Hi Terry!
There are many e-books that have been written about sure fire ways to bring back ex-loves, regardless of the circumstance. I would love to have your spin on their theories, or additional tips, as I really respect your opinion. Any help would be greatly appreciated.
Regards,
L
Hi, L-
Thanks for writing and for the kind words.
I'm not familiar with the books you mention, but as far as bringing back a lost love is concerned it can certainly be done, as long as the man is willing.
It's definitely worth it, though, to sit down and write down exactly why you want him back. Then write down why you might not want him back. The goal is to remember realistically what the relationship was really like, and if it's worth having again.
In the news lately there have been lots of reports of people who've reunited with lost loves and had happy results (Donna Hanover, the former First Lady of New York and ex-wife of Rudy Giuliani, recently married an old schoolmate, for example). But, apparently, most of these people once had good relationships, which make great foundations for new ones.
But I worry about people who long for a lost love who once cheated on them, repeatedly disappointed them, and eventually left them in the dust, often for somebody else. A lot of the time we tend to romanticize "the one who got away" when he never deserved us in the first place.
Before you buy a book that instructs you how to bring back an old love, ask yourself if the person you long for is really worth it. If the answer is yes, go for it. There are no guarantees, of course. You risk rejection, but you'll still achieve peace of mind knowing whether or not the relationship was meant to be.
If you decide that the man is not worth it, ask yourself what kind of person would thrill you the way he once did. What qualities are you looking for? What kinds of things would you do together?
It helps to write a list of these things and contemplate it often. You can write an affirmation (don't ever discount the power of affirmations; they worked for me) like "I am now happily married (or dating) a loyal, loving, reliable, successful, fun man." Write it 10 times a day. Say it out loud before your feet hit the floor in the morning. Repeat it to yourself as you're dropping off to sleep at night.
Just replace the qualities I used for the ones you prefer and be sure to put your affirmation in the present tense. And make sure the guy you envision treats you well and has a sense of humor!
To your happily ever after,
Terry
Friday, July 15, 2005
Thursday, July 14, 2005
On Dating, Tama Janowitz, Coldplay, and More
Just finished sending the newsletter. Am thinking of discontinuing it and starting a second blog devoted entirely to dating and relationships instead. What do you think?
Am almost finished with Mansfield Park, which is by far the best book I've read in a year. Next up, A Certain Age by Tama Janowitz and Queen Bees and Wannabes by Rosalind Wiseman. Saw Hotel Rwanda over the weekend, which renewed my desire to press my representatives to aid Dafur.
The new Coldplay CD is astounding and constantly running in my head. Their performance at Live 8 blew me away, and Madonna certainly silenced critics who've accused her of decaying into a boring housewife. The fellows who gathered around my barbecue table Saturday evening expressed undying admiration for her.
Will spend the weekend with Mommy, who is no longer responsive. The woman who takes care of her still manages to get her to eat, which is a miracle.
Am almost finished with Mansfield Park, which is by far the best book I've read in a year. Next up, A Certain Age by Tama Janowitz and Queen Bees and Wannabes by Rosalind Wiseman. Saw Hotel Rwanda over the weekend, which renewed my desire to press my representatives to aid Dafur.
The new Coldplay CD is astounding and constantly running in my head. Their performance at Live 8 blew me away, and Madonna certainly silenced critics who've accused her of decaying into a boring housewife. The fellows who gathered around my barbecue table Saturday evening expressed undying admiration for her.
Will spend the weekend with Mommy, who is no longer responsive. The woman who takes care of her still manages to get her to eat, which is a miracle.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Don't Get Sucked In By a Bad Boy
Hi, Terry-
I know you said to stop seeing and cut off the person who is no good for you, but what if you have a child with that person? How do you not get sucked back in?
-m
Hello, M-
Sorry for the delay in responding. I was out of town.
You're in a tough spot. You want to put the guy out of your head, but you have to maintain some sort of relationship with him because you have a child. The best advice I can give you is to write down on a piece of paper exactly what what he's done (every single thing you can think of) that brought you to the conclusion that he is no good for you.
Carry that piece of paper around with you. Read it when you get up in the morning. Read it whenever a happy memory you shared together pops into your head. Read it before you drop off to sleep at night. Read it before he shows up at your house to visit your child. Go into the bathroom and read it after he gives you that smile that makes you want to forgive him for every bad thing he's ever done.
I don't think you should walk around harboring a grudge (because that's not good for your health), but being with a man who you know is not good for you is certainly not good for your health, either. So you do need to remind yourself-- constantly--why you want to break free of this guy.
I don't know if you signed your name with a lower case "M" because it's a style thing, or if subconsciously, you think you don't rate a capital letter. You do.
You deserve the best in life. Please start to think about what the "best in life" means to you in terms of a boyfriend or a husband. Start to formulate a picture of him in your mind. Treat yourself really, really well. Buy yourself flowers once in a while.
If you start treating yourself like the wonderful person you are, eventually other people will, too. And the people who don't (and didn't) will no longer appeal to you.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
I know you said to stop seeing and cut off the person who is no good for you, but what if you have a child with that person? How do you not get sucked back in?
-m
Hello, M-
Sorry for the delay in responding. I was out of town.
You're in a tough spot. You want to put the guy out of your head, but you have to maintain some sort of relationship with him because you have a child. The best advice I can give you is to write down on a piece of paper exactly what what he's done (every single thing you can think of) that brought you to the conclusion that he is no good for you.
Carry that piece of paper around with you. Read it when you get up in the morning. Read it whenever a happy memory you shared together pops into your head. Read it before you drop off to sleep at night. Read it before he shows up at your house to visit your child. Go into the bathroom and read it after he gives you that smile that makes you want to forgive him for every bad thing he's ever done.
I don't think you should walk around harboring a grudge (because that's not good for your health), but being with a man who you know is not good for you is certainly not good for your health, either. So you do need to remind yourself-- constantly--why you want to break free of this guy.
I don't know if you signed your name with a lower case "M" because it's a style thing, or if subconsciously, you think you don't rate a capital letter. You do.
You deserve the best in life. Please start to think about what the "best in life" means to you in terms of a boyfriend or a husband. Start to formulate a picture of him in your mind. Treat yourself really, really well. Buy yourself flowers once in a while.
If you start treating yourself like the wonderful person you are, eventually other people will, too. And the people who don't (and didn't) will no longer appeal to you.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
Friday, July 01, 2005
Maybe Tom Cruise Isn't Crazy After All
Like the rest of the free world, I've been scratching my head over Tom Cruise's recent desperate attempts for attention. I don't buy the fairy tale romance with Katie Holmes, for instance, especially after his divorces from Mimi Rogers and Nicole Kidman. (He was really, really, really in love with them, too.)
But when I saw him battling it out about psychiatry and prescription drugs with Matt Lauer last week, I had a change of heart. The guy went whacko on Matt, shouting him down about psychiatry being a pseudoscience and, "Do you know about Adderall, Matt? Do you know about Ritalin?"
And Matt, instead of remaining calm and asking, "I guess I don't, Tom. Why don't you tell me about them?" got defensive. He didn't question Cruise about why he objects so strenuously to psychiatry. Later on in the broadcast, Al Roker remarked that Tom Cruise had been "rude" to Mr. Lauer. Maybe. But Matt definitely lost control of the interview.
When Tom was beating Matt over the head about psychiatry and prescription drugs, he reminded me exactly of a man I know who, as a child, had learning disabilities, and is now angry about the treatment he suffered as a result. Teachers told his mother he needed counseling, but they didn't harbor high hopes for him. In desperation, his mother traipsed him in and out of psychiatrists' offices, took him to "learning specialists" (ha!), "focusing doctors," and on and on and on.
None of them helped. They put him on Ritalin. It didn't help.
Today, through his own determination, the man is a college graduate and has worked, quite profitably, for the same company for almost 15 years. He owns an apartment in Manhattan and is a good deal more successful than the little bastard who used to taunt him on the Pee Wee soccer team.
So, when I see Tom Cruise freaking out about Ritalin and psychiatry, I wonder if he once had a similar experience. I have read that he suffered from learning disorders and dyslexia.
As for his comments about Brooke Shields, I don't agree.
But, interestingly, an AP report in yesterday's Newsday revealed that the FDA plans to strengthen warnings about Concerta, the slow-release version of Ritalin, because a routine review found more psychiatric reactions to the drug than had been previously stated.
Those reactions? Suicidal thoughts, hallucinations, and violent behavior.
This is especially interesting to me because both my children have been diagnosed with ADHD and were prescribed Concerta, after our pediatrician reassured us that Ritalin has been "used safely for 30 years."
I wonder if Matt Lauer will pick up on the AP report that seems to vindicate Tom Cruise. In the meantime, I'll tear up my children's prescription for a Concerta refill.
But when I saw him battling it out about psychiatry and prescription drugs with Matt Lauer last week, I had a change of heart. The guy went whacko on Matt, shouting him down about psychiatry being a pseudoscience and, "Do you know about Adderall, Matt? Do you know about Ritalin?"
And Matt, instead of remaining calm and asking, "I guess I don't, Tom. Why don't you tell me about them?" got defensive. He didn't question Cruise about why he objects so strenuously to psychiatry. Later on in the broadcast, Al Roker remarked that Tom Cruise had been "rude" to Mr. Lauer. Maybe. But Matt definitely lost control of the interview.
When Tom was beating Matt over the head about psychiatry and prescription drugs, he reminded me exactly of a man I know who, as a child, had learning disabilities, and is now angry about the treatment he suffered as a result. Teachers told his mother he needed counseling, but they didn't harbor high hopes for him. In desperation, his mother traipsed him in and out of psychiatrists' offices, took him to "learning specialists" (ha!), "focusing doctors," and on and on and on.
None of them helped. They put him on Ritalin. It didn't help.
Today, through his own determination, the man is a college graduate and has worked, quite profitably, for the same company for almost 15 years. He owns an apartment in Manhattan and is a good deal more successful than the little bastard who used to taunt him on the Pee Wee soccer team.
So, when I see Tom Cruise freaking out about Ritalin and psychiatry, I wonder if he once had a similar experience. I have read that he suffered from learning disorders and dyslexia.
As for his comments about Brooke Shields, I don't agree.
But, interestingly, an AP report in yesterday's Newsday revealed that the FDA plans to strengthen warnings about Concerta, the slow-release version of Ritalin, because a routine review found more psychiatric reactions to the drug than had been previously stated.
Those reactions? Suicidal thoughts, hallucinations, and violent behavior.
This is especially interesting to me because both my children have been diagnosed with ADHD and were prescribed Concerta, after our pediatrician reassured us that Ritalin has been "used safely for 30 years."
I wonder if Matt Lauer will pick up on the AP report that seems to vindicate Tom Cruise. In the meantime, I'll tear up my children's prescription for a Concerta refill.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Get a Second Opinion
Working on an article entitled, "Do Aggressive Drivers Make Lousy Husbands?" Got some excellent experts to give me quotes, and I'd like to finish the damn thing except the offspring are about. I can't write three words without one of them interrupting me.
Spoke to Mom this morning. Her voice is even smaller now; it's almost impossible to hear her. To make things worse, my cousin K. called me at 7:28 this morning to report that a needle biopsy reveals that she, at 47 years of age, has cancer. The doctors say it's a secondary tumor, but they can't seem to find the primary source.
I say it's time to find another doctor. Called Dad, who agreed, and offered some other advice, which I left later in the day on K's answering machine. She is convinced she is going to die, but since she's been given virtually no answers, I wouldn't panic just yet.
Our childhood neighbor, J, was diagnosed in November with an "inoperable brain tumor," which was found to be easily operable upon a second opinion. She's since had surgery and is doing just about everything she used to, save driving.
Missed Kept on Thursday and expected to catch a rerun on Sunday evening, but it didn't air. Now what do I do? Hope I have the stamina to stay up for Rescue Me tonight at 10.
Spoke to Mom this morning. Her voice is even smaller now; it's almost impossible to hear her. To make things worse, my cousin K. called me at 7:28 this morning to report that a needle biopsy reveals that she, at 47 years of age, has cancer. The doctors say it's a secondary tumor, but they can't seem to find the primary source.
I say it's time to find another doctor. Called Dad, who agreed, and offered some other advice, which I left later in the day on K's answering machine. She is convinced she is going to die, but since she's been given virtually no answers, I wouldn't panic just yet.
Our childhood neighbor, J, was diagnosed in November with an "inoperable brain tumor," which was found to be easily operable upon a second opinion. She's since had surgery and is doing just about everything she used to, save driving.
Missed Kept on Thursday and expected to catch a rerun on Sunday evening, but it didn't air. Now what do I do? Hope I have the stamina to stay up for Rescue Me tonight at 10.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Am I Being Paranoid?
Just sent out the newsletter. It's about time; it's been almost two weeks since the last one.
Took the ferry from Bridgeport to Port Jeff on Saturday. Peter and I and the offspring went to A. and M.'s block party in Bethpage. Mike's mother was there, flaming mad at George Pataki for his treatment of the families of 9/11 victims (her sister lost a son). Promised I'd write a letter on behalf of the cause if she sends me information.
Left Peter and offspring at the party and hopped the LIRR into Manhattan to see Mom. She hardly talks at all anymore, and when she does, you have to put your ear to her mouth to hear what she's saying. It's like watching a lightbulb go out.
Sibling One brought her new baby, who is so adorable he makes us forget our mother is dying. He has the most amazing round, peachlike head.
When I arrived home yesterday evening, the in-laws, who'd been visiting off and on for a week, were packing their car for their trip up to Nova Scotia, where they have a summer home. They peeled out of here at 6:10 this morning.
The account from which I send my email newsletter has been bombarded with messages with headings like, "Returned Mail: User Unknown." The thing is, until I sent my newsletter a few minutes ago, I hadn't sent anything from that account in days.
Is it possible somebody is using my email address to send SPAM, or am I just being paranoid?
Took the ferry from Bridgeport to Port Jeff on Saturday. Peter and I and the offspring went to A. and M.'s block party in Bethpage. Mike's mother was there, flaming mad at George Pataki for his treatment of the families of 9/11 victims (her sister lost a son). Promised I'd write a letter on behalf of the cause if she sends me information.
Left Peter and offspring at the party and hopped the LIRR into Manhattan to see Mom. She hardly talks at all anymore, and when she does, you have to put your ear to her mouth to hear what she's saying. It's like watching a lightbulb go out.
Sibling One brought her new baby, who is so adorable he makes us forget our mother is dying. He has the most amazing round, peachlike head.
When I arrived home yesterday evening, the in-laws, who'd been visiting off and on for a week, were packing their car for their trip up to Nova Scotia, where they have a summer home. They peeled out of here at 6:10 this morning.
The account from which I send my email newsletter has been bombarded with messages with headings like, "Returned Mail: User Unknown." The thing is, until I sent my newsletter a few minutes ago, I hadn't sent anything from that account in days.
Is it possible somebody is using my email address to send SPAM, or am I just being paranoid?
Friday, June 24, 2005
I'm a Better Mother When My Children Aren't Around
They've been off from school only two days, and they're driving me crazy. It's great being able to sleep late, but after breakfast it's all down hill. One child never stops moving, and the other one never starts. She lives on the couch like mold on bread.
I didn't get the newsletter out this week. Hope to keep offspring quiet long enough to do it Tuesday or Wednesday. Am behind on revising the novel, as well. Can't wait until camp starts, although it will interfere with my late mornings.
Missed Kept last night because the in-laws are up from South Carolina, and I didn't really think they'd appreciate watching Jerry put the fellows through their paces. Hoped to watch David Letterman grill Tom Cruise (who is full of it) after they went to bed, but I passed out during a commercial break.
I didn't get the newsletter out this week. Hope to keep offspring quiet long enough to do it Tuesday or Wednesday. Am behind on revising the novel, as well. Can't wait until camp starts, although it will interfere with my late mornings.
Missed Kept last night because the in-laws are up from South Carolina, and I didn't really think they'd appreciate watching Jerry put the fellows through their paces. Hoped to watch David Letterman grill Tom Cruise (who is full of it) after they went to bed, but I passed out during a commercial break.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Neighborhood Pigs Strike Yet Again!
I stepped out to get my mail this afternoon, narrowly missing a steaming pile of dog turd, courtesy of the neighbor who persists in letting her growly animal wander through my yard. This is the same individual who puts out her garbage on Friday afternoons when pick-up isn't until Thursday.
One of her sons (the one who zings through stop signs while she beams with maternal pride in the passenger seat) graduated from high school on Monday, and the deflated balloons testifying to that fact still hang from her mail box. I expect them to be there at Christmas.
One of her sons (the one who zings through stop signs while she beams with maternal pride in the passenger seat) graduated from high school on Monday, and the deflated balloons testifying to that fact still hang from her mail box. I expect them to be there at Christmas.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Yesterday Was Father's Day
Mick Jagger received cards from all over the globe.
While we're on the subject of the promiscuous Mr. Jagger, I have to make a confession. I'm addicted to his ex-wife Jerry Hall's reality TV show, Kept. I'm not proud of it, but I can't stop watching. I am currently rooting for somebody named Austen (I think he spells it that way), who seems like a nice fellow and boasts big lips like the former Mr. Jerry.
In my defense, I have not watched and will not watch the reality series based on Gilligan's Island. I promise. I also refuse to sit through that dance competition with Rachel Hunter, either. I'm not a complete loser.
While we're on the subject of the promiscuous Mr. Jagger, I have to make a confession. I'm addicted to his ex-wife Jerry Hall's reality TV show, Kept. I'm not proud of it, but I can't stop watching. I am currently rooting for somebody named Austen (I think he spells it that way), who seems like a nice fellow and boasts big lips like the former Mr. Jerry.
In my defense, I have not watched and will not watch the reality series based on Gilligan's Island. I promise. I also refuse to sit through that dance competition with Rachel Hunter, either. I'm not a complete loser.
Monday, June 13, 2005
12 Things Men Want to Say to You But Don't...
Is one of the cover blurbs from the current issue of Glamour magazine. The idea is to get you, desperate female, to plunk over your hard-earned cash to find out what red-blooded American men (because they're all the same, you know!) think about your looks, your job, your laugh, and your Starbucks coffee habit. Expecting a man to actually say what's on his mind is completely out of the question (don't you know anything, you big ol' nag?).
If you need a magazine article (written by an individual who has never met the guy in question) to tell you what a man thinking, you need a new boyfriend, preferably who knows that his mouth is more than a depository for McDonald's Value Meals.
The Dating Tips Newsletter didn't go out last week because my mother's condition is not getting better, so my trips to Manhattan are becoming increasingly frequent. Please bear with me. Hope to have something out this week.
Mangaged to finish David Sedaris' Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim on MetroNorth back to Connecticut last evening. Fortunately, the train was packed with revelers from the Puerto Rican Day Parade, so my outbursts of shrieking laughter went unnoticed.
If you need a magazine article (written by an individual who has never met the guy in question) to tell you what a man thinking, you need a new boyfriend, preferably who knows that his mouth is more than a depository for McDonald's Value Meals.
The Dating Tips Newsletter didn't go out last week because my mother's condition is not getting better, so my trips to Manhattan are becoming increasingly frequent. Please bear with me. Hope to have something out this week.
Mangaged to finish David Sedaris' Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim on MetroNorth back to Connecticut last evening. Fortunately, the train was packed with revelers from the Puerto Rican Day Parade, so my outbursts of shrieking laughter went unnoticed.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
You Could Be Better Off Alone
The last batch of emails I've gotten are from women who are bouncing the mattress with guys who are unavailable.
Either the guy is married, or divorced with children he claims to be devoted to (which allows him the dual benefit of looking like Super Daddy and using somebody for sex at the same time), or he suffers from the residual effects of an emotional tragedy that precludes him from committing himself fully to a new relationship.
My correspondents are settling for half men. Too many of us have been brainwashed into believing that scoring half a man is better than no man at all. Others get a twisted sense of superiority from banging another woman's husband (the worst possible karma, by the way). Still others are so afraid of commitment ourselves that we continually attract these sorry relationships; subconsciously we know damn well they're not going anywhere.
But life is much more fun when we don't have to deal with a half man and the drama he thrusts into our lives. It's actually more fun to set a beautiful table, pour a glass of wine, and enjoy a delightful meal on one's own, rather than wait by the phone to find out if the Loser of the Month is going to show up.
If you're involved with a guy who can't commit for whatever reason, or if you're just not sure where your relationship is headed, I suggest you download "Express Yourself" by Madonna and listen to it four hundred times a day. Now, I don't pretend to always understand Madonna; I was utterly bewildered by her gold tooth period, for example, but this song serves as a guide to fulfilling love relationships.
Check out the lyrics if you don't believe me.
Either the guy is married, or divorced with children he claims to be devoted to (which allows him the dual benefit of looking like Super Daddy and using somebody for sex at the same time), or he suffers from the residual effects of an emotional tragedy that precludes him from committing himself fully to a new relationship.
My correspondents are settling for half men. Too many of us have been brainwashed into believing that scoring half a man is better than no man at all. Others get a twisted sense of superiority from banging another woman's husband (the worst possible karma, by the way). Still others are so afraid of commitment ourselves that we continually attract these sorry relationships; subconsciously we know damn well they're not going anywhere.
But life is much more fun when we don't have to deal with a half man and the drama he thrusts into our lives. It's actually more fun to set a beautiful table, pour a glass of wine, and enjoy a delightful meal on one's own, rather than wait by the phone to find out if the Loser of the Month is going to show up.
If you're involved with a guy who can't commit for whatever reason, or if you're just not sure where your relationship is headed, I suggest you download "Express Yourself" by Madonna and listen to it four hundred times a day. Now, I don't pretend to always understand Madonna; I was utterly bewildered by her gold tooth period, for example, but this song serves as a guide to fulfilling love relationships.
Check out the lyrics if you don't believe me.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
You're Lying to Yourself
Dear Terry,
I am in love with a man who does not reveal who he is. This guy does not say he loves me, but whenever I go to his place he makes love to me. He told me he has a baby boy and that this baby and its mother need him for the boy's betterment. I really tried to forget him, but the truth is this guy loves me. He calls me, sends me messages, and he asked me to be his closest friend. Well, I agreed, but now I am drawn to him again.
I love him so much that I can't fall in love with any other man and love him the way I've loved this one. Worst of all he smokes. I believed I could change that; with all my effort and prayer, I will change that. We are happy together but he does not tell me he loves me. He always asks to make love to me. So I don't know what to do. Please help.
Confused
Hello, Confused-
I do not think you are a bit confused. You say you're in love with this man, but he doesn't seem to do very much for you, except make love to you (and I'm sure that's exciting and fun and wonderful, but it's not enough to make you happy when he's not doing it).
He says that he wants you to be his friend. Okay. But is he being your friend? Is he around to listen to you after a bad day? When you need a hand unclogging your sink?
How do you feel when he's not around? Happy and at peace? Or completely freaked out? If you're freaked out, stop seeing him. Do not make love to him, even if it kills you. Then, if he truly loves you, he will follow you. He will be available to you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, not just for making love.
You can't change anybody but yourself, so stop praying that he quits smoking and his many other annoying habits.
You deserve a man who will treat you as well out of bed as he does in bed. Is he up to it? Let him prove it to you. If he's not the right man, dump Mr. Feely and hold out for the guy who fits the bill. He's out there, and you're definitely worth it.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
I am in love with a man who does not reveal who he is. This guy does not say he loves me, but whenever I go to his place he makes love to me. He told me he has a baby boy and that this baby and its mother need him for the boy's betterment. I really tried to forget him, but the truth is this guy loves me. He calls me, sends me messages, and he asked me to be his closest friend. Well, I agreed, but now I am drawn to him again.
I love him so much that I can't fall in love with any other man and love him the way I've loved this one. Worst of all he smokes. I believed I could change that; with all my effort and prayer, I will change that. We are happy together but he does not tell me he loves me. He always asks to make love to me. So I don't know what to do. Please help.
Confused
Hello, Confused-
I do not think you are a bit confused. You say you're in love with this man, but he doesn't seem to do very much for you, except make love to you (and I'm sure that's exciting and fun and wonderful, but it's not enough to make you happy when he's not doing it).
He says that he wants you to be his friend. Okay. But is he being your friend? Is he around to listen to you after a bad day? When you need a hand unclogging your sink?
How do you feel when he's not around? Happy and at peace? Or completely freaked out? If you're freaked out, stop seeing him. Do not make love to him, even if it kills you. Then, if he truly loves you, he will follow you. He will be available to you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, not just for making love.
You can't change anybody but yourself, so stop praying that he quits smoking and his many other annoying habits.
You deserve a man who will treat you as well out of bed as he does in bed. Is he up to it? Let him prove it to you. If he's not the right man, dump Mr. Feely and hold out for the guy who fits the bill. He's out there, and you're definitely worth it.
To your happily ever after,
Terry
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Shirking John Stamos (and Other Jerks)
Went to see Mom yesterday.
She sleeps most of the time, but when she's awake she's cheerful. She stopped watching Ellen, Judge Judy, and all that other crap she used to fill her day with. She used to be frustrated about not being able to get out of bed, but she's gotten used to it.
By coincidence, on Saturday we discussed her cousin Frank and his wife, who she likes a good deal and hadn't heard from in ages. Lo and behold, a letter arrived from them on Tuesday, saying they were concerned because they hadn't heard from Mom and Dad since Christmas 2003. I wrote to them this morning to tell them of my mother's illness.
Sent this week's ezine today. If I hear about one more woman putting up with a lying, cheating, self-important schmuck I will scream.
Need exercise desperately. I spend entirely too much time reading and writing. Well, not entirely too much time, but it wouldn't hurt to hit the NordicTrack more often.
The offspring are home from school today with colds. They were off on Monday for Memorial Day, too. We are seeing too much of each other. A deep-chested cough hasn't stopped Child Two from cartwheeling off the couch all morning, and nothing stops her or her sister from watching Full House reruns until their eyes fall out.
She sleeps most of the time, but when she's awake she's cheerful. She stopped watching Ellen, Judge Judy, and all that other crap she used to fill her day with. She used to be frustrated about not being able to get out of bed, but she's gotten used to it.
By coincidence, on Saturday we discussed her cousin Frank and his wife, who she likes a good deal and hadn't heard from in ages. Lo and behold, a letter arrived from them on Tuesday, saying they were concerned because they hadn't heard from Mom and Dad since Christmas 2003. I wrote to them this morning to tell them of my mother's illness.
Sent this week's ezine today. If I hear about one more woman putting up with a lying, cheating, self-important schmuck I will scream.
Need exercise desperately. I spend entirely too much time reading and writing. Well, not entirely too much time, but it wouldn't hurt to hit the NordicTrack more often.
The offspring are home from school today with colds. They were off on Monday for Memorial Day, too. We are seeing too much of each other. A deep-chested cough hasn't stopped Child Two from cartwheeling off the couch all morning, and nothing stops her or her sister from watching Full House reruns until their eyes fall out.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Call Me Crazy
I wrote back to the woman whose boyfriend is cheating on her. It took me half the night to think up a good answer. I'll use her story as the basis for this week's ezine, so if you'd like to read it, and you haven't already signed up, go for it.
The issue should go out Thursday, I think, because I'm going to New York to see Mom again tomorrow. I won't see her this weekend because it's Child Two's birthday, and you know how that goes. I really don't like to go too long without seeing Mom at this point because we never know when she's going to step over to the other side.
The doctor's predict it will be by summer's end. Last weekend, my sister didn't give her that long. But my mother has gotten through bad patches over the past few months, so you never know.
Tonight V. and I are going downtown to the Planning and Zoning Committee meeting to voice our opposition to the erection of a 171-unit residential complex slated to be plopped just outside Huntington Center, which is the heart of this charming New England town (picture old churches and a cemetery that pre-dates the Revolution). The cars destined to result from the proposed complex would decimate it.
Speaking of cars, I look forward to the day when we can do without them (as Lewis Black once shrieked, "It's 2005! Why can't we teleport?") Cars seem a bit behind the times, if you ask me.
How lovely it would be if more of us actually used the streets for walking, instead of driving, and said hello to one another, rather than lean on our horns and beat each other to the traffic light. Driving is antisocial.
And, if more of us walked, fewer of us would need to drive to the gym.
The issue should go out Thursday, I think, because I'm going to New York to see Mom again tomorrow. I won't see her this weekend because it's Child Two's birthday, and you know how that goes. I really don't like to go too long without seeing Mom at this point because we never know when she's going to step over to the other side.
The doctor's predict it will be by summer's end. Last weekend, my sister didn't give her that long. But my mother has gotten through bad patches over the past few months, so you never know.
Tonight V. and I are going downtown to the Planning and Zoning Committee meeting to voice our opposition to the erection of a 171-unit residential complex slated to be plopped just outside Huntington Center, which is the heart of this charming New England town (picture old churches and a cemetery that pre-dates the Revolution). The cars destined to result from the proposed complex would decimate it.
Speaking of cars, I look forward to the day when we can do without them (as Lewis Black once shrieked, "It's 2005! Why can't we teleport?") Cars seem a bit behind the times, if you ask me.
How lovely it would be if more of us actually used the streets for walking, instead of driving, and said hello to one another, rather than lean on our horns and beat each other to the traffic light. Driving is antisocial.
And, if more of us walked, fewer of us would need to drive to the gym.
Monday, May 30, 2005
It's Memorial Day
The saddest letters I get are from women who are trapped in relationships (or almost-relationships) with men who mistreat them. I received one this morning that took my breath away. The writer has two children with a man who cheats on her constantly; she's walked in on him with other women. He's even cheated with her sister. When I get letters like this, it takes me one or two days to fully process them because they just blow my mind.
It would be easy to write back to her, "Leave him! What's the matter with you?" But she says she's in love with him. So I have to think of ways to help her fall out of love with him; once she becomes indifferent to the guy, she'll be free.
Hey, I've been there. A million years ago, I dated a guy who treated me poorly. Today I wouldn't look at him twice, but that man used to be a drug to me. Couldn't get enough. Ever hear that song by Emmy Lou Harris, "I Don't Want to Talk About it Now?" That sums it up.
Went to Mom's on Saturday and came back yesterday afternoon. Sometimes she loses the ability to speak. Then it comes back. She smiled a lot and says she's happy, though. I suppose that's the best all of us can hope for, to die happy and surrounded by loved ones.
Right now, I'm listening to U2. Peter is outside barbecuing chicken, steak, and potatoes. We may go to B's later for another barbecue. I suppose I'll be eating a lot of fruit and not much else this week.
The weather is warm and sunny, a change from the windy March weather of last week. When I woke up this morning, the birds were chittering. Paradise.
I'm reading The Group by Mary McCarthy. My mother, who came from a later generation, was so much more innocent than the characters in the novel, who graduated from Vassar in 1933. I didn't know that girls got up to all that sex back then. I thought my generation invented it.
Andy Rooney's commentary last night about Memorial Day hit the mark. The best thing we can do for the men and women who lost their lives at war would be to end war altogether. It's hard to believe that the human race is still settling its differences in 2005 by killing each other.
It would be easy to write back to her, "Leave him! What's the matter with you?" But she says she's in love with him. So I have to think of ways to help her fall out of love with him; once she becomes indifferent to the guy, she'll be free.
Hey, I've been there. A million years ago, I dated a guy who treated me poorly. Today I wouldn't look at him twice, but that man used to be a drug to me. Couldn't get enough. Ever hear that song by Emmy Lou Harris, "I Don't Want to Talk About it Now?" That sums it up.
Went to Mom's on Saturday and came back yesterday afternoon. Sometimes she loses the ability to speak. Then it comes back. She smiled a lot and says she's happy, though. I suppose that's the best all of us can hope for, to die happy and surrounded by loved ones.
Right now, I'm listening to U2. Peter is outside barbecuing chicken, steak, and potatoes. We may go to B's later for another barbecue. I suppose I'll be eating a lot of fruit and not much else this week.
The weather is warm and sunny, a change from the windy March weather of last week. When I woke up this morning, the birds were chittering. Paradise.
I'm reading The Group by Mary McCarthy. My mother, who came from a later generation, was so much more innocent than the characters in the novel, who graduated from Vassar in 1933. I didn't know that girls got up to all that sex back then. I thought my generation invented it.
Andy Rooney's commentary last night about Memorial Day hit the mark. The best thing we can do for the men and women who lost their lives at war would be to end war altogether. It's hard to believe that the human race is still settling its differences in 2005 by killing each other.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Neighborhood Pig Asks For It!
Making serious strides on the revision of my novel today. Also wrote draft for dating newsletter . Will send it tomorrow morning.
Did an interview with Marketing for Her founder Denise Michaels yesterday. First time I've ever been interviewed (as opposed to interviewing). Don't know how articulate I came off; had Mom on my mind, and the blood sugar felt a bit low.
Went to the Huntington Street Cafe this morning with V. and came across a book called Cooking for the Dead, which is crammed with recipes for the foods fans of the band used to make and sell to support their Dead habit. Some of them looked pretty good, but by the time I thought about writing them down, V. had to go home to get her kindergartner off the bus.
Peter's aunt just called to say she will be in town for a golf tournament tomorrow and wants to spend the night at our house. It's fine with me.
Have only asked the neighbor next door (the one who leans her pizza boxes and old furniture on my curb six days before garbage pick-up) to kindly keep her dog on a leash at least five times. Am not the only neighbor who has made this request. Said mangy mutt has bitten at least one person to my knowledge, craps all over lawns, and menaces my children.
This morning, the nasty little creature jumped at Child One and barked in her face, resulting in tears. Minutes ago, after Peter's aunt's call, we found it stalking up and down our driveway.
Would hate to call the police, but neighbor is not being neighborly. She is not being fair to us or her stupid dog, which has run out into traffic more than once.
Did an interview with Marketing for Her founder Denise Michaels yesterday. First time I've ever been interviewed (as opposed to interviewing). Don't know how articulate I came off; had Mom on my mind, and the blood sugar felt a bit low.
Went to the Huntington Street Cafe this morning with V. and came across a book called Cooking for the Dead, which is crammed with recipes for the foods fans of the band used to make and sell to support their Dead habit. Some of them looked pretty good, but by the time I thought about writing them down, V. had to go home to get her kindergartner off the bus.
Peter's aunt just called to say she will be in town for a golf tournament tomorrow and wants to spend the night at our house. It's fine with me.
Have only asked the neighbor next door (the one who leans her pizza boxes and old furniture on my curb six days before garbage pick-up) to kindly keep her dog on a leash at least five times. Am not the only neighbor who has made this request. Said mangy mutt has bitten at least one person to my knowledge, craps all over lawns, and menaces my children.
This morning, the nasty little creature jumped at Child One and barked in her face, resulting in tears. Minutes ago, after Peter's aunt's call, we found it stalking up and down our driveway.
Would hate to call the police, but neighbor is not being neighborly. She is not being fair to us or her stupid dog, which has run out into traffic more than once.
Monday, May 23, 2005
What Some People Will Do To Promote a Movie
The weekend started well. Child 2's friend invited her over for dinner, so Peter and I took the older one out to The Metro Grill. Had the magnificent Fromaggio Florentine pizza and two glasses of Cabernet. Brilliant!
A couple came in with their cute little boy and sat at the table next to us. The woman's low-rise jeans revealed considerable ass crack all through the meal. Note to females in the market for fashion: waistbands cut just below the navel are best. They flatter the figure without "cracking up" innocent bystanders.
Spent the night at Mom's on Saturday. She seemed a bit out of it, gave lots of one-word answers, and responded, "I'm just feeling wooonderful, thank you!" when anybody phoned. Her eyes don't light up when she sees any of us anymore, although she still recognizes our voices when we call. Sibling 2 cried all through Mass yesterday due to the change in Mom's condition, but who knows? It could be temporary.
I suppose I was upset myself when I woke up in a panic at 2:30 Sunday morning. I like to read a book when I get like that, so I brought one into my parents' kitchen and closed the door. I drank a couple of Guinnesses, too, for their tranquilizing effect. It occurred to me, though, sitting on floor with two bottles in, that I might be more upset about my mother than I've been letting on.
Today I've been subjected to a deluge of ads for today's Oprah, in which America's Best Girlfriend will interview Tom Cruise ("I'VE NEVER SEEN HIM LIKE THIS BEFORE!") about his relationship with Katie Holmes.
Like the majority of the population, I don't believe this romance is real, and nothing Oprah says is going to change my mind about it. Furthermore, even if it is real, why should I care about it?
I do not care about it. Please stop invading my air space with this crap.
A couple came in with their cute little boy and sat at the table next to us. The woman's low-rise jeans revealed considerable ass crack all through the meal. Note to females in the market for fashion: waistbands cut just below the navel are best. They flatter the figure without "cracking up" innocent bystanders.
Spent the night at Mom's on Saturday. She seemed a bit out of it, gave lots of one-word answers, and responded, "I'm just feeling wooonderful, thank you!" when anybody phoned. Her eyes don't light up when she sees any of us anymore, although she still recognizes our voices when we call. Sibling 2 cried all through Mass yesterday due to the change in Mom's condition, but who knows? It could be temporary.
I suppose I was upset myself when I woke up in a panic at 2:30 Sunday morning. I like to read a book when I get like that, so I brought one into my parents' kitchen and closed the door. I drank a couple of Guinnesses, too, for their tranquilizing effect. It occurred to me, though, sitting on floor with two bottles in, that I might be more upset about my mother than I've been letting on.
Today I've been subjected to a deluge of ads for today's Oprah, in which America's Best Girlfriend will interview Tom Cruise ("I'VE NEVER SEEN HIM LIKE THIS BEFORE!") about his relationship with Katie Holmes.
Like the majority of the population, I don't believe this romance is real, and nothing Oprah says is going to change my mind about it. Furthermore, even if it is real, why should I care about it?
I do not care about it. Please stop invading my air space with this crap.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Everything Sounds Like Frere Jacques!
Went to school last night to see Child One sing and play the flute in the Spring Concert. The PTO managed to wedge in their annual induction ceremony before it started -- very slick. I felt rotten about not attending PTO meetings, so now I can say I went to at least one.
Spied the fat bully who threw my child to the ground in the Girls' Room last week. She sang with the 5th Grade Chorus, perched on the top bleacher looking like Pugsley from The Addams Family in an unfortunate horizontally-striped polo shirt. Stuck a smile on my face and banished revenge fantasies.
Peter had to attend a meeting of his own, and he arrived home shortly after we did. After the kiddies went to bed, we watched the second episode of Deadwood, which I'd rented from Netflix. Deadwood is kind of like The Sopranos with horses. Lots of prostitutes, violence, and under-the-table commerce. The word "c-sucker" flies out of somebody's mouth at 15-second intervals.
It's a bit silly.
Spied the fat bully who threw my child to the ground in the Girls' Room last week. She sang with the 5th Grade Chorus, perched on the top bleacher looking like Pugsley from The Addams Family in an unfortunate horizontally-striped polo shirt. Stuck a smile on my face and banished revenge fantasies.
Peter had to attend a meeting of his own, and he arrived home shortly after we did. After the kiddies went to bed, we watched the second episode of Deadwood, which I'd rented from Netflix. Deadwood is kind of like The Sopranos with horses. Lots of prostitutes, violence, and under-the-table commerce. The word "c-sucker" flies out of somebody's mouth at 15-second intervals.
It's a bit silly.
Monday, May 16, 2005
It Has to Be PMS
I just caught the repeat of Conan O'Brien's show from Friday, which had Robert Plant as a guest. I was forced to sit through Conan's latest fat joke first, this time about Star Wars fans.
I heard Robert Plant's new song on the radio and wanted to watch him perform it. He sounded great, and it's a comfort to see he's stopped wearing the tight pants with the big sock in them.
Does anybody care that Everybody Loves Raymond is about to bite the dust? I mean, thank God. That show ceased being funny years ago. Now it's just spiteful and old.
I went to the supermarket after visiting Mommy yesterday and was once again assaulted by images of celebrities I wish would go away. Does anybody really buy the Katie Holmes/Tom Cruise thing? Why are we expected to have an emotional investment in Jessica Simpson and Jennifer Lopez's marriages?
And, now the Stones are about to bless us with their presence again. I saw Keith Richards perform without Mick and the rest when he promoted his solo album, Talk is Cheap, and I have to say, he's the talent behind the band. (I like Charlie Watts, too.) But that bag of bones Mick Jagger? You can keep him.
His voice has more holes in it than a pouch of moldy Swiss cheese, and his relentless pursuit of young models is highly unattractive. I, for one, would be afraid to have sex with him. He's so bony I'd probably lose an eye.
But the media, particularly The Today Show, continue to cover the Stones forthcoming tour as if it were the second coming of Christ. Or as if United Airlines performed the miracle of making restitution to the employees they bilked out of their pensions.
I heard Robert Plant's new song on the radio and wanted to watch him perform it. He sounded great, and it's a comfort to see he's stopped wearing the tight pants with the big sock in them.
Does anybody care that Everybody Loves Raymond is about to bite the dust? I mean, thank God. That show ceased being funny years ago. Now it's just spiteful and old.
I went to the supermarket after visiting Mommy yesterday and was once again assaulted by images of celebrities I wish would go away. Does anybody really buy the Katie Holmes/Tom Cruise thing? Why are we expected to have an emotional investment in Jessica Simpson and Jennifer Lopez's marriages?
And, now the Stones are about to bless us with their presence again. I saw Keith Richards perform without Mick and the rest when he promoted his solo album, Talk is Cheap, and I have to say, he's the talent behind the band. (I like Charlie Watts, too.) But that bag of bones Mick Jagger? You can keep him.
His voice has more holes in it than a pouch of moldy Swiss cheese, and his relentless pursuit of young models is highly unattractive. I, for one, would be afraid to have sex with him. He's so bony I'd probably lose an eye.
But the media, particularly The Today Show, continue to cover the Stones forthcoming tour as if it were the second coming of Christ. Or as if United Airlines performed the miracle of making restitution to the employees they bilked out of their pensions.
Friday, May 13, 2005
Don't Mess with Texas
After leaving the ceremony at school where Child One accepted her citizenship award this morning, Peter and I went to breakfast. We overheard a man at the table behind us ordering something called Texas Toast.
"What is Texas Toast?" I asked Peter.
"French Toast."
"Why do they call it Texas Toast?"
"Actually, it's really Texas Freedom Toast," he answered. "They stopped calling it French Toast when France refused to back us with the war in Iraq."
I'd heard of Freedom Fries, but... Texas Freedom Toast?
How about Texas Electricutioner's Toast? They sure fry things up in a hurry in that state. Woo. Eee! Our New Haven-born-and-raised Texan president presided over the executions of 150 people as governor there.
In a related note, the state of Connecticut held its first execution in 45 years last night. Don't we all feel better now?
"What is Texas Toast?" I asked Peter.
"French Toast."
"Why do they call it Texas Toast?"
"Actually, it's really Texas Freedom Toast," he answered. "They stopped calling it French Toast when France refused to back us with the war in Iraq."
I'd heard of Freedom Fries, but... Texas Freedom Toast?
How about Texas Electricutioner's Toast? They sure fry things up in a hurry in that state. Woo. Eee! Our New Haven-born-and-raised Texan president presided over the executions of 150 people as governor there.
In a related note, the state of Connecticut held its first execution in 45 years last night. Don't we all feel better now?
Thursday, May 12, 2005
I Would Not House This Man's Baby for All the Cheese in France
I lost two nights' sleep over it, but the Communion party was a success. Nobody commented on the stain on the rug, either.
Went to Manhattan to visit Mom yesterday. She's hanging in there. We ate some of the box of chocolates Aunt I. sent over for Mother's Day while watching Jane Pauley and Lorraine Bracco discuss depression. I wonder if Lorraine is on the Zoloft payroll.
Watched Craig Ferguson instead of Conan last night. Couldn't sleep but couldn't bear another of Conan's fat jokes about Kirstie Alley or Ruben Studdard, either, so I checked Craig out. He did a really clever and on-the-mark impression of Mick Jagger, and Tori Amos sang a song from her new CD. I think I'll visit Craig more often.
I saw the headlines in the supermarket that Jennifer Garner is pregnant with Ben Affleck's baby, but I didn't believe it. Then I heard the reports confirmed on television. When I think of Ben Affleck, I think about the time he went to that Canadian strip club and performed oral sex on a dancer. I can't imagine having sex with somebody with that kind of history, but different strokes for different folks, I guess.
Went to Manhattan to visit Mom yesterday. She's hanging in there. We ate some of the box of chocolates Aunt I. sent over for Mother's Day while watching Jane Pauley and Lorraine Bracco discuss depression. I wonder if Lorraine is on the Zoloft payroll.
Watched Craig Ferguson instead of Conan last night. Couldn't sleep but couldn't bear another of Conan's fat jokes about Kirstie Alley or Ruben Studdard, either, so I checked Craig out. He did a really clever and on-the-mark impression of Mick Jagger, and Tori Amos sang a song from her new CD. I think I'll visit Craig more often.
I saw the headlines in the supermarket that Jennifer Garner is pregnant with Ben Affleck's baby, but I didn't believe it. Then I heard the reports confirmed on television. When I think of Ben Affleck, I think about the time he went to that Canadian strip club and performed oral sex on a dancer. I can't imagine having sex with somebody with that kind of history, but different strokes for different folks, I guess.
Friday, May 06, 2005
Adventures in Party Planning
We planned to set up tents and tables outside for the Communion party tomorrow, but here's the official forecast, courtesy of Channel 3: "Nasty, windy, wet, and raw."
No way will the weather get in the way of a good time. We'll put the tables inside and remove them after dinner, the way they do at Irish weddings to facilitate drinking and dancing. Can't promise anyone will launch into a reel in my living room, but let's just say we plan to have enough rye on hand to keep Peter's 100-year-old aunt happy.
I forgot to order the cake, by the way. What a knucklehead! I just hope I won't be stuck whipping up something from scratch; every Catholic family within a 40 mile radius has a kid making her First Communion tomorrow (Peter's brother will shuttle between our party and the Communion party for his wife's nephew in Stratford). The bakeries will be jammed.
And it'll be Derby day! My brother-in-law from New Jersey will surely show up in a new hat and take bets.
My aunt and uncle with the house with five bathrooms will here, too. To say I'm intimidated would be an understatement. Every window in their place gleams like a diamond, so I spent a good part of yesterday washing mine. Never get them quite gleamy, though. And there's a stain on the rug where some bright light spilled a cup of tea. Maybe that would be a good place to stick a dinner table.
No way will the weather get in the way of a good time. We'll put the tables inside and remove them after dinner, the way they do at Irish weddings to facilitate drinking and dancing. Can't promise anyone will launch into a reel in my living room, but let's just say we plan to have enough rye on hand to keep Peter's 100-year-old aunt happy.
I forgot to order the cake, by the way. What a knucklehead! I just hope I won't be stuck whipping up something from scratch; every Catholic family within a 40 mile radius has a kid making her First Communion tomorrow (Peter's brother will shuttle between our party and the Communion party for his wife's nephew in Stratford). The bakeries will be jammed.
And it'll be Derby day! My brother-in-law from New Jersey will surely show up in a new hat and take bets.
My aunt and uncle with the house with five bathrooms will here, too. To say I'm intimidated would be an understatement. Every window in their place gleams like a diamond, so I spent a good part of yesterday washing mine. Never get them quite gleamy, though. And there's a stain on the rug where some bright light spilled a cup of tea. Maybe that would be a good place to stick a dinner table.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Goldie Hawn is Nuts
My mother-in-law is staying with us until Child Two's Communion on Saturday, so instead of writing, I've been chatting, drinking tea, and watching inane TV shows. Yesterday, during The View, we were treated to some advice about men from the perpetually smiley Goldie Hawn.
She believes that men are incapable of monogamy. The poor dears suffer from surges of testosterone, which compel them to bang every women in sight. "That's what men do," Goldie squealed. "spread their seed!"
When one of the broads asked her if her longtime love Kurt Russell goes a-spreading, she said, "I don't ask!" And then Joy Behar, I think, remarked that Goldie had lumped men in with animals, who don't have the benefit of a conscience. Goldie responded with something like, "Well, put your head in the sand then!"
The next guest, Canadian sex therapist Sue Johannsen, set poor Goldie straight. Despite what Ms. Hawn makes herself believe to justify bad behavior, men do not have a biological mandate to sleep around.
It's a choice. Some men do it. So do plenty of women. But a lot of people don't.
She believes that men are incapable of monogamy. The poor dears suffer from surges of testosterone, which compel them to bang every women in sight. "That's what men do," Goldie squealed. "spread their seed!"
When one of the broads asked her if her longtime love Kurt Russell goes a-spreading, she said, "I don't ask!" And then Joy Behar, I think, remarked that Goldie had lumped men in with animals, who don't have the benefit of a conscience. Goldie responded with something like, "Well, put your head in the sand then!"
The next guest, Canadian sex therapist Sue Johannsen, set poor Goldie straight. Despite what Ms. Hawn makes herself believe to justify bad behavior, men do not have a biological mandate to sleep around.
It's a choice. Some men do it. So do plenty of women. But a lot of people don't.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Lifestyles of the Fat and Stupid
I find the network news reports advising us how to find cheap gas amusing.
Wouldn't it be smarter to drive less? Or to drive a smaller car? Why do we persist in buying vehicles capable of transporting circus animals? How about taking the train instead of driving for a change?
Maybe if we gave walking a try, we would cease to be the fattest people on the planet.
Wouldn't it be smarter to drive less? Or to drive a smaller car? Why do we persist in buying vehicles capable of transporting circus animals? How about taking the train instead of driving for a change?
Maybe if we gave walking a try, we would cease to be the fattest people on the planet.
Monday, May 02, 2005
We Have Been Married 13 Years
Instead of going out for dinner to mark our anniversary, Peter painted the shutters after he got home from work. Thank God; the last thing I need is another restaurant meal, and the shutters really needed help.
We celebrated my birthday Friday night. Ditched the offspring and went out to dinner, and I could actually taste my food without some kid popping up to use the bathroom every two minutes. Afterwards, we dropped in to Costco to buy white towels because even the ones Peter bought in November have already been destroyed. Must have fresh stuff in the bathroom when this Communion party goes off on Saturday.
After Costco, we met C and B and half the town at Danny O's. They sold me the filthiest margaritas on the planet, but it didn't stop me from drinking them. Ran into our babysitter's aunt, Child One's religion teacher, and other luminaries in there. Everybody appeared to have been over-served.
We celebrated my birthday Friday night. Ditched the offspring and went out to dinner, and I could actually taste my food without some kid popping up to use the bathroom every two minutes. Afterwards, we dropped in to Costco to buy white towels because even the ones Peter bought in November have already been destroyed. Must have fresh stuff in the bathroom when this Communion party goes off on Saturday.
After Costco, we met C and B and half the town at Danny O's. They sold me the filthiest margaritas on the planet, but it didn't stop me from drinking them. Ran into our babysitter's aunt, Child One's religion teacher, and other luminaries in there. Everybody appeared to have been over-served.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Don't Tell Bill Frist
Had a brilliant birthday Tuesday, even if it was on a Tuesday and we couldn't go to dinner because Child Two had to attend something called Jesus Day at church. We'd been instructed to drop her off at 6:00 and return at 7:45 for a play about The Last Supper. Peter and I thought that trying to squeeze in a restaurant meal in an hour and forty-five minutes would be pushing it.
Peter picked the kid up while I walked away the pounds in front of the TV with Leslie Sansone. When he came home, he reported that a girl (a female!) played Jesus in The Last Supper play. I wonder what Bill Frist would make of that.
Speaking of religion, I tried watching that NBC "event," Revelations a couple of times and couldn't make heads or tails of it. It was so boring I kept falling asleep. It did occur to me, though, that it would be funny if Jesus showed up for the Second Coming as a girl. And why wouldn't he? If God is a spirit and has no sex, if S/he is all-powerful, then what would be the harm of showing up as a woman? That would wipe the smirks off the faces of the Christian Right, eh?
About the Christian Right and their recent "Justice Sunday:" They freak me out. Some of us came to this country for religious freedom, and now these clowns are foisting their wacko views on the rest of us. If you don't support George Bush's nominees for the Supreme Court, you are not with Jesus, they say. They're nuts.
Back to my birthday: Earlier in the day I went to my friend V's house for lunch. She'd brought in Indian food (korma, samosas, nan, vindaloo; oh, yes!) and gave me a gift of green tea and a book called The Maker's Diet. Last night we went to a natural health lecture, where an audience member kept slapping her copy of The Maker's Diet and quoting from it. I'd rather not read the book if I'll turn into a person like that.
Couldn't miss The Enquirer front page in the supermarket the other day, which claims that Matt Lauer is cheating on his wife, and that she's thrown him out. They looked pretty happy to me when I saw them on the street last month.
My goal today is to order the food for the Communion party. I also have to order tables, linens, china, and that sort of thing. I put in calls to two babysitters, so that Peter and I can go out to dinner tomorrow night, but I haven't heard back from either of them. I'm hopeful.
Peter picked the kid up while I walked away the pounds in front of the TV with Leslie Sansone. When he came home, he reported that a girl (a female!) played Jesus in The Last Supper play. I wonder what Bill Frist would make of that.
Speaking of religion, I tried watching that NBC "event," Revelations a couple of times and couldn't make heads or tails of it. It was so boring I kept falling asleep. It did occur to me, though, that it would be funny if Jesus showed up for the Second Coming as a girl. And why wouldn't he? If God is a spirit and has no sex, if S/he is all-powerful, then what would be the harm of showing up as a woman? That would wipe the smirks off the faces of the Christian Right, eh?
About the Christian Right and their recent "Justice Sunday:" They freak me out. Some of us came to this country for religious freedom, and now these clowns are foisting their wacko views on the rest of us. If you don't support George Bush's nominees for the Supreme Court, you are not with Jesus, they say. They're nuts.
Back to my birthday: Earlier in the day I went to my friend V's house for lunch. She'd brought in Indian food (korma, samosas, nan, vindaloo; oh, yes!) and gave me a gift of green tea and a book called The Maker's Diet. Last night we went to a natural health lecture, where an audience member kept slapping her copy of The Maker's Diet and quoting from it. I'd rather not read the book if I'll turn into a person like that.
Couldn't miss The Enquirer front page in the supermarket the other day, which claims that Matt Lauer is cheating on his wife, and that she's thrown him out. They looked pretty happy to me when I saw them on the street last month.
My goal today is to order the food for the Communion party. I also have to order tables, linens, china, and that sort of thing. I put in calls to two babysitters, so that Peter and I can go out to dinner tomorrow night, but I haven't heard back from either of them. I'm hopeful.
Friday, April 22, 2005
She's Not a Trollop!
It's amazing what passes for comedy these days. On The Tonight Show last night, Jay Leno featured some jug-eared comic who did a bit about a real-life Armenian family, whose hospitality he accepted and lampooned for the benefit of Americans coast-to-coast.
Jug Ears introduced the bit by botching the family's name, quipping something like "or whatever it is" because it was just too much of an effort to remember it. Then he rolled a clip, in which he presented the Armenians and made fun of their food, their jobs, the knicknacks on their mantle, and so on. It was a poor excuse for comedy.
Instead of possessing the talent to tell jokes that actually make people laugh, many late-night "comedians" resort to meanness. Take Conan O'Brien: We all know that Ruben Studdard has a weight problem, Conan. We don't need you to remind us every night.
And what fodder Camilla Parker Bowles made for these idiots. For the past three weeks, I've heard her called a whore and a trollop more times than I could possibly count. I've been told how ugly she is (um, have you looked at her? She's really not quite as bad as some of the characters you see in the mall these days).
I never had strong feelings about Camilla one way or the other. I liked Diana and confess to getting up with my mother at 5AM to watch her wedding (I was young, okay?). But let's face it: Camilla didn't ruin Diana's life. The Royal Family did. They plucked a young virgin (whose virginity was, humiliatingly, confirmed by the royal gynecologist) to marry Charles, who they prevented from marrying Camilla years earlier. Diana's own family was complicit in this victimization. Charles was no peach, but he was performing his royal duty. Somebody, no doubt, perhaps an elder male, encouraged him to wed Diana and continue seeing Camilla.
The day after Camilla married Charles, The New York Times ran the most sexist, ageist, nasty piece about her. Sadly, it was written by a woman, and most of the people who contributed nasty quotes were also women, and professional women at that (one of them likened Camilla to an old sofa).
I really can't sympathize with women who cry about double standards in sex and in business when they knock other women. They have nobody to blame but themselves.
Jug Ears introduced the bit by botching the family's name, quipping something like "or whatever it is" because it was just too much of an effort to remember it. Then he rolled a clip, in which he presented the Armenians and made fun of their food, their jobs, the knicknacks on their mantle, and so on. It was a poor excuse for comedy.
Instead of possessing the talent to tell jokes that actually make people laugh, many late-night "comedians" resort to meanness. Take Conan O'Brien: We all know that Ruben Studdard has a weight problem, Conan. We don't need you to remind us every night.
And what fodder Camilla Parker Bowles made for these idiots. For the past three weeks, I've heard her called a whore and a trollop more times than I could possibly count. I've been told how ugly she is (um, have you looked at her? She's really not quite as bad as some of the characters you see in the mall these days).
I never had strong feelings about Camilla one way or the other. I liked Diana and confess to getting up with my mother at 5AM to watch her wedding (I was young, okay?). But let's face it: Camilla didn't ruin Diana's life. The Royal Family did. They plucked a young virgin (whose virginity was, humiliatingly, confirmed by the royal gynecologist) to marry Charles, who they prevented from marrying Camilla years earlier. Diana's own family was complicit in this victimization. Charles was no peach, but he was performing his royal duty. Somebody, no doubt, perhaps an elder male, encouraged him to wed Diana and continue seeing Camilla.
The day after Camilla married Charles, The New York Times ran the most sexist, ageist, nasty piece about her. Sadly, it was written by a woman, and most of the people who contributed nasty quotes were also women, and professional women at that (one of them likened Camilla to an old sofa).
I really can't sympathize with women who cry about double standards in sex and in business when they knock other women. They have nobody to blame but themselves.
Neighborhood Pigs Strike Again
Note to pigs: It's been two days. Your garbage cans are not likely to grow legs and walk themselves back into your garage.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Little Bakers Visit the Zoo
Child One had a friend sleep over last night, and I'm still recovering, even though the two of them left for the Bronx Zoo at eleven this morning.
Yesterday they ran a bake sale, ostensibly to raise money for something called "Spring Fling" at school, but I'm pretty sure the real objective was to just raise money.
They made the usual confections. Although I was too lazy to help them make batter from scratch, I did manage to purchase mixes without evil partially hydrogenated oils. No point in killing the customers, or else what do you do for repeat business?
The girls set up on the corner, which can be busy at times, but I hardly expected anybody to stop and buy anything. Whenever I see a bake sale, whether it's in front of some kid's house or a PTA dealie at school, I keep walking.
I'm skittish about food preparation. Was a cat traipsing along the counter while the egg was being beaten into the cookie batter, for instance? Did the baker wash her hands? Was her hair tied up?
But Offspring and Friend pulled in $22.00 in 90 minutes. Amazing! One rather cute 22-year-old guy actually stopped and got out of his jeep to purchase a whole wheat chocolate brownie (don't ask) and let the girls keep the change for a tip.
But all this baking and taking takes its toll. I must've cleaned the kitchen forty times yesterday. I swept and mopped and swept and mopped. This morning, after some bright light spilled soda all over the floor, I couldn't walk from the stove to the sink because the floor was so sticky. So I mopped again.
Then I took a nap.
But now the chili's on the stove. Husband's on the train home. Got a new bottle of Cabernet on the counter.
Life is good.
Yesterday they ran a bake sale, ostensibly to raise money for something called "Spring Fling" at school, but I'm pretty sure the real objective was to just raise money.
They made the usual confections. Although I was too lazy to help them make batter from scratch, I did manage to purchase mixes without evil partially hydrogenated oils. No point in killing the customers, or else what do you do for repeat business?
The girls set up on the corner, which can be busy at times, but I hardly expected anybody to stop and buy anything. Whenever I see a bake sale, whether it's in front of some kid's house or a PTA dealie at school, I keep walking.
I'm skittish about food preparation. Was a cat traipsing along the counter while the egg was being beaten into the cookie batter, for instance? Did the baker wash her hands? Was her hair tied up?
But Offspring and Friend pulled in $22.00 in 90 minutes. Amazing! One rather cute 22-year-old guy actually stopped and got out of his jeep to purchase a whole wheat chocolate brownie (don't ask) and let the girls keep the change for a tip.
But all this baking and taking takes its toll. I must've cleaned the kitchen forty times yesterday. I swept and mopped and swept and mopped. This morning, after some bright light spilled soda all over the floor, I couldn't walk from the stove to the sink because the floor was so sticky. So I mopped again.
Then I took a nap.
But now the chili's on the stove. Husband's on the train home. Got a new bottle of Cabernet on the counter.
Life is good.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Miracle on Tulip Lane
The offspring are off from school this week; I don't know how I'll ever get to my writing. I did manage to clean and reorganize the linen closet, though. What a miracle.
I'm already losing sleep over Child Two's Communion party. It's not for a couple of weeks, and usually I'd be in full-on planning mode because there's nothing I love more than a party, but my mother is sick. It's dampened my enthusiasm. When Child One made her First Communion, Mom came to the store with us to help pick out the dress, and she helped me choose the flowers for the tables.
Yesterday we took her to the park in her wheelchair. The nurse's aide slipped out at 11:20 to attend 12:00 Mass two blocks away, so I was left to get Mom dressed. I have absolutely no training in lifting a person who can't help herself, but I managed it.
You couldn't ask for more beautiful weather, but it was tragic sitting on a bench watching my poor mother struggle to eat the stale sandwich my brother-in-law picked up at the supermarket (D'Agostino's on 1st and 53rd, if you'd like to avoid stale sandwiches). Ten months ago, Mom was driving my father and his empties to the bottle return at Stop & Shop.
On the way down to the park, I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror next to my parents' elevator. Even though I exercise regularly, my legs looked strange, narrow on the bottom and wide on top. I looked like a dreidel.
My sister later informed me that the cut of my jeans was passe, and that nobody is wearing them nipped at the ankle anymore. She also said I should wear jeans with a lower waist.
So I took the low-waist jeans I bought last year out of my drawer this morning and put them on. I suppose I do look better, even if I've been fighting carpenter's crack most of the day.
I'm already losing sleep over Child Two's Communion party. It's not for a couple of weeks, and usually I'd be in full-on planning mode because there's nothing I love more than a party, but my mother is sick. It's dampened my enthusiasm. When Child One made her First Communion, Mom came to the store with us to help pick out the dress, and she helped me choose the flowers for the tables.
Yesterday we took her to the park in her wheelchair. The nurse's aide slipped out at 11:20 to attend 12:00 Mass two blocks away, so I was left to get Mom dressed. I have absolutely no training in lifting a person who can't help herself, but I managed it.
You couldn't ask for more beautiful weather, but it was tragic sitting on a bench watching my poor mother struggle to eat the stale sandwich my brother-in-law picked up at the supermarket (D'Agostino's on 1st and 53rd, if you'd like to avoid stale sandwiches). Ten months ago, Mom was driving my father and his empties to the bottle return at Stop & Shop.
On the way down to the park, I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror next to my parents' elevator. Even though I exercise regularly, my legs looked strange, narrow on the bottom and wide on top. I looked like a dreidel.
My sister later informed me that the cut of my jeans was passe, and that nobody is wearing them nipped at the ankle anymore. She also said I should wear jeans with a lower waist.
So I took the low-waist jeans I bought last year out of my drawer this morning and put them on. I suppose I do look better, even if I've been fighting carpenter's crack most of the day.
Friday, April 15, 2005
She Wouldn't Commit
So, S and F had been dating for nearly four years, and by all accounts, they were in love. People kept asking when they'd get married. They kept answering, "We're happy as we are."
Of course nobody believed this. They assumed F wouldn't commit because men never want to commit, or at least what the blurbs say on the magazines at the supermarket checkout.
Anyway, S and F blocked out the background noise and went on with life. They booked a trip to Hawaii -- for three weeks.
They were soaking up the sun, sucking up tropical drinks, when ol' F dropped to his knees and presented S with a ring. No thanks, she said (in the kindest way possible).
They went home and continued seeing each other every chance they got, until he appeared at her door one night to go to dinner. S said, "F, we have to talk."
"Okay," said F.
"We need to break up," she said.
He told her he loved her and wanted her to be happy. He sent her on her way. He went home and cried, and then he called his friends and ate dinner at their house. And cried.
This is the second story I've heard in recent weeks about a guy being dumped by a woman who didn't want to commit. Don't believe that men are always the villains, that they're heartless, and have no feelings.
They do.
Of course nobody believed this. They assumed F wouldn't commit because men never want to commit, or at least what the blurbs say on the magazines at the supermarket checkout.
Anyway, S and F blocked out the background noise and went on with life. They booked a trip to Hawaii -- for three weeks.
They were soaking up the sun, sucking up tropical drinks, when ol' F dropped to his knees and presented S with a ring. No thanks, she said (in the kindest way possible).
They went home and continued seeing each other every chance they got, until he appeared at her door one night to go to dinner. S said, "F, we have to talk."
"Okay," said F.
"We need to break up," she said.
He told her he loved her and wanted her to be happy. He sent her on her way. He went home and cried, and then he called his friends and ate dinner at their house. And cried.
This is the second story I've heard in recent weeks about a guy being dumped by a woman who didn't want to commit. Don't believe that men are always the villains, that they're heartless, and have no feelings.
They do.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
24 Hour Party Person
Rented 24 Hour Party People last night and loved it. I'm stuck in the Eighties musically, so it was right up my alley. I'd never seen Steve Coogan before, although my friend in Manchester, England tried to send me some of his videos a couple of years ago, but they somehow ended up erased in transit. Steve Coogan is highly attractive.
The movie, based on the experiences of New Order manager Tony Wilson, takes place in Manchester. I'm interested in Manchester because my mother's family parked themselves there for a generation or two on their way to New York from Ireland. The New York Times claims it's a great place to visit. Good nightlife, supposedly, and I'm definitely a creature of the night.
24 Hour featured a scene where Tony (named for St. Anthony of Padua) accepts oral activity from a hooker in the back of a van and his wife busts him. She turns around and bangs some guy in a restroom. I suspect that's how Hillary Clinton got through the Lewinsky ordeal, but I'm just speculating.
Speaking of the Clintons, Bill did an interview with Katie Couric the other morning. Man, I miss Bill Clinton.
The movie, based on the experiences of New Order manager Tony Wilson, takes place in Manchester. I'm interested in Manchester because my mother's family parked themselves there for a generation or two on their way to New York from Ireland. The New York Times claims it's a great place to visit. Good nightlife, supposedly, and I'm definitely a creature of the night.
24 Hour featured a scene where Tony (named for St. Anthony of Padua) accepts oral activity from a hooker in the back of a van and his wife busts him. She turns around and bangs some guy in a restroom. I suspect that's how Hillary Clinton got through the Lewinsky ordeal, but I'm just speculating.
Speaking of the Clintons, Bill did an interview with Katie Couric the other morning. Man, I miss Bill Clinton.
Monday, April 11, 2005
Single Guys Destined for Loneliness
My brother and I were walking along First Avenue on Saturday, when along came these two nebbishy-looking guys.
The little guy, swinging his coffee cup, remarked to the other one, "Yeah, but you gotta remember, women are like children."
Poor bastards will never get laid.
The little guy, swinging his coffee cup, remarked to the other one, "Yeah, but you gotta remember, women are like children."
Poor bastards will never get laid.
Friday, April 08, 2005
Single Woman's Nightmare
Last night we watched Bridget Jones and the Edge of Reason. It would be more accurate to say we cringed through it. I don't even know where to begin, it was so horrible. Peter and I enjoyed the first one, so much that we used to stop to watch it whenever we discovered it while flipping around with the remote.
But this thing: Terrible! The first one managed to be funny and clever and made a few good points. It also entertained. This one, The Edge of Reason, was utterly desperate in its attempt to be funny and clever, and it made no good points. The subtext is, Girls, if you're not married, you're a loser. Poor Bridget even envisions her tombstone: "Bridget Jones, Spinster."
Being an unmarried woman in the real world carries a stigma only to the uneducated and ignorant. Renee Zellweger is unmarried, as are Marisa Tomei, Laura Linney, Nicole Kidman, and Angelina Jolie. Some women like being single. But in movies, the single female is a complete loser.
As for the performances, Zellweger, despite the weight she'd put on for the role both times, was more attractive in the first installment. Seemed smarter, too. This time, her Bridget came off cloying and desperate. Peter couldn't stand the pain and left the room. But I couldn't stop watching it, even as I clutched my stomach in revulsion for two hours.
The fetching Colin Firth (who unfetched me as the selfish bastard in Girl with a Pearl Earring) fetched again, although Sir Lawrence Olivier wouldn't convince me that a character like Mark Darcy would stay enamored of this pathetic broad. You'd think he'd want to take a long bath.
Hugh Grant let his face bronzer do the acting for him. I had a strong feeling he appeared on set and told the director, "This'll only take a minute. Make sure somebody's cutting my check."
But this thing: Terrible! The first one managed to be funny and clever and made a few good points. It also entertained. This one, The Edge of Reason, was utterly desperate in its attempt to be funny and clever, and it made no good points. The subtext is, Girls, if you're not married, you're a loser. Poor Bridget even envisions her tombstone: "Bridget Jones, Spinster."
Being an unmarried woman in the real world carries a stigma only to the uneducated and ignorant. Renee Zellweger is unmarried, as are Marisa Tomei, Laura Linney, Nicole Kidman, and Angelina Jolie. Some women like being single. But in movies, the single female is a complete loser.
As for the performances, Zellweger, despite the weight she'd put on for the role both times, was more attractive in the first installment. Seemed smarter, too. This time, her Bridget came off cloying and desperate. Peter couldn't stand the pain and left the room. But I couldn't stop watching it, even as I clutched my stomach in revulsion for two hours.
The fetching Colin Firth (who unfetched me as the selfish bastard in Girl with a Pearl Earring) fetched again, although Sir Lawrence Olivier wouldn't convince me that a character like Mark Darcy would stay enamored of this pathetic broad. You'd think he'd want to take a long bath.
Hugh Grant let his face bronzer do the acting for him. I had a strong feeling he appeared on set and told the director, "This'll only take a minute. Make sure somebody's cutting my check."
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Dating and the Pope
Just sent out the dating tips newsletter. It's always a relief to have that done. Spent the morning with Val, solving the world's problems over coffee at the Huntington Street Cafe. They played a lot of Dead in there this morning, which was a good thing. I can deal with the Dead at 9:30 in the morning.
Didn't get much revision done on the novel today. It's been a slow week for novel revision, actually. Had to do a major virus scan yesterday, which took two hours, and then I had to print the invitations for Child 2's First Communion party. It took forever to find a typeface that conveyed "this is a serious occasion, but let's not take it too seriously." If I used a cursive font, I feared I'd end up with people coming in suits. I'm hoping for collared-shirts and chinos.
So, the Pope has been dead for nearly a week now, and the pilgrims keep coming. I feel sorry for Jimmy Carter that he was shut out of the events. The Pope opposed the War in Iraq, yet the Vatican waved those war-monging Bushes in. The peace-loving Carter, a champion of the poor, was turned away at the gate. I do not get it.
And what is wrong with me that all I can think about is how hot the Pope was as a young guy. What a waste!
I won't cook tonight; I've dispatched the husband to get a pizza.
Didn't get much revision done on the novel today. It's been a slow week for novel revision, actually. Had to do a major virus scan yesterday, which took two hours, and then I had to print the invitations for Child 2's First Communion party. It took forever to find a typeface that conveyed "this is a serious occasion, but let's not take it too seriously." If I used a cursive font, I feared I'd end up with people coming in suits. I'm hoping for collared-shirts and chinos.
So, the Pope has been dead for nearly a week now, and the pilgrims keep coming. I feel sorry for Jimmy Carter that he was shut out of the events. The Pope opposed the War in Iraq, yet the Vatican waved those war-monging Bushes in. The peace-loving Carter, a champion of the poor, was turned away at the gate. I do not get it.
And what is wrong with me that all I can think about is how hot the Pope was as a young guy. What a waste!
I won't cook tonight; I've dispatched the husband to get a pizza.
Monday, April 04, 2005
Et Tu, Girl Scouts of America?
My Boy Scout of a husband bought four boxes of Girl Scout cookies, only to discover upon delivery that they are riddled with partially hydrogenated oil! Are the little green gremlins out to kill us?
Fie on you, Girl Scouts of America! Next year, peddle your confections elsewhere. We'll not open our door to the likes of you!
Fie on you, Girl Scouts of America! Next year, peddle your confections elsewhere. We'll not open our door to the likes of you!
Are Camilla and Charles Jinxed?
According to the late Princess Diana's friend, Andrew Morton, they are. He cites the Queen's refusal to attend the wedding, the mix-up over whether Camilla will be made Princess of Wales, and now the Pope's funeral, which is scheduled to take place on Friday, the same day as the royal wedding.
I don't know whether to feel sorry for Charles or to hate him. He was a 32-year-old man when he allowed himself to be pressed into marrying a girl he didn't love. He made her miserable every day of her short life.
On the other hand, in an age when celebrity couples like Donald and Melania and Catherine and Michael are prevalent, it's heartening to see an old coot like Charles marry an old coot like Camilla.
I don't know whether to feel sorry for Charles or to hate him. He was a 32-year-old man when he allowed himself to be pressed into marrying a girl he didn't love. He made her miserable every day of her short life.
On the other hand, in an age when celebrity couples like Donald and Melania and Catherine and Michael are prevalent, it's heartening to see an old coot like Charles marry an old coot like Camilla.
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Sex and the City: Wrong About Dating
"I don't want to have sex for the sake of having sex. I'm looking for an emotional connection."
Okay, who said it? A lovelorn woman who can't find the right guy?
Nope. It was a guy -- a physically fit, blond, educated, good-looking, well-employed straight guy who happens to own a co-op in Manhattan. He told me this last night and, no, he wasn't hitting on me. I'm married, for one thing, and I've known this man most of my life.
So much for the crap they're selling on Sex and the City, eh?
In recent weeks, I've read reviews of the recent crop of dating manuals, whose authors seem to agree that men and women are different species. Some of the authors purport that men are little more than sex-crazed animals who must be manipulated.
Maureen Dowd (and I usually love Maureen Dowd; she's my favorite thing in The New York Times) published a column about how XYs are a lower life form than XXs and quoted some guy (I don't remember his name) who also claims that we are different species.
Get over it! Men are not from Mars. Women are not from Venus.
You want to succeed at dating? You want to achieve a fun, healthy, angst-free relationship? You want to get married?
Stop treating people of the opposite sex like science experiments. Treat a person as you would have him or her treat you. If the schmuck doesn't treat you as you would treat him or her, hit the highway. Don't try to to force a circle into a square. Move on, Darling.
Dear Abby used to publish a column (or perhaps it was her sister, Ann Landers) that started with "Love is friendship that has caught fire..."
Go for the friendship first. Then worry about the fire.
Okay, who said it? A lovelorn woman who can't find the right guy?
Nope. It was a guy -- a physically fit, blond, educated, good-looking, well-employed straight guy who happens to own a co-op in Manhattan. He told me this last night and, no, he wasn't hitting on me. I'm married, for one thing, and I've known this man most of my life.
So much for the crap they're selling on Sex and the City, eh?
In recent weeks, I've read reviews of the recent crop of dating manuals, whose authors seem to agree that men and women are different species. Some of the authors purport that men are little more than sex-crazed animals who must be manipulated.
Maureen Dowd (and I usually love Maureen Dowd; she's my favorite thing in The New York Times) published a column about how XYs are a lower life form than XXs and quoted some guy (I don't remember his name) who also claims that we are different species.
Get over it! Men are not from Mars. Women are not from Venus.
You want to succeed at dating? You want to achieve a fun, healthy, angst-free relationship? You want to get married?
Stop treating people of the opposite sex like science experiments. Treat a person as you would have him or her treat you. If the schmuck doesn't treat you as you would treat him or her, hit the highway. Don't try to to force a circle into a square. Move on, Darling.
Dear Abby used to publish a column (or perhaps it was her sister, Ann Landers) that started with "Love is friendship that has caught fire..."
Go for the friendship first. Then worry about the fire.
Saturday, April 02, 2005
Online Dating Success!
I get frequently get letters asking me what I think of online dating. People, especially women, wonder if they're going to meet a lot of jokers that way. My feeling is, you can meet a joker anywhere; since online dating deepens your pool of prospective new friends, you're definitely likely to meet more of them.
But that's no reason not to go for it. If you're stuck in an office all day with the same suits walking in and out, you must expand your horizons. Online dating is the way to do it.
Does it work?
Hell, yeah. I hear stories all the time about married couples who met via online dating (and not just in those eHarmony ads, either). Case in point: The engagement announcement in this week's New York Observer of Entertainment Weekly writer Kristen Baldwin to the very fetching Joe Holmgren, a -- wait for it, Girls -- psychiatry resident at The NYU School of Medicine. Kristen and Joe met through match.com.
But you'll never meet the guy or girl of your dreams when you're still smarting over a lost love, so head to marrysmart for my take on what to do when you've been dumped.
But that's no reason not to go for it. If you're stuck in an office all day with the same suits walking in and out, you must expand your horizons. Online dating is the way to do it.
Does it work?
Hell, yeah. I hear stories all the time about married couples who met via online dating (and not just in those eHarmony ads, either). Case in point: The engagement announcement in this week's New York Observer of Entertainment Weekly writer Kristen Baldwin to the very fetching Joe Holmgren, a -- wait for it, Girls -- psychiatry resident at The NYU School of Medicine. Kristen and Joe met through match.com.
But you'll never meet the guy or girl of your dreams when you're still smarting over a lost love, so head to marrysmart for my take on what to do when you've been dumped.
Friday, April 01, 2005
Putting Neighborhood Pigs on Notice
It's time for you to get the ancient metal chairs off your lawn and move the trailer and six minivans from your driveway. You are ruining the freaking neighborhood.
In case you didn't notice, other inhabitants of the area whisk their empty trash cans back into the garage; they don't leave them rolling around the street for the citizenry to dodge whenever a good wind picks up. They resist propping old mattresses along the curb for pick-up on Saturday evening when it isn't scheduled until Thursday.
Did it ever strike you, as you are driving toward your house in one of your numerous beat-up vehicles, how everybody else's yard is cared-for, while yours looks like the county dump? And what the hell is the purpose of those electric blue tarps that have been lying along the side of your house since August?
In case you didn't notice, other inhabitants of the area whisk their empty trash cans back into the garage; they don't leave them rolling around the street for the citizenry to dodge whenever a good wind picks up. They resist propping old mattresses along the curb for pick-up on Saturday evening when it isn't scheduled until Thursday.
Did it ever strike you, as you are driving toward your house in one of your numerous beat-up vehicles, how everybody else's yard is cared-for, while yours looks like the county dump? And what the hell is the purpose of those electric blue tarps that have been lying along the side of your house since August?
Monday, March 28, 2005
Easter Freak-Out
I spent Saturday night at Mom and Dad's, as usual. Mom and I were watching Today yesterday morning while I waited to use the shower, and she asked me if I thought Campbell Brown was pretty. Then she contracted into a ball and launched into a wild seizure.
She'd had seizures before, and the protocol is to just let them run their course. If an episode lasts longer than five minutes, we're to call 911. But Dad had seen her previous seizures. To him, this one looked like a stroke. Her mouth had caved in, her limbs were twisted. She was making noises that would haunt me in my sleep.
I called 911, and the EMTs arrived at the door in, like, four minutes. No kidding. They were both so nice I felt sorry for them having to talk to me and my unbrushed teeth. Since I'd witnessed the seizure, I had to take the ambulance with them to the hospital. I jumped into the clothes I had on the day before and headed off, teeth still unbrushed. Thank goodness for Altoids.
Several hours at the hospital, along with blood work and a CT-Scan, revealed that my mother had indeed had a seizure (the EMTs had also suspected a stroke), and we were able to go back to my parents' for Easter dinner, where my siblings, husband, offspring, niece and nephews gathered.
We managed to have a good time, and the meal we threw together at the last minute worked out well, too (thank God for spiral-cut ham). Had to forgo the potatoes, though.
It was my sister's 40th birthday. She was completely freaked out about the seizure. I lay awake last night staring at my bedroom ceiling for hours. Didn't have the strength to pick up a paperback and read the way I usually do when I'm anxious.
I did make it to Mass yesterday, though. I thought for sure I wouldn't, but while we were hanging around the hospital, an announcement came over the PA system that a Catholic Mass would be held at 11:15 in the chapel. It worked out well because the nurse came to take my mother for her CT-Scan at about the same time.
My favorite part of the day? When Mom came out of the seizure, and the EMT worker said, "Hello, Ellen. How are you?"
My mother smiled at her and replied, "I'm fine, thank you. And how are you?"
She'd had seizures before, and the protocol is to just let them run their course. If an episode lasts longer than five minutes, we're to call 911. But Dad had seen her previous seizures. To him, this one looked like a stroke. Her mouth had caved in, her limbs were twisted. She was making noises that would haunt me in my sleep.
I called 911, and the EMTs arrived at the door in, like, four minutes. No kidding. They were both so nice I felt sorry for them having to talk to me and my unbrushed teeth. Since I'd witnessed the seizure, I had to take the ambulance with them to the hospital. I jumped into the clothes I had on the day before and headed off, teeth still unbrushed. Thank goodness for Altoids.
Several hours at the hospital, along with blood work and a CT-Scan, revealed that my mother had indeed had a seizure (the EMTs had also suspected a stroke), and we were able to go back to my parents' for Easter dinner, where my siblings, husband, offspring, niece and nephews gathered.
We managed to have a good time, and the meal we threw together at the last minute worked out well, too (thank God for spiral-cut ham). Had to forgo the potatoes, though.
It was my sister's 40th birthday. She was completely freaked out about the seizure. I lay awake last night staring at my bedroom ceiling for hours. Didn't have the strength to pick up a paperback and read the way I usually do when I'm anxious.
I did make it to Mass yesterday, though. I thought for sure I wouldn't, but while we were hanging around the hospital, an announcement came over the PA system that a Catholic Mass would be held at 11:15 in the chapel. It worked out well because the nurse came to take my mother for her CT-Scan at about the same time.
My favorite part of the day? When Mom came out of the seizure, and the EMT worker said, "Hello, Ellen. How are you?"
My mother smiled at her and replied, "I'm fine, thank you. And how are you?"
Friday, March 25, 2005
Confessions of a Bad Catholic
The offspring were off today for Good Friday. I took them for piano lessons, and then we went to Blockbuster to rent the SpongeBob movie. Came home, made popcorn, and was subjected to the SpongeBob movie three times. The kiddies just couldn't get enough of the scene with David Hasselhoff.
Went out for dinner to El Torero in Milford, our favorite Mexican restaurant. I don't think we've been there since Mother's Day. Afterwards, we went to Costco, which I found depressing. All those people milling around for good deals on stuff they don't even want.
All I wanted was a can of coffee and dinner rolls, but all the dinner rolls were riddled with partially hydrogenated oils, as were the cookies and dessert. Dragged disappointed offspring over to the optical department, where I found a flattering pair of frames. Will have to go back and buy them when the doctor is in to give me an exam.
Peter found a solar-powered lamppost and wants to give it to me for Easter. I have been pleading for a lamppost for my birthday for two years now but kept getting gift certificates for full-body massages and facials. This year, he seems to have gotten the picture, except my birthday is not on Easter.
After Costco, we went to Trader Joe's, the Talbot's outlet, and the liquor store. I never want to go shopping again.
Tomorrow I'm off to Manhattan. I called Dad today, and he was at church, so I'm not sure what time to show up. I called my sister, and she was at church. We, however, were watching SpongeBob.
I just realized that I had beef in my burrito tonight. I don't ordinarily even eat beef, but I had a craving for it.
I am a miserable Catholic.
Went out for dinner to El Torero in Milford, our favorite Mexican restaurant. I don't think we've been there since Mother's Day. Afterwards, we went to Costco, which I found depressing. All those people milling around for good deals on stuff they don't even want.
All I wanted was a can of coffee and dinner rolls, but all the dinner rolls were riddled with partially hydrogenated oils, as were the cookies and dessert. Dragged disappointed offspring over to the optical department, where I found a flattering pair of frames. Will have to go back and buy them when the doctor is in to give me an exam.
Peter found a solar-powered lamppost and wants to give it to me for Easter. I have been pleading for a lamppost for my birthday for two years now but kept getting gift certificates for full-body massages and facials. This year, he seems to have gotten the picture, except my birthday is not on Easter.
After Costco, we went to Trader Joe's, the Talbot's outlet, and the liquor store. I never want to go shopping again.
Tomorrow I'm off to Manhattan. I called Dad today, and he was at church, so I'm not sure what time to show up. I called my sister, and she was at church. We, however, were watching SpongeBob.
I just realized that I had beef in my burrito tonight. I don't ordinarily even eat beef, but I had a craving for it.
I am a miserable Catholic.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Stop Calling Me
This is for the annoying individual (you know who you are) who persists in phoning me to bitch for lengthy periods about:
-Women at your kid's preschool who throw birthday parties at times you find inconvenient
-your sister-in-law and how she talks behind other people's backs
-how you are not as rich as everyone thinks
-how you do more work, spend more money, and throw more parties than everybody you know, and that nobody appreciates it
-the people next door and their new granite countertops
-that the woman across the street does not take her children out to play enough
-that your husband's sole purpose in life is to smoke pot and watch TV.
My usual method for dealing with you is to check my caller ID and screen your call. Of course, then I'm subjected to the guilt-inducing message you invariably leave on my machine.
Today, however, the offspring were home from school. They picked up the phone, and I got stuck listening to you. This necessitated the use of Plan B: I launched into a filabuster about how evil food manufacturers are killing us by slipping deadly trans fats into so-called "healthy snacks" like Kellogg's Nutri-Grain bars.
Got you off the phone in no time.
-Women at your kid's preschool who throw birthday parties at times you find inconvenient
-your sister-in-law and how she talks behind other people's backs
-how you are not as rich as everyone thinks
-how you do more work, spend more money, and throw more parties than everybody you know, and that nobody appreciates it
-the people next door and their new granite countertops
-that the woman across the street does not take her children out to play enough
-that your husband's sole purpose in life is to smoke pot and watch TV.
My usual method for dealing with you is to check my caller ID and screen your call. Of course, then I'm subjected to the guilt-inducing message you invariably leave on my machine.
Today, however, the offspring were home from school. They picked up the phone, and I got stuck listening to you. This necessitated the use of Plan B: I launched into a filabuster about how evil food manufacturers are killing us by slipping deadly trans fats into so-called "healthy snacks" like Kellogg's Nutri-Grain bars.
Got you off the phone in no time.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Some Days You Want to Scream
Had a reasonably frustrating time revising the novel today, but did manage to write a query I plan to send to a national magazine. Wish me luck on that, will you?
I was just about to watch a rerun of last night's The Daily Show at 10 this morning, but Sibling One called. We were on the phone for over an hour, which pretty much torpedoed my day. Will have to watch the 7PM rerun of TDS, then. Can't miss it because Lewis Black will be on, and the only reason I subscribe to cable is to watch Lewis Black on The Daily Show.
I tried to watch The Shield last night, but I can't stay up past ten o'clock, especially when school is in session. I'm up at 6:30 with the offspring, which is completely contrary to my nature. If I had my way, I wouldn't get up until 10, which is what I do when the children are on vacation. I have no trouble at all staying up until 3 AM then.
The offspring are driving me crazy today. Child Two takes two baths a day, yet always looks like she just rolled out of a trash can. Her piano books are all over the living room floor. I refuse to move them. Child One is forever pushing the smaller one around, resulting in the latter's sudden skull-shattering shrieks.
There are days when I want to send them to bed as soon as they come home from school. This would be one of them.
I was just about to watch a rerun of last night's The Daily Show at 10 this morning, but Sibling One called. We were on the phone for over an hour, which pretty much torpedoed my day. Will have to watch the 7PM rerun of TDS, then. Can't miss it because Lewis Black will be on, and the only reason I subscribe to cable is to watch Lewis Black on The Daily Show.
I tried to watch The Shield last night, but I can't stay up past ten o'clock, especially when school is in session. I'm up at 6:30 with the offspring, which is completely contrary to my nature. If I had my way, I wouldn't get up until 10, which is what I do when the children are on vacation. I have no trouble at all staying up until 3 AM then.
The offspring are driving me crazy today. Child Two takes two baths a day, yet always looks like she just rolled out of a trash can. Her piano books are all over the living room floor. I refuse to move them. Child One is forever pushing the smaller one around, resulting in the latter's sudden skull-shattering shrieks.
There are days when I want to send them to bed as soon as they come home from school. This would be one of them.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Box Tops for Cancer
Yeah, I'm happy today. U2 is spinning in the background. I just love U2, even if they did run on too long at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame thingie. After ten minutes of listening to Bono pontificate, I thought I was at Mass.
I don't understand why Chrissie Hynde was the only woman inducted this year. It took Joni Mitchell a million years to get inducted, but she finally did after years of watching poseurs like Rod Stewart get waved right through the gate.
Got lots of writing done today. Continued revision of novel, sent out newsletter, helped offspring pen essay about the importance of eating healthily and exercising regularly. The kid is freaked out about the prevalence of partially hydrogenated oils in so-called healthy foods (Kellogg's Nutri-Grain Bars) and spelled out their dangers (they contribute to heart disease, cancer, and multiple sclerosis).
But she didn't take down General Mills' Box Tops for Education program, in which schools are offered monetary rewards in exchange for pressing their students' parents to buy tons of junk (like Pillsbury Crescent Rolls and Betty Crocker cake mixes), which are loaded with not only partially hydrogenated oils but also high fructose corn syrup, which has been blamed for the burgeoning obesity problem in this country.
Fie on The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame! Fie on Box Tops for Education!
I don't understand why Chrissie Hynde was the only woman inducted this year. It took Joni Mitchell a million years to get inducted, but she finally did after years of watching poseurs like Rod Stewart get waved right through the gate.
Got lots of writing done today. Continued revision of novel, sent out newsletter, helped offspring pen essay about the importance of eating healthily and exercising regularly. The kid is freaked out about the prevalence of partially hydrogenated oils in so-called healthy foods (Kellogg's Nutri-Grain Bars) and spelled out their dangers (they contribute to heart disease, cancer, and multiple sclerosis).
But she didn't take down General Mills' Box Tops for Education program, in which schools are offered monetary rewards in exchange for pressing their students' parents to buy tons of junk (like Pillsbury Crescent Rolls and Betty Crocker cake mixes), which are loaded with not only partially hydrogenated oils but also high fructose corn syrup, which has been blamed for the burgeoning obesity problem in this country.
Fie on The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame! Fie on Box Tops for Education!
Monday, March 21, 2005
Lifestyles of the Drunk and Stupid
I visited Mom twice since Thursday, which was St. Patrick's Day. On my way to Grand Central Station to get the train home, I dodged weaving drunks all over Second Avenue. And no, they weren't Irish. They were middle-aged idiots of various ethnicities who called in sick from work to drink and paint themselves green.
On the train, a group of well-dressed businessmen hung out by the doors, drinking Coors Light. I really hate to see anyone drink Coors Light, especially a man. Put it this way, I wouldn't date a guy with such weeny taste in beer. Anyway, by the time we hit Greenwich, these lightweights were drunk on the stuff, if that's possible, getting loud and daring each other to do sit-ups. One fool went for it, while the rest of them stood around swinging their Silver Bullets and counting: "28, 29, 30...I can't believe it! Even his bald spot is turning red!"
The hooples got off at Fairfield, I think. When I got off the train at Bridgeport, I discovered they'd left every single beer can on the floor, along with bags of half-eaten bagels from Zaro's.
Trust me, Girls: If a guy litters, he's not for you. You'll be cleaning up after him for the rest of your life. And if he drinks Coors Light, he's a poseur and a lightweight.
Hey, I just got a tip idea for my newsletter! Want it? Go to http:///www.marrysmart.com
On the train, a group of well-dressed businessmen hung out by the doors, drinking Coors Light. I really hate to see anyone drink Coors Light, especially a man. Put it this way, I wouldn't date a guy with such weeny taste in beer. Anyway, by the time we hit Greenwich, these lightweights were drunk on the stuff, if that's possible, getting loud and daring each other to do sit-ups. One fool went for it, while the rest of them stood around swinging their Silver Bullets and counting: "28, 29, 30...I can't believe it! Even his bald spot is turning red!"
The hooples got off at Fairfield, I think. When I got off the train at Bridgeport, I discovered they'd left every single beer can on the floor, along with bags of half-eaten bagels from Zaro's.
Trust me, Girls: If a guy litters, he's not for you. You'll be cleaning up after him for the rest of your life. And if he drinks Coors Light, he's a poseur and a lightweight.
Hey, I just got a tip idea for my newsletter! Want it? Go to http:///www.marrysmart.com
Monday, March 14, 2005
Brushes with Not-Quite Greatness: Matt Lauer and Raoul Felder
I'm not the kind of person who spots celebrities. My sister routinely runs into people like Billy Joel on the streets of Manhattan. She's seen Uma Thurman, and she used to spot John Kennedy Jr. on almost weekly basis when he was alive.
Until Sunday, the only famous people I ever saw in the flesh were Heather Matarazzo (of The Princess Diaries fame) and Conrad Baines from that show with Gary Coleman, Dana Plato and Todd Bridges (that's his name, right?).
But, walking down Third Avenue after my nephew's baptism at St. Vincent Ferrer on Sunday, my brother spotted Matt Lauer and his wife, Annette Roche, pushing a stroller alongside us. I would have walked right past the guy. He looked pleasant enough--but remarkably average.
Later, after the christening party, my cousins and I waited for the elevator of my parents' building to visit my mother. Who stepped out of said elevator as we hopped in but divorce attorney-to the-stars, Raoul Felder, seen recently on Extra or Access Hollywood weighing in on the Denise Richards/Charlie Sheen split. Not quite as pleasant-looking as Matt, the dude resembled a bald bear in what appeared to be (I hate to stare) a giant fur coat. I guess Raoul doesn't like the cold.
Revising this novel is taking longer than I thought it would because I just can't stop tinkering with it. I'm supposed to be just typing changes, but I keep finding things to improve.
Until Sunday, the only famous people I ever saw in the flesh were Heather Matarazzo (of The Princess Diaries fame) and Conrad Baines from that show with Gary Coleman, Dana Plato and Todd Bridges (that's his name, right?).
But, walking down Third Avenue after my nephew's baptism at St. Vincent Ferrer on Sunday, my brother spotted Matt Lauer and his wife, Annette Roche, pushing a stroller alongside us. I would have walked right past the guy. He looked pleasant enough--but remarkably average.
Later, after the christening party, my cousins and I waited for the elevator of my parents' building to visit my mother. Who stepped out of said elevator as we hopped in but divorce attorney-to the-stars, Raoul Felder, seen recently on Extra or Access Hollywood weighing in on the Denise Richards/Charlie Sheen split. Not quite as pleasant-looking as Matt, the dude resembled a bald bear in what appeared to be (I hate to stare) a giant fur coat. I guess Raoul doesn't like the cold.
Revising this novel is taking longer than I thought it would because I just can't stop tinkering with it. I'm supposed to be just typing changes, but I keep finding things to improve.
Friday, March 11, 2005
Nudity and the PTA
Last night, Peter and I went to see Hair at the Bridgeport Cabaret Theater. Seeing the silhouettes of those singing naked people made me feel better about my own body.
The PTA bought up all the tickets for a fundraiser (the president wished to avoid another gift wrap sale), and, at $35 per, it was almost sold out. On the way home, there was speculation that the nudity offended the senior citizens in the crowd. The scene was dimly lit so I couldn't see much, but the old lady seated below the lead character's penis saw considerably more.
The PTA bought up all the tickets for a fundraiser (the president wished to avoid another gift wrap sale), and, at $35 per, it was almost sold out. On the way home, there was speculation that the nudity offended the senior citizens in the crowd. The scene was dimly lit so I couldn't see much, but the old lady seated below the lead character's penis saw considerably more.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
No Snow Day!
The girls' school opened 90 minutes late due to last night's snowstorm, but happily, it opened. I wrote and revised the day away. I don't get as much time as I'd like to revise the novel since I'm in New York three days a week visiting Mom.
Tonight, V, and I are going to some sort of holistic/natural living meeting at somebody's house. I'm interested in natural living, so it should be interesting. Getting out of this house and away from these jumpy offspring should be interesting, as well.
I tried on the outfit I plan to wear to Michael's christening on Saturday. It looks pretty good. I'll have to eat lightly between now and then to ensure that it still does. I hope the woman hosting the meeting tonight doesn't put out any tempting morsels of food. I understand that her husband is Indian, and that she cooks Indian food, so passing up the hors d'ouevres could be tricky. Let's hope she's cheap and doesn't offer us so much as a glass of water.
Tonight, V, and I are going to some sort of holistic/natural living meeting at somebody's house. I'm interested in natural living, so it should be interesting. Getting out of this house and away from these jumpy offspring should be interesting, as well.
I tried on the outfit I plan to wear to Michael's christening on Saturday. It looks pretty good. I'll have to eat lightly between now and then to ensure that it still does. I hope the woman hosting the meeting tonight doesn't put out any tempting morsels of food. I understand that her husband is Indian, and that she cooks Indian food, so passing up the hors d'ouevres could be tricky. Let's hope she's cheap and doesn't offer us so much as a glass of water.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
I Owe Bono Twenty Bucks
I won't be able to visit Mom tomorrow because it's snowing satellite dishes out there, and school will almost definitely be closed. So I will be beset by offspring. Already the little buggers are giving me a hard time about going to bed in anticipation of the day off.
A friend burned a copy of U2's new CD for me (unsolicited, I must add), and my conscience is killing me. Of course I want to listen to it. It's U2! But I didn't pay for it. I am taking food out of little Hewson mouths!
I decided that the best course of action if I want to sleep again is to go out and buy the CD. So, Bono, thank my friend for putting my feet to the fire. You'll have your 20 bucks.
A friend burned a copy of U2's new CD for me (unsolicited, I must add), and my conscience is killing me. Of course I want to listen to it. It's U2! But I didn't pay for it. I am taking food out of little Hewson mouths!
I decided that the best course of action if I want to sleep again is to go out and buy the CD. So, Bono, thank my friend for putting my feet to the fire. You'll have your 20 bucks.
Monday, March 07, 2005
How to Keep a Man Faithful
I was watching The View last week, and "the ladies" offered a quote from the captivating Halle Berry on how to keep a man faithful. According to Halle, a woman must be shy, ladylike, blah, blah, blah, blah, and most importantly, a freak in bed.
Right.
Halle has my vote for one of the most gorgeous women walking the planet, but she's no expert on successful relationships. She's been divorced twice (from a couple of winners) and suffered physical abuse at the hands of a boyfriend. For all her money, talent, and world-renowned beauty, her slutty second husband couldn't stop cheating on her.
Many years ago, Jerry Hall, Mick Jagger's then girlfriend (and eventual wife) offered her prescription on how a woman could keep a man faithful:
"Be a cook in the kitchen, a maid in the parlor, and a whore in the bedroom."
Well, her advice, similar to Berry's, didn't do her any good, either. Jagger cheated mercilessly (and fathered a child with some model) and claimed that his marriage to Hall was never valid.
Some women work too damn hard for relationships. And what does it get them? Abuse, infedelity, and being mistaken for wallpaper. Halle Berry needs to relax, and I hope Jerry Hall has developed a better sense of self-worth and moved onto better men.
I can' t believe I'm quoting one of "the ladies" from The View, but Elisabeth Hasselbeck had it right when she said of her husband, "It's not my responsibility to keep Tim faithful. It's his. It's not his responsibility to keep me faithful. It's mine."
Hear, hear.
Right.
Halle has my vote for one of the most gorgeous women walking the planet, but she's no expert on successful relationships. She's been divorced twice (from a couple of winners) and suffered physical abuse at the hands of a boyfriend. For all her money, talent, and world-renowned beauty, her slutty second husband couldn't stop cheating on her.
Many years ago, Jerry Hall, Mick Jagger's then girlfriend (and eventual wife) offered her prescription on how a woman could keep a man faithful:
"Be a cook in the kitchen, a maid in the parlor, and a whore in the bedroom."
Well, her advice, similar to Berry's, didn't do her any good, either. Jagger cheated mercilessly (and fathered a child with some model) and claimed that his marriage to Hall was never valid.
Some women work too damn hard for relationships. And what does it get them? Abuse, infedelity, and being mistaken for wallpaper. Halle Berry needs to relax, and I hope Jerry Hall has developed a better sense of self-worth and moved onto better men.
I can' t believe I'm quoting one of "the ladies" from The View, but Elisabeth Hasselbeck had it right when she said of her husband, "It's not my responsibility to keep Tim faithful. It's his. It's not his responsibility to keep me faithful. It's mine."
Hear, hear.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Forget Social Security Reform...
The pathetic state of healthcare in this country freaks me out. My parents have all sorts of "excellent" medical insurance, as well as long-term healthcare coverage, and what it gets you when you need it is startlingly little. My father pays $1000 out-of-pocket per week just to pay for the aides who take care of my mother nights and weekends.
Just got a call from my own very expensive insurance carrier to say there's a snag in paying for my daughters' routine office visit.
On a more positive note, I will probably be writing a book for guys who want to meet the women of their dreams in the next few months. May have to alter the weekly newsletter to address both sexes. We'll see.
Offspring will be upon us in 21 minutes. Time to read my book before pleas for help with homework peal throughout the house.
Just got a call from my own very expensive insurance carrier to say there's a snag in paying for my daughters' routine office visit.
On a more positive note, I will probably be writing a book for guys who want to meet the women of their dreams in the next few months. May have to alter the weekly newsletter to address both sexes. We'll see.
Offspring will be upon us in 21 minutes. Time to read my book before pleas for help with homework peal throughout the house.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
But He Promised to Call!
Spent the day looking through old photos of Mommy, which we'll frame and display at her wake. There's nothing better than a good book to take your mind off a bad time, and The Queen's Fool continues to be an excellent distraction. Next up: Angels and Demons by Dan Brown, and then The Group by Mary McCarthy. I've heard great things about McCarthy over the years but never read anything by her.
Tomorrow I'll go into Manhattan again to spend time with Mom and give Dad a chance to take a walk. The man needs to walk. It's how he copes. He rarely ever drives and didn't get his license until he turned 45. Mom started driving at 16.
Even though the offspring were home due to another snow day, I sent out my newsletter. They were jumping around in the background, of course, but I managed it. This week's topic? What to do when a guy says he'll call you--and doesn't.
Boo!
It's happened to all of us, unfortunately. If you want my take on it, email me at terry@marrysmart.com
Sign up for the newsletter at http://www.marrysmart.com
Tomorrow I'll go into Manhattan again to spend time with Mom and give Dad a chance to take a walk. The man needs to walk. It's how he copes. He rarely ever drives and didn't get his license until he turned 45. Mom started driving at 16.
Even though the offspring were home due to another snow day, I sent out my newsletter. They were jumping around in the background, of course, but I managed it. This week's topic? What to do when a guy says he'll call you--and doesn't.
Boo!
It's happened to all of us, unfortunately. If you want my take on it, email me at terry@marrysmart.com
Sign up for the newsletter at http://www.marrysmart.com
Monday, February 28, 2005
The Best-Dressed List
Well, after a trying day at my mother's, in which the aide dropped said mother on the floor while attempting to put her in her wheelchair, I came home and succumbed to the mindless Oscar telecast. Chris Rock was hosting and I was eager for a good laugh.
Alas, there weren't many laughs to be had. Rock's riff on Bush had me rolling on the floor, but that was it. In fact, we didn't see very much of him after the opening monologue. And this business of having winners accept their awards from the audience! Pathetic!
Salma Hayek looked great. So did Virginia Madsen, Halle Berry, Cate Blanchett, and Kate Winslet. Scarlett Johannsen looked out of her league, but that's what she gets for all those stupid comments she made last year about "older actresses." The older actresses blew her away, each and every one of them, with the possible exception of Melanie Griffith (Note to Mel: No more surgery, please. Please!).
I really admired Gwenyth Paltrow's response to a fawning Katie Couric, who asked how she managed to "squeeze into that dress" so soon after having a baby.
"I'm wearing a girdle," she said.
Ten points for Paltrow.
Alas, there weren't many laughs to be had. Rock's riff on Bush had me rolling on the floor, but that was it. In fact, we didn't see very much of him after the opening monologue. And this business of having winners accept their awards from the audience! Pathetic!
Salma Hayek looked great. So did Virginia Madsen, Halle Berry, Cate Blanchett, and Kate Winslet. Scarlett Johannsen looked out of her league, but that's what she gets for all those stupid comments she made last year about "older actresses." The older actresses blew her away, each and every one of them, with the possible exception of Melanie Griffith (Note to Mel: No more surgery, please. Please!).
I really admired Gwenyth Paltrow's response to a fawning Katie Couric, who asked how she managed to "squeeze into that dress" so soon after having a baby.
"I'm wearing a girdle," she said.
Ten points for Paltrow.
Friday, February 25, 2005
Paris Hilton Must Be Stopped
You read about how celebrities' lives are disrupted by fame. They moan about how they can't go to supermarkets without having their pictures taken, their sexual activities are captured on film (by themselves) and then disseminated through the media, and so on.
But my pity for these people is wearing thin. I would be delighted, for instance, if I never had to see another photo of Jennifer Lopez as long as I live. You can't turn on the television without being assaulted by Lindsay Lohan and her opinions on weight loss, partying, or her new cell phone.
You know a celebrity has crossed the line when she has the audacity to show up in dreams, as Paris Hilton did in mine last night. I can't even escape Paris Hilton in the safety and comfort of my own bed (and, no, I do not have a television in my room!).
Ratings for the recent Golden Globe telecast were down markedly. New York Times writer Frank Rich attributes this to the 5- or 7-second broadcasting delay (perhaps assuming that viewers would miss something like the hee-larious Jack Nicholson 'mooning' of several years ago), but I attribute it to something else: celebrity overload.
You're boring! Be gone. All of you!
But my pity for these people is wearing thin. I would be delighted, for instance, if I never had to see another photo of Jennifer Lopez as long as I live. You can't turn on the television without being assaulted by Lindsay Lohan and her opinions on weight loss, partying, or her new cell phone.
You know a celebrity has crossed the line when she has the audacity to show up in dreams, as Paris Hilton did in mine last night. I can't even escape Paris Hilton in the safety and comfort of my own bed (and, no, I do not have a television in my room!).
Ratings for the recent Golden Globe telecast were down markedly. New York Times writer Frank Rich attributes this to the 5- or 7-second broadcasting delay (perhaps assuming that viewers would miss something like the hee-larious Jack Nicholson 'mooning' of several years ago), but I attribute it to something else: celebrity overload.
You're boring! Be gone. All of you!
Monday, February 21, 2005
(Near) Death and Taxes
While I was at Mom and Dad's over the weekend, I picked up the current issue of Harper's and learned that Wal-Mart employees cost the US Government $2,500,000,000.00 in public assistance. So much for the great opportunities the family-friendly company brags about in its TV ads.
The bishop visited Mommy on Saturday. She was lucid and enjoyed seeing him. She slept most of the weekend, although my brother made her laugh out loud at one point. He keeps putting on music by bands with names like "Morbid Angel" to get a rise out of her. The doctor has put her on Ritalin, so she's a bit more alert lately.
Every now and then, though, she floats into her own world. She said to me yesterday, "So, what do you think of my family?" I told her I was her daughter, and she looked at me as if I came off a spaceship. But, earlier, when I crept through her room in the dark to get to the bathroom, she called out to me by name.
I left around 12:30 yesterday and got the train out to Merrick to meet Peter. We went to the accountant and had our taxes done. We expect a decent refund this year, thank God. Then we went across the street to a Communion dress store to see if we could find something for Child Two.
The store was jammed! Most of the dresses were dripping with sequins and fake seed pearls, so we left empty-handed. When Child One made her First Communion, my mother and shopped for the dress together and took the girls out to lunch afterwards.
I did a Google search for Communion dresses this morning and came up with something Child Two, Peter, and I like. It's pretty but simple.
Let's just hope it lives up to the picture
The bishop visited Mommy on Saturday. She was lucid and enjoyed seeing him. She slept most of the weekend, although my brother made her laugh out loud at one point. He keeps putting on music by bands with names like "Morbid Angel" to get a rise out of her. The doctor has put her on Ritalin, so she's a bit more alert lately.
Every now and then, though, she floats into her own world. She said to me yesterday, "So, what do you think of my family?" I told her I was her daughter, and she looked at me as if I came off a spaceship. But, earlier, when I crept through her room in the dark to get to the bathroom, she called out to me by name.
I left around 12:30 yesterday and got the train out to Merrick to meet Peter. We went to the accountant and had our taxes done. We expect a decent refund this year, thank God. Then we went across the street to a Communion dress store to see if we could find something for Child Two.
The store was jammed! Most of the dresses were dripping with sequins and fake seed pearls, so we left empty-handed. When Child One made her First Communion, my mother and shopped for the dress together and took the girls out to lunch afterwards.
I did a Google search for Communion dresses this morning and came up with something Child Two, Peter, and I like. It's pretty but simple.
Let's just hope it lives up to the picture
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Why I Hate Wal-Mart
1. Everybody who works there acts as if they're being booked for murder.
2. Everybody who shops their looks down on their luck.
3. Shopping there makes me feel down on my luck.
4. The company's exploitation of its employees and vendors makes me feel like I need to go to confession after I buy something there.
My mother said she'd drop dead before she stepped foot in a Wal-Mart store, and it appears she was right. I managed to stay out of our local store for over three months until last week when I returned to buy a specific pressed powder I have been unable to find anywhere else.
I discovered that Wal-Mart no longer carries this powder, giving me one less reason to shop there.
My amazing friend, V, and I went back yesterday to buy pet food. Yes, I know I can buy pet food anywhere, but I also wanted a bottle of Africa's Best hair and skin oil for my winter-dry skin and hair (works wonders, People, and it contains no mineral oil!). Like the pressed powder, I haven't been able to find it anywhere else.
But the experience was demoralizing. I keep hearing my mother saying, "I can't believe you shop there!" (Mom was an advocate of the poor and less fortunate and believed that shopping in places like Wal-Mart creates more of them.)
The cashier with the peach hair looked right through me after I smiled at her and said 'hello.' I may have to learn to do without my Africa's Best. If you know of a good substitution, do let me know.
2. Everybody who shops their looks down on their luck.
3. Shopping there makes me feel down on my luck.
4. The company's exploitation of its employees and vendors makes me feel like I need to go to confession after I buy something there.
My mother said she'd drop dead before she stepped foot in a Wal-Mart store, and it appears she was right. I managed to stay out of our local store for over three months until last week when I returned to buy a specific pressed powder I have been unable to find anywhere else.
I discovered that Wal-Mart no longer carries this powder, giving me one less reason to shop there.
My amazing friend, V, and I went back yesterday to buy pet food. Yes, I know I can buy pet food anywhere, but I also wanted a bottle of Africa's Best hair and skin oil for my winter-dry skin and hair (works wonders, People, and it contains no mineral oil!). Like the pressed powder, I haven't been able to find it anywhere else.
But the experience was demoralizing. I keep hearing my mother saying, "I can't believe you shop there!" (Mom was an advocate of the poor and less fortunate and believed that shopping in places like Wal-Mart creates more of them.)
The cashier with the peach hair looked right through me after I smiled at her and said 'hello.' I may have to learn to do without my Africa's Best. If you know of a good substitution, do let me know.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
In the Market for a Sperm Donor?
My brother tells me the most painful aspect of dating is the women who so obviously just want to bag a man and have children right away. Their biological clocks are ticking louder than Big Ben. They make a guy feel like a sperm donor.
He says it's a major turn-off and makes a point never to see them again.
The irony is, he'd like to get married and have children. Soon. But he doesn't want to get married just to have children, and he doesn't want to marry somebody who just wants to have children.
Trust me, school soccer fields are loaded with born-to-breed married types (they refer to themselves as Moms and Dads, as in "I'm a Mom!" or "I'm Casey's Dad!" They're married not to their husbands or wives but to their children. The children are everything.
You know by looking at them they never have sex.
Want dating tips? I have a slew of them (and lots of opinions, too). Get 'em free at http://www.marrysmart.com/ezine.html
He says it's a major turn-off and makes a point never to see them again.
The irony is, he'd like to get married and have children. Soon. But he doesn't want to get married just to have children, and he doesn't want to marry somebody who just wants to have children.
Trust me, school soccer fields are loaded with born-to-breed married types (they refer to themselves as Moms and Dads, as in "I'm a Mom!" or "I'm Casey's Dad!" They're married not to their husbands or wives but to their children. The children are everything.
You know by looking at them they never have sex.
Want dating tips? I have a slew of them (and lots of opinions, too). Get 'em free at http://www.marrysmart.com/ezine.html
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Slipping into Eternity
Went to visit Mom today. She's deteriorated in the three days since I saw her. She can barely speak. Mary, the aide, says Mom's skin is too tender to move her from bed to her wheelchair. Mary says she's had considerable experience with cancer patients and says Mom has about two weeks left, as opposed to the three to six months the doctors predicted.
Thank God Sibling One's little baby was there to distract us. He's quite remarkable, even if he's grumpy most of the time. He kept his eyes open for a couple of hours. That was entertainment enough.
Took the train home and sat next to a man with a wedding ring on his finger who was text messaging one person on one device, and another on his laptop. I was tempted to read over his shoulder, but I couldn't get away with it.
Maybe he was communicating with a couple of roommates from college, or maybe he's one of those freakishly insecure men who need to feel like a player. I guess I'll never know.
Thank God Sibling One's little baby was there to distract us. He's quite remarkable, even if he's grumpy most of the time. He kept his eyes open for a couple of hours. That was entertainment enough.
Took the train home and sat next to a man with a wedding ring on his finger who was text messaging one person on one device, and another on his laptop. I was tempted to read over his shoulder, but I couldn't get away with it.
Maybe he was communicating with a couple of roommates from college, or maybe he's one of those freakishly insecure men who need to feel like a player. I guess I'll never know.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Mireille Guiliano and Her Freaking Leeks
David Bowie's Lodger is on as I write. This particular album always reminds me of the summer o f 1979, after I returned to New York from the exchange program in England. You don't get a lot of Lodger on FM radio, which is a sad thing.
I remember staying up one night in high school to watch Bowie perform "Boys Keep Swinging" in drag on The Midnight Special. Another time I tried to stay up to watch Greg Lake, but I fell asleep. I've always regretted that.
I'm going back to Mom and Dad's tomorrow. The hospice nurse, according to my sister, indicated that my mother should be hanging around for the time being. I like to see her as often as I can.
I have started this Magical Leek Soup fast that Mireille Guiliano, the author of French Women Don't Get Fat, advocates. I'm not fat; I'd like to drop five pounds, but let me tell you, this Magical Leek thing is a killer. I'd die for a tuna fish sandwich right now.
I remember staying up one night in high school to watch Bowie perform "Boys Keep Swinging" in drag on The Midnight Special. Another time I tried to stay up to watch Greg Lake, but I fell asleep. I've always regretted that.
I'm going back to Mom and Dad's tomorrow. The hospice nurse, according to my sister, indicated that my mother should be hanging around for the time being. I like to see her as often as I can.
I have started this Magical Leek Soup fast that Mireille Guiliano, the author of French Women Don't Get Fat, advocates. I'm not fat; I'd like to drop five pounds, but let me tell you, this Magical Leek thing is a killer. I'd die for a tuna fish sandwich right now.
Monday, February 14, 2005
A Single Woman's Guide to a Happy Valentine's Day
The Today Show devoted all of last week to cheating spouses: why they cheat and how to tell if yours is cheating. They actually sent a reporter into bars with a hidden camera to see if she could pick up married men.
Today has devoted this week to romance: dating, proposals, getting married. No wonder so many single people are confused out of their wits. One week they're shown how dangerous marriage is, the next they're told it's the greatest thing on earth.
Oy. (And I'm not even Jewish.)
Spent the day revising my novel and sending my ezine (on love and dating, natch). If you want it, check out my website, http://www.marrysmart.com, and click the link for Free Tips in Your Mailbox.
Today's subject: A Single Woman's Guide to a Happy Valentine's Day.
Today has devoted this week to romance: dating, proposals, getting married. No wonder so many single people are confused out of their wits. One week they're shown how dangerous marriage is, the next they're told it's the greatest thing on earth.
Oy. (And I'm not even Jewish.)
Spent the day revising my novel and sending my ezine (on love and dating, natch). If you want it, check out my website, http://www.marrysmart.com, and click the link for Free Tips in Your Mailbox.
Today's subject: A Single Woman's Guide to a Happy Valentine's Day.
Friday, February 11, 2005
My Brother, Chicken Salad
The hospice people went to Daddy's today to discuss in-home care today. All the siblings attended the meeting, except me. I had to go to Child One's parent/teacher conference this morning.
My mother asked Sibling One to phone me, which I took as a good sign. I'm glad she even remembered I exist, especially since, according to S1, she referred to my brother as "Chicken Salad" today. She told the hospice nurse that my father's name is Omar.
It's Andrew.
I'm going back there tomorrow and will spend the night, as usual, on my father's couch. He has already informed me that I am not allowed to watch Saturday Night Live, which is fine because it was pitiful last week. I fell asleep and left the TV on all night, so he's penalizing me.
I think hospice is scheduled to start on Monday. I'm glad Mom will get care at home, rather than have to go to some facility. I know she would prefer to die at home.
My mother asked Sibling One to phone me, which I took as a good sign. I'm glad she even remembered I exist, especially since, according to S1, she referred to my brother as "Chicken Salad" today. She told the hospice nurse that my father's name is Omar.
It's Andrew.
I'm going back there tomorrow and will spend the night, as usual, on my father's couch. He has already informed me that I am not allowed to watch Saturday Night Live, which is fine because it was pitiful last week. I fell asleep and left the TV on all night, so he's penalizing me.
I think hospice is scheduled to start on Monday. I'm glad Mom will get care at home, rather than have to go to some facility. I know she would prefer to die at home.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
A Cute Baby is a Distraction
I watched Sibling One's new baby while she, my father, and Sibling Two took my mother up to Columbia Presbyterian for the second opinion. This doctor confirmed what the other said on Monday. Mom has three to six months. We're looking into Hospice.
B happened to be in Manhattan and leaving as I was, so we stopped into Parnell's for dinner before driving home. I had fish and chips. He had bangers and mash, which he allowed me to taste. The bangers were the real thing. Guess what I'm ordering the next time we go there?
Law & Order is on as I write. The episode is a fictionalization of the Bill O'Reilly sexual harrassment scandal of a few months back.
Time for a glass of Cabernet. It's been a day.
B happened to be in Manhattan and leaving as I was, so we stopped into Parnell's for dinner before driving home. I had fish and chips. He had bangers and mash, which he allowed me to taste. The bangers were the real thing. Guess what I'm ordering the next time we go there?
Law & Order is on as I write. The episode is a fictionalization of the Bill O'Reilly sexual harrassment scandal of a few months back.
Time for a glass of Cabernet. It's been a day.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
But the Doctor Said She'd Walk Again in Two Months!
My mother's neuro-oncologist revised his proclamation of two weeks ago. My mother will not walk again. He gives her three to six months to live. She is no longer eligible for any clinical trials.
Here is the transcript of my conversation with her from this morning:
"Hi, Mom."
"Hi, Terry."
"How are you feeling?"
"Very well."
"I heard you went to the doctor yesterday. How did that go?"
"Very well."
"How's the doctor?"
"He's happy."
"What did you have for breakfast today?"
"Oh, I'm glad. That's great news. Oh, good."
"What did you have for breakfast today?"
"Corn flakes."
"I love you, Mom."
"I know you do. I know that, Terry. I love you, too."
Here is the transcript of my conversation with her from this morning:
"Hi, Mom."
"Hi, Terry."
"How are you feeling?"
"Very well."
"I heard you went to the doctor yesterday. How did that go?"
"Very well."
"How's the doctor?"
"He's happy."
"What did you have for breakfast today?"
"Oh, I'm glad. That's great news. Oh, good."
"What did you have for breakfast today?"
"Corn flakes."
"I love you, Mom."
"I know you do. I know that, Terry. I love you, too."
Monday, February 07, 2005
Valentine's Day Sucks
It's not what you expect to hear from the author of "How to Attract and Marry the Man of Your Dreams," but Valentine's Day does truly suck. It's a Hallmark holiday. That's it.
And I'm so bad at it. I usually forget to buy Peter a card until the very last minute, and then I'm stuck choosing from what's left, usually something from the Born Again Christian or Horny Toad categories. I'm just not into it.
Don't ask me to go out to eat on Valentine's Day, either. What a freaking scam. Our favorite restaurants used to abbreviate their menus, so I couldn't even get what I wanted. Then they'd throw dinner at me and take the freaking plate before I even finished. The last time we went out to dinner on Valentine's Day was in 1991.
My favorite V.D. (if you'll excuse the abbreviation) was the year Peter and I made English muffin pizzas before heading to Tower Records to use the gift certificates Sibling Three gave us for Christmas. Then we bought a Nordic Track, which I still use. I found out I was pregnant with our first child four days later.
What I hate most about Valentine's Day is that it makes single people feel bad about being single. But they shouldn't feel so bad. My feeling is, if people need a holiday to express their feelings for one another, they can't be in much of a relationship.
And I'm so bad at it. I usually forget to buy Peter a card until the very last minute, and then I'm stuck choosing from what's left, usually something from the Born Again Christian or Horny Toad categories. I'm just not into it.
Don't ask me to go out to eat on Valentine's Day, either. What a freaking scam. Our favorite restaurants used to abbreviate their menus, so I couldn't even get what I wanted. Then they'd throw dinner at me and take the freaking plate before I even finished. The last time we went out to dinner on Valentine's Day was in 1991.
My favorite V.D. (if you'll excuse the abbreviation) was the year Peter and I made English muffin pizzas before heading to Tower Records to use the gift certificates Sibling Three gave us for Christmas. Then we bought a Nordic Track, which I still use. I found out I was pregnant with our first child four days later.
What I hate most about Valentine's Day is that it makes single people feel bad about being single. But they shouldn't feel so bad. My feeling is, if people need a holiday to express their feelings for one another, they can't be in much of a relationship.
Thursday, February 03, 2005
You Could Be Better Off Single
After a day in Manhattan caring for Mom and Sibling One's new baby, I had no intention of watching George W. Bush's State of the Union address. The guy lies like a rug. He's trying to push the panic button on Social Security, which was in fine shape until he took office and saddled us with a heart-stopping deficit. Who the hell does he think he's kidding?
And gay marriage? Anybody who is so consumed by what other people do in their bedrooms is a freaking pervert. And anybody else who determines the sexual orientation of cartoon characters needs mental help.
But enough of that. It's depressing.
My new nephew is almost a month old and smoothing out. No more of that scrunched-up newborn look. He's fascinating. He's not the most amiable infant, spends most of the day demanding something or other, but that doesn't make me love him any less. Besides, I get to say goodbye to him at the end of the day and go home to my eight- and ten-year-old.
I typed in some more changes to my novel today. It's coming along. I feel better for having done it.
On Today yesterday, they interviewed two guys who wrote a book telling women how to get guys to commit. I missed the interview, but here's my feeling: If you have to "get" a guy to marry you, you're going to have to "get" him to do stuff for the rest of your life. Who the hell needs it?
Toss the squid and move on.
And gay marriage? Anybody who is so consumed by what other people do in their bedrooms is a freaking pervert. And anybody else who determines the sexual orientation of cartoon characters needs mental help.
But enough of that. It's depressing.
My new nephew is almost a month old and smoothing out. No more of that scrunched-up newborn look. He's fascinating. He's not the most amiable infant, spends most of the day demanding something or other, but that doesn't make me love him any less. Besides, I get to say goodbye to him at the end of the day and go home to my eight- and ten-year-old.
I typed in some more changes to my novel today. It's coming along. I feel better for having done it.
On Today yesterday, they interviewed two guys who wrote a book telling women how to get guys to commit. I missed the interview, but here's my feeling: If you have to "get" a guy to marry you, you're going to have to "get" him to do stuff for the rest of your life. Who the hell needs it?
Toss the squid and move on.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
A Really Bad Idea for Single Women
Debra Messing appeared on Today yesterday to discuss her new movie, The Wedding Date, in which her character hires an escort to attend a wedding with her. Debra thinks men-for-rent would work for real-life single women, as well.
Sorry, Deb, but that is the stupidest idea I've ever heard! If you're single and interested in getting married, a wedding invitation is a wonderful opportunity to meet new people. I know at least one woman who met her husband because she was seated next to him at a reception. You don't want some fake boyfriend blowing your chances to attract a real one!
Hiring an escort to attend social events implies that there's something wrong about being single. Let's get over it. A party without single women is like a glass of Champagne without bubbles.
The only way anyone enjoys success in love (or in anything else, for that matter) is to feel good about herself. Paying someone to pose as a date means she doesn't.
Check out my website http://www.marrysmart.com.
Sorry, Deb, but that is the stupidest idea I've ever heard! If you're single and interested in getting married, a wedding invitation is a wonderful opportunity to meet new people. I know at least one woman who met her husband because she was seated next to him at a reception. You don't want some fake boyfriend blowing your chances to attract a real one!
Hiring an escort to attend social events implies that there's something wrong about being single. Let's get over it. A party without single women is like a glass of Champagne without bubbles.
The only way anyone enjoys success in love (or in anything else, for that matter) is to feel good about herself. Paying someone to pose as a date means she doesn't.
Check out my website http://www.marrysmart.com.
Monday, January 31, 2005
I Am Not Padre Pio
I called my parents' house this afternoon to see how Mom is doing, and spoke to Sibling Two, who asked if I could sleep over there Wednesday night to help my father out. As much as I would like to (and I would like to; God only knows how much time we have left with my mother), she forgets that I have two children to put on the bus in the morning.
I wish she hadn't asked because it just tears me in two. I cannot bilocate.
I put the girls to bed early tonight. I have to meet Child Two's teacher for a conference at 8:15 tomorrow morning, and I can't have them crawling out of bed at 8:20 as they usually do.
On a happy note, I finished revising the novel. Now I just have to type in the changes, which for me, is the hardest part. I'm not the most coordinated person; hence, I'm a rotten typist.
I wish she hadn't asked because it just tears me in two. I cannot bilocate.
I put the girls to bed early tonight. I have to meet Child Two's teacher for a conference at 8:15 tomorrow morning, and I can't have them crawling out of bed at 8:20 as they usually do.
On a happy note, I finished revising the novel. Now I just have to type in the changes, which for me, is the hardest part. I'm not the most coordinated person; hence, I'm a rotten typist.
My Mother is Not a Science Experiment
Last week, before he announced that my mother has something called Frontal Lobe Syndrome, Dr. P. (that's what we'll call him to avoid a lawsuit, although I assure you, the P. stands for something), said that, with physical therapy, she'd walk again in two months.
He has since revised that prognosis, saying soon she'll look at her feet and not know what to do with them. He says she is still eligible for clinical trials, though. Her internist advised us to keep her comfortable and love her. She didn't actually say that Dr. P. intends to use my mother as a research subject, but that's the vibe we're getting.
I spent the weekend on my parents' couch. My mother spends most of the day in bed sleeping. She responds better to questions that require 'yes' or 'no' answers. If you give her a choice between Cheerios or Corn Flakes for breakfast, she looks at you as if you were asking her to decide whether Scott Peterson deserved the death penalty.
I look at this time as a gift. If she is indeed dying, then we have the opportunity to love her and take care of her. She is not in pain. This isn't, by any means, an easy situation, but it it is better than getting a call from a stranger that she dropped dead of a heart attack.
I am going back on Wednesday to take care of her while Dad and Siblings One and Two keep their appointment with Dr. P.
He has since revised that prognosis, saying soon she'll look at her feet and not know what to do with them. He says she is still eligible for clinical trials, though. Her internist advised us to keep her comfortable and love her. She didn't actually say that Dr. P. intends to use my mother as a research subject, but that's the vibe we're getting.
I spent the weekend on my parents' couch. My mother spends most of the day in bed sleeping. She responds better to questions that require 'yes' or 'no' answers. If you give her a choice between Cheerios or Corn Flakes for breakfast, she looks at you as if you were asking her to decide whether Scott Peterson deserved the death penalty.
I look at this time as a gift. If she is indeed dying, then we have the opportunity to love her and take care of her. She is not in pain. This isn't, by any means, an easy situation, but it it is better than getting a call from a stranger that she dropped dead of a heart attack.
I am going back on Wednesday to take care of her while Dad and Siblings One and Two keep their appointment with Dr. P.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Photos to Break a Human Heart
In the supermarket this morning, my eyes fell upon the latest issue of Star magazine (which I did not sully my hands with, by the way). The sub-head read, "PHOTOS THAT WILL BREAK JEN'S HEART!"
The subject, of course, was Jennifer Aniston, who we all know has recently separated from Brad Pitt. The cover promised to provide lots of juicy photos of Brad and Angelina Jolie, with whom he is rumored to have had an affair.
What is freaking editor-in-chief Bonnie Fuller smoking?
Clearly, she shares a link on the food chain with slugs, roaches, rats, and other undesirables. How depraved is she to publish photos with the intention of breaking another person's heart?
Taking pleasure in other people's pain is revolting.
The subject, of course, was Jennifer Aniston, who we all know has recently separated from Brad Pitt. The cover promised to provide lots of juicy photos of Brad and Angelina Jolie, with whom he is rumored to have had an affair.
What is freaking editor-in-chief Bonnie Fuller smoking?
Clearly, she shares a link on the food chain with slugs, roaches, rats, and other undesirables. How depraved is she to publish photos with the intention of breaking another person's heart?
Taking pleasure in other people's pain is revolting.
Frontal Lobe Syndrome
Just got word that Mom has something called frontal lobe syndrome. I haven't seen her since Friday, when we were chuckling away over The Daily Show. According to reports, she's disoriented now, doesn't know what to do with her legs, and that sort of thing. Sibling One says Daddy is beside himself.
Mom will be discharged this afternoon. Sibling One is arranging for a hospital bed to be put in her apartment and for four hours of home care every day. The doctor has been telling Dad that he can no longer care for Mom.
But he's not getting it. He's not the most adaptable person, and these are stressful times to say the least. He thinks if he keeps on as usual, going to the bank, the library, and the post office, things will return to normal.
The doctor says that things are not going to return to normal.
Mom will be discharged this afternoon. Sibling One is arranging for a hospital bed to be put in her apartment and for four hours of home care every day. The doctor has been telling Dad that he can no longer care for Mom.
But he's not getting it. He's not the most adaptable person, and these are stressful times to say the least. He thinks if he keeps on as usual, going to the bank, the library, and the post office, things will return to normal.
The doctor says that things are not going to return to normal.
It Needs to Be Said
"'C'est Grand!'" say the historians, and good and evil cease to exist, there is only grand and pas grand. Grand is good and pas grand is bad. Grand, according to their understanding, is the characteristic of certain peculiar animals they call "heroes." And Napoleon making off for home in a warm fur coat and leaving to perish not only his comrades but men who (according to his belief) had been brought there by him, feels that this is grand, and his soul is untroubled...And it never occurs to anyone that to admit a greatness that is not commensurate with the standard of right and wrong is merely to admit one's own nothingness and immeasurable puniness...For us, with the standard of good and evil given us by Christ, there is nothing for which we have no standard. And there is no greatness where there is not simplicity, goodness, and truth." -Leo Tolstoy
I've been sitting on this since Thursday.
How loathesome our president, George W. Bush, is for soliciting donations from corporations to fund his over-the-top inaugural celebration! He should have skipped the festivities during a time of war and provided our troops with adequate protection.
This war was waged on a series of bald-faced lies. While Americans and Iraqis are blown to bits, our president and his greedy family concern themselves only with dressing up and dancing.
I've been sitting on this since Thursday.
How loathesome our president, George W. Bush, is for soliciting donations from corporations to fund his over-the-top inaugural celebration! He should have skipped the festivities during a time of war and provided our troops with adequate protection.
This war was waged on a series of bald-faced lies. While Americans and Iraqis are blown to bits, our president and his greedy family concern themselves only with dressing up and dancing.
Monday, January 24, 2005
Reasons to Be Cheerful
Things I am happy about today:
1) The pot of chili simmering on the stove
2) My amazing husband is on his way home
3) I wrote and sent my singles' ezine this morning
4) I revised some of my novel
5) My new nephew has gorgeous little pink feet that I dream of squeezing
6) My mother is getting good care at Sloan-Kettering and is in no pain
7) That new show, Medium, is on tonight
8) I have a half bottle of Cabernet on the kitchen counter
My children are downstairs playing air hockey instead of doing their homework, as I instructed. The older one lives for TV, so she can just forget it. The younger one lives to download coloring pages from the Internet. Guess she's out of luck, too.
So, that's one more thing to be happy about. I'll send them to their rooms after dinner, and Peter and I can enjoy the evening on our own.
Simple, huh?
1) The pot of chili simmering on the stove
2) My amazing husband is on his way home
3) I wrote and sent my singles' ezine this morning
4) I revised some of my novel
5) My new nephew has gorgeous little pink feet that I dream of squeezing
6) My mother is getting good care at Sloan-Kettering and is in no pain
7) That new show, Medium, is on tonight
8) I have a half bottle of Cabernet on the kitchen counter
My children are downstairs playing air hockey instead of doing their homework, as I instructed. The older one lives for TV, so she can just forget it. The younger one lives to download coloring pages from the Internet. Guess she's out of luck, too.
So, that's one more thing to be happy about. I'll send them to their rooms after dinner, and Peter and I can enjoy the evening on our own.
Simple, huh?
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Cream Your Neck
If you live in the Northeast and you plan to go outside, be sure to apply moisturizer. In layers! Better yet, slip a little olive oil into it first.
Instead of hardier stuff, I merely applied my usual thin SPF yesterday. Arctic winds slapped the hell out of me during a mere four-block walk from Sloan-Kettering to the subway.
A look in the mirror later on revealed that I had turned into Clint Eastwood.
Instead of hardier stuff, I merely applied my usual thin SPF yesterday. Arctic winds slapped the hell out of me during a mere four-block walk from Sloan-Kettering to the subway.
A look in the mirror later on revealed that I had turned into Clint Eastwood.
Donald Trump is Off the Market
We all know what Melania's wedding dress looks like. I wonder what Donald did with his hair.
I spent Thursday night at Sloan-Kettering with Mom. Turns out that it's the steroids and the last round of chemo that crippled her. An MRI revealed that the tumor hasn't grown much, thank God. This is significant because she has a glioblastoma, the most aggressive type of brain tumor.
With rigorous physical therapy, the doctor expects Mom will be able to walk again in two months. She is also eligible to take part in one of two clinical trials that start in the next couple of weeks.
Watched the inauguration re-cap on The Daily Show. Jon Stewart counted the word 'freedom' 21 times in Bush's speech, and 'liberty' 15 times. Talk about belaboring the point.
I looked forward to seeing the Bush twins in Badgely-Mischka, but I was disappointed. The poor girls have no poise. They diminished the dresses.
The gorgeous white coat Laura wore for the swearing in was the fashion highlight of the day, but her evening dress disappointed me. Perhaps the dress wasn't to blame.
The thing I took away from the inauguration is this: Despite the money and power, the Bushes are not elegant people.
I spent Thursday night at Sloan-Kettering with Mom. Turns out that it's the steroids and the last round of chemo that crippled her. An MRI revealed that the tumor hasn't grown much, thank God. This is significant because she has a glioblastoma, the most aggressive type of brain tumor.
With rigorous physical therapy, the doctor expects Mom will be able to walk again in two months. She is also eligible to take part in one of two clinical trials that start in the next couple of weeks.
Watched the inauguration re-cap on The Daily Show. Jon Stewart counted the word 'freedom' 21 times in Bush's speech, and 'liberty' 15 times. Talk about belaboring the point.
I looked forward to seeing the Bush twins in Badgely-Mischka, but I was disappointed. The poor girls have no poise. They diminished the dresses.
The gorgeous white coat Laura wore for the swearing in was the fashion highlight of the day, but her evening dress disappointed me. Perhaps the dress wasn't to blame.
The thing I took away from the inauguration is this: Despite the money and power, the Bushes are not elegant people.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
I Wouldn't Marry Mr. Trump
Well, the big event this week is not the inauguration but Donald Trump's third wedding. Already Donald and his betrothed, Melania, have made separate pre-nuptial appearances on The Today Show. Melania will grace the cover of Vogue in her 100K wedding dress.
Now, I don't think I'd want to marry Donald, despite all his money and lavish possessions of questionable taste. He's been married twice before, and then there's the matter of that hair. I just cannot imagine waking and finding that hair on the next pillow every morning.
Can you imagine sex with Donald Trump? Where does the hair go? Does it flop off to one side of his head while he's heaving and wheezing? Does his face get red and scrunch up? Does he wear a girdle?
I feel sorry for Melania, having to wander about all day in high heels and low-cut dresses. Does the woman not own a pair of jeans? It must be murder living as though life is one big photo shoot. Which brings me to another thing: Donald always marries former models. Can't he date an average-looking woman with a ferocious sense of humor? Wouldn't life be so much more fun?
Because Melania, as attractive as she is, doesn't seem to have a sense of humor.
Now, in Donald's defense, he uses union contractors to build the massive phallic symbols that bear his name. I admire that, especially in this age of job export and Wal-Martism. I also heard a story that his limousine was stuck on a road with a flat tire once. A guy came along, not knowing who was behind the tinted windows, and fixed it. Trump asked his driver to get the guy's name and address, ostensibly so that he could send his wife flowers.
The guy and his wife got a letter instead. Trump had paid off their mortgage in full.
So, this weekend, I'll wish him well. And Melania, too.
Now, I don't think I'd want to marry Donald, despite all his money and lavish possessions of questionable taste. He's been married twice before, and then there's the matter of that hair. I just cannot imagine waking and finding that hair on the next pillow every morning.
Can you imagine sex with Donald Trump? Where does the hair go? Does it flop off to one side of his head while he's heaving and wheezing? Does his face get red and scrunch up? Does he wear a girdle?
I feel sorry for Melania, having to wander about all day in high heels and low-cut dresses. Does the woman not own a pair of jeans? It must be murder living as though life is one big photo shoot. Which brings me to another thing: Donald always marries former models. Can't he date an average-looking woman with a ferocious sense of humor? Wouldn't life be so much more fun?
Because Melania, as attractive as she is, doesn't seem to have a sense of humor.
Now, in Donald's defense, he uses union contractors to build the massive phallic symbols that bear his name. I admire that, especially in this age of job export and Wal-Martism. I also heard a story that his limousine was stuck on a road with a flat tire once. A guy came along, not knowing who was behind the tinted windows, and fixed it. Trump asked his driver to get the guy's name and address, ostensibly so that he could send his wife flowers.
The guy and his wife got a letter instead. Trump had paid off their mortgage in full.
So, this weekend, I'll wish him well. And Melania, too.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Love, Dating, and Maureen Dowd
Last Thursday the amazing Maureen Dowd ran a column about the lack of powerful, successful men willing to date powerful, successful women. I happen to like Maureen Dowd's columns so much that I think she should never be allowed to take a vacation.
Unfortunately, I don't agree with her on the subject of men. According to Ms. Dowd, powerful men desire only women who will peel their grapes. She says that they do not want women who challenge them.
I have counted three such columns by the beautiful, witty columnist who remains single despite her wit and beauty.
I maintain that the world is full of successful and powerful men who would love to date a woman like her. By definition, a powerful man would not be intimidated, or even challenged, by a powerful woman. He would rejoice in her presence.
I think Maureen Dowd is exposed to men who are caught up in the trappings of power. They may make a lot of money and drive expensive cars. They may edit newspapers or run networks or hold Senate seats. But they're not the kind of men who know how to be happy, or how to make a woman happy. They're not truly powerful.
There are plenty of men out there who are.
Unfortunately, I don't agree with her on the subject of men. According to Ms. Dowd, powerful men desire only women who will peel their grapes. She says that they do not want women who challenge them.
I have counted three such columns by the beautiful, witty columnist who remains single despite her wit and beauty.
I maintain that the world is full of successful and powerful men who would love to date a woman like her. By definition, a powerful man would not be intimidated, or even challenged, by a powerful woman. He would rejoice in her presence.
I think Maureen Dowd is exposed to men who are caught up in the trappings of power. They may make a lot of money and drive expensive cars. They may edit newspapers or run networks or hold Senate seats. But they're not the kind of men who know how to be happy, or how to make a woman happy. They're not truly powerful.
There are plenty of men out there who are.
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