I’m not quite sure when it happened, but lately, I’ve totally lost interest in watching movies at home. I still love going to the movies (partly for the entertainment, but also because it’s one of the few places where it’s socially acceptable to top your snacks with a metric ton of melted butter), but I always get antsy when I watch movies at home because I’m sure I could be doing something better with those two hours. Which is hilarious, really, because while I tell myself I could be doing something useful with that chunk of time, like organizing pictures, or baking bread (I have done this ONCE) what I usually end up doing is…shit like this.
Somehow though, in my twisted mind, watching endless hours of TV shows doesn’t count; the time spent doing so is mysteriously different than the same time spent watching a movie. Which is my special way of telling you that I’ve become OBSESSED with Freaks and Geeks.As has J.
We’re only about four episodes in, but we discuss it during the day, ponder the characters' motivations, and reminisce aboutgood linestogether. It’s a good thing we found each other, people.
While our behavior is admittedly embarrassing, the show really IS amazing, and I’m bummed it’s going to end so quickly.Also? I’ve developed a bit of a weird crush on James Franco. Not James Franco in real life, mind you, but the dirty, stupid stoner James Franco on the show (and, um, in Pineapple Express). I KNOW.
So, since-at the rate we’re going-we’ll be done with the series by the end of the week, what show that I never watched should I become obsessed with next? Gilmore Girls? Veronica Mars? WHAT? (Yes, I used to watch much less TV, and missed a lot of apparently great shows.)
And don’t tell me to do something useful with my time, like making more bread! I’m serious, I get way too cocky when I do Fancy Extraneous Baking! See? WHO MAKES FACES LIKES THIS AND FORCES PEOPLE TO TAKE PICTURES OF HER WITH BRAIDED DOUGH? WHO, I ASK YOU, WHO?
Sigh.
In other news, my younger brother got engaged this past weekend!The wedding will be at the end of the summer, and we are so excited for him and his fiancee. I adore them together, I love weddings, and I love getting to indulge my inner Project Runway contestant. You see, rather than having members of their wedding party wear identical dresses, most Modern Orthodox Jewish brides select a color and fabric and have their girls design their own dresses. They're then sewn by a dressmaker. (Ali, back me up here!) I have no idea WHY this is, but for whatever reason, it's what a lot of brides do. While it's a lot of fun, I'm not incredibly talented in the drawing arena. And so, over the coming months, please expect a post or two soliciting your advice on detailed and well-executed dress sketches, such as this: Oy.
One day soon, I'll post something longer than three sentences. Something of actual substance, perhaps. But for now, on my brief lunch break, this short, picture-intensive post will have to do. But OH, IS IT A GOOD ONE.
What would cause me to be so confident? Oh, I don't know....maybe THIS?
That's right! It's picture time! When stressed and busy beyond reason, post pictures of yourself from 10th grade looking so disgusted with the world that you cannot possibly bear to deal with anything not involving you, your awful makeup, OR YOUR BINDI. Do you see the thing on my forehead? This was after a night out with friends, which occurred directly at the height of Gwen Stefani's Bindi Stage.
Credit: www.14gwen.com
Well, by gum, I decided that I needed to have one, too! Because 15-year-old girls from suburban New Jersey totally look fabulous and trendy wearing them! Tragically, the bindi was lost in an Unfortunate Pizza Parlor Accident (i.e., it fell off), but at least the glue and cheap plastic stained my forehead, right?
My god, don't you just want to slap that expression right off my face?
(If you don't, then you are probably currently 15 years old.)
(Go away, 15-year-olds. I'm jealous that you look so much better in skinny jeans than me.)
In truth, I believe one of the reasons I look so annoyed is that I was irked by the fact that my SUPPOSED FRIEND had the unmitigated gall to flirt with the boy I liked at said pizza parlor. Once again, my solution was poetry. This piece preceded the poem I previously posted, and well...I think you can tell. Stylistically, this is all over the place, and I'm not as inventive as I was the following year. I do, however, give myself eleventy hundred Cool Points for the fanciful phrase "cruel fall wind," as well as stopping there are scribbling over the rest of the line. Simplicity is best when pouring out your tattered heart across the page, you know?
Oh, god. I just reread it. Seriously, why was anyone friends with me then?
At some point, your toddler may come joyfully bounding over to you, clutching a crinkly plastic item in his hand, and asking you sweetly to "unwrap the ice pop."
Only it is not an ice pop at all, BUT A (wrapped, thankfully) TAMPON. And it is a mystery as to where he found it.
Oh, man, you guys. Remember when I used to update my blog regularly? And not just like, when there’s a full moon? Those were some good times. I’m now back in the swing of things at my job, so between that and spending time with J and the kids at night, by the time 8 o’ clock rolls around, I’m torn. Torn between my laptop…and the DVR, which contains glorious bounty in the form of both Kenley and Tyra’s insanity, True Blood (which seemingly can’t decide whether it wants to be an acclaimed television program or soft-core porn. MAKE UP YOUR MIND, SHOW), and of course, the latest exploits of Serena and Blair.
Guess which one wins?
Oh, and let’s not forget the Jewish holidays. May I speak openly for a moment? Yes? Good. As you well know, I love my faith, but goddamn, the fall holidays have been kicking my ass this year. For one thing, they’ve all been mid-week, so that sort of kills the whole flow-of-work thing. Second, they’ve necessitated us packing up all of our shit, all of the children’s shit, and visiting our respective families--on pretty much a weekly basis--for the fall holidays of Rosh Hashanah (Jewish New Year), Yom Kippur (the one with the fasting), and Succot (I’ll talk about that in a minute). I feel like I’ve been living out of a suitcase for a month. Which, you know, I HAVE. Fortunately, we’re finally, finally back home.The holiday of Succot, however, is still going on, and this is one of those holidays that is Very Interesting to Explain to People, because, in a nutshell, it involves roofless outdoor huts, very expensive citrus fruit, and palm fronds.
YES, REALLY.
Seeing as I’ve gotten a few messages on Twitter asking me if I knew anything about it, I figured I’d take the opportunity to describe it here.
Essentially, the huts are to commemorate the journey of the Jewish people from Egypt to Israel during biblical times. Remember the whole “wandering in the desert for 40 years” thing? Well, during that time, they lived in huts, and the holiday commemorates that. The basic rules about the huts we build are that they have to be outdoors, temporary (no concrete huts, for instance), and cannot have roofs. They must instead be covered with something cut from the ground, like bamboo, or branches. Oh, and we don’t live in them, but just eat a few meals there. (Some stricter Jews actually do eat all their meals there during the week-long holiday and sleep there, as well. I am not one of those Jews.)
As for the other stuff mentioned above, at certain times during the holiday, we say a prayer over a citron (it looks a lit like a lemon, BUT COSTS ELEVENTY BILLION DOLLARS MORE. Or more like upwards of $50.) and a bunch of palm fronds, myrtle and willow branches. All together, they look like this:
There is a specific significance to why these four items are chosen, but basically, they each have specific characteristics that they others don’t, and together, they represent the idea of unity. Which is pretty nice.
Have I weirded you out enough yet? No? I bet I will with this next statement. And I’m well aware I may be alone here, but it must be said:
I HATED THE SEX AND THE CITY MOVIE. (Which I just saw for the first time earlier this week. So I realize this rant is like eight months too late, but whatever.)
I know. I KNOW. I loved the series, but my god, this movie was the worst. First of all, it lasted for approximately seventeen hours. It was like the night J wanted to watch the last Lord of the Rings movie, and I ran out of the apartment so fast there was a me-shaped hole in the wall. I went out to dinner with friends, did some grocery shopping, went for a long walk, came home, and he was still watching the movie. That’s what this felt like, timewise. And I must quote the venerated New Yorker here, which clearly felt the same way, as I remember reading this quote and giggling when the movie came out:
…[S]pare a thought for the director of the film, Michael Patrick King, who also wrote the screenplay. Faced with the flimsiest of concepts, he had to take it by both ends and pull until he stretched it out to two and a quarter hours. Two and a quarter! When Garbo made Anna Karenina in 1935, she got happy, unhappy, loved, left, and under the train in less than a hundred minutes, so how the hell are her successors supposed to fill the time?
True dat, New Yorker.
I don’t want to ruin anything, but I had major problems with a lot of the messages in the movie. As for my issues with the characters, I didn’t quite understand why they saw fit to make Samantha look, speak, and dress like an aging drag queen whose vocabulary is limited to the words "fabulous," "honey," and sundry cheesy double entendres. Nor could I wrap my head around why Charlotte’s daughter randomly appeared in scenes throughout the movie, just…sitting there. Doesn’t she ever have playdates? Or school? Or, I don’t know, a nanny squirreled away somewhere in that Park Avenue apartment? Miranda was Miranda, but don’t even get me started on Steve’s voice, Steve’s attitude, or Steve’s very existence. OR HIS DENIM JACKET. As for Carrie, I couldn’t help but wonder. Just how in the hell is it that she'd become even MORE whiny, self-pitying, and materialistic in the few short years since we last saw her?
And the puns! The INCESSANT PUNS, PEOPLE! What kind of world are we living in where a character named Louise who comes from St. Louis, is nicknamed “Saint Louise,” and loves “Louise” Vuitton passes for cute cinema? Gah. DID NOT LIKE.
Ahem.
I’m sorry, I just needed to get that off my chest.
Also!
I just started the 30 Day Shred last night. Man, you guys. Jillian is NOT fucking around. My bum hurts, as do my legs, arms, and most of my now-battered internal organs. I respect her methods, though, and am more than a little scared of her. Much more than I do John Basedow, whose constantly-playing “Fitness Made Simple” commercials never fail to make me giggle uncontrollably.Please tell me this isn’t just a New York thing, because seriously, the world must know about him.
Seriously.
Seriously.
SERIOUSLY.
Can you imagine him and Jillian in a street fight? Or—OHMIGODEVENBETTER-on a DATE?
I’m off to go ponder the hilarity of that while I sip my Salted Caramel Hot Chocolate. Which, yes, may be the best fall drink ever. Well done, Starbucks. Well done.
*****
One more thing! I wrote a post over at Work It, Mom! about my secret online cheap shopping spots. Check it out, and pretty please tell me what yours are!
My parents are awesome when it comes to keeping mementos from our childhood. I still have old school newsletters, my Little People house, and countless photos. Oh, and let’s not forget my poetry. So I guess it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when my mom reintroduced into my life my absolute favorite dress from my pre-teen years. I couldn’t believe that it had lasted. I mean, it’s abjectly hideous and all, but still! I had so many good memories of wearing it when I was younger.
But...my god, look at it! Puffed sleeves! Floral/lace motif!Horrible sailor collar! ASASH, for the love of cheese!
Naturally, I needed to see if it still fit.
It did!
This dress is made for curtsying, no? It makes me feel like a lady. Please note my dainty curtsy pinky.
It's also perfect for makin' with the finger guns.
And impersonating Geena Davis in Beetlejuice.
J was understandably horrified, and that sentiment only grew when I kept the dress on for over an hour (it was COMFY, dammit), and then mulled aloud about wearing it outside of the house, just to see what happened. You'll be relieved to know I decided against it, because I love him (and, you know, my dignity). But people, I tell you this: I am keeping it around, because one day, my kids are going to complain about some trifling way in which I embarrass them, perhaps hugging them in public, or maybe acknowledging their existence in front of their friends. And when they do? THIS DRESS IS GOING ON WHEN I WALK THEM TO THE BUS STOP. Then they'll know what embarrassment truly is. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't gleefully waiting for that day.
Okay, so I have a few real posts running through my head right now, but honestly, it's a bit hectic over here, seeing as I'm simultaneously attempting to work from home, return emails, and cook. Apropos of nothing (but possibly the dessert we had during my birthday dinner last week) J has requested that I make chocolate mousse. I've never done this before, but I threw myself into it whole hog (I'm channeling my grandpa here), and went to far as to purchase tiny chocolate cups for said mousse. Tiny cups, I say! Made out of chocolate! Into which I am putting lovingly hand-crafted chocolate mousse! I am ALL Martha Stewart up in this piece. I'm unstoppable! I might even make a radish rose to garnish my salad! Or silkscreen my own windowshades! Although please stop me if I start doing things like this. Because really, Baby's First Caesar Salad Costume is taking things a tad too far:
Anyway, I'm using this self-alloted 10 minute break to share with you a few things that have totally made my week, in terms of LAUGH-OUT-LOUD HILARITY:
First up, this article, sent to me by my friend Darren. It has the real word for Manly Parts in the title, so perhaps don't read it at work; however, the title alone ("Woman Tricked Into S*x by P*nis Cream Treatment") pretty much tells you all you need to know. And in case you're curious, the article indicates that the woman appears to be of sound mind, and happens to be A TEACHER.
Next, this picture, which my brother took at college and sent to me. Because he knows I appreciate these things.
I keep looking at it and snickering to myself, because I keep wondering, just how bad does the Vomit Problem have to be for the custodian to go to his computer, make a sign, LAMINATE it, and post it by the sinks? And by writing "these sinks", there appears to be an implication that there are other sinks more suitable for vomiting, no? And why am I thinking about this so much?
Finally, I just had the following conversation with my mother:
Me: [After listening to a story in which she overextended herself.] Mom, you're really too nice to everyone.
Her: Oh, no, I'm not. (For in addition to truly being the nicest person ever, she doesn't even REALIZE how incredibly nice she is.)
Me: You totally are. You have to say no to people every once in a while, and just focus on you!
Her: Oh, you're crazy. Hold on, I just need to go change over the laundry.
M: Wait, wasn't [Cleaning Woman] just over?
Her: Yeah.
Me: She didn't do the laundry?
Her: No, she never does.
Me: But whenever I came to visit with the kids this summer, she was always doing laundry. Like, nonstop. And lugging huge sacks of rice to her car. What's up with that?
Her: Oh. Well, yeah. That was her laundry. And I bought her the rice.
Me: Uh, what?
Her: Well, her washer's broken, so...she's been doing it here.
Me: But she doesn't do yours and dad's laundry.
Her: No.
Me: So she comes here, and you pay her by the hour, during which time she DOES HER OWN LAUNDRY BUT NOT YOURS? And you keep buying her incredibly huge sacks of rice?
Her: [sheepishly] Yeah.
Me: MOMMMMMMMMM.
Seriously, is she not the sweetest person? But what am I going to do with her? And it's not like they've had great success with cleaning ladies before; need I remind you of the Panty Bandit? (Mom? If you're reading, I know you'll never tell her to stop doing her laundry at the house, but for the love of cheese, MAKE HER DO YOUR LAUNDRY, TOO. AND STOP BUYING HER BATTLESHIP-SIZED SACKS OF RICE.)
Annnd....my ten minutes are up. Before I could even talk about our Rosh Hashanah and my purchase of the world's worst razors. Oh, well.
Oy.
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