Even In My Sleep

I woke myself up this morning trying to entertain people in my dreams with a George Costanza witticism but for the life of me, can’t remember which one. (You know you watch Seinfeld reruns a lot when…) It wasn’t one of my faves, which is in the episode when the gang can’t find Kramer’s car in a mall parking garage. Jerry says you should always carry a pen so you can write down where you’re parked and George says “I can’t carry a pen. I’m afraid I’ll puncture my scrotum.” HA!

I’ve been sewing a lot lately and have 2 iron burns to show for it. One of them is especially nasty and in a very conspicuous place on my arm. The problem stems from my tiny sewing/laundry/world domination planning room. It only has one electrical outlet and it’s not conveniently located. I’ve been too triflin’ to get an extension cord so I’d been keeping my iron at an odd angle, whereby I often brushed dangerously close to it, singeing my poor dermis TWICE before realizing something needed to be done. Juggling all my sewing and crafting paraphernalia in that tiny room is a constant battle, one I hope to win soon in an ultimate showdown. I’ve been avoiding it because it will involve going through all of my fabric and supplies, purging, and re-organizing, which won’t be a picnic given how much crafty stuff I’ve amassed. I sort of did that to a lesser extent when I moved into my current apartment but it’s time to dig deep and honestly confront my vice. I plan to take before, during, and after photos so stay tuned for many opportunities to mock me.

I had Monday off for MLK Day so I went on a shopping trip with some friends from Bloomington, one that we’d literally been planning, canceling, and rescheduling for years. In an irony that’s not lost on me, I bought more fabric while whining about my burn. I also found an air horn at a random dollar store. I thought it might be too good to be true, so I just bought one to test. It works perfectly and now I plan to buy hundreds more to use as inappropriately as possible. Get some earplugs, is what I’m saying, especially if I’m ever responsible for waking you up.

This Could Get Hairy

This morning right before I got to work, I found my first gray hair. I’d noticed something glistening eerily in my otherwise brunette mane a few days ago but chose to ignore the truth. That was until today when after close inspection I found a coarse, gray strand right below my temple. I summarily yanked it out and inspected it carefully, half expecting it to justify its existence, promising me an air of wisdom and distinction. But instead I was faced with the cold simplicity of time’s silent march toward the end.

Now who’s up for a game of Kerplunk?!

Actually the gray hair didn’t bother me all that much and judging by the response I got on Facebook, I’m apparently lucky I haven’t found one sooner. I have started getting these weird eyebrow hairs that are gray at the root and brown at the tip. (Overshare?)

Now I wonder if many grays are soon to follow the first. If so, I would probably want to color my hair and I’ve always avoided that because the maintenance seems expensive and irritating. Still it would give me an opportunity to experiment with different colors, like Joan Holloway red.

This issue of course makes me ponder how unfair it is that women with gray hair are often looked upon as old, while graying men are generally considered sophisticated and sexy. Moxy’s boyf is a young 31 and yet already sports a salt-and-pepper coiffure, which I think suits him well. My brother was bald by his mid-twenties and now keeps his noggin shaved. I like that look but am not a fan of those creepy hairless cats, which I suppose means I have my own double standards.

P.S. Speaking of my brother, he lives in Atlanta and at the gym today, worked out right beside Lisa Wu, former Real Housewives of Atlanta star. If you’re not watching that show, say because you’re above hedonism and pop culture or translating Sartre’s L’existentialisme est un humanisme from its original French, please have a change of heart and tune in immediately because everybody needs to hear Nene say “That’s some bullshit” at least once in their lives.

Mish Mash

Today was the perfect combination of productive and lazy. Thanks to daylight saving’s time, I was up at 7:41 a.m. so I took a bubble bath, read, and catnapped the morning away. I followed up my slacking with some über-cleaning and finished the day watching several episodes of Bored to Death. If you haven’t seen it, you must. Jason Schwartzman plays an adorable, goofy writer who moonlights as an unlicensed private detective. Zach Galifianakis plays his buddy, who draws a comic book about a superhero with a giant penis and Ted Danson plays his mentor, an aging ladies’ man trying to thwart his obsolescence as editor of a New York magazine. Fun, sweet, and very well-written! Jason Schwartman said this of the show’s theme song, which he wrote and performed:

“This is an embarrassing story, and one that I feel terrible about because it will expose me as a low-key liar. But I did it and I brought it upon myself so I’m just going to come clean now. … I was finishing up a film, Funny People, that I was acting in that was taking up all of my days. And I was supposed to be writing the song, and every week I would get an e-mail from people at HBO saying, ‘How’s the song coming?’ And I would just say, ‘Everything is great,’ even though I had nothing written. And I would quickly invent something that I had written, and describe something, like, ‘I’ve come up with this walking bass line; I think it’s very right for the song,’ and they’d write back, ‘Great. Can’t wait to hear it.’ … Basically, I lied for a month on the fly about what was in this song, musically. Then it came time for me to submit a demo, and not to seem like a liar, I went back through all of my sent e-mails and saw all of the things I had said were in the song, wrote them down — and then basically to fulfill the lie, I wrote the song based on every fib I had e-mailed. And I wrote it in 10 minutes.”

Now there’s a procrastinator after my own heart!

My Christmas cactus is blooming! I guess it doesn’t know that it’s not even Thanksgiving yet.

How adorable is B’s cat, Lord Benjamin Featherbottom? Loving on him was worth every sneeze of my allergy attack.

A Brand New Life Around the Bend

On the last episode of Who’s the Boss, Samantha and her boyfriend Hank opted to elope to eschew their families’ misgivings about their relationship. Sam stirred the pot by fully supporting Hank’s decision to become a puppeteer instead of a doctor.

Wait, this isn’t a 90s TV blog, is it?

Sorry.

My week in Chicago is neatly summarized by this text I sent to B:

Spilled coffee on shirt first thing this a.m. I win @ capable. Soaked thru to bra so now when I get flushed I radiate a Folgers odor.

That makes my trip sound far more dismal than it was, although by week’s end, my brain was so tired and full, I wished it had a companion external hard drive to store everything I’d learned so I could go back to thinking about puppies and glitter.

It just so happened that there was a restaurant and hotel workers’ union protest the first few days of my conference. My room was on the 22nd floor but I could easily hear the shouting and clanging. Fortunately my incredibly comfortable bed made sleeping a breeze. I ended up in a room with 2 beds, each one boasting 4 gloriously fluffy, down-filled pillows. I piled all those mothers on my bed and snoozed happily like a swaddled babe. A few nights, I shamelessly took advantage of room service but did manage to get out and walk around downtown one evening.

I was reminded of the joy in leaving a messy room and returning to find your nook perfectly tidy and restocked with health and beauty aids (Crabtree & Evelyn, natch), not to speak of delightfully tiny bottles of liquor. That’s a pleasure I believe one should enjoy at least once a year even if it’s just pretendsies with a cute friend cleaning your pad while donning a maid’s/butler’s uniform.

I made a few friends at the conference, including one girl from Indy. It sure was nice to have some buddies in the roiling sea of nerds. I also had dinner with AZBad one night. We ended up going to Kitty O’Sheas, an Irish Pub whose name never fails to conjure notions of twisted Celtic porn.

Do you have fun Halloween plans? Tonight the girls and I are celebrating Lean’s birthday at Bonefish Grill but otherwise my weekend will be a quiet one. Today I remembered the year some horrible thugs smashed the pumpkin my dad and I carved. I think I was between 8- and 10-years old. Pappy was so incensed, he chased after them down the street yelling like only a southern Presbyterian minister can. Years later my brother revealed that the thugs were retaliating because he and his friends had egged them. NICE. What’s your favorite Halloween memory?

I Can JuggleToo!

In a shocking display of Attention Deficit Disorder, I’m watching Goonies on TV and Betty White on SNL online during the commercials. If I were also knitting, downloading Kendra Wilkinson’s sex tape, and sorting out those pesky problems between Israel and Palestine via Skype, I’d really be accomplishing something! As it is, I’m just your average under-achieving Gen Xer.

Goonies is one of those movies I can watch over and over without getting bored. Another movie that falls into that category (and I’m sharing this with you knowing that it’ll just be our little secret) is Miss Congeniality. There’s something about it that puts me at ease and makes me feel all is right with the world. Maybe it’s the great casting or the silly costume Sandra Bullock wears when she plays the water glasses. Or maybe it’s Michael Caine’s dead-pan humor or the redemptive happy ending. While I can’t quite put my finger on it, anytime it’s on TV I willingly submit to its powers and am lulled into a passive, mouth-breathing stupor. (For the record, I must mention that Miss Congeniality 2 was total cinematic caca and certainly does not have the same effect on me as its predecessor.)

P.S. I can’t really juggle.

P.P.S. I cried at the end of SNL when they gave Betty White flowers. What a doll!

On My Radar

Click to embiggen

DON’T WORRY – even though we’re going camping, Moxy’s boyf is TiVoing my dear, sweet Betty on Saturday Night Live. What are you up to this weekend?

Death & Taxes (Except No Death Really)

I finished my taxes a day early, which for a perfectionist procrastinator (God, I’m exhausting) is pretty good! They were a little more complicated this year since I had some freelance gigs but I managed to emerge unscathed and a couple hundred bucks in the black. Unfortunately those monies (my new favorite corporate-ism) will go toward stupid medical/dental bills because falling out of bed and skipping the dentist for a few years ain’t cheap! (For the record, I’m extremely grateful to have insurance so please don’t smite me God of Health Care or any related deities.)

And speaking of perfectionism and procrastination, I think I’m finally almost settled into my apartment, which I moved into more than a year ago. Last night I started the final phase, framing pictures and plotting where to hang them. There are a few things I need to have framed, which can be spency so I may be employing some creative hanging techniques in the meantime. Although it’s taken a ridiculous amount of time, I’ve never been more organized or free of the detritus of yore (except for my swimming ribbons and college notebooks DON’T JUDGE ME.)

I don’t know about you but I had a super fun weekend including lunch at the IMA Cafe, which I highly recommend for 1) a lovely outdoor dining experience and 2) their amazing cornbread. I also saw Date Night, which wasn’t nearly as bad as I had anticipated (be sure to stay for the hilarious outtakes at the end) and wrapped things up with an uproarious dinner with the gang, heavy on the margaritas and talk of an upcoming camping trip. Tonight the revelry continues when the girls and I get together for our weekly debriefing. We usually watch Project Runway but frankly this season has been a real snoozer so last week we succumbed to our baser instincts and tuned in to Sober House. We’re mad at Dr. Drew for letting Tom Sizemore be on the same season as Heidi Fleiss. “How dare he put her recovery in jeopardy,” we clucked. Are your plans equally as scholarly?

Let it Snow

Last Friday my work sent everyone home early because of a snowstorm. It was such a joyous occasion, I braved the slick roads and drove directly to a local fabric store. I was on the hunt for some yarn I needed to finish a project and not one to waste an opportunity, I also scoured the clearance section for any gems.

Today we’re in the grips of another potential blizzard and I’m hoping to be released again early. I was supposed to assist a CSS workshop tonight but it’s already been canceled, which is perfect since Lost is on. Have we talked about that yet? This is the final season and I’m chomping at the bit for some heart-stopping, jaw-dropping answers to all the crazy questions we’ve been inundated with over the years.

With that, I’m going to do it up bullet style since all the thoughts streaming out of my noggin are a bit tangential:

• Did you know that Vanna White has her own brand of yarn? I never pegged her as a knitter but I guess in addition to those letter-turnin’ skillz, she likes to get her purl on.
• I took Abbs to the vet recently because her ear seemed to be bothering her and she’d had an ear infection a few weeks’ prior. Turned out she had another one but treating it is like trying to drink pudding through a stir straw. During her puppy-hood, she let it be known that she does not like her ears (or paws) to be touched, which is quite a shame because they’re so damn adorable. As such, trying to put drops in her ears is a ridiculous spectacle during which she resists as though I were setting her on fire, only finally relenting at arm’s length by hanging her head to the ground and facing in whatever direction is most inconvenient. If I manage to get a few drops into her actual ear, she then shakes her head violently and huffs out of the room. Still I melt and rush to her side when she scratches her ear and lets out a pathetic, pained groan. Poor bippy’s got me wrapped around her little paw, which should not be touched under any circumstances!
• A few weeks ago, I made spaghetti with artichoke hearts and tomatoes for the girls and it was a hit. I used half-and-half instead of cream but I think next time I’ll skip it all together because the dish was rich enough with the olive oil and cheese. In the future I’ll also substitute veggie stock for the chicken broth so it’s vegetarian. I didn’t have any chives on hand so I used basil instead, which gave it a yummy pesto-y tinge. Mmmmm!
• In the late 90s, I got really into scrapbooking and was gifted with a laminator. I haven’t used it in at least 6 years and it’s big and bulky so the time has come for this mother to go to Goodwill. I’ve held onto it thinking I would use it but the rare instances in which it might be useful don’t make up for the pain-in-the-ass of storing it. What I’m saying here is, I need permission to let go of my laminator. Could you be a lamb and tell me it’s OK so I can move on? Theeenks!

Bursting with Flavor

http://www.flickr.com/photos/calliope/ / CC BY 2.0

I just ate a juicy pink grapefruit and I’ll be damned if it wasn’t delicious! While I regret the carbon emissions that facilitated such a luxury in the dead of an Indiana winter, I delighted in the fleeting moment I was transported to an island oasis, where a soft breeze feathered my hair and a buff Islander laughed at my TWSS jokes.

This morning while getting ready, I actually said out loud, “I’m too tired to put a bra on.”* It’s been a long week, culminating in the realization that I now have to wear my glasses to drive when it’s dark and rainy. Last night I nearly had 10 accidents on the way to an appointment, veering hither and yon into exits and onto curbs. Just before arousing too much suspicion, I remembered my glasses which seemed to help a little. Then I snapped, “I’m not driving in the dark in the rain ever again!” As I heard the words coming angrily out of my mouth, the inevitability of becoming just like my parents landed in my lap with a smug thud. Ahhh, adulthood!

In the interest in full disclosure, I need to address two rumors you may’ve read about in the press:

1. I haven’t taken down my Christmas tree yet, and
2. I thoroughly enjoyed, nay reveled in every single moment of Jersey Shore. I know it’s shameful and obnoxious but I was hooked before Pauly D. had a chance to finish his blow out. Each episode, I sat before my television completely transfixed, unable to parse the bombarding stimuli of a cultural phenomenon being born. Afterward the girls and I would debrief, discussing which moment was the most outlandish from each episode’s plethora of insanity. I even tried out the Jersey Shore nickname generator and would prefer it if you refer to me as The Tan-trum from now on. GTL 4evah!!

*Rest assured I ended up wearing a suitable foundation garment. As Truvy said, “I haven’t left the house without lycra on these thighs since I was 14.”

Captain Abby

First off, can we talk about how adorable my pupper is? I know I’m biased but how can you not love this sweet face?

A friend snapped this pic a few weekends ago during our day on a pontoon boat. While we were docked, Abbs was a bit nervous and pace-y but once we got going, she seemed to LOVE it.

Now on to more pressing topics, like previews for horror movies. Have you noticed that they seem to be getting more and more frightening? I’ve seen several recently that have frankly scared the shiz-nit out of me. (I’m looking at YOU Orphan and Shutter Island.) I think we’ve crossed a line. I can’t make it through these things without nervously patting the Klonopin I keep in my purse for emergencies!

I know I’m a little late on this but I’m completely in love with Mad Men. I’ve seen all of the first season and am buying the second season when it comes out tomorrow, hoping to be caught up in time for the start of season 3 in August. This show is FABULOUS – the writing, the commentary on gender roles, the clothes, delicious Don Draper and curvy Joan Holloway, dripping with feminine wiles and drunk with the power of her sexuality? It’s without a doubt my new favorite TV show. Next up I’ll be watching another series I’m late getting into – The Waltons.