Well folks, it's official.
I am becoming my mother.
As any CBS family sitcom or Cathy comic strip will tell you, this is a fate that eventually befalls all women. And, like most things in life, it has it's upsides and its downsides. Since my mother will likely read this (she is very supportive of me as a writer), I will start with the not-so-good stuff and work my way up.
Thus, I present to you...
The Downsides
1) I buy lemons for no discernable reason.
Until recently, I only had the desire to buy a lemon about once a year. Usually to have on hand for Coronas, and even then it would sit in the crisper until it got soft and (on rare occasions) fuzzy. Now I find myself gathering up near-bushels of those tart little suckers without so much as an inkling as to what their purpose will be. This is not a habit one randomly aquires, it is something that has to be learned. I learned it from the woman who practically has an entire fridge reserved for "you just never know" citrus fruits.
2) I have found actual uses for the copious amounts of lemons I buy.
About a week ago I sauted fresh green beans with lemon-pepper herbs (which I also bought for no discernible reason) and squeezed a fresh lemon over top of them.
A few days after that I put half a lemon down the disposal to freshen its odor.
Then, I may or may not have filled a hurricane vase with lemons as a kicky centerpiece.
3) My gift wrapping this year has a "theme".
Apparently I have very strong feelings about wrapping paper. This year I find myself utterly devoted to a sort of quasi-DYI theme of simple brown and red paper with sponge painted holly stamps and big, ivory cardstock tags. Now, given I haven't actually executed any of this yet. But today I did spend several hundred dollars at target buying the paper. I also bought bulk floral stems to fashion myself a tree topper. Also, while we are on the subject of inexplicable domesticity, my former hatred of Rachel Ray has morphed into what can only be described as begrudging respect and tentative acceptance. Just let that thought "hang out" for a quick minute.
4) My driving ability is deterorating at a vastly exponetial rate.
Now, I did my fair share of complaning about driving when I lived in LA and in Chicago (see entries below for proof of that bitchery). I truly thought that my behind-the-wheel anxiety was a result of my stressful surroundings. Apprently that was a load of crap. Because here I am, back in Charlotte, North Carolina, where I rarely traverse off of three main roads, I park in my very own driveway in front of my house, and parallel parking is virtually extinct. I should be golden, right? And yet.... no. During the short six months that I have lived here I have managed to dent my hood, scrape paint off my rear bumper, back into my neighbor's SUV and narrowly escaped death pulling out of the school parking lot while my coworker screamed in terror. All of you had better hope that teleport-technolgy is on the front burner for the world's scientists, because by the time I am my mother's age I will be a bonafide public menace.
5) I am a compulsive counter-wiper.
The other day I sprayed and wiped-down my glass-top stove WHILE MY DINNER WAS STILL COOKING. Not only did I burn a paper towel onto the stove surface, I also gave my brown rice a not-so-subtle Lemon-Piney Fresh flavor. I must be stopped.
Now... lets talk about a few of
The Upsides:
1) My house looks amazing for the holidays.
Due to my mothers excellent guidence, my house is a warm, inviting, christmas wonderland filled with tasteful garland, bright red berries, expertly looped ribbons and artfully arranged pine cones. I can't help but smile everytime I walk in the front door. This is what a home is supposed to feel like.
2) I am an expert gift-giver.
This year I have hit my own personal record of gift ideas that are clever, meaningful and creative. I wouldn't even call them gifts. I would dare call them "tone-poems". My gifts have themes and auras. And I have managed to do it all without dipping into my savings account. This deserves a medal. Or a present. I'd prefer a present.
3) I have a scent.
One of my mom's greatest qualities is her smell. Actual strangers have asked her if it would be okay to lean in for a sniff. She is downright addictive. And now, after three and a half years wearing my signature scent ( Happy Heart) I can officially say that i am following in her fragrant footsteps. I can only hope that my spell is nearly half as comforting and enchanting as my mother's.
You all know me... have you noticed any other ways that I am like my mom? Feel free to share.
In the meantime, stop me if I ever try to force feed you without consent. (Just kidding Mommy).
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Friday, June 16, 2006
Chicago: A Retrospective
Well Chicago. ‘Twas fun while it lasted.
But if you’ll excuse me, the land of sweet tea and salty (not sweet) cornbread is calling me home. At least for now.
Here are a few final thoughts on things I will miss about this Midwestern Metropolis:
1) Our perfect apartment. Original Victorian walls and crown moldings. A huge kitchen. Hard wood floors. All for under $1200 a month.
2) Filter’s sweet potato fries. Seriously. How did I ever exist without them? I wonder if I can make them myself. It wouldn’t be the same. Like trying to make Frosty’s yourself, right Mr. Deeds?
3) The shopping. It has been ages since I actually shopped in a mall. Yes, the mall offers a degree of convienence that neighborhood boutique style shopping does not… but where is the charm I ask you? Where is the character? Where is the money I need to do any of this shopping? Where is THAT I ask you? No, seriously. Where am I going to get money. I just left a full time job. Oh god. What have I done.
4) Time Out. I will miss you. Working for Time Out fulfilled a dream I have had since I was 14 years old. I know! How cute is that! Why am I leaving again?
5) Oh right. The buses. The trains. The stink. The dirt. The angry old women and the loud screaming babies. Bring on the “rush hour” of Charlotte traffic and the wide expanses of easy to maneuver parking lots in front of every store and establishment. God help me if I never have to parallel park again.
6) The weather. Good riddance. Stupid big puffy coat. Stupid boots. Hmm actually I kinda liked the boots. And scarves, I like scarves. But you, coat that I had to actually depress the air out of in order to zip it up, you are stupid and you can stay in the closet for many winters to come.
7) How did this become a list of things I won’t miss? Let me try to get back on track: The plethora of culture. Yes, truth be known I never actually went to any art museums or movies in the park or concerts while I lived here. But I did drive by them. And heard about them on the news each morning. And just knowing that such culture is just outside your door makes you feel… superior somehow. Guess I am back to being a rube.
8) Oh sweet jesus the Sweet Potato Fries.
9) The Whole Foods, because where I am moving, there isn’t one. WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM CHARLOTTE? Winston salem managed it, why can’t you?
10) The Parks. I had big plans to get a dog and take him to the park for walks and to play fetch with a Frisbee and lay in the grass and read and have picnics. Instead I got a cat and Tivo and never left the apartment again, but I had BIG PLANS that surely I would have made good on eventually. If there was nothing on TV.
And here is a list of things I learned while I lived in Chicago:
1) I am actually not as tolerant of others as I thought. See also: screaming women, whiny babies, smelly people, rowdy school children – all listed under Chicago Transit Authority. Turns out, I have a rather short attention span for smelly, loud, annoying people. Thus, I sweetly persuaded my kind boyfriend to drive me to the train each morning to avoid waiting for the bus. Lesson number two: a well timed cutesy baby voice with the added ammunition of an adorable pouty mouth works wonders.
2) (Although technically this is lesson number three) Tivo. Is. God’s. Gift. To. Well, Me. I adore it. I worship it. I am breaking at least three commandments as a result of my relationship with Tivo. God how did I live with out it. God’s name in vain. That’s four.
3) Writers don’t make a lot of money. I guess I knew this lesson was coming, but still. It ain’t pretty. I mean, I still think that teachers and social workers and the like deserve more money than they make… but couldn’t capitalism throw a little bit more our way? We give you shit to read on the train on the way to your jobs in the big banks downtown. Isn’t that worth anything to you? No? Oh, well. Okay then.
4) I can withstand inhumane conditions. Namely, I did not cease to exist when we didn’t have heat for a week in our apartment during the coldest week of the year. Aren’t you proud? I didn’t even really complain that much. I just wore long underwear and bought an electric blanket. I am a freaking SURVIVOR. A fighter I tell you.
5) I am a god awful terrible driver and I don’t miss it a bit. I have driven a car maybe twice in 7 months and I couldn’t be happier about it (aside from the residual effect of the CTA. See Lesson #1).…. And, if I must be honest, the people of Chicago are safer on the streets as a result. There is no sense in denying it. Look out Charlotte. I’m coming back. Lucky for you, Charlotteans, the Queen City doesn’t require much in the way of parallel parking. I am crap at it.
6) I have totally outgrown college life. Although some might argue that I was never really a part of it. Maybe for a few months somewhere in between sophomore and junior year. But , I am officially over it. I went to an “Art Fair” last weekend which turned out to be nothing more than an overblown frat party. Complete with red Solo cups and– I shit you not– a Dave Matthews cover band. Standing there, choking on the smoke that was (of course) wafting from some dude wearing rainbows and a popped collar, unconsciously singing along… “Celebrate we will, ‘cause life is short but sweet for certain,” it hit me… I wanted to go home. I wanted to go home, salvage my clean hair before it wreaked of Marlboros, and watch a movie. Perhaps watch a movie in bed. I am old. F&*# it . Who cares. I’m old, I don’t want to party and I don’t care. God bless America, Good Night.
That's probably the last you'll hear from me until I move back to the lovely Carolinas!
I assure you, plenty of introspective rants based on how different I feel now versus when I was in high school will surely follow.
Tata, love ya, kisses,
Jenn
But if you’ll excuse me, the land of sweet tea and salty (not sweet) cornbread is calling me home. At least for now.
Here are a few final thoughts on things I will miss about this Midwestern Metropolis:
1) Our perfect apartment. Original Victorian walls and crown moldings. A huge kitchen. Hard wood floors. All for under $1200 a month.
2) Filter’s sweet potato fries. Seriously. How did I ever exist without them? I wonder if I can make them myself. It wouldn’t be the same. Like trying to make Frosty’s yourself, right Mr. Deeds?
3) The shopping. It has been ages since I actually shopped in a mall. Yes, the mall offers a degree of convienence that neighborhood boutique style shopping does not… but where is the charm I ask you? Where is the character? Where is the money I need to do any of this shopping? Where is THAT I ask you? No, seriously. Where am I going to get money. I just left a full time job. Oh god. What have I done.
4) Time Out. I will miss you. Working for Time Out fulfilled a dream I have had since I was 14 years old. I know! How cute is that! Why am I leaving again?
5) Oh right. The buses. The trains. The stink. The dirt. The angry old women and the loud screaming babies. Bring on the “rush hour” of Charlotte traffic and the wide expanses of easy to maneuver parking lots in front of every store and establishment. God help me if I never have to parallel park again.
6) The weather. Good riddance. Stupid big puffy coat. Stupid boots. Hmm actually I kinda liked the boots. And scarves, I like scarves. But you, coat that I had to actually depress the air out of in order to zip it up, you are stupid and you can stay in the closet for many winters to come.
7) How did this become a list of things I won’t miss? Let me try to get back on track: The plethora of culture. Yes, truth be known I never actually went to any art museums or movies in the park or concerts while I lived here. But I did drive by them. And heard about them on the news each morning. And just knowing that such culture is just outside your door makes you feel… superior somehow. Guess I am back to being a rube.
8) Oh sweet jesus the Sweet Potato Fries.
9) The Whole Foods, because where I am moving, there isn’t one. WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM CHARLOTTE? Winston salem managed it, why can’t you?
10) The Parks. I had big plans to get a dog and take him to the park for walks and to play fetch with a Frisbee and lay in the grass and read and have picnics. Instead I got a cat and Tivo and never left the apartment again, but I had BIG PLANS that surely I would have made good on eventually. If there was nothing on TV.
And here is a list of things I learned while I lived in Chicago:
1) I am actually not as tolerant of others as I thought. See also: screaming women, whiny babies, smelly people, rowdy school children – all listed under Chicago Transit Authority. Turns out, I have a rather short attention span for smelly, loud, annoying people. Thus, I sweetly persuaded my kind boyfriend to drive me to the train each morning to avoid waiting for the bus. Lesson number two: a well timed cutesy baby voice with the added ammunition of an adorable pouty mouth works wonders.
2) (Although technically this is lesson number three) Tivo. Is. God’s. Gift. To. Well, Me. I adore it. I worship it. I am breaking at least three commandments as a result of my relationship with Tivo. God how did I live with out it. God’s name in vain. That’s four.
3) Writers don’t make a lot of money. I guess I knew this lesson was coming, but still. It ain’t pretty. I mean, I still think that teachers and social workers and the like deserve more money than they make… but couldn’t capitalism throw a little bit more our way? We give you shit to read on the train on the way to your jobs in the big banks downtown. Isn’t that worth anything to you? No? Oh, well. Okay then.
4) I can withstand inhumane conditions. Namely, I did not cease to exist when we didn’t have heat for a week in our apartment during the coldest week of the year. Aren’t you proud? I didn’t even really complain that much. I just wore long underwear and bought an electric blanket. I am a freaking SURVIVOR. A fighter I tell you.
5) I am a god awful terrible driver and I don’t miss it a bit. I have driven a car maybe twice in 7 months and I couldn’t be happier about it (aside from the residual effect of the CTA. See Lesson #1).…. And, if I must be honest, the people of Chicago are safer on the streets as a result. There is no sense in denying it. Look out Charlotte. I’m coming back. Lucky for you, Charlotteans, the Queen City doesn’t require much in the way of parallel parking. I am crap at it.
6) I have totally outgrown college life. Although some might argue that I was never really a part of it. Maybe for a few months somewhere in between sophomore and junior year. But , I am officially over it. I went to an “Art Fair” last weekend which turned out to be nothing more than an overblown frat party. Complete with red Solo cups and– I shit you not– a Dave Matthews cover band. Standing there, choking on the smoke that was (of course) wafting from some dude wearing rainbows and a popped collar, unconsciously singing along… “Celebrate we will, ‘cause life is short but sweet for certain,” it hit me… I wanted to go home. I wanted to go home, salvage my clean hair before it wreaked of Marlboros, and watch a movie. Perhaps watch a movie in bed. I am old. F&*# it . Who cares. I’m old, I don’t want to party and I don’t care. God bless America, Good Night.
That's probably the last you'll hear from me until I move back to the lovely Carolinas!
I assure you, plenty of introspective rants based on how different I feel now versus when I was in high school will surely follow.
Tata, love ya, kisses,
Jenn
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
For the love of Lee Norris!!
I just have to brag on my good friend Lee here a bit. Kristin the TV writer for E! online just did this interview with the creator of One Tree Hill, and she didn't ask about any of the other characters specifically EXCEPT for the adorable Mouth McFadden. Read below to see the heaping of adoration.
K: I have to ask on behalf of the fans, when is Mouth going to get some lovin’?
M: You know, Mouth is going to be well taken care of next season.
K: So Mouth should really want the show to come back!
M: Yes! As a matter of fact, Lee knows a couple of the things I want to do with Mouth next year. Actually, I just hung up the phone with Lee, who plays Mouth, to talk to you, and he said nobody wants the show to come back more than he does! You know what’s great about that is, early on, the network wasn’t quite sure what to make of that character. You know, he wasn’t a kid on the poster and so they wondered why I spent so much time writing for that character, and one time we were on a call with the network and one of the executives said ‘We don’t understand why you’re writing for Mouth!’ and I put the phone on mute and I looked at my partner, Joe Davola, and I said ‘They don’t get it. Mouth is me.’ Like, they don’t understand that that’s who I was in school! And so Mouth gets all these great adventures, because it’s stuff that I’m like ‘What would I want to do next?’! But what’s very cool about it is, I told them at the time that he is going to be a beloved character, because he is more the every man, and there aren’t a lot of boys watching our show, but the ones that are watching are probably closer to Mouth, and it’s sort of wish fulfillment [for them]. So what has been really wonderful is that Lee Norris is a regular now and he has been accepted as a regular, and he is beloved. When we did the mall tours, there was just as much reaction to him as any other regulars on the show, if not more. I’ve been a little protective of him, but in season four, he’ll get to stretch as much as any other character on the show if not more so.
K: I have to ask on behalf of the fans, when is Mouth going to get some lovin’?
M: You know, Mouth is going to be well taken care of next season.
K: So Mouth should really want the show to come back!
M: Yes! As a matter of fact, Lee knows a couple of the things I want to do with Mouth next year. Actually, I just hung up the phone with Lee, who plays Mouth, to talk to you, and he said nobody wants the show to come back more than he does! You know what’s great about that is, early on, the network wasn’t quite sure what to make of that character. You know, he wasn’t a kid on the poster and so they wondered why I spent so much time writing for that character, and one time we were on a call with the network and one of the executives said ‘We don’t understand why you’re writing for Mouth!’ and I put the phone on mute and I looked at my partner, Joe Davola, and I said ‘They don’t get it. Mouth is me.’ Like, they don’t understand that that’s who I was in school! And so Mouth gets all these great adventures, because it’s stuff that I’m like ‘What would I want to do next?’! But what’s very cool about it is, I told them at the time that he is going to be a beloved character, because he is more the every man, and there aren’t a lot of boys watching our show, but the ones that are watching are probably closer to Mouth, and it’s sort of wish fulfillment [for them]. So what has been really wonderful is that Lee Norris is a regular now and he has been accepted as a regular, and he is beloved. When we did the mall tours, there was just as much reaction to him as any other regulars on the show, if not more. I’ve been a little protective of him, but in season four, he’ll get to stretch as much as any other character on the show if not more so.
Friday, April 28, 2006
mmmmm bop
Today, for some ungodly reason, my dear friend Joel who sits one cube over decided to rip the cellophane off of his newly recieved HANSON-LIVE album and play it for the whole office to hear. I am now having 7th grade flashbacks of the day that Mary Margaret Williford and I sat in Health class talking about the middle Hanson brother (he was the hottest) and how there was a rumor that they were moving to Charlotte and thinking of going to our school (this was totally false of course, but it caused so much pandemonium among the under 15 crowd that finally Hanson called into the local top-40 station to put the rumor to rest. It was a sad sad moment in all our lives.). I also remember that was the year that self tanner hit the market, and all of us were slightly streaky with visible splotches on our hand and around our ankles and knees. Hotness.
Anyway, here is a quick game of catch-up: I am moving back to Charlotte. My Midwestern boy-toy Joe has been hired to teach 7th grade U.S. History and Upper school Psychology and AP Psychology at Providence Day. But most importantly I have been asked to take a free trip to Belize to stay at a five-star resort and write about my experience. Try to detect the lie in the above sentences. Go ahead, try.
You totally thought it was the Belize thing right? But it isn’t. Actually there isn’t any lies up there. I guess calling Joe my “boy-toy” is kind of a lie since I would never normally use that label and I have no idea what possessed me to do so here. But that isn’t so much of a lie as it is a terribly un-classy choice of words. So I guess me asking you look for a lie turned out to be a lie. Not as fun for you though, I’m sure. But I don’t care what is fun for you. I am going to Belize, dammit.
Yes, five days and four nights at The Inn at Roberts Grove in Belize. Free airfare, free accommodations, free food, free excursions, even a free night on a private island. Best of all, I am getting paid to write about it. I have no idea how this happened. I am expecting somebody to jump out and tell me that because I am signed up to go on this trip now I have to buy a time share, or give them my first born child. Don’t get me wrong, I’d probably do it. Free trips to Belize don’t come along every day. Children are a dime a dozen, right?
Ok, let me take a moment to quell my overzealous wanderlust and tell you about the other things I mentioned up above. I am moving back to Charlotte. This is an unexpected but not unhappy development, certainly not unhappy if you were to ask my mother– who appears to be planning a ticker tape parade along with a full six weeks of preparing every meal that I have ever said I enjoyed. How did this happen? Well, long story short Joe’s patience with the miscreants of the South Side of Chicago began to wear thin a few months back. Not to say that he doesn’t like the kids. He loves them. He just never sees them. Week after week they fail to show up for their therapy sessions, rendering Joe essentially useless aside from his incredible penchant for developing organized filing systems. Joe wanted out, and he was interested in exploring other careers, like that of a college counselor.
Now, I am not sure how big my readership on this blog really is, so I don’t know what sort of experiences you all might have had with the counseling staff at your high school, but the College Counseling office at Providence Day is legendary. Not only do they get to you when you are still practically in braces, they are with you every single step of the way, reminding you to turn in applications, making phone calls on your behalf, and turning “Two summers working in the Snack Shack at the pool” into a resume entry that sounds worthy of a Nobel Prize. So naturally, I put Joe in touch with the Queen Bee of the PDS counseling hive – Phyllis Gill. She put him in touch with her cohorts in Chicago, one of whom took a serious shining to Joe and told him he should ditch his plans to sink more money into grad school and become a teacher at an independent school instead and then work his way into the counseling office over a series of a few years. Yada yada yada, a few phone calls later Joe was getting an interview at PDS. ‘ It will be good practice” I said, not wanting him to feel pressured to take a job in my hometown, so far away from his family and friends. “Yeah totally” he said, being the good-natured sort that he is. But the closer the interview got, the more the pressure grew. ….. Oh my holy lord. This is the most boring story of all time. Why on earth would you care? If you want to know the whole story, ask me. Geez, I mean are your eyes bleeding? I am so sorry. I can’t believe I just went into that degree of detail catching you up on my life. What is this, Livejournal? Am I 15? I am so sorry. Moving on.
Allow me to share a few left over thoughts I have been chewing on since my most recent tabloid binge:
Brangelina, you bore me. “We don’t talk about our relationship, we just live it.” Yeah right Angie. I am sure that Brad managed to legally adopt your children and hyphenate their last names without so much as a chit chat over a cup of coffee with you. By the way, Brad, was that entirely necessary? You say you didn’t cheat with Jolie, and your immediate post-divorce shack-up was enough for us to stop beliving that bullshit, did you really have to go the extra mile and tack your last name on to those poor children? Couldn’t you just share a room at the Chateau, galavant on the beach and get spotted “ring shopping in Beverly Hills” like a normal Hollywood couple? To encapsulate my feelings on this subject, I would like to pass on a single question to Brangie, TomKat, and the moldy pile of white trash that is Britney and Kevin:
Do what ever the hell you want- you are rich, famous, f&*#ed up, it makes sense. But why, why, WHY GOD WHY do you bring children into the equation?
While our society is still bumfuzzled and backwards over whether or not is unfair to bring a child into a life with two homosexual parents, our idols, our demigods of Hollywood are having children as an equivalent alternative to having their lover’s name tattooed on their ass (or in Angie’s case, probably in addition to). You want to give your flavor of the month a sign of your undying commitment? Buy her/him a goldfish. If you keep the tank clean, those things live for-fucking-ever. Is there a lack of contraception in Los Angeles? I lived there for a while and as far as I can remember, they sold condoms in every drug store, gas station and bar bathroom in the whole damn city. Perhaps Trojan is missing a golden opportunity to become a gift-bag sponsor. Next year at the Oscars just give all the winners a sampler box of the latest thrilling textured condoms and a lifetime prescription to the Nuva Ring. Either that, or the U.S. Government better start allocating a portion of our tax money to giving monetary incentives to people who want to become psychiatrists. Because assuming that America likes to mimic behavior other than the wearing of leggings and cowboy boots from their beloved celebrities, there are going to be generation upon generations of seriously disturbed children mingling amongst us. And yes, Tom Cruise, your kids will go to a psychiatrist, because I have hope that they will grow to realize that the religion you brought them into is the most amazingly horrifying load of horse shit ever spouted from the mouth of man. They will divorce you as a parent and go on to seek the most normal life possible, even if it means moving to Amish country, which compared to the Scientology Celebrity Centre, is the most normal place on earth.
WHEW.
Ok. That’s all I have to say about that.
Anyway, here is a quick game of catch-up: I am moving back to Charlotte. My Midwestern boy-toy Joe has been hired to teach 7th grade U.S. History and Upper school Psychology and AP Psychology at Providence Day. But most importantly I have been asked to take a free trip to Belize to stay at a five-star resort and write about my experience. Try to detect the lie in the above sentences. Go ahead, try.
You totally thought it was the Belize thing right? But it isn’t. Actually there isn’t any lies up there. I guess calling Joe my “boy-toy” is kind of a lie since I would never normally use that label and I have no idea what possessed me to do so here. But that isn’t so much of a lie as it is a terribly un-classy choice of words. So I guess me asking you look for a lie turned out to be a lie. Not as fun for you though, I’m sure. But I don’t care what is fun for you. I am going to Belize, dammit.
Yes, five days and four nights at The Inn at Roberts Grove in Belize. Free airfare, free accommodations, free food, free excursions, even a free night on a private island. Best of all, I am getting paid to write about it. I have no idea how this happened. I am expecting somebody to jump out and tell me that because I am signed up to go on this trip now I have to buy a time share, or give them my first born child. Don’t get me wrong, I’d probably do it. Free trips to Belize don’t come along every day. Children are a dime a dozen, right?
Ok, let me take a moment to quell my overzealous wanderlust and tell you about the other things I mentioned up above. I am moving back to Charlotte. This is an unexpected but not unhappy development, certainly not unhappy if you were to ask my mother– who appears to be planning a ticker tape parade along with a full six weeks of preparing every meal that I have ever said I enjoyed. How did this happen? Well, long story short Joe’s patience with the miscreants of the South Side of Chicago began to wear thin a few months back. Not to say that he doesn’t like the kids. He loves them. He just never sees them. Week after week they fail to show up for their therapy sessions, rendering Joe essentially useless aside from his incredible penchant for developing organized filing systems. Joe wanted out, and he was interested in exploring other careers, like that of a college counselor.
Now, I am not sure how big my readership on this blog really is, so I don’t know what sort of experiences you all might have had with the counseling staff at your high school, but the College Counseling office at Providence Day is legendary. Not only do they get to you when you are still practically in braces, they are with you every single step of the way, reminding you to turn in applications, making phone calls on your behalf, and turning “Two summers working in the Snack Shack at the pool” into a resume entry that sounds worthy of a Nobel Prize. So naturally, I put Joe in touch with the Queen Bee of the PDS counseling hive – Phyllis Gill. She put him in touch with her cohorts in Chicago, one of whom took a serious shining to Joe and told him he should ditch his plans to sink more money into grad school and become a teacher at an independent school instead and then work his way into the counseling office over a series of a few years. Yada yada yada, a few phone calls later Joe was getting an interview at PDS. ‘ It will be good practice” I said, not wanting him to feel pressured to take a job in my hometown, so far away from his family and friends. “Yeah totally” he said, being the good-natured sort that he is. But the closer the interview got, the more the pressure grew. ….. Oh my holy lord. This is the most boring story of all time. Why on earth would you care? If you want to know the whole story, ask me. Geez, I mean are your eyes bleeding? I am so sorry. I can’t believe I just went into that degree of detail catching you up on my life. What is this, Livejournal? Am I 15? I am so sorry. Moving on.
Allow me to share a few left over thoughts I have been chewing on since my most recent tabloid binge:
Brangelina, you bore me. “We don’t talk about our relationship, we just live it.” Yeah right Angie. I am sure that Brad managed to legally adopt your children and hyphenate their last names without so much as a chit chat over a cup of coffee with you. By the way, Brad, was that entirely necessary? You say you didn’t cheat with Jolie, and your immediate post-divorce shack-up was enough for us to stop beliving that bullshit, did you really have to go the extra mile and tack your last name on to those poor children? Couldn’t you just share a room at the Chateau, galavant on the beach and get spotted “ring shopping in Beverly Hills” like a normal Hollywood couple? To encapsulate my feelings on this subject, I would like to pass on a single question to Brangie, TomKat, and the moldy pile of white trash that is Britney and Kevin:
Do what ever the hell you want- you are rich, famous, f&*#ed up, it makes sense. But why, why, WHY GOD WHY do you bring children into the equation?
While our society is still bumfuzzled and backwards over whether or not is unfair to bring a child into a life with two homosexual parents, our idols, our demigods of Hollywood are having children as an equivalent alternative to having their lover’s name tattooed on their ass (or in Angie’s case, probably in addition to). You want to give your flavor of the month a sign of your undying commitment? Buy her/him a goldfish. If you keep the tank clean, those things live for-fucking-ever. Is there a lack of contraception in Los Angeles? I lived there for a while and as far as I can remember, they sold condoms in every drug store, gas station and bar bathroom in the whole damn city. Perhaps Trojan is missing a golden opportunity to become a gift-bag sponsor. Next year at the Oscars just give all the winners a sampler box of the latest thrilling textured condoms and a lifetime prescription to the Nuva Ring. Either that, or the U.S. Government better start allocating a portion of our tax money to giving monetary incentives to people who want to become psychiatrists. Because assuming that America likes to mimic behavior other than the wearing of leggings and cowboy boots from their beloved celebrities, there are going to be generation upon generations of seriously disturbed children mingling amongst us. And yes, Tom Cruise, your kids will go to a psychiatrist, because I have hope that they will grow to realize that the religion you brought them into is the most amazingly horrifying load of horse shit ever spouted from the mouth of man. They will divorce you as a parent and go on to seek the most normal life possible, even if it means moving to Amish country, which compared to the Scientology Celebrity Centre, is the most normal place on earth.
WHEW.
Ok. That’s all I have to say about that.
Friday, February 17, 2006
A lot of guys get a bad rap for being total clueless idiots when it comes to romance. But it's really not their fault. Really, it's not. How can they be expected to avoid the pitfalls of tacky romantic cliché when everywhere they look (TV, internet, magazines) they are being fed shitty ideas.
Like for example the persistence of the heart-shaped diamond pendant.
This style necklace has been out of style for at least 12 years. In fact, I am not even entirely sure it was ever in style. I know I had a fake one that I wore in the 3rd grade, but I usually wore it with a hot pink and teal wind-suit, so my taste may not have been so au currant. But lord knows they are out of style now. And yet, every jeweler on the planet had a commercial hawking their fine selection of heart-shaped diamond pendants as the perfect gift for your Valentine. Unless your Valentine lives in a trailer park or has been in a coma since 1984, this is an ill advised purchase. But how would you, the man, know that! You couldn't! Just like you couldn't know that buying a Vermont teddy bear and having it sent to your beloved's office with a sappy message strapped to his chest is more likely to get you dumped than laid. It's not your fault. The media has brainwashed you. And now that Valentines day is over, they are finding new, even more diabolical ways to infiltrate your brain and fill it with the most repugnant suggestions. Don't believe me? Check out the list of "Best ways for a man to pop the question" as provided by MSN.com:
Convince the local theater to spell out your proposal on their marquee. Phrase it like a film title: "The Love of a Lifetime, starring (insert names here)."
[Even if you were both drama majors and met while performing in a play, those words on a marquee will make the girl vomit.]
Create a Web page declaring your love and intentions. Leave your sweetie a clue with the Web address written on it -- don't say a word. After the proposal has been officially accepted (which of course it will be!), she can proudly send the page to friends and family.
[Yes, this is the technological age. But dear god. You simply cannot have any http's or .coms associated with your proposal]
Give your girlfriend a foot massage and place the ring on her little toe.
[No. No we do not involve feet. Feet and engagement rings need to be kept separate. End of story]
Want to really surprise your sweetheart? Cut out the bottom of a big box, wrap it with pretty paper and ribbon, and attach a card that says, "What's inside the box is a gift to last a lifetime." "Deliver" yourself to his or her office or front door.
[This has that classic "Oh didn't I see that on an episode of Full House" feel to it. Best to steer clear of anything that gives off a Danny Tanner vibe]
Is she a deep sleeper? Slip the ring on her finger while she's dozing and wake her with champagne and strawberries. The gesture will just seem romantic -- until she discovers a new piece of jewelry adorns her.
[This is just fucking creepy.]
Surprise her with an intricate gift basket. Pile in yummy delicacies -- the best chocolate, caviar, coffee -- but don't limit yourself to food. You could also include silk slippers, a book or CD. Hide the ring among all these wonderful presents (in its box, so it doesn't get lost in the goodies).
[ A GIFT BASKET? This is the love of your life, not the old lady next door who watched your dog and watered your plants for a week. Do you really want your fiance's last thought before you propose to be "Oooo Peppridge Farm Trail Mix." ?]
Spell your proposal out in glow-in-the-dark star stickers on your ceiling. Get into bed, turn the lights off, and wait for the inevitable gasp.
[This sounds like what Tom Hanks in Big might have done if he had stuck around as a big boy and not gone back to his child-like form. In other words, this is only ok if you sleep in a bunk bed. And if you sleep in a bunk bed, she should have dumped your ass months ago.]
Write "Will You Marry Me?" on the underside of a kite and take flight one warm, breezy afternoon.
[ Honestly, when was the last time you flew a kite. It's not that easy, dude. Don’t embarrass yourself like this. Also, don't you think she might find it a bit odd that a grown man has bought a kite and wants to go fly it? My first thought is "Oh god you have brain cancer don't you."]
Spell out your proposal with refrigerator magnets.
[This is the laziest proposal idea ever. What you were on your way to get a sandwhich and just decided that this was a good time? So you disassembled the dirty phrase you had concocted three nights ago when you were drunk so that you can get the "you" magnet and you can't find "me" magnet so you stop at "Will you marry" and then hope she will get the gist while she is grabbing for some Light Ranch?]
Take her to the local Fourth of July fireworks show, and have someone announce your proposal before your whole town.
[On the next episode of Gilmore Girls.]
Write your proposal in sunscreen on your stomach, so that your tan will "stencil in" the words. She will be so touched you've taken such an, um, interesting approach, she will accept immediately.
[Or she will "take a walk" down the beach so she can call her friend to come pick her up and get her away from your weird ass.]
Tongue-tied? Hire a plane to fly a banner with your "Marry me (insert name here)" message written on it. Take her to a wide-open space -- a beach, park, or stadium -- and simply point. When your sweetie notices what the pilot is doing, tell her that your love was heaven sent.
[Simply point? Not even a grunt? Me. Want. Marry. You. Also, if you use that "heaven sent" line… Well, you better be rehearsing for a role in a bad teen romantic comedy. And even then, you could do better.]
Propose in a different language, or lots of different languages -- starting with French, the language of love. [What? Seriously. Are you fucking kidding me.]
Buy a baby animal that she has always wanted (bunny, kitten, puppy) and loosely tie the ring around its neck. Make a commitment to the pet and each other. [Um… not gonna lie. I kinda like this one. Who can say no to a puppy?]
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