hundred bucks I won for building my muskles, it's still sitting in my paypal account.) Not exactly the same ones I showed you; they don't have the fold-over with the buttons. Which, really? I think that's a plus because needless doodads like those buttons are the kind of thing that fall off when you least expect it. Also, they had that brown color and it doesn't look as nice in person. So I bought cream. Cream-colored sweater boots. Why, yes, I have lost my mind, thanks for asking. They're adorable. They're lined in sheepskin, so you can wear them without socks. (You may or may not know, but I dislike socks. And also, when I go to yoga, and you have to take your shoes off before entering the room, it'll save a step.) Let's just hope for a dry and snowless winter, so that I can wear these for more than the months of October and November.

I felt I needed to confess all this solely because if any of you all see me wearing these boots, I wouldn't want a little bell to go off in your brain (ding!) and have you say, "Um, Andrea, aren't those the UGG boots you made such a fucking big deal about NOT buying?" No, total transparency here, yo.

The next confession, however, is motivated entirely from some kind of base impulse to publicly humiliate myself. (Hey, it won me that hundred bucks, so don't knock it.) Well, that and the fact I think it is hilarious and I would like to brighten up the beginning of your work week. Because I love you all.

Luxuriating in my haze of bad decisions made and the afterglow of boot-buying, and also being in that state of tiredness last night where you are too exhausted to do anything useful and yet you can't sleep, and spurred by someone else's blog in which they mentioned the embarrassing way the met their future (and current, haha) husband, and having just last week discussed with Led Zep Girl how, shockingly, the old geezer dating sites want our business, I made myself a dating profile. NOT on an old geezer site, thanks very much, I hasten to add. The last time I did this kind of thing was in 2005, and it lead to my very brief but very bitterness-inducing acquaintance with The Lawyer, the only man whom I can honestly say I deeply regret fucking (and you all know my ex-husband, if only in theory, so you know that's saying something.) So, yeah, my track record with this kind of business is not, y'know, stellar. But neither is my track record in any kind of romantic shenanigans and I haven't become a nun yet, so why the hell learn from experience?

And so I had to choose a profile picture. Since the vast majority of the pictures I have of myself on my computer are underwear shots in which I am trying to ascertain whether my lats are growing quicker than my thighs are getting even fatter than they already are (short answer:no) and have all or most of my head cut off, I went with the same picture I use as my avatar on my other blog and on my weightlifting boards, the "delts in the mirror" shot. I like it 'cause it's kinda artsy, my shoulders look fabulous, and because I was concentrating on getting the angle of my delts right, I didn't do anything weird with my face in it. So, lo and behold, I got messaged by a gentleman who said it was the most surprisingly sexy picture he'd seen on the dating site, and the juxtaposition of my guns with my stern but pretty librarian look (wearing my glasses, all y'all) was, and I quote, yummy. Huh. Not surprised to hear I look yummy, because that's what you pick a picture you like for, nomimsayin, but stern? There you go. More proof positive that I have bitchface all the time and I don't even know it.

Okay, maybe I do know it. A few weeks ago, someone confided to me that she's having a torrid affair (is it an affair if you aren't married? she isn't, it's all legit) with a guy she met at her gym. I was like, "hey! how do you meet guys at the gym and I never do?" and then, immediately, "oh, wait, it's because I have my bitch face on all the time, right?" And thus, boys and girls, I am driven to the ignominy of internet dating. Where apparently bitchface is alluring.

Anyway, if I do actually blind date anyone, I'm sure my horrible evenings will make entertaining blog fodder. Sacrifice for art. I live to serve, y'all.

xoxo

Oh, for god's sake, I forgot the footnote.

***Any fiction writer will tell you that you can base a plot entirely on real life events and have an editor tell you it's not believeable. "But it really happened!" is not justification.

mostly it's a chick thing

2011-09-24T15:28:00.000-04:00

Our cafeteria in work, which I have bitched about oh so very many times before, puts nutritional labels by some of the foods. This may in fact be one of the things I bitched about before, actually. They're pretty useless to me, because all they tell is the calories, the fat grams, and the sodium or something. I do not now and have not ever cared about how much fat or sodium I am consuming. When I was dieting, the carb counts would have been nice. And now that I'm bulking, I'd like to know the protein grams. But, no, they don't care to tell me either of those things.

But my bitching about that is apparently moot, because yesterday at the deli station that had turkey club rollups on special, and the nutritional info provided claimed that they were 800+ calories each. Um, yeah, okay. Let me tell you what they consisted of. Half a piece of lavash bread, maybe (to be generous) 4oz of deli turkey breast (but probably more like 3), two pieces of bacon, a lettuce leaf, a slice of tomato. No mayo, oil, or other condiments. That's it. This lead to a spirited discussion in line about how that couldn't possibly be correct. In fact, it's probably + or - 300 calories, so even if they were counting two halves as a serving (which most people don't get), it wouldn't be 800.

Similarly, earlier in the week, at the pizza station they had slices of cheese pizza listed as 350ish calories and slices of pepperoni as 700+. WTF? Go look up the nutrition facts for Pizza Hut or the like. A slice of cheese pizza and a slice of pepperoni pizza have almost the same calorie counts. Adding pepperoni does NOT double the calories. Obviously, those nutritional labels at the caf? They're just making them up out of thin air. They bear no resemblance to reality. So I'm glad they're not telling me how many grams of protein is in their slop. It'd be wrong anyway.

But what I thought was hilarious was that I and the three women directly behind me in the deli line yesterday all knew and were pissed that that sandwich nutritional label had to be wrong. I was thinking, would most guys know that? I don't think so. It's we chicks, most of whom have been on diets on and off since we were like 12 years old, who can tell you just by looking at something more or less how many calories are in it. It's kind of sad actually.

xoxo

i'll take random for 400, alex

2011-09-22T10:01:00.003-04:00

1.) Did I tell you I got new highlights? I got new highlights. I think they look good. The reason I got them is that I've been getting my roots done every four to five weeks and it's getting hella expensive to keep up. I figured if I got some lighter pieces in the front of my hair, which is where the gray pops out anyway, it would blend better and I could go longer without a touchup. So my next hair coloring appointment is in 6 1/2 weeks. We shall see if I'll feel the need to wear a hat for the last three weeks of that, won't we?

2.) Inertia saved me from myself. You probably don't remember my telling you, but I have always loved these UGG sweater boots since I first saw them a couple years ago.

Then I when I saw Natalie Portman wearing them in Black Swan, I loved them even more because they looked so cute on screen. However, I was aware that they are probably the most impractical shoe ever in eastern Massachusetts, because you can't wear them in the rain or snow. Then I saw last week on Zappos that they had them in the above color, which is a good color, on sale for $112. That did not make them any more practical, but it did make them very, very tempting. But, seeing as I am on a shopping moratorium (seriously, for realz), I didn't buy them. I kept the tab open on my computer at home and every day I would look at them to see if I still thought they were the cutest things ever, if they were still on sale, and if they still had my size. (In case you want to know because my 49th birthday is coming up in like six or seven weeks, that'd be size 7, yo.) And I told myself if all these conditions were met when payday came around, it would mean the universe wanted me to have them. Well, as of yesterday, my size was gone. Therefore I will not be wasting $112 on nonsense. The universe has spoken.

3.) Speaking of birthdays (ahem), my boss's wife's birthday has just passed. He was thinking of getting her new garage doors for her birthday. I am not kidding. You should have heard the conversation in which I, Led Zep Girl, and our nurse practitioner tried to convince him this was not a good idea, unless of course he meant to get her, like, garage doors *and* a day at the spa. Well, Monday he was telling us that she was really pissed at him because he didn't get her an iPad for her birthday. Apparently, several weeks ago she had said, "Oh, I would love to have an iPad," or similar words to that effect, and well, he didn't pay attention. His defense is that he had asked her what she wanted and she said "nothing." "You're supposed to listen to the clues and figure out what she wants. That's what women like. It makes us feel like you care about us," I said. "No, that's passive aggressive bullshit," he said. "Kinda," said Townie Girl. "But THAT'S WHAT WE LIKE." "How long have you been married and you haven't figured this out?" I asked. Oh, the lulz. You try and try, but some people just can't be helped.

4.) My last word on why Fuckin' Lackey's suckage is due to being unable to pitch any better, not due to not wanting to pitch any better, logic-wise. My contention is this: if you are a pitcher and you *can* get guys out, there is no advantage to you to NOT get guys out, no matter how lazy, unmotivated, or uninterested you are. My google fu failed me, but who needs google fu when you have minions? My minions informed me that in his 4 innings of pitching on Monday, Lackey threw 105 pitches before he was pulled. He didn't work any less hard than he would have if he had made it to the 8th and thrown 105 pitches. It's not as if they pulled him after 60 pitches or as if, had he been pitching well, they would have let him throw 130 pitches. So if he could have gotten guys out and had a respectable, non-humiliating outing, why wouldn't he have? There's no advantage to him to suck. The only advantage to him to suck is if he's actually throwing games. I probably hate him enough to believe that before the season started and the odds were all saying it was Red Sox/Phillies all the way this year, he bet heavily that the Sox *would not* make it into the playoffs and has done his best to ensure that. So if you wanna start that conspiracy theory, go ahead. However, I still think he just sucks because he fucking sucks. Fuckin' Lackey.

xoxo

i'ma just leave this here

2011-09-21T14:35:00.001-04:00

One of my favorite songs of all time.

Music really was better in the 90s. Sue me.

xoxo

postmortem

2011-09-21T11:23:00.002-04:00

After Pap came in and blew the save, there was an immediate exodus from the stands. A young, presumably drunk, very loud and very loyal gentleman a few rows up from us screamed at the departing multitude, "Where you GOING??!!!??!!!" Which, seriously. We debated it amongst ourselves, our butts firmly in our seats. (Well, somebody else's seats. We moved for a better angle to home.) You're leaving in the middle of the 8th with your team only 2 runs behind? Your need to beat the traffic or make it to the T first is such that you don't want to stick around? Or is it that the fandom is so demoralized and so lacking in faith, they see no way the Sox are gonna come from behind in the two innings they have left? Never mind that they were fucking right. It's your team. Stick around to the bitter end. (Ed. note: applies to the whole effin' season; bail now if you want, but if you do, the next time they win a Series (2020?), don't you be telling me you're a Red Sox fan.)

Contrast it to the mood 2/3rds of an inning before, when they brought Papelbon in. Have you been through this at Fenway? The minute "Shipping Up to Boston" starts playing, the whole park is on its feet, screaming and cheering, singing along at the top of their lungs. (Side discussion ensued about how, when they give Bard Papelbon's job [though after the last month, maybe not], it's gonna suck; there'll be no iconic entrance song for us to all scream along to, no punky raw palate cleanser in the ninth after the nauseating treacle of Sweet Caroline in the eighth.) And from the first strike thrown, rhythmic clapping and chanting for every pitch, and every strike, the crowd to its feet again. Electric. You can go from that to, "oh, guess they lost this one, let's go, Maude" in ten minutes? Fuck you.

In the car, we caught Pap's post game remarks, in which he took full responsibility. "It's on me. It's all on me. I got one job, to come in and finish the game, and I didn't do my job. I don't wanna hear any stuff tomorrow about bringing guys in too early or guys not stepping up at the plate. It's on me." Then radio call-in assholes bitching about Tito apparently standing up for Fuckin' Lackey*** the night before. It makes me wonder what all the point of this postgame interviewing is. The fans want/need/like to hear the Papelbons of the world abase themselves and the Titos of the world publicly excoriate their players? Blame Must Be Placed and Shit Must Be Eaten? Do we really really in our hearts think they don't *care* that they're losing and in a humiliating fashion? Do we really think they're just cashing their paychecks and are content to roll around in piles of hundred dollar bills, Scrooge McDuck-style, and don't care that they've lost first place and are losing the wild card? Do we not think that if almost any of them were to get up and speak the true contents of their hearts, they'd say, "Yeah, we suck. All of a sudden, we suck so very very badly, and I can't tell you why or how to make it stop"?

I'm sure they are as perplexed as I am. I'm sure even Fuckin' Lackey would pitch better if only he could remember how.

xoxo

***Fuckin' is officially his first name in my house now. I have lost the ability to call him anything else.

the stand

2011-09-20T11:15:00.000-04:00

I remembered the other continuance, though in retrospect, I'm not sure it's a continuance. Did I tell you I was going to reread The Stand? If so, well, continuance! Bingo! If not, pretend I did, and still bingo!

I read this book when it first came out, which wikipedia tells me was 1978. I wasn't of the financial means to buy hardcover books in 1978 and I believe my branch library was temporarily (though later permanently) shuttered then, so I must have read it when it came out in paperback. So we'll say 1979. Sounds about right. I also watched the miniseries based on it, which wikipedia tells me was aired in 1994. Let us just say that I was going to be fine in rereading it, because I only had a very vague recollection of any plot details. In fact, I will tell you that while rereading it, there was one character I was absolutely sure I remembered as being the ultimate hero in the book, and he was killed off well before the denouement. So, yeah! Just like reading a book I'd never read before.

And actually, in truth, it *was* a book I'd never read before, because the only version available for the kindle was the 1990 author's edition, in which, because Mr King was now so rich and famous he could do what the fuck he wanted, massive amounts of material that were cut from the original edition (because the bean counters thought the book was too long) were restored. The beauty of the kindle (besides being able to read "erotica" without public embarrassment and avoiding tendinitis) is that you can't really see how long these tendinitis-inducing books are, and thus are not daunted. No page numbers. No visual cue of a hardcover book that'd take up three inches on the ol' bookcase. Just a line on your home page that's longer than the lines for some of your other books. If this restored version is actually 1300 pages, you can't prove it by me. But it took me like a good ten days to read.

The Stand is considered by many people to be Stephen King's best book and/or an enduring classic. He mentions this in his foreword to the author's edition and says that, y'know, it's not his favorite book that he's written. I gotta agree with him. It certainly isn't the scariest of all his books, nor is it the best plotted. What surprised me reading it this time around is how good it is in certain key areas that apparently he got worse in as his writing career progressed. For instance, I always say that one of my major problems with his work is that his female characters suck. They tend to be far more one dimensional than his male characters and, as a chick, often read to me as if *he* thinks he understands how women think and react, which 1.) we don't all think and react the same way and 2.) he doesn't. He also tends to write women as victims of physical or sexual abuse and furthermore as abuse victims whose abuse colors their entire lives and psychology. I find it somewhat annoying. For just as, say, male combat victims don't all respond to the trauma they've sustained in the same way, female rape victims don't either. So it was with great pleasure that I found in The Stand several better rounded female characters, including two major ones, who had histories of (relatively, at least) healthy family and romantic relationships. It brings up the question of why an author's characterizations would get worse instead of better, and I can only attribute it to getting stuck in the mode of writing the same character over and over again.

N E Way, I was glad to reread this book, because the postapocalypic "disease has wiped out almost everyone and the survivors are fighting for their lives" genre is very big in books and movies now, though these days the virus generally turns you into a zombie of some sort, since zombies are big now. Nice to read one of the original bestsellers in the genre and see how it's influenced what came after.

xoxo

continuances

2011-09-19T17:12:00.002-04:00

1.) So D has to go on thyroid medication after all, which will mean he will be on a grand total of...wait for it...wait for it...7 different drugs. Eight different prescriptions actually, since he gets one of them in two separate strengths. There's the atypical antipsychotic, the antidepressant, the antianxiety, the stuff that protects against the side effects of the atypical antipsychotic, the cholesterol lowering drug (needed due to the atypical antipsychotic fucking up one's metabolism), the protect against diabetes drug (ditto), and now the thyroid replacement. Which, if THAT isn't due to the atypical antipsychotic, I will eat my nonexistent hat. Townie Girl, who is on a similar number of drugs due to her autoimmune diseases and her crazee, shares my experience in that when we walk up to the pharmacy window, no one needs to ask our name anymore. I don't know what the point of sharing all this is, except to say that someday our descendents will look back on this like we look at witch doctors killing chickens to heal the patient. Because I am very sure medical science will advance such that the drugs that are saving your life on the one hand aren't also killing you on the other.

2.) Got the response to my second anxiety-producing bit of correspondence on Saturday and it is potentially very, very good financial news for me. I've got a little more work to do on it, but there may be a time in the not so distant future where I stop whining to you all that I don't have enough money to fix up my house and sell it.

3.) How about those Red Sox? Looking forward to tomorrow's game as one step closer to losing the wild card race. Beer will be consumed.

I can't remember the rest of what I was going to tell all y'all. As I mentioned previously, I am losing my freaking mind. Go, menopause, go!

xoxo

do you know what today is?

2011-09-19T00:00:00.000-04:00

Happy Talk Like a Pirate Day, all y'all.

xoxo

peri-menopause brain strikes again

2011-09-17T11:20:00.000-04:00

This is getting slightly scary, you guys.

Lately if I have to mail something, I've been mostly bringing it to work with me rather than putting it into the mailbox on my street. This because, with my bodymedia, I am now accutely aware of how much I sit on my ass at work and going to the mail slot in the hospital gives me an excuse to walk way over to the furthest building from mine and back at some point during my work day. So sometimes I'll throw whatever bills I have to pay into my bag, write the checks at work, and then mail them. Well, this month, anticipating the big bill from my electrician, I did not pay Sprint and NationalGrid at the same time, as I usually do, since those two bills always come within a few days of each other. No, I paid Sprint, and decided to hold off on the 'lectricity another week (and paycheck) and pay it with my AMTA renewal that's due the end of September. (Which, may I say, is ridiculously expensive, but it does give me liability insurance which I need to keep up my MA license and which I guess will protect me should I ever kill someone through, I dunno, arnica overdose or some shit.)

So Thursday (payday!) I made sure I took some checks and stamps with me to pay the AMTA and NationalGrid, the bills for which I was sure I had in my purse the last time I checked. But Thursday I was mega-busy in work and didn't get a chance. Yesterday afternoon, after my last appointment, I sat down to do it, and...well, the AMTA bill was in my bag, but no NationalGrid. Damn, why would I have taken that out? And, damn, it's due next week, so must mail Saturday.

This morning I remembered to grab the NationalGrid envelope from the pile of crap I'd cleaned out of my purse but not yet dealt with. A few minutes ago I took it out and looked at it. It's the bill stub. At some point, that I SWEAR I DO NOT REMEMBER AT ALL, I already paid it. I am completely serious. I remember thinking I wouldn't pay it until I paid the AMTA, but I guess I changed my mind. And the reason I took it out of my purse was because I was done with it.

When they put me away in the home because I have early-onset Alzheimers, will you all come visit me? I mean, I'm sure I won't remember who you are and will probably think you're trying to steal my pudding, but it's good karma.

xoxo

wanna talk basebalI? the sequel

2011-09-16T12:38:00.002-04:00

So! Having been selected to possibly buy ALDS tickets today, I logged on at 12:04 (purchases start at noon) and was ushered into the virtual waiting room, where I was two "seats" away from the "box office." This surprised me, because the last time I was in the virtual waiting room, I was at number 5 or 6 and in the four hours before I gave up, I never moved. My first thought was, "Oh, hahaha, nobody else thinks they're gonna make it to the ALDS either," but then I realized the more likely explanation was that they just hadn't allowed that many people the chance to buy tickets.

Approximately 12:38 I actually made it to the box office where I made what might have been my fatal mistake. The choices were game 1, game 2, or game 3 (if necessary). I picked game 1. The best available tickets were standing room only. Um, no. No thank you. I am not paying $35 per seat plus convenience fees (and may I say, fuck you, it's not so convenient) to stand for an entire game. I'll watch at home from my couch. And you don't get a second chance. I tried to go back and select another game, but it would not allow me to. Oh.well. These games aren't gonna happen anyway.

I am being recruited to become a Milwaukee Brewers fan. You never know. I might jump ship.

Oh, who are we kidding? I am brainwashed into Red Sox fandom and it ain't gonna go away, sans ECT or something. I'll just bitch, moan, and be bitter as hell.

xoxo

wanna talk baseball?

2011-09-15T21:25:00.002-04:00

Me neither. Two things, though.

I came home just about 8 pm tonight, said hi to D, unpacked my bags and put stuff away, walked through the living room where the game was on, saw the score was 1-0 Tampa Bay, went upstairs to pee, came down, and the score was now 4-0. In the time it took me to take a leak, the Red Sox gave up another 3 runs. That is emblematic of something.

Also? I got in my email the other day that I was selected for the chance to try to buy ALDS tickets tomorrow. Ha! Like they're gonna be in the ADLS. Whatever.

Mr Indemnity informed me the other day that the Sox collapse was good, because it transforms the Orioles game we're going to next week from a meaningless late season yawner to an important, exciting event. I said we're getting beers this time, no matter how many people we need to crawl over and elbow in the head getting out of seats 10 and 11, 'cause I have the feeling I'ma need alcohol.

Okay, that was three things. I'm done now.

xoxo

the half empty, half full report

2011-09-13T12:22:00.003-04:00

Since yesterday was such a downer, blog post-wise, today I'ma balance out every bad with at least one good.

1.) I just paid my electrician a crapload of money but

1a.) now I can use my oven without the house possibly going up in flames

1b.) which means I'm baking cranberry bread even as we speak and

1c.) having the electrician come was a good impetus to

1d.) almost completely finish cleaning my dad's shit out of that nasty garage and

1e.) start working on cleaning out the basement which I have neglected far too long and

1f.) I think my mega huge air purifier has finally taken the stench out of my downstairs caused by those nasty boxes from the basement in D's closet

2.) Since those little bastards CJ and Nick completely flaked out on me and stopped returning my emails and calls, I was forced to cut my own grass today in desperation but

2a.) I managed to get the mower started, which I wasn't sure I was going to be able to, and

2b.) even though it really doesn't cut very well

2c.) the yard still looks better now than it did an hour and a half ago and

2d.) I'm no longer in imminent danger of the neighbors calling the city on me so

2e.) I don't have to avoid them anymore and it's another weight off my mind and

2f.) incidentally, I noticed that I am so effin' strong now, I can start that mower on one pull (when I first started cutting the grass when it got too much for my dad, he had to start the mower for me every single time, I didn't have the arm strength) so

2g.) functional strength, bitches!

3.) no good news came in today's mail but

3a.) no bad news came in today's mail, either

How'm I doing?

xoxo

one more celeb photo

2011-09-12T20:08:00.003-04:00

Mr and Mrs Carter-Knowles out for a stroll in Tribeca.

It's not every pregnant woman who has leather booty shorts. Where do you even find such things in maternity size? I guess when you're Beyonce you just snap your fingers and say "make it so," sorta like Jean Luc Picard. Jay looks good. He's not a particularly handsome man, but he wears clothes very well. The plain white tee and jeans make a perfect backdrop for his wife's whackadoodle outfit, no?

xoxo

insight into pathology

2011-09-12T12:39:00.000-04:00

Mine, that is. I know it is very difficult for people who are normal to understand the brain workings of the crazee. Just think of this as an anthropological visit into a strange land. Listen and learn, I mean to say.

I have been procrastinating on a variety of things that make me very anxious. On the surface, this makes absolutely no sense, because the end result is more anxiety. Anxiety about the matter itself, and anxiety about the procrastination. Plus all the lovely self-shaming about how I should just get my shit together like a functional adult.

Well, one of these things was along the lines of "if y happens and I haven't taken care of x, the disaster of y will be magnified tenfold, but y hasn't happened and probably won't so, lalalala, ignore x as long as possible, because taking care of x will probably turn out to be some protracted ordeal where everything will go wrong and just the thought of how stressful that would be is giving me a panic attack now." Except when anxiety about y raised its ugly head to be worse than anxiety about doing x, I sat down, wrote the correspondence that needed to be done, and mailed it out a week or ten days ago. Relief and terror accompanied taking that letter to the post office. And in today's mail, there was a reply. All fixed. On the first try. No "provide us with more information", no "you must come to the office and sign this, this, and this", no "I'm sorry, but this nullifies the whole thing and we need to start from scratch", no mistakes, no extra charges, no agita. Just proof that everything was now as it should be, and if y happens, I don't have to worry.

I realize that all those other things that I am procrastinating on probably can be handled just as easily, even though I've had huge aggravations about D's MassHealth, the electrical work on my house, my parade of disappearing landscapers, the ongoing inability of CVS pharmacy to do their job properly, etc etc. Even though it *seems* like it, not every single thing always goes wrong. And the procrastination anxiety is probably worse than the "they will fuck this up" anxiety anyway. But that's just how my brain functions. Even on drugs.

I sent out another letter the same day as x. We'll see if any good comes from that one.

Are you wearing your underwear on your head today? If not, why not?

xoxo

praise the lord

2011-09-11T17:45:00.003-04:00

You all may or may not remember me telling you about the closed car dealership I go by every day of my life whose proposed transformation into a methadone clinic was squelched by the neighbors and/or other town citizens. The last few weeks there has been a flurry of activity there, indicating that it was being transformed into something. Today I noticed the sign. The car dealership is now a "Christian Fellowship." Oh.

What I'm about to say is deeply unfair, I'm sure, since it's not as if the church put a kibosh on the clinic in order to get the building. Uh, as far as I know. But I can't help but think that if Jesus were alive, he'd be more interested in helping the junkies than in a bunch of people sitting around on a Sunday congratulating themselves on how moral and superior they are for believing in him. But what do I know? I'm a heathen.

In completely unrelated news, but as a further exemplar of how klassy the area in which I live and work is, I just saw a woman wearing a tube top over a bra. I don't mean a strapless bra. I mean, she had a tube top on over a regular bra such that the bra straps and the part of the cup that attaches to the straps were showing. Um, I am sorry, but they are called undergarments for a reason. Maybe tomorrow we should all wear our underpants on our heads or something.

Jesus, in his new car dealership home, wept.

xoxo

time to look at...

2011-09-09T11:20:00.005-04:00

what Andrea's favorite celebs have been up to!

1.) Having already told all y'all that Mr and Mrs Carter-Knowles are expecting, I would be remiss not to let you in on who else is looking forward to a little bundle of joy: Mr and Mrs Sarkozy! Our friend Carla is a little elderly to be popping out her first bebe, but good for her. Let's hope it looks like mommy, not daddy, eh?

2.) My other girl-crush Rihanna is now the new face of Armani. She is apparently blond in the ads. Not sure I am in favor of this development (the blond hair/presumed wig, not her endorsement deal--make all the money you can whilst those breasts still look like that, darlin'!) but her face is so pretty she can pull off whatever they (or she) do to her coif.

3.) My boytoy Anthony and his friend Flea have a new album out. Back in July, the Benevolent L and I were in her car with the radio on (which is basically the only time I ever listen to the radio these days) and a song came on. "Is this the Chili Peppers?" L asked. "Yeah," I said. "Is this a new song or an old song?" "Old, I think." Then the DJ helpfully told us that it was the single from the new album. Then a couple weeks ago, Mr Indemnity sent me a thing where you could download the album on iTunes for free. "Did you listen to it? Is it good?" he asked. "It sounds like a Chili Peppers album," I said. My point being, the new songs sound like the old songs and the new album is not a groundbreaking piece of musical innovation. They have a niche and they are filling it. I have no problem with that. I do, however, have a problem with this moustache. Dear god, Anthony, don't muck up your pretty face with the pr0n star 'stache. You look like a homeless guy. And maybe you should get Carla's plastic surgeon on speed dial.

I think that's it for now. If I remember anything else, I'll let you all know.

xoxo

speaking of things that look pathetic

2011-09-08T15:24:00.001-04:00

How about those Red Sox??!?! [insert hysterical laughter and/or sobbing here]

As the eighth inning unfolded, I said to D, and I quote, "I do NOT know why I am watching this, because I am not enjoying it." Maybe it was like one of those eleven car pileups that you just can't take your eyes off of, even though you suspect a decapitated head may come rolling out of that overturned pickup truck any time now. I am beginning to think that this season may just end without #200 ever coming and that will be a travesty and a desecration.

But then, even with #200 blown last night, those bastards still had a chance to tie and win the game. Only, did you see that final out? The fuck was that? R U kidding me? Do you think you're Dave Roberts? Because you, sir, are no Dave Roberts. So how about you stay on first base where you fucking belong and let the miracle come from behind win happen without your heroics.

Not that I'm bitter or anything. God.

xoxo

why are they lying to meeeee?

2011-09-07T14:45:00.002-04:00

The weather on my google homepage is telling me that it is a "light rain mist", as reported from a location approximately 1/4 mile from my house. However, outside my particular house, it is pouring. This is pissing me off, because I would like to leave and go get some shit done, but I would like to do so in a light rain mist as opposed to "looking like I took a shower in my clothes again" weather. And when my shopping moratorium is over, I should break down and buy rain boots like I have been threatening to do for 3 years, because I am sick of getting my shoes and/or feet wet.

In non-meteorological bitching, my electrician would like to come and do my work next Tuesday morning, which means I'll have to take off work. However, I am not going to refuse, because being able to cook on more than one burner and use my oven is, y'know, important. D and I were laughing last night about all the food we are going to make Tuesday night. Lesson: you do not fully appreciate what you have until you cannot use it. Ooooo, deep. Apply that to your own life.

Also? How about those Red Sox? (Do you need the ol' irony alert? Okay, then.)

And, finally, in the non-complaint department, I was going to reply to a post of someone's poor cat with a shaved leg from dental surgery with the comment, "Oh, poor kitteh. They look so pathetic when they're shaved." Then I realized how else that could be taken. And then I realized that I probably don't know them well enough to insert a juvenile, off-color joke into their thread, purposely or not. So my sympathy for their cat was not relayed. But, seriously, don't they look sad when they're shaved?

I don't hear it pouring anymore. Maybe I can make a break for it soon. Oh, yeah, now google's telling me it's raining. Very good.

xoxo

Oh, P.S. did you hear about the Eastern Bank scam? D got the call over the weekend, didn't tell me about it, but then was freaking out because he couldn't find his bank statement. So I showed him how to call 1-800-eastern and see that all his money is still in his bank account where it belongs. When we did that, they had a recording on there about the scam and an option to push if you had fallen for it. *Then* he told me he'd gotten the call, not that he was stupid/naive enough to fall for it and enter his account info, but that was what got him panicking. Which, I swear, he's been like that from the time he could talk--he would never ever come forward with whatever was upsetting him or worrying him without my having to pry it out of him with a crowbar. Anyway, Townie Girl also got the scam call and, because she does online banking, Eastern Bank emailed her about the scam too. I don't know why I am impressed by their handling of this, but I am so used to people bitching about the absolutely horrendous things their banks do, I guess I appreciate their minimal standards of customer service. I will be sad the day they get swallowed up. End digression.

boot madness

2011-09-05T21:15:00.003-04:00

If I were NOT on a shopping moratorium, I could have bought these almost $500 Frye boots today for $200, in either red with black or black with red. (This picture is the closest thing I could find. Obviously, the ones marked down 60% in Marshalls are past season and so were slightly different in colors.)

I have almost physical pain that I passed up a $500 pair of Frye boots (made in freakin' Spain, too, not some 3rd world country by slave children) for $200, but my self-control was great. And don't you go telling me that people on shopping moratoriums should not be out window shopping anyway. I relish the opportunity to torture and deny myself.

xoxo

more things i am good at

2011-09-04T13:33:00.004-04:00

Besides telling you how to get wherever it is you think you are going on the MBTA, having a good eye for design even though I can't draw, paint, sculpt, or otherwise produce any art, breastfeeding, dumbbell rows (PR yesterday, bitches: 45x5x5, with 40x8x1 thrown in for the lulz [my back is strong as fuck, yet my lats will not grow; it is a mystery and an enigma]) and panicking, that is. I am good at shopping. That is one of my other superpowers. Oh, I am not my mother. I cannot get $200 worth of groceries for $42.97 nor can I go into a Building 19/Big Lots/etc and find in amongst the piles and piles of cheap crap the two things that really are great quality and a good bargain. (I attribute this to the fact that I was really supposed to have been born independently wealthy and someone screwed the fuck up.)

No, what I am good at, as far as shopping goes, is finding the place out of all the myriad of options, online and off, that has exactly the [whatever] that you, or I, really want. Since some of my friends are aware of this (and you know who you are), I occasionally am called in for consultation. And thus it came to pass that google ads really really really now thinks I want a new laptop bag. Sorry, omniscient google, but no, I am not looking for any luggage or purse-type options at the moment. You can go back to trying to sell me expensive yoga pants, even though that messes with my self image. (I broke down and bought the Lululemon shorts, btw, and have worn them at least twice a week since I got them. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the gym mirror with them on, I think, "Who's that hot old broad?" so you know they were worth every ridiculous penny. Miracle fabric spun by fairies or something, all y'all. And the parentheticals will stop any.time.now.)

But having spent ridiculous money on shorts and generally TOO MUCH MONEY in July and August, I am now on a shopping moratorium. I broke it, or y'know, just didn't start it yet, by purchasing a big ass air purifier this week. I will spare you the sad story of why I think I need one, but it involves cleaning out the basement, D finding a cardboard box of brand new t shirts down there that he bought in some past manic episode, putting the box of mildew-y t shirts in his walk-in closet, and now even after the shirts have been washed and the box banished to the garage till trash day, my whole downstairs stinks and my allergies are kicking into overdrive. My HEPA air filter assures me it will take care of my mold spores ASAP, but trash day can't come soon enough. And I guess I didn't spare you the story after all! The weird thing is, my allergies did not bother me ever going into the basement or when we were cleaning it and it didn't smell that bad. It's just after stirring shit up or something. I dunno. I probably need to get some extra money somewhere and buy a couple more giant ass air purifiers. Once my review at work goes through, my awesome 2% raise will kick in and I'll get whatever they owe me retroactively. That'll probably be $20. Bad economy, FTW.

I wish some of my superpowers came with money-making properties. "Will dumbbell row for cash." If you see a woman sitting outside the Y with a (non-stinky) cardboard sign that says that and a tin cup, that'll be me. Throw a couple quarters in, willya?

xoxo

out and about without a clue

2011-08-30T20:50:00.001-04:00

So, there I was, sitting on the bench at the depot, when the young woman next to me asked what bus I was waiting for. I told her the Prison Bus. (No I didn't, I answered appropriately.) "Where does that go?" I told her. She ascertained that it would get her where she wanted to be, which was good, because the bus she thought she had to take instead wasn't for another 50 minutes. I know, this story is fascinating so far. Bear with me.

Now, the woman had with her a disabled child who was a different race than she was. Said child did not look biracial in the least, so I was mildly curious, but I just assumed she was the girl's mother. An older gentleman arrived, asked what bus we were waiting for (same one!) and then proceeded to make small talk. It was from this that eventually it came out that the woman was not the little girl's mother, but instead a private duty nurse. Apparently--and you would think I would have known this, working in pediatrics n' all--children with trachs or G tubes are not allowed to attend school without a one-to-one nurse. Can you imagine the expense of that? It boggles the mind. So this young woman had worked full time with this four year old for the last year and a half, 7am to 5pm, four days a week. She said it was a good job.

More people show up to wait, the prison bus being very popular. The bus is late. Other buses pull in, falsely raising our hopes. In truth, it's a nice warm sunny day and I am in no hurry to get home or anywhere else, so I don't mind. Other than the fact that I wouldn't have drunk the medium iced coffee I did if I knew I was gonna be waiting so long, ifyouknowwhatimsayin.

Eventually, another woman gets off one of those buses pulling in and comes over to us. She's probably my age or a little older. Old enough to know better and too young to be senile, okay? She asks us if we know where The Happiest Place on Earth is and how to get there. The nurse tells her that, well, it's far. She can't walk there. Well, can she take a bus? Which bus? We tell her to get on the same bus as us. If it ever comes. She asks me if there was any other way to get there from where she started. With my vast knowledge of the MBTA (seriously, I can tell you how to get anywhere on the T, it's one of my superpowers; they should give me a job), I tell her the one other way she could have done it, which wouldn't have been any easier. Then she asks us how far "far" is. Couple/three miles. So, she could get in one of those taxis and be there in 5 minutes? Eh, maybe ten.

Then she turns to me and says, completely out of the blue, "Do you think the iPhone is a good phone?" I noncommittally say that a lot of people have them. It is a very weird conversational jump and I am glad when the prison bus arrives just then. It gives me the opportunity to sit far away from her. She sits across from the nurse and the little girl instead and grills her on her cell phone options. Maybe that's why she was going to the store, to buy a new phone. I kinda think you'd have done some research beforehand, not depended on asking strangers' opinions, but different strokes n' all. She also repeatedly asks the nurse to let her know when she's at her stop. The nurse tells her she's getting off before that, but that she's sitting on the right side of the bus, just, y'know, look for it. It's hard to miss. When the nurse is trying to get off, with the small child and the stroller, the woman is demanding of her as she struggles to do so, how many more stops? The young woman, obviously way more patient than me, finally snaps and says she doesn't know, JUST LOOK OUT THE WINDOW. And then when the woman does finally arrive at the big box store of her dreams, she asks the bus driver, oh, is this the last bus of the day? He doesn't know, but he doesn't think so. (Seriously, I know more than the MBTA employees. If I had a dollar for every time I heard a bus driver tell someone the next bus was in x number of minutes and be completely wrong, I could buy...I dunno, something expensive.)

So I am completely befuddled by this whole thing. How do you set out to go someplace with no idea of where it is or how to get there or how you will return? What would possess you to just randomly head in the direction of the town it's in and assume you'll get there somehow? And why would you think strangers would not just give you directions, but would hold your hand and babysit you till you arrived? And tell you what cell phone to buy while they were doing it? Though, shit, maybe if this woman did have an iPhone, there'd be some kind of app to direct her through life. Steve Jobs and his minions should get right on that!

In summary, people are very very strange.

xoxo

more reason to live, however

2011-08-29T09:37:00.003-04:00

Apparently I missed it, but Beyonce publicly announced her pregnancy on the VMAs last night. Which, I'm very happy, she and Jay-Z should have some adorable, smart, talented children. Also, I remember hearing/reading like a year ago that she was pregnant and then after many months had passed, realized, hmmm, shouldn't she have had that kid by now? And then saw a non-pregnant photo of her. So my internet research (because GOD KNOWS I have nothing better to do than figure out the personal lives of celebrities) then led me to the conclusion that she had never been pregnant at all and it was just a rumor OR she had been pregnant and then lost the pregnancy but had never publicly addressed either. Which is fine. Bey and Hova are people and even if they are mega rich and famous musicians, they deserve their privacy too. BUT ANYWAY, whether she was or was not ever pregnant before, I'm happy for them that she's pregnant now and far along enough to be showing and announcing. Besides which, remember when Jay-Z was all shy about even hugging her at awards shows and now it's like he's admitting he had sex with his own wife and knocked her up? He's come a long way in getting in touch with his softer side, yo. Ha!

D was watching the VMAs, but I checked out early (I thought we were gonna be watching Sunday night baseball.) I had to check out early because all my comments were along the lines of "is this what they consider music these days?" and "who are these people?" and so forth. I need to rent me a fourteen year old for a week or something. I did see the Foo Fighters win and hear Dave Grohl make a comment about "don't lose faith in real rock music, it's still out there, even if you have to look harder." Apparently he was sitting through the show saying the same things I was! Oh, us cranky old people.

But the reason I found out about Bey's announcement even though I left the room before it all happened was that I read the coverage on gofugyourself this morning. This is Heather's interpretation of Kanye's reaction to the announcement. (Keep in mind Kanye always gets caplocked on gofugyourself, and always rhymes, badly.; it's a thing.)

And I quote!:

KANYE RUNS UP TO JAY-Z, WHO SALUTES BEYONCE, AND HITS HIS BACK, AND IS LIKE, WHAT YO, SHE’S PREGGO, YOU ARE A SPERM PRO, WAY TO GO BRO.

I am going to have to work "you are a sperm pro" into my everyday conversation, because oh, it brings the lulz.

xoxo

panic in the disco, denouement

2011-08-29T08:47:00.003-04:00

No trees down on my house or in my street. Still feel sick from the stress and adrenaline. Adrenaline hangover? Ativan hangover? Feels like I am heading into Very Bad Brain Time again. I don't even feel like going to the gym after Saturday's failure. And historically this is the time of the year when everything starts going south, brain chemical-wise (you can look it up!) Which is kinda amazing, considering September and October are my favorite months of the year. Also feeling like I may need to give up on the bulk for awhile, since food is sitting in my stomach like a rock and I don't want to eat. Hopefully that will pass.

And maybe it will all pass and tomorrow I will wake up and feel perky and happy and calm. Or maybe I need to go to the doctor and explore new adventures in pharmaceuticals. Or maybe I need to get laid. Or maybe going to the Sox game on Wednesday is the cure to all my ills. The brain is a complicated organ. You never know what is gonna kick start it back to normal functioning! Heh.

Here's a newborn kitten. Go "awwwwwwwwww."

xoxo

panic in the disco, part 4

2011-08-28T08:52:00.004-04:00

I did not go to the liquor store last night. I did kill the rest of the wine while I stripped all the beds in the house, washed the sheets, and remade, scrubbed the kitchen floor, vacuumed the nasty hall rug and the rug under my dining room table*** with carpet deodorizer, and bagged up a few more bags of trash in the basement. As you know, the only time my house actually gets really cleaned (as opposed to straightened) is when I am having a panic attack or important visitors (like, y'know, the electrician).

I am feeling less panicked and less convinced a tree is going to fall on my house since a.) my basement remains dry as a bone, my sandbagging of the sliders having worked a treat so far through the intermittent downpours and b.) the forecast now is tropical storm, blah blah, 2-3 inches of rain, 50 mph winds, so as Mr Indemnity wisely forecasted on Friday, just a regular fuckin' nor'easter all up in here, more or less. Since D is up all night, I asked him when I was going to bed last night, mellowed out on wine and half an Ativan, to go check the basement every now and then and alert me if any puddles were forming. I figured if my sandbagging wasn't completely weather-tight, I could at least shopvac the puddles as they were occurring and stay ahead of it so it didn't turn into a huge mess. But, like I said, it was bueno. When I woke up at six am and realized I'd slept through the night *and* that it wasn't even raining at the moment, I was, shall we say, relieved.

But since a tree still *might* fall on my house, I think today I shall wash the hardwoods in my living/dining room. I'm tempted to wash the slipcovers, too, but I have to see if I'm willing to take the chance that we don't lose power when I'm in the middle of a wash cycle. I should probably actually go throw them in now while it's still quiet out there, huh?

And if heavy drinking does become called for, never fear. Not only do I have those couple beers in the fridge, I realized that I have an unopened off-brand bottle of Irish Creme (Cream?) in the closet that Mr Indemnity gave me for Xmas a few years ago, for reasons that are totally unclear. I don't know what kind of drinks I could improvise with it, but like I said the other day, where there's a will to get drunk, there's apparently a way!

Oh! And you know what else I found in my storm preparations and cleaning frenzy? A huge rubbermaid tub full of brand new, never used, *very* nice towels. Plus some pretty cloth napkins. Apparently my mom had them squirreled away, again for reasons that are entirely unclear. My life is like one long sad episode of Hoarders. (Do you know in the basement, my parents had the box to everything they ever bought? The box. Apparently there was a method to this madness, however. I found a box with a broken coffee maker in it. So, y'know, when the appliance breaks, you don't throw it away. You return it to the box that you also never threw away and put it in your basement, like a little museum of sad defective merchandise. I come by my crazee honestly, is the point I'm making.)

Stay dry. Stay drunk. Don't let any tree limbs hit ya.

xoxo

***When it gets very humid, I am convinced that hall rug and one corner of the dining room rug smell vaguely like pee. I am unsure of the origin of this pee smell. I would like to blame one of our various cats, two of whom have died in this house, or the one who boarded here. But in truth, I think my dad used to step in his own pee when he missed the toilet in his declining years and then track traces of it all over the first floor on the soles of his shoes. This is why I will never stop going barefoot in the house. If it ever gets to the point where I'm stepping in my own bodily fluids, I wanna know about it.

panic in the disco, part 3

2011-08-27T17:40:00.000-04:00

I was feeling much better last night, after being talked down, and after the mega-basement cleaning D and I did, which as you know, burns off the crazee energy, and then this morning when, as I was getting ready to leave, I heard in passing on D's TV some weather wonk say something like, "2-4 inches of rain, which we can get in a thunderstorm..." I may have misheard, but the idea that that's all the rain we were slated for left me heading for work in a good, calm mood.

At some point during the day that changed. I saw a couple of people online make comments that led me to believe perhaps the storm track had changed or something. I tried to look online to find out, and all I could find was doom, gloom, and death for New England. I started to feel anxious and unsettled again. I choked down my lunch, which sat in my stomach like a rock, the way food does when I am too upset to eat. I go out in our waiting area to try to find an actual updated forecast on the television. Well. I get Governor Patrick's doom, gloom, and death press conference. It does not make me feel better. Since I am done with patients, I decide to leave work early, go to the gym, and do the rest of my storm prep.

At the gym, something happens that has never happened before. I change, I go upstairs, I cannot lift any weights. I literally cannot lift a weight that was on the verge of getting too easy last week. I attempt a few sets, and I just...can't do it. I say a couple bad words, put my dumbbells away, change and leave. It has started to rain. I walk in the rain to CVS because I have a two day only 25% off coupon. I take my three items to the cashier, where they all ring up as on sale (though none of them had signs saying they were on sale or I wouldn't have chosen them) and are thus ineligible for my coupon. I tell the cashier thanks, but I don't want it, and I leave. I get on my bus and I am very close to crying. I am thinking very VERY dark thoughts.

But before I can go home with my very dark thoughts, I must stop at the Happiest Place on Earth, sure to lift my spirits: WalMart! Since I couldn't find my crank flashlight, I go in search of lantern batteries. Everyone has beaten me to them. In fact there is nothing in that store even vaguely flashlight related and the "associates" are repeating so over and over to the approximately 658 people in there with me looking for an artificial light source. I buy trash bags, grape jelly, and light bulbs, and leave. It is still raining as I walk the few blocks home. A man asks me if I would like a ride in his Caddie. I demure, and wonder once again what it is about me that screams, "oh, yes, I do accept rides from probable rapists or serial killers."

At home, I finally find the crank flashlight, sorta right near where I looked for it yesterday (sigh) and then I bring in all my stuff from the patio that I should have done *before* the rains commenced. I check my basement approximately every fifteen minutes to make sure there's no puddles forming. I eat something without bringing it back up. And then I write this post.

How was your day?

xoxo

panic in the disco, part 2

2011-08-26T16:20:00.002-04:00

My good friend Mr Indemnity just attempted to talk me in off the hurricane ledge by pointing out to me that this storm will not turn out to be anything worse than a typical nor'easter.

That's easy for people who didn't have trees fall into their driveways this calendar year to say. Have I survived 3-5 inches of rain in this house before, with at worst, some shopvaccing of some puddles in the cellar, and at best, no harm, no foul? Yes. Have we had 50 mile per hour winds that did not snap any trees? Yes. Have we had big storms that did NOT cause us to lose power? Yes. Are these bastard weathermen trying to make me crazier than I already am? Well, most likely it's unintentional. I will say when I was just at Shaws buying fruit, bread, peanut butter, water, and pie, there were people merrily buying huge shopping carts of ice cream and meat. Apparently, they have emergency generators or they are far more laid back than I am. Glass fuckin' half full types, the bastards.

Now I must go find my hand-crank-able flashlight that I know is here somewhere, unless I gave it to charity.

xoxo

panic in the disco

2011-08-25T11:23:00.002-04:00

You can imagine my reaction to the hurricane news. My son, who is watching news center 5 or whatever at 6:30 am texts me that we need to get groceries before the storm. No, sorry, D, we are not going to buy a shitload of perishable food that will rot when we lose our power. We will get some drinks and some fruit and some bread and some peanut butter and cereal and perhaps that milk-in-a-bag and snack food items and more whey. Stuff that does not need to be kept cold nor cooked.

If I didn't already have a tree fall into my driveway this year and if I hadn't already had to shopvac a puddle out of my basement from one of last week's flash floods, I'd be a little more sanguine. Of course, I continue to hope and pray that the storm track changes. It is slated to hit us on Gandhi's birthday, so, y'know, the forcefield of good fortune might be enough to push it way out to sea. Or at least make it lose energy.

So how are your storm preparations coming along? I figure I have to put my plants in the house, along with my bistro set, my Buddha shrine, and all my solar lights. Sandbag my sliders out from the basement to the patio. Pray we do not lose electricity because then I lose the sump pump. Take ativan and cry a lot. I don't know what else to do.

xoxo

jaw-breaking peanut brittle in the ice cream of life

2011-08-20T13:42:00.004-04:00

Evocative Images 101, y'all. Shut up. What I mean to say is, nothing ever goes smoothly.

When I was explaining to Marcy the other day *why* I had to take a nap on Wednesday morning after my electrician dropped by and gave me the bad news, I expressed that I am being worn down by the fact that every fucking thing is a problem. There was the fiasco with my equipment at work, and the pain in the ass with D and MassHealth, and the simple little stove thing turning out to be a big, relatively expensive thing. Things have not been on an upswing since then.

Wednesday after my electrician visit and my nap but before ancient Chinese medicine fucked with my hormones, I got my Rue La La Boston daily email. The deal for the day was a 45 minute soak for two at Inman Oasis for $25, $50 value. I like Inman Oasis. I had a $20 Rue La La credit that I've been holding onto for probably a year and a half, that I got for completing some survey or other. Do the math. It would be stupid not to take the deal. I bought the soak for 5 bucks, woohoo. And then yesterday I realized I hadn't gotten my voucher in email, even though it was supposed to come within 24 hours. I emailed Rue La La. My "concierge" emailed back that he was resending the voucher, to check my spam folder, and to call the 888 number if I didn't get it by today. Guess where I had to call today? And sit on hold? Uh, yeah. Today's concierge told me she had another call about this yesterday. Apparently there was a problem inputting the codes or something and thus the vouchers were not sent in their usual timely manner. But she is positive I will get it by tomorrow. My hopes are not, y'know, high. Grr. This is the most work I have ever had to do for a fucking $5 purchase, lemme tell you that.

Then yesterday, going to leave work. It's pouring! I am not going to walk the fifteen minutes from work to the gym in that, so I retreat to my office to wait for it to let up. It does. About half way there, it starts thundering really loudly again. However, the sky is actually lighter in the direction in which I am walking. I feel safe that I will make it to the Y before storming recommences. Wrong. Three blacks away and the sky opens up and, despite my emergency umbrella, the sideways force of rain ensures that I am completely soaked from the waist down. I walk into the Y looking much like someone who has taken a shower while wearing their clothes and the new girl at the front desk takes that opportunity to inform me that my payment for July did not go through. WTF. It's mid-August and I'm at the gym 5 days a week on average. I'm fairly sure it's that my debit card expired the end of June and they just need the new expiration date. I dry myself off with my complementary towel, change, workout, and when I am going to leave, my dress I wore to work is still so wet, it's impossible to put back on. So I take myself home on public transport wearing yoga shorts that I am vaguely aware might possibly give me camel toe. Because apparently I have no shame, I don't really give a fuck. (But, seriously, what would you do? Put back on soaking wet clothes just in order to preserve some semblance of modesty? Just, no.)

Today I get to work (7:15, Saturday morning) to find that the monitor attached to the piece of equipment we just spent all that money replacing is dead. I place a frantic call to my 8am patient, but they have already left. Luckily, I manage to steal a monitor off another computer that my MDs use and get up and running by the time they arrive, but seriously? When they were telling us the computer on the equipment was so damn old and needed to be replaced, not fixed, why didn't they replace the equally aged monitor too? But I'm sure the adrenaline rush at 7:30am was good for me.

And just a bit ago, I got an email from my son with a video link in it, but, um, no, it's not really from him, so apparently he's got a virus on his netbook. Son of a bitch.

On the plus side, in case you didn't already hear, I won a hundred bucks and some miscellaneous stuff yesterday, and as of last night the money is supposed to be in my Paypal account. I'm kinda scared to check whether it's really there or not, because with the way things have been going, I wouldn't count on it. Sigh.

Is Mercury in retrograde or something?

xoxo

secrets of ancient chinese medicine

2011-08-18T19:09:00.003-04:00

This is going to be a TMI post, so bail now if you need to. I have *got* to tell this to someone and I didn't think I should bring it up at work today. I mean, with the conversations that go on in my office, I probably *could* have, but I decided to err on the side of discretion. Ahem.

Yesterday I went to see Marcy. I was telling her that I'd noticed I'd been feeling a little down, a little depressed, in a flat sort of way. Not sad and crying, not particularly cranky or anxious, just meh. Flat. Well, when she got me on the table, she put four needles at the top of my head, sorta in an north-south-east-west pattern. She said those were "extra points" which were not on a meridian. There's something called the Governing Vessel running up through your body and out the top of your head, and the Chinese believed in stimulating those points to draw energy up whenever you had something that needed to be lifted up. Not only your mood, as in my case, but for instance, they would do the same if you had a prolapsed organ or to prevent miscarriage in a pregnant woman. Marcy said she would definitely NOT do those points on me if I were in one of my anxious phases, because it would probably crank the crazy dial to 11.

I left Marcy's and took the commuter rail back to the gym. Unlike when I had the horrible gym session unwisely lifting right after getting a massage, I figured the hour it would take me to take the Green Line to North Station, then take the train home, then walk to the gym from the station and change clothes would be quite enough time for any post-acupuncture fuzziness to clear. Indeed it was. I killed it, including the shoulder presses I'd been whining to my lifting friends about my lack of progress with last week. Some of that can be attributed to my taking their advice to cut down on my warm up set, but in retrospect, I feel like my energy might have been elevated too.

Came home from the gym and ate a late dinner and was wide awake. Physically tired but very alert. I went to bed to read, hoping that might make me sleepy. As I was reading, I became aware that I was, well, physically aroused. Very physically aroused. To be clear, the novel I was reading, while containing some mild sexual content, was in no way titillating or particularly spicy. Neither was I, or had I been, daydreaming about anything exciting. Anthony Kiedis was not eating ice cream out of my navel in my subconscious, is what I'm saying. I was just physically horny as hell.

One way to take care of that. (Well, technically, more than one, but I only had one way at my disposal. So I used it.) And I think I may have mentioned before, but I am like a dude. Usually an orgasm leaves me satisfied and ready to just roll over and crash. Not yesterday. I was still not sleepy in the least. I turned the light back on and recommenced reading. After a bit I realized that not only was I not sleepy and not getting sleepy, I was still/again aroused and to the point of physical discomfort. Ignoring it and concentrating on my reading did not make it go away. Well, I was really perplexed by this party in my pants, but it was, like I said, uncomfortable, so I went for round two. After which...

Can you see how this story is going? I swear to you all, I ended up finally having to take an ativan to knock me out, because it was 2:30 am and I had to get up for work in the morning.

It makes me wonder...do the Chinese treat erectile dysfunction with those points? Was the ol' penis one of the things this is supposed to elevate? Because I felt like the Cialis warning about the erection lasting four hours or more. I was tempted to email Marcy today and ask.

Anyway, that, boys and girls, is the story of how ancient Chinese medicine turned me into a nymphomaniac. Let's just hope tonight is one and done.

xoxo

oh, look

2011-08-17T08:01:00.000-04:00

It's 7:45 and my electrician has come and gone. Is my breaker fixed? No. Why not? Because the problem is not the breaker. Really? I thought the appliance guy was 99.9% sure that's what it was. Well, he's not an electrician, is he?

Do you wanna know what the problem really is? The problem really is that when this fucking poorly designed money pit of a fucking house was built, they put the wrong wiring in for the stove. The wire is only supposed to handle 40 amps(?-I think amps) and my stove draws 50. And according to my electrician, they usually put in a wire that can handle 60, just y'know, to cover all the bases. He could not explain to me how my stove has thus been working, mostly, for the past 7 years since I bought it except [blah blah blah mumbo jumbo] but I felt the wire when they had the panel open and it was scary warm. Sigh. He's going on vacation next week, but then we can set up a time for him to come back and put in new wiring. It should only take two or three hours. Sigh.

Meanwhile, more sandwiches! Woohoo!

Here's some cat pictures. That always, y'know, calms me.

xoxo

ah, the 70s...ah, puberty

2011-08-16T18:17:00.005-04:00

I mentioned the electrician's coming tomorrow? I decided to be nice and clean 90% of the crap up away from where he will have to work in my garage. Yes, I know my dad has been dead a year, but I *still* haven't completely gotten all his junk outta there. ::cough:: Hoarders.::cough:: I did the worst of it and then ran out of steam. But just now I did a whole bunch more.

And I found, believe it or not, a whole cardboard box of photos that I am sure have been sitting right there since 1995. Needless to say, 99.9% of them had been ruined by sitting in a box in a garage for over 15 years, but there was one remarkably unfaded baby picture of moi, a picture of my mom and me in front of the Acropolis circa 1971 (my mom has long hair, which I do not ever remember her having, and is thin, which, ditto) that I was totally unaware of the existence of, and then there was this:

my 8th grade graduation class picture, name of the school covered up to protect the privacy of my fellow dorky classmates who would wish to deny this image is of them. Is the picture quality too bad, or can you pick me out? Hint: I am wearing something I re-bought in a different color 30+ years later. The tallest boy in the back row, next to our (tall, blond) teacher? He was my first "boyfriend", the first guy I ever made out with, and the first one that ever touched my boobs. He had a very tragic family life and later appeared on TV on Candlepins for Cash at least once. I do not remember if he won. The red-haired girl and the skinny little girl on the far left were my BFFs, though obviously that last "F" was inaccurate. The red-haired girl became a lawyer, but is not mayor of any cities in Massachusetts. I have no idea what happened to the skinny girl.

I was looking at this picture and thinking, wow, either the 70s were a cruel decade or age 13 is tough and awkward, because have you ever seen such a collection of unattractive dorks? At least two or three of those girls grew up to be stunningly pretty--within the next couple of years, even--but you really can't prove it by this.

I like my outfit, though. Like I said, I bought part of it again.

xoxo

tying up the updates

2011-08-15T11:25:00.002-04:00

The more I look at this blog title, the more it doesn't make sense and/or seems vaguely like a dirty pun. And don't you hate when you type or write a word enough that it doesn't look like a real word anymore? There's got to be a name for that. That doesn't look like a word. Oh, I crack myself up. Not changing the blog title. Onward!

1.) Finally got word from MassHealth that they have received enough information about D's case and he does NOT need this further evaluation that was scheduled for Labor Day weekend (which, btw, WTF? what kind of psychotherapist works on Labor Day weekend? a bad one, I am sure!). Anyway, that's one tiny bit o' stress off my plate.

2.) The appliance repair guy came and looked at my stove last week and confirmed what was my original thought. Not the stove. He was 99.9% sure it's a bad breaker. My electrician is coming Wednesday to fix said breaker. If it turns out to be the breaker. If it turns out to be something more complicated, he may not be able to do it Wednesday. This is impacting my ability to cook, since I am afraid to use more than one burner at a time, but no one ever died from eating sandwiches, I say.

3.) I had my last session with Liz Friday. I hugged her. I'm not entirely sure she was ready for that. We touchy-feely massage therapist type people really need to remember that not everyone is down with our hugging bullshit. Especially after all the boundary lectures we also were forcefed. But, no, I don't think I traumatized her.

4.) I have seen such remarkable things on public transport and around town lately. There was the very nicely dressed and groomed and actually quite beautiful 40-ish woman who was wearing one dirty(!) man's winter glove with the rest of her lovely ensemble. There was the woman with the baby stroller on the bus who, to her credit, folded up the handicapped seat and parked the stroller there, but nevertheless still managed to park it halfway into the aisle. Her (I'm sorry, but) fat friend then sat across from it, further sticking out into the aisle, such that there was now about 6 inches of clearing. And every time someone trying to squeeze past inadvertently bumped the stroller, the woman would loudly make vicious comments about them. [I don't think her lovely little baby is going to grow up to be a nice person, but eh. Stranger things have happened.] Then there was yet in another long line of egregiously-lying-on-the-cell-phone peeps. Woman calmly told her caller that, yes, of course she was at home and where else did he think she would be? Oh! And Scott and Courtney, i.e. Inappropriate PDA Gym Couple, are apparently back to being a real item, because he referred to her as his girlfriend the other day. This was when he was on a treadmill two down from me the other day and was having a conversation with the guy next to him in which he called the other guy by his first name every other sentence. Scott is, in case this isn't yet apparent to you, a bit of a douche. Nevertheless, I hope those crazy kids make it. Or not.

Happy Monday!

xoxo

P.S. I published this first on the wrong blog and OMFG I knew that was gonna happen some time. Perimenopause is still kicking my ass.

london calling

2011-08-10T11:12:00.004-04:00

I must say, the rioting in England has taken me by surprise. This is mainly due to the fact that with my VAST knowledge of the modern UK gleaned mainly from watching lots of British sitcoms, scifi shows, and movies, I thought that a.) it was less...arduous...being poor there than it is here and b.) there is less racial tension.

Example of the latter? Let's take Dr Who and Rose and Mickey's relationship. That fact that theirs is an interracial relationship seems totally unremarked and unremarkable. In American TV, interracial relationships even in 2011 seem to be shown either To Make A Point or else to prove how hip and liberal the writers and producers are that they aren't making a point of it. Know what I mean? But Rose's boyfriend being a black kid seems to have no more relevance than if her boyfriend were a tall kid or a freckled kid or whatever. If Rose's mother dislikes him initially, it's because he's kind of a hapless slacker, not because he's a different race than her daughter. Also from Dr Who, we have Martha, beautiful black medical student/doctor from upper middle class family who saves the world. At least once. There is nothing about how her character is written that suggests her role couldn't have been cast with a white woman or an Asian woman. All of this, and many other examples, led me to believe (apparently wrongly) that race is much more of a non-issue in the UK than it is here.

Evidence for the former? Well, let's return to Rose and Mickey and the council estate they live in. Compare it to, oh, the projects in The Wire. Where would you rather live? I'm not saying that if you were Rose, you *wouldn't* jump at the chance to travel time and space with a mysterious man and his magical box/spaceship. I'm just saying you might be just fine living in her little apartment, fine enough that you wouldn't feel compelled to deal heroin and shoot people in order to maybe make it out of there. Pretty much any time they show where the "poor people" live in British TV or movies (the squat in Trsinsspotting being a notable exception), my reaction is the same. It's like, eh. Looks pretty nice. I could go fifteen minutes from my house right now and find you places that make those council estates look like luxury housing.

It's also sort of my impression from lots and lots of British media that it is possible to go on the dole there and stay on forever, and while I am quite sure that there is something very demoralizing and aimless about not having a job, having no prospects for ever having a job, or having no hope of ever having a satisfying, interesting job, the fact that there is a safety net in place and that you *will* always have at least a place to live and enough money to feed yourself and your family seems a lot better than here, where I think most of us Americans feel deep down in some corner of our souls that we are just one long period of unemployment or one devastating illness away from losing everything, and that if we don't/didn't have family to rescue us, we could be on the streets.

I hope this post doesn't come off as jokey about a very sad and serious situation, but honestly, I wanted to point out how ignorant of reality you (by which I mean me) can be when you form your impressions based solely on what the media presents to you and not on any real life experience or first-hand knowledge.

And just because I brought it up and you cannot argue with an absolute classic:

xoxo

advertising!

2011-08-06T09:09:00.000-04:00

xoxo

salem farmers market and updates

2011-08-05T11:41:00.001-04:00

So. The summer that I was working for those evil criminal massage bastards who stole our money I used to, on occasion, go through Copley Square when they were having the big farmers' market there on Tuesdays. Usually I could not buy anything as I was on my way to work or some compulsory meeting for which I was not getting paid despite my commuting costs thus incurred. But the following summers, once I started seeing Marcy, I was again often in Copley on a Tuesday afternoon and could partake of the many lovely and often organic veggies.

Well, it came to my attention last summer that they were having a farmers' market on Thursday afternoons in Salem. I meant to check it out, but that never happened. Yesterday however I wandered down there after work. I would highly recommend it. I got tomatoes and cucumbers and tiny yellow potatoes (D's been wistfully wondering if I'd ever make mashed potatoes again, heh) and these double chocolate chocolate chip brownies. All very delicious. There were many other things to check out: live lobsters, the When Pigs Fly bread people, local honey, etc. I will be back.

Meanwhile certain things have gotten resolved or at least partially resolved with all my stressful phone calling and emailing. Let's see. MassHealth Disability Determination did indeed get the medical records from Eliot Community Human Services. (I'm so frustrated with them, I'ma just not redact their name like I usually would, so there.) However as of yesterday morning at 11 am when I spoke to the receptionist at Disability Determination, he was still going to be required to go to the evaluation in Cambridge scheduled for tomorrow, as they still did not have enough information. I started questioning the receptionist re this--she would have characterized it as arguing, I am sure--and she asked whether I would like to speak to the person who is reviewing D's case, who is named Lisa. Oh, yes, please. I get her voicemail, leave message, hang up and start cancelling my day of patients for Saturday. Lisa calls me back after 3-ish. She tells me that the records from Eliot weren't really comprehensive enough for her to get an idea of D's level, but that she has a call into D's NP/prescriber. Which is stellar. And oh, the appointment for Saturday has been rescheduled for September and we should be getting a letter about that. Let's process this: 4 hours earlier I was told Saturday's appointment was a go *and* if they sent a letter it would have to come today (Friday) or else, if I hadn't talked to her, we'd have gone to Cambridge for nothing tomorrow. As it is, I took a day off work for nothing. However, all frustration with the Commonwealth of Massachusetts and Eliot Community aside, this woman Lisa seemed very nice and seemed to be insinuating that once she talked to D's clinician, that September appointment will not have to happen.

Meanwhile my passive aggressive email to Nick and CJ with the fake smiley attached got them to my house to mow the grass yesterday bright and early.

And then--and this is actually good customer service--we started having that problem with the stove again that I've literally had happen sporadically for the past 3 years. Sometimes for no apparent reason whatsoever, if I use too many burners at once or preheat the oven too high, it shuts itself off. It does not blow the circuit breaker, but if I wait a moment, go out to the garage and flip the breaker off and on, the power to stove will resume. The alarming thing is that sometimes when this happens, the circuit breaker is warm to the touch. After having it happen last week and making me freak out that we would have an electrical fire, I finally figured out who the nice electrician I had gotten to install my chandelier and my new outlets a couple years ago and emailed him, asking whether he thought it was a wiring or a stove problem. And he very promptly emailed me back later that night, told me he thought it was a stove problem, and why, recommended an appliance repair shop to me in case I needed one, and said of course, if I still wanted him to come take a look, he would. I'm thinking a lot of guys would have, instead of giving me free advice, come out to take a look, charged me for it, then told me it was the stove. (So if you need an electrician on the lower North Shore, lemme know and I'll drop his name.) Then I was able to call the appliance guys (not the ones he recommended, because there's a really well-known reputable place less than a mile from my house) and set up an appointment for Tuesday.

So some of the stuff that has been giving me a stomachache is resolved or at least tabled, and my new equipment at work is *finally* doing what it's supposed to do, and I got my office painted and they didn't screw up anything while they were doing it! We won't talk about all the other stuff that's still a mess. We'll just focus on the small triumphs, 'k?

Hope your Friday is full of small triumphs and good customer service and people who will actually help you when it's their job to do so!

xoxo

oh, hai, kids

2011-08-03T12:22:00.002-04:00

Happy August. I'm feeling all unsettled, anxious and depressed and paralyzed today. I wish I were one of those famous people with personal assistants such that I could say, "You! Call so and so and get x straightened out!" and "You! Email so and so and get y resolved!" and "You! Tell so and so that z is totally unacceptable and don't take any more excuses." Is having someone to delegate every unpleasant and anxiety-producing task in life to too much to ask for???!!??!!? Please. And, lol.

In other news--and here's how smart I am--I got a pretty bad sunburn on my upper back/shoulders/chest from walking around in a tank top on Sunday. When I go to the beach, I put on SPF 1733. When I go outside not to the beach, I put on nothing. It doesn't matter whether there is sand underfoot or not, Andrea, it's the same fucking sun in the sky. Sigh. 48 years old, college graduate, IQ breaking triple digits, and I still haven't quite figured that out yet.

And let's bitch about Target. I bought a cheapy dress there this weekend. I got it home and could not zip it over my ::ahem:: huge lats (i.e. fat). I returned it for the next size up. Which is too big. Are they trying to fuck with me or what?

And then let's bitch about mother nature. I am pretty sure all the flowers I planted in my backyard are dead or on their way to, while despite Roundup, the weeds on the patio are thriving. If I am destined to kill all plant life I encounter, can't I least kill the shit I *don't* want too? (CJ and Nick seemed to have deserted me, btw, after I expressed a gentle complaint about something. Seriously, I didn't bitch them out or anything. I just said I would rather b than a. Fucking landscapers. That's another email I gotta send. Sigh.)

Now I am going to put on something that is not my bathrobe and go check my mail. Perhaps there is good news in it. More likely there are bills and more aggravation.

Kisses.

xoxo