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.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
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.
Friday, January 14, 2005
I'm Not Your Mom
One thing I can't stand is grown men calling me 'Mom.' As a matter of fact, I don't like anyone besides my children calling me 'Mom.'
The name is 'Terry.'
Today I took Child Two to the pediatrician, who came up to the receptionist's desk. He saw me standing there and said to her, "I need you for a second, but I'll wait until you finish with Mom."
Aaaaaaarrrrgggggggggghh!
Why do women cease to be women--persons in their own right--once they've given birth?
Call me 'Terry,' call me 'that broad,' but do not ever call me 'Mom!'
The name is 'Terry.'
Today I took Child Two to the pediatrician, who came up to the receptionist's desk. He saw me standing there and said to her, "I need you for a second, but I'll wait until you finish with Mom."
Aaaaaaarrrrgggggggggghh!
Why do women cease to be women--persons in their own right--once they've given birth?
Call me 'Terry,' call me 'that broad,' but do not ever call me 'Mom!'
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Single and Dating?
It occurs to me that perhaps I should start a separate blog about dating and the single life.
God knows I have enough opinions about them, and perhaps this little journal about my ailing mother, hyperactive offspring, and newborn nephew doesn't thrill readers who come here looking for insight into their love lives.
In the meantime, I do offer some advice on my website. Check out http://www.marrysmart.com if you're so inclined.
God knows I have enough opinions about them, and perhaps this little journal about my ailing mother, hyperactive offspring, and newborn nephew doesn't thrill readers who come here looking for insight into their love lives.
In the meantime, I do offer some advice on my website. Check out http://www.marrysmart.com if you're so inclined.
Don't Date This Guy
I read a scary article in today's Connecticut Post (http://www.ctpost.com). I can't give you the exact link because I searched the site didn't find one (you may have better luck; the writer's name is Mike Wood, and the headline reads Ready to go on that first date? Here are some helpful hints. )
Aimed primarily at guys, the article states:
"You want to appear comfortable, confident and in control, which is why, no matter what, you will not let her make the plans. They'd be something like, 'My friend is throwing a party and said we should stop by, or 'Some people I used to work with are getting together if you want to meet up with them.' "
Yikes!
I don't know about you, but I would never date a guy who didn't ask me what I wanted to do. While I definitely wouldn't want to sit around, going, "What do you want to do?"all night, he should ask my opinion. The guy should have a couple of ideas and let me take it from there.
And, by the way, what woman suggests going to a friend's party or meeting up with friends from work on a first date? Nobody does that!
Beware, Girls. If you date a guy like Mike, you may end up married to a guy like Mike.
Aimed primarily at guys, the article states:
"You want to appear comfortable, confident and in control, which is why, no matter what, you will not let her make the plans. They'd be something like, 'My friend is throwing a party and said we should stop by, or 'Some people I used to work with are getting together if you want to meet up with them.' "
Yikes!
I don't know about you, but I would never date a guy who didn't ask me what I wanted to do. While I definitely wouldn't want to sit around, going, "What do you want to do?"all night, he should ask my opinion. The guy should have a couple of ideas and let me take it from there.
And, by the way, what woman suggests going to a friend's party or meeting up with friends from work on a first date? Nobody does that!
Beware, Girls. If you date a guy like Mike, you may end up married to a guy like Mike.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Hands Off!
Does anybody really think it's a good idea to let W. fool with Social Security? I mean, everything the guy touches falls apart. And is it in the best possible taste to throw the most lavish inaugural in US history when Americans are dying in Iraq?
Just wondering.
Anyway, I revised a few more pages today. Ran into a couple of snags, as some of the pages need muscle. I also mixed up a few details, i.e., does the dude drive an SUV or a minivan? He says he's buying an Excursion but ends up with a Hummer. Must also find out if Hummers were actually on the market when the story is set. Pretty sure they were, though.
Talked to Sibling One today, who's still overwhelmed by her new status as a parent. Everybody assumes motherhood comes naturally, but it doesn't. It's like being pushed onto a concert stage and being expected to play a concerto, when you never had a piano lesson.
The baby has to go to the doctor again tomorrow because he failed his hearing test on his left side. It's possible he still has some amniotic fluid in his ear. I hope that's all it is.
Sibling says that Mom, who she sees almost daily because they live so close to one another, is failing. She says that Mom is getting irrascible, which isn't like her. But she hasn't been treated for that brain tumor in two months, so God only knows how big it's gotten and what it's sitting on.
I should exercise tonight, but I'm still tired from this stupid flu. I did manage to hop on the Nordic Track for a half hour last night.
If I'm 100% better, I can go to New York and see my mother and the baby this weekend. I don't want to push it.
Just wondering.
Anyway, I revised a few more pages today. Ran into a couple of snags, as some of the pages need muscle. I also mixed up a few details, i.e., does the dude drive an SUV or a minivan? He says he's buying an Excursion but ends up with a Hummer. Must also find out if Hummers were actually on the market when the story is set. Pretty sure they were, though.
Talked to Sibling One today, who's still overwhelmed by her new status as a parent. Everybody assumes motherhood comes naturally, but it doesn't. It's like being pushed onto a concert stage and being expected to play a concerto, when you never had a piano lesson.
The baby has to go to the doctor again tomorrow because he failed his hearing test on his left side. It's possible he still has some amniotic fluid in his ear. I hope that's all it is.
Sibling says that Mom, who she sees almost daily because they live so close to one another, is failing. She says that Mom is getting irrascible, which isn't like her. But she hasn't been treated for that brain tumor in two months, so God only knows how big it's gotten and what it's sitting on.
I should exercise tonight, but I'm still tired from this stupid flu. I did manage to hop on the Nordic Track for a half hour last night.
If I'm 100% better, I can go to New York and see my mother and the baby this weekend. I don't want to push it.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
What's New, Pussycat?
Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!
That freaking song is rattling around my skull like a pneumatic drill. With all the TV I've taken in lately, I've been besieged by a Special K commercial with a Tom Jones soundtrack.
And it hurts.
I went to the post office this morning to send off a few thank-you notes for Christmas presents before people talk behind my back. Then I came home and flopped back on the couch. I'm good for a couple of hours, but then I need a nap. What a flu!
I did manage to revise 20 more pages of the novel, although the goal for the day is 50. Maybe I should get back to it before the offspring arrive home and all hell breaks loose.
It's snowing madly out there. I'm praying school doesn't call a snow day tomorrow. The girls will be off on Monday for Martin Luther King Day, and that's enough.
While the media try to make sense of the Jennifer and Brad breakup, people are dying in mudslides in California. Disingenuously, Us editor Janice Min explained her purchase of candid photos of the couple prior to the separation announcement: "Well, photographers are always around, so we were able to get pictures."
No, Janice. The photographers are always around because you buy pictures. Don't blame the hooker. Blame the john.
That freaking song is rattling around my skull like a pneumatic drill. With all the TV I've taken in lately, I've been besieged by a Special K commercial with a Tom Jones soundtrack.
And it hurts.
I went to the post office this morning to send off a few thank-you notes for Christmas presents before people talk behind my back. Then I came home and flopped back on the couch. I'm good for a couple of hours, but then I need a nap. What a flu!
I did manage to revise 20 more pages of the novel, although the goal for the day is 50. Maybe I should get back to it before the offspring arrive home and all hell breaks loose.
It's snowing madly out there. I'm praying school doesn't call a snow day tomorrow. The girls will be off on Monday for Martin Luther King Day, and that's enough.
While the media try to make sense of the Jennifer and Brad breakup, people are dying in mudslides in California. Disingenuously, Us editor Janice Min explained her purchase of candid photos of the couple prior to the separation announcement: "Well, photographers are always around, so we were able to get pictures."
No, Janice. The photographers are always around because you buy pictures. Don't blame the hooker. Blame the john.
Monday, January 10, 2005
Back in the High Life
Or so I thought.
This morning, I broke out of the house for the first time in 2005 and hit Stop & Shop. Oh, boy! After I got home and put the groceries away, the phone rang. It was N, an old friend from Flushing I haven't spoken to in two years. I talked to her for an hour and filled her in on Mom and Sibling One's new baby.
I hung up and fell asleep on the couch for three hours.
I guess it will take me a few days to recuperate fully. I hope to be better this weekend because I really want to see that little baby. As it is now, I call Mom and ask her to tell me what he's wearing. Yesterday, she said he had on one of those nightshirts with the drawstring at the bottom.
I can picture it! Child One was a bald baby, and when she wore nightshirts, Peter's friends commented that she was the spitting image of Uncle Fester.
B's daughter was in a car accident on Friday night. She and three other friends were in a car driven by some hoople who was playing games, speeding and deliberately zig-zagging on a slippery road. B's daughter has a 5 cm gash in her pretty face that will require extensive plastic surgery. Hoople's mother called B's wife to say that they should all look at the accident as a 'life lesson.'
B and his wife will be hiring an attorney.
On the way home from Stop & Shop, I was doing 30 on a 25 mph road, and still I had this monstrous SUV on my tail with a front grill designed to intimidate. You have to wonder what kind of loser buys a vehicle with a grill like that.
Anyway, when the road split into two lanes, he nailed the gas and raged past me. I imagine it made him feel better about himself.
This morning, I broke out of the house for the first time in 2005 and hit Stop & Shop. Oh, boy! After I got home and put the groceries away, the phone rang. It was N, an old friend from Flushing I haven't spoken to in two years. I talked to her for an hour and filled her in on Mom and Sibling One's new baby.
I hung up and fell asleep on the couch for three hours.
I guess it will take me a few days to recuperate fully. I hope to be better this weekend because I really want to see that little baby. As it is now, I call Mom and ask her to tell me what he's wearing. Yesterday, she said he had on one of those nightshirts with the drawstring at the bottom.
I can picture it! Child One was a bald baby, and when she wore nightshirts, Peter's friends commented that she was the spitting image of Uncle Fester.
B's daughter was in a car accident on Friday night. She and three other friends were in a car driven by some hoople who was playing games, speeding and deliberately zig-zagging on a slippery road. B's daughter has a 5 cm gash in her pretty face that will require extensive plastic surgery. Hoople's mother called B's wife to say that they should all look at the accident as a 'life lesson.'
B and his wife will be hiring an attorney.
On the way home from Stop & Shop, I was doing 30 on a 25 mph road, and still I had this monstrous SUV on my tail with a front grill designed to intimidate. You have to wonder what kind of loser buys a vehicle with a grill like that.
Anyway, when the road split into two lanes, he nailed the gas and raged past me. I imagine it made him feel better about himself.
Sunday, January 09, 2005
Felled Not By a Cold But By the Flu
I spent most of the last four days on my back. My rump is killing me. I can feel my muscles flattening by the second. A couple of days ago, I got off the couch and did a few squats, in an effort to prevent myself from going completely to seed.
And then I fell back on the couch.
I feel like a bug in a mayonnaise jar. My sister had her baby on Thursday (I think; I've lost all track of time), and I haven't been able to see him. Due to a sick husband (who gave this thing to me, thank you very much) and two sick children, I haven't been out of the house since 2004.
I have watched so much television I am about to sprout antenna. I am an expert on just about everything, from the end of Jen and Brad's marriage (very sorry about that) to the inner workings of Amber Frey's mind from every day from December 2002 to the present. I cried my eyes out with John Travolta and Joachim Phoenix when Oprah eulogized Mattie Stepanek.
I tried to play along with Jeopardy, but I kept answering questions in the "F-Words" category with words that start with "O." Peter said he knew it was getting bad when I waved back to the staff in a commercial for a local jewelry store.
The offspring are up and watching infomercials. Child One, in particular, gets all fired up by infomercials for cooking implements. She's addicted to cooking shows. She sat through Paula's Home Cooking with special guest President Jimmy Carter at least twice.
I must get something to eat. Robitussin on an empty stomach was really not such a good idea.
And then I fell back on the couch.
I feel like a bug in a mayonnaise jar. My sister had her baby on Thursday (I think; I've lost all track of time), and I haven't been able to see him. Due to a sick husband (who gave this thing to me, thank you very much) and two sick children, I haven't been out of the house since 2004.
I have watched so much television I am about to sprout antenna. I am an expert on just about everything, from the end of Jen and Brad's marriage (very sorry about that) to the inner workings of Amber Frey's mind from every day from December 2002 to the present. I cried my eyes out with John Travolta and Joachim Phoenix when Oprah eulogized Mattie Stepanek.
I tried to play along with Jeopardy, but I kept answering questions in the "F-Words" category with words that start with "O." Peter said he knew it was getting bad when I waved back to the staff in a commercial for a local jewelry store.
The offspring are up and watching infomercials. Child One, in particular, gets all fired up by infomercials for cooking implements. She's addicted to cooking shows. She sat through Paula's Home Cooking with special guest President Jimmy Carter at least twice.
I must get something to eat. Robitussin on an empty stomach was really not such a good idea.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
In Case You're Up...
My last radio show will air tomorrow (Friday) morning at 4am ET. The guest is psychic Sonia Choquette, who I just love, love, love.
She's completely normal and down-to-earth, rather than the type of individual who sits in a window under a turban. She'll offer lots of cool tips on how to cultivate and use your own six sense. Tune in at http://healthylife.net
After several heartbreaking miscarriages, the last of which occurred the day after Christmas last year, Sibling One gave birth to her first child at 10:19 this morning. I think the kid's name is Michael. He weighs eight pounds and one ounce. Nobody has mentioned if he has any hair.
She's completely normal and down-to-earth, rather than the type of individual who sits in a window under a turban. She'll offer lots of cool tips on how to cultivate and use your own six sense. Tune in at http://healthylife.net
After several heartbreaking miscarriages, the last of which occurred the day after Christmas last year, Sibling One gave birth to her first child at 10:19 this morning. I think the kid's name is Michael. He weighs eight pounds and one ounce. Nobody has mentioned if he has any hair.
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
Felled by a Cold!
Well!
Child Two returned to school today but not before infecting me. I've been taking Cold-Eez 'round the clock, which usually works, but my nose has started running and my throat hurts. But perhaps I can fend off the worst of it.
Peter is on his way back from the supermarket, where he bought sandwich fixings and soup for dinner. It's increasingly difficult to find commercially-prepared soup without MSG or partially hydrogenated oils in them.
In case you don't know, partially hydrogenated oils will kill you. They fill your arteries like spackle, and they're in every processed food known to man, especially the things you feed your children.
Ever see the "Choosy Mothers Choose Jif" commercial?
I hate that commercial. First of all, it's presumptuous. Furthermore, Jif contains partially hydrogenated oil! Does that company want my offspring to drop dead in gym class, or do they own stock in heart medication?
I choose not to feed my children Jif.
Well, I've turned my back and the little critters have completely wrecked the family room. Again! Peter has come up the basement stairs and seen the mess. He's not happy, and I can't blame him.
Tell me. Will copious quantities of Cabernet wipe out my cold?
Hey, did you catch Jon Stewart's riff on Star Reynold's assertion that God blessed her because the tsunami hit exactly a month after she visited one of the affected areas on her honeymoon?
Jon said it must have been an oversight.
Child Two returned to school today but not before infecting me. I've been taking Cold-Eez 'round the clock, which usually works, but my nose has started running and my throat hurts. But perhaps I can fend off the worst of it.
Peter is on his way back from the supermarket, where he bought sandwich fixings and soup for dinner. It's increasingly difficult to find commercially-prepared soup without MSG or partially hydrogenated oils in them.
In case you don't know, partially hydrogenated oils will kill you. They fill your arteries like spackle, and they're in every processed food known to man, especially the things you feed your children.
Ever see the "Choosy Mothers Choose Jif" commercial?
I hate that commercial. First of all, it's presumptuous. Furthermore, Jif contains partially hydrogenated oil! Does that company want my offspring to drop dead in gym class, or do they own stock in heart medication?
I choose not to feed my children Jif.
Well, I've turned my back and the little critters have completely wrecked the family room. Again! Peter has come up the basement stairs and seen the mess. He's not happy, and I can't blame him.
Tell me. Will copious quantities of Cabernet wipe out my cold?
Hey, did you catch Jon Stewart's riff on Star Reynold's assertion that God blessed her because the tsunami hit exactly a month after she visited one of the affected areas on her honeymoon?
Jon said it must have been an oversight.
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
Entertainment for the Whole Family!
I've been stuck at home with a sick kid (who had a miraculous recovery today; she was back to walking along the back of the couch and doing cartwheels), so I haven't been to the supermarket. It's pizza tonight.
I could eat pizza every day of the year.
Being confined for two days has given me ample time to revise my novel and to watch insipid daytime television. I caught both The View and All My Children today but fell asleep during the latter. I attribute it to the stress of digesting the hummus and Wasa bread I ate for lunch.
On The View, Star Jones, um, I mean Reynolds, discussed her forthcoming interview with Amber Frey. According to Mrs. Reynolds, less charitable types have been sniping about Amber having published a book about her ordeal as the out-of-the-loop girlfriend of a jerk who murdered his wife and child.
Supposedly, Amber is an opportunist.
I find it absolutely hilarious that the people (I'm talking about the media) who profited the most from the death of Lacy Peterson would dare question Amber Frey's motives. Every news outlet in the country sucked this story for every salacious detail it could broadcast. Every network made money on it. Every newspaper made money on it.
Their family-friendly advertisers made money on it.
But heaven forbid that Amber Frey, the woman the media labeled 'mistress,' should be so crass as to tell her story. How dare she!
What a disgusting person!
I could eat pizza every day of the year.
Being confined for two days has given me ample time to revise my novel and to watch insipid daytime television. I caught both The View and All My Children today but fell asleep during the latter. I attribute it to the stress of digesting the hummus and Wasa bread I ate for lunch.
On The View, Star Jones, um, I mean Reynolds, discussed her forthcoming interview with Amber Frey. According to Mrs. Reynolds, less charitable types have been sniping about Amber having published a book about her ordeal as the out-of-the-loop girlfriend of a jerk who murdered his wife and child.
Supposedly, Amber is an opportunist.
I find it absolutely hilarious that the people (I'm talking about the media) who profited the most from the death of Lacy Peterson would dare question Amber Frey's motives. Every news outlet in the country sucked this story for every salacious detail it could broadcast. Every network made money on it. Every newspaper made money on it.
Their family-friendly advertisers made money on it.
But heaven forbid that Amber Frey, the woman the media labeled 'mistress,' should be so crass as to tell her story. How dare she!
What a disgusting person!
Monday, January 03, 2005
Amber Frey a 'Mistress?'
It irks me the way the media refer to Amber Frey as Scott Peterson's 'mistress.' She wasn't his mistress. She was his girlfriend. To be his mistress, wouldn't she have to know that he was married?
Furthermore, I dislike the term 'mistress.' How about 'lover?' Or 'girlfriend' But 'mistress?'
Get over it.
I actually revised 50 pages of my novel today! Well, I made notes on 50 pages, anyway. I didn't actually type them in. My back is killing me from poring over that manuscript for so many hours. I should develop a hump by mid-month.
Child Two stayed home from school with a terrible cold today. Her fever shot up to just under 104. Have to keep a close eye on her temperature because she had a febrile siezure when she was two.
So, Shirley Chisolm is dead. When she ran for president in 1972, surely the world thought that the United States would be led by a woman by the year 2000. It didn't happen.
So much for being a progressive nation.
Furthermore, I dislike the term 'mistress.' How about 'lover?' Or 'girlfriend' But 'mistress?'
Get over it.
I actually revised 50 pages of my novel today! Well, I made notes on 50 pages, anyway. I didn't actually type them in. My back is killing me from poring over that manuscript for so many hours. I should develop a hump by mid-month.
Child Two stayed home from school with a terrible cold today. Her fever shot up to just under 104. Have to keep a close eye on her temperature because she had a febrile siezure when she was two.
So, Shirley Chisolm is dead. When she ran for president in 1972, surely the world thought that the United States would be led by a woman by the year 2000. It didn't happen.
So much for being a progressive nation.
Sunday, January 02, 2005
People I Would Prefer Not to Sleep With
I would like to start 2005 by announcing the names of men I have no desire to sleep with, even though the media insist otherwise:
Tom Cruise
Jack Nicholson
Colin Farrell
Mick Jagger
Sean Connery
Michael Douglas
Usher
Rod Stewart
Justin Timberlake
The racoon who plays Ryan on All My Children
Anybody who has dated (or married) Jennifer Lopez
Here is a list of people I once desired to sleep with but don't anymore:
Kyle Secor (who played Tim Bayliss on Homicide: Life on the Streets)
Liam Neeson
Colin Firth
Greg Lake
I would also like to announce that I will (do you hear me? Will!) finish revising my novel once and for freaking all, and I will (yes, will!) query one agent per day from January 5th through Feb 3rd.
And if I don't, you have my express permission to take me by the shoulders and shake me.
Tom Cruise
Jack Nicholson
Colin Farrell
Mick Jagger
Sean Connery
Michael Douglas
Usher
Rod Stewart
Justin Timberlake
The racoon who plays Ryan on All My Children
Anybody who has dated (or married) Jennifer Lopez
Here is a list of people I once desired to sleep with but don't anymore:
Kyle Secor (who played Tim Bayliss on Homicide: Life on the Streets)
Liam Neeson
Colin Firth
Greg Lake
I would also like to announce that I will (do you hear me? Will!) finish revising my novel once and for freaking all, and I will (yes, will!) query one agent per day from January 5th through Feb 3rd.
And if I don't, you have my express permission to take me by the shoulders and shake me.
Friday, December 31, 2004
Carson May Be a Fathead...
But Regis is worse.
Forgive me, Carson. I was wrong.
You may be the oldest, stiffest, creepiest 31-year-old on the planet, but by comparison, Regis is just old. And at the same time your New Year's Eve show broadcast a performance by Maroon 5, Regis had Rod Stewart doing "It's a Wonderful World," via satellite.
And it sucked.
Rod Stewart gets my vote for the least hip human on the planet, despite his desperate attempts to prove himself otherwise.
And you have Conan, Carson, and I like Conan.
The offspring are still among us. Or me, anyway. After the Anchorman viewing, Peter packed it in. He's fast asleep.
Avril Lavigne is on. Oh joy! The offspring adore Avril. She is everything they want to be, and supposedly, she doesn't even lipsync!
Next up, Duran Duran. I must watch.
Forgive me, Carson. I was wrong.
You may be the oldest, stiffest, creepiest 31-year-old on the planet, but by comparison, Regis is just old. And at the same time your New Year's Eve show broadcast a performance by Maroon 5, Regis had Rod Stewart doing "It's a Wonderful World," via satellite.
And it sucked.
Rod Stewart gets my vote for the least hip human on the planet, despite his desperate attempts to prove himself otherwise.
And you have Conan, Carson, and I like Conan.
The offspring are still among us. Or me, anyway. After the Anchorman viewing, Peter packed it in. He's fast asleep.
Avril Lavigne is on. Oh joy! The offspring adore Avril. She is everything they want to be, and supposedly, she doesn't even lipsync!
Next up, Duran Duran. I must watch.
2004 Goes Out Like a Lamb
This post is dedicated to the memory of Jerry Orbach, who will live on in my TV-addicted heart forever and ever.
Well, we're going to miss A&M's party. After lurching around like a monkey yesterday and buying the hummus and Wasa bread I promised as well as U's birthday gift, Peter is sick. Hasn't been the most pleasant patient, either, so I've been avoiding him.
He is usually so easygoing you have to check his pulse to make sure he's still breathing, but when he's sick he's no bargain.
Anyway, we'll eat the hummus and Wasa, along with the lowbrow Wispride port wine cheese and Triscuits I bought this afternoon, while we watch Anchorman with Will Ferrell.
Anything to avoid Carson Daly.
Anything!
I may take a peek at Regis Philbin filling in for poor Dick Clark if we finish the movie in time. I bought some organic (no sulfites!) wine for the occasion. Got me a case of Guinness downstairs, too. I'll have to leave it alone, though. I have nobody to drink it with.
Peter's friend Br is down from Rochester. He's on Long Island right now, where he'll attend A&M's party (boo hoo!), but he should head this way tomorrow afternoon.
Must wash that kitchen floor. Again!
Well, we're going to miss A&M's party. After lurching around like a monkey yesterday and buying the hummus and Wasa bread I promised as well as U's birthday gift, Peter is sick. Hasn't been the most pleasant patient, either, so I've been avoiding him.
He is usually so easygoing you have to check his pulse to make sure he's still breathing, but when he's sick he's no bargain.
Anyway, we'll eat the hummus and Wasa, along with the lowbrow Wispride port wine cheese and Triscuits I bought this afternoon, while we watch Anchorman with Will Ferrell.
Anything to avoid Carson Daly.
Anything!
I may take a peek at Regis Philbin filling in for poor Dick Clark if we finish the movie in time. I bought some organic (no sulfites!) wine for the occasion. Got me a case of Guinness downstairs, too. I'll have to leave it alone, though. I have nobody to drink it with.
Peter's friend Br is down from Rochester. He's on Long Island right now, where he'll attend A&M's party (boo hoo!), but he should head this way tomorrow afternoon.
Must wash that kitchen floor. Again!
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
The In-Laws Have Decamped
Christmas was brilliant.
After the mishaps of Christmas Eve (the restaurant I'd settled on for Christmas dinner lost our reservation; the drycleaner was closed, preventing us from retrieving Child One's dress and Child Two's coat; Peter still suffered from the malaise of not knowing what the hell was wrong with his truck), Christmas Day worked out pretty well.
We ended up in The Stanhope for dinner, which was pleasant, even though they didn't have turkey on the menu for Dad. The service was friendly and patient (considering we had three children ages 10 and younger among us), the food was decent, and the dining room was an architectural beauty, friezes along the ceiling and that sort of thing.
Then we went to Sibling One's to open presents, but her husband dispensed the wine too frequently, and I went out of there in danger of falling on my head.
Got good gifts, though. Mom and Dad gave cash, and the aunt who doubles as my godmother came through with a gift card to Lord & Taylor, which I will use with glee.
The next day, Sunday, the in-laws arrived with Peter's niece and stayed until this morning. Peter's niece and the offspring were out of their minds with excitement over the prospect of spending three nights together and hopped around like kangaroos until after 1am.
Guess who got stuck on the couch supervising? Well, I volunteered; I was hostess, after all.
My mother-in-law took over the next night, but by then the little critters were wiped out. She and Father-in-Law babysat yesterday so that I could visit Mom in prison, er, I mean, the nursing home.
(This morning, Mom told me, the rough aide came into her room and shouted, "WAKE UP!" My mother responded, "And good morning to you, too!" The aide, who is not inured to this kind of response, laughed her head off, sending in one of her coworkers to see what the ruckus was about.)
Today the in-laws headed back to Flushing with the niece in tow, but not before I heard Father-in-Law exclaim to Mother-in-Law, "This sucks!"
Wonder what that was about.
For New Year's Eve, we may go to A & M's party on Long Island. It's a long drive, so we'll sleep over. Nobody else is bringing their children, but since we don't have a babysitter, we don't have an option. Not sure I want to go under those circumstances.
But it should be a good party, and if I miss it, I may regret it.
After the mishaps of Christmas Eve (the restaurant I'd settled on for Christmas dinner lost our reservation; the drycleaner was closed, preventing us from retrieving Child One's dress and Child Two's coat; Peter still suffered from the malaise of not knowing what the hell was wrong with his truck), Christmas Day worked out pretty well.
We ended up in The Stanhope for dinner, which was pleasant, even though they didn't have turkey on the menu for Dad. The service was friendly and patient (considering we had three children ages 10 and younger among us), the food was decent, and the dining room was an architectural beauty, friezes along the ceiling and that sort of thing.
Then we went to Sibling One's to open presents, but her husband dispensed the wine too frequently, and I went out of there in danger of falling on my head.
Got good gifts, though. Mom and Dad gave cash, and the aunt who doubles as my godmother came through with a gift card to Lord & Taylor, which I will use with glee.
The next day, Sunday, the in-laws arrived with Peter's niece and stayed until this morning. Peter's niece and the offspring were out of their minds with excitement over the prospect of spending three nights together and hopped around like kangaroos until after 1am.
Guess who got stuck on the couch supervising? Well, I volunteered; I was hostess, after all.
My mother-in-law took over the next night, but by then the little critters were wiped out. She and Father-in-Law babysat yesterday so that I could visit Mom in prison, er, I mean, the nursing home.
(This morning, Mom told me, the rough aide came into her room and shouted, "WAKE UP!" My mother responded, "And good morning to you, too!" The aide, who is not inured to this kind of response, laughed her head off, sending in one of her coworkers to see what the ruckus was about.)
Today the in-laws headed back to Flushing with the niece in tow, but not before I heard Father-in-Law exclaim to Mother-in-Law, "This sucks!"
Wonder what that was about.
For New Year's Eve, we may go to A & M's party on Long Island. It's a long drive, so we'll sleep over. Nobody else is bringing their children, but since we don't have a babysitter, we don't have an option. Not sure I want to go under those circumstances.
But it should be a good party, and if I miss it, I may regret it.
Saturday, December 25, 2004
God is with Us
How sad is it that I'm blogging at 11:52 p.m. on Christmas Eve instead of heading to Midnight Mass or caroling around the fireplace? This has been the most, um, interesting Christmas Eve in memory.
Okay. The truck broke down last night. Not that I like that truck, or understand why any intelligent person needs to drive such a vehicle, which gets, like, 12 miles to the gallon. But it broke down. So Peter is on edge, not his charming self. Kind of hard to be around. Kind of the type of person I'd like to smack in the head.
Then, I called the clowns at Le Mediterannee to confirm the reservation I made last week for dinner for 13 of us tomorrow, Christmas Day. The dude who answered said he had no record of my reservation. Nearly laughed when he said it, the fact that he'd taken my phone number and implored me to confirm at noon on Christmas Day notwithstanding.
Thank God I listened to the little voice in my head that told me not to wait to confirm until tomorrow. Confirm today. Confirm right now. So I did. Can you imagine if I'd waited until tomorrow?
Because Le Mediterannee doesn't have room for us in the inn anymore.
So I spent much of the day scouring the Internet for restaurants in Midtown or the Upper East Side that would have us. Most place are closed for Christmas and those that are open are booked solid. Sibling One was able to get us a table at the Stanhope, which didn't please Daddy because turkey is not on the menu.
So after all this, Peter goes off to the dry cleaner to pick up Child One's Christmas dress and Child Two's good coat, but the damn place is closed. What dry cleaner in creation is closed on Christmas Eve? I mean, what are you thinking? Isn't Christmas Eve the busiest day of the year for dry cleaners?
So we have to improvise. Child One can wear the dress my mother-in-law gave her, but it makes her look like a walking dinner roll. It's cut so badly I don't even know where to start. Child Two will show up at the Stanhope, not in her beautiful coat, but in a ski jacket.
Something good will come of this. It has to.
Okay. The truck broke down last night. Not that I like that truck, or understand why any intelligent person needs to drive such a vehicle, which gets, like, 12 miles to the gallon. But it broke down. So Peter is on edge, not his charming self. Kind of hard to be around. Kind of the type of person I'd like to smack in the head.
Then, I called the clowns at Le Mediterannee to confirm the reservation I made last week for dinner for 13 of us tomorrow, Christmas Day. The dude who answered said he had no record of my reservation. Nearly laughed when he said it, the fact that he'd taken my phone number and implored me to confirm at noon on Christmas Day notwithstanding.
Thank God I listened to the little voice in my head that told me not to wait to confirm until tomorrow. Confirm today. Confirm right now. So I did. Can you imagine if I'd waited until tomorrow?
Because Le Mediterannee doesn't have room for us in the inn anymore.
So I spent much of the day scouring the Internet for restaurants in Midtown or the Upper East Side that would have us. Most place are closed for Christmas and those that are open are booked solid. Sibling One was able to get us a table at the Stanhope, which didn't please Daddy because turkey is not on the menu.
So after all this, Peter goes off to the dry cleaner to pick up Child One's Christmas dress and Child Two's good coat, but the damn place is closed. What dry cleaner in creation is closed on Christmas Eve? I mean, what are you thinking? Isn't Christmas Eve the busiest day of the year for dry cleaners?
So we have to improvise. Child One can wear the dress my mother-in-law gave her, but it makes her look like a walking dinner roll. It's cut so badly I don't even know where to start. Child Two will show up at the Stanhope, not in her beautiful coat, but in a ski jacket.
Something good will come of this. It has to.
Friday, December 24, 2004
Christmas Eve is Upon Us
Beautiful dinner last night. I had filet mignon, so tender the knife slid right through it. Peter had swordfish, which he said was out of this world. He wished I could taste it. Too bad I'm wickedly allergic to swordfish!
We drove down to the mall in Trumbull after dinner, which was crammed with last-minute shoppers and the creepiest Santa Claus you ever saw in your life. I wouldn't put a doll in his lap, let alone a child.
Peter's truck broke down as we were crawling out of the mall parking lot with thousands of other drivers. We pulled alongside the road, and B came to save us. Peter spent most of this Christmas Eve morning on the phone trying to find a mechanic to solve the problem, but everybody's closed. I told him to relax. Everything will work out.
Right now AMC is doing a Miracle on 34th Street marathon. Miracle is one of my favorite movies, and I tried to get the offspring to watch it, but Child Two flat-out refused, and the other one isn't really paying attention. At least I didn't cry this time when the little orphaned Dutch girl sings with Santa.
We're staying in Connecticut tonight. I wonder what my cousins are doing. I think Peter wants to go out for dinner and come home afterwards. He's always talking about having a quiet Christmas Eve.
After Miracle on 34th Street ends, I have to get on the Nordic Track. I gotta work off last night's dinner before I eat tonight's.
We drove down to the mall in Trumbull after dinner, which was crammed with last-minute shoppers and the creepiest Santa Claus you ever saw in your life. I wouldn't put a doll in his lap, let alone a child.
Peter's truck broke down as we were crawling out of the mall parking lot with thousands of other drivers. We pulled alongside the road, and B came to save us. Peter spent most of this Christmas Eve morning on the phone trying to find a mechanic to solve the problem, but everybody's closed. I told him to relax. Everything will work out.
Right now AMC is doing a Miracle on 34th Street marathon. Miracle is one of my favorite movies, and I tried to get the offspring to watch it, but Child Two flat-out refused, and the other one isn't really paying attention. At least I didn't cry this time when the little orphaned Dutch girl sings with Santa.
We're staying in Connecticut tonight. I wonder what my cousins are doing. I think Peter wants to go out for dinner and come home afterwards. He's always talking about having a quiet Christmas Eve.
After Miracle on 34th Street ends, I have to get on the Nordic Track. I gotta work off last night's dinner before I eat tonight's.
Thursday, December 23, 2004
The Night Before Christmas Eve
We didn't go out last night. It made more sense to go out tonight because Peter is off tomorrow. He's in the shower now, and we're waiting for the babysitter. Can't wait to get the hell out of here.
Today was the last day of school before vacation, so the offspring arrived home with ornaments they'd made in class, which spewed glitter all over the house. Why do teachers love glitter so? Don't they know what it does to furniture? Don't they have homes of their own?
I'll have to ask Mommy. She was a teacher. Or I could ask Sibling Two. She teaches first grade.
I called Mommy earlier, but she was eating. Spoke to Daddy just briefly about his plans for tomorrow, Christmas Eve. He has to get clearance with the nurse before he can take Mom out for dinner. He's so placid. If I ever get sick, I don't want him advocating for me. When I expressed a little impatience with Mom's neuro-oncologist, Dad replied, "Well, he does have 30 patients to look after."
Thing is, he's not looking after Mom at all. He's not even thinking about treating her until she gets out of rehab, but by then her tumor may have grown to the point where it won't matter anymore. Of course, he can't resume the treatment he gave her before. That nearly killed her. But does he have any other ideas?
The first round of chemo didn't hurt her much; it came in a pill. It was the intravenous chemo that nearly did her in. Couldn't he try another course of the pills?
I'm looking into alternative therapies. One woman suggested a supplement that she said "saved" her ex-husband. Hey, I'm willing to try it. Thing is, Mom can't take it if she's on an anticoagulant, and I can't get anyone to tell me whether she is or not.
I did some research into green tea's inhibitive effect on tumors and suggested Mom drink several cups a day. "But doesn't it taste awful?" she wanted to know.
Not really. And it's a hell of a lot better than a brain tumor.
The pearls I bought Mom for Christmas arrived yesterday, and they're lovely. Still have to wrap them. I hope she likes them as much as I do.
Here's the babysitter. Thank you, Jesus.
Today was the last day of school before vacation, so the offspring arrived home with ornaments they'd made in class, which spewed glitter all over the house. Why do teachers love glitter so? Don't they know what it does to furniture? Don't they have homes of their own?
I'll have to ask Mommy. She was a teacher. Or I could ask Sibling Two. She teaches first grade.
I called Mommy earlier, but she was eating. Spoke to Daddy just briefly about his plans for tomorrow, Christmas Eve. He has to get clearance with the nurse before he can take Mom out for dinner. He's so placid. If I ever get sick, I don't want him advocating for me. When I expressed a little impatience with Mom's neuro-oncologist, Dad replied, "Well, he does have 30 patients to look after."
Thing is, he's not looking after Mom at all. He's not even thinking about treating her until she gets out of rehab, but by then her tumor may have grown to the point where it won't matter anymore. Of course, he can't resume the treatment he gave her before. That nearly killed her. But does he have any other ideas?
The first round of chemo didn't hurt her much; it came in a pill. It was the intravenous chemo that nearly did her in. Couldn't he try another course of the pills?
I'm looking into alternative therapies. One woman suggested a supplement that she said "saved" her ex-husband. Hey, I'm willing to try it. Thing is, Mom can't take it if she's on an anticoagulant, and I can't get anyone to tell me whether she is or not.
I did some research into green tea's inhibitive effect on tumors and suggested Mom drink several cups a day. "But doesn't it taste awful?" she wanted to know.
Not really. And it's a hell of a lot better than a brain tumor.
The pearls I bought Mom for Christmas arrived yesterday, and they're lovely. Still have to wrap them. I hope she likes them as much as I do.
Here's the babysitter. Thank you, Jesus.
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Instant Karma
I just finished my interview with Sonia Choquette, and it went so well I could scream. She is just the most fascinating person and answered questions I had regarding the Christian position on psychic phenomena and reincarnation.
She even gave me a decorating idea! I don't know that I have the ambition to follow through with it, but she said that her neighbor's house next door is so ugly that she built a stained glass window to hide the view. She'd never attempted stained glass before but contacted her spirit guides. The result was a magnificent window.
I particularly enjoyed talking to her about the prayer book she made. She has been taping and writing prayers that appeal to her in a journal for years. The book is tattered by now, but it gives her such a sense of power when she opens it. She said her daughter made prayer books for everybody for Christmas this year.
Nerd alert: I told Sonia that I was so excited about her appearing on my show that I didn't sleep last night. I don't know where that came from. I don't think I have ever been that forthcoming in my life.
Peter called earlier and suggested we go to dinner by ourselves and get B's daughter, L, to babysit tonight. According to B, she doesn't have a boyfriend anymore and needs the money (!). Peter even suggested that we go to Il Palio, which was just the place I had in mind when I stepped into the shower this morning. I'd resolved to take matters into my own hands, make a reservation for some time after Christmas, and put the date on the calendar.
But Peter beat me to it.
Of course, all depends on whether L is available tonight (or met a new boy). L is extremely pretty, the type of blonde girl with a bikini body that other girls want to look like, and boys want to date. I worry about her, though, because I don't know if she's developing anything more than her looks. And you certainly don't want people hanging around you just because you're good looking.
She even gave me a decorating idea! I don't know that I have the ambition to follow through with it, but she said that her neighbor's house next door is so ugly that she built a stained glass window to hide the view. She'd never attempted stained glass before but contacted her spirit guides. The result was a magnificent window.
I particularly enjoyed talking to her about the prayer book she made. She has been taping and writing prayers that appeal to her in a journal for years. The book is tattered by now, but it gives her such a sense of power when she opens it. She said her daughter made prayer books for everybody for Christmas this year.
Nerd alert: I told Sonia that I was so excited about her appearing on my show that I didn't sleep last night. I don't know where that came from. I don't think I have ever been that forthcoming in my life.
Peter called earlier and suggested we go to dinner by ourselves and get B's daughter, L, to babysit tonight. According to B, she doesn't have a boyfriend anymore and needs the money (!). Peter even suggested that we go to Il Palio, which was just the place I had in mind when I stepped into the shower this morning. I'd resolved to take matters into my own hands, make a reservation for some time after Christmas, and put the date on the calendar.
But Peter beat me to it.
Of course, all depends on whether L is available tonight (or met a new boy). L is extremely pretty, the type of blonde girl with a bikini body that other girls want to look like, and boys want to date. I worry about her, though, because I don't know if she's developing anything more than her looks. And you certainly don't want people hanging around you just because you're good looking.
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Interview with a Psychic
Tomorrow I will interview Sonia Choquette, a psychic (hold your laughter), whom I really admire. I met Sonia briefly at a Carolyn Myss seminar in Philadelphia two years ago and was impressed by her. She's gentle, kind, and wise. I've since read all her books, except one.
So, do tune into the broadcast next Friday, December 31st at 4PM ET at http://www.healthylife.net
It took me nearly a half hour to get the girls to school and go to the supermarket this morning. This exercise would usually take, maybe, fifteen minutes, but the roads were slick, Baby. It was nine degrees out there. People were slip-sliding all over the place, and thankfully, all doing about 15 miles per hour, as opposed to the usual 50, on 30 mph roads.
The slick roads were only part of the problem. You see, the Planning and Zoning Board of this picturesque New England town has allowed every half-wit builder and his brother to build here, which has resulted in traffic that we can't manage.
B drove me down his street to see the new "luxury" homes erected there. First off, they're all too big for the lots, and they're on top of each other. The houses sprout through grassless dirt and are devoid of landscaping. They're meant to look like mansions, the market being the average middle-management moron who wants to inspire envy among his friends and enemies.
But B says nobody's buying them. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Take that, Mr. Aggressive Builder! You steamrolled over our neighborhood for what? Ha ha ha ha ha!
A better idea than building, I think, would be to rehabilitate those lovely 1900 buildings downtown and convert them into apartments. There's a view of the river, for Pete's sake! A bit of nightlife burgeons, too, especially since Danny O's was refurbished.
That's where I'd put my money, says she, who sits behind a keyboard and risks nothing.
So, do tune into the broadcast next Friday, December 31st at 4PM ET at http://www.healthylife.net
It took me nearly a half hour to get the girls to school and go to the supermarket this morning. This exercise would usually take, maybe, fifteen minutes, but the roads were slick, Baby. It was nine degrees out there. People were slip-sliding all over the place, and thankfully, all doing about 15 miles per hour, as opposed to the usual 50, on 30 mph roads.
The slick roads were only part of the problem. You see, the Planning and Zoning Board of this picturesque New England town has allowed every half-wit builder and his brother to build here, which has resulted in traffic that we can't manage.
B drove me down his street to see the new "luxury" homes erected there. First off, they're all too big for the lots, and they're on top of each other. The houses sprout through grassless dirt and are devoid of landscaping. They're meant to look like mansions, the market being the average middle-management moron who wants to inspire envy among his friends and enemies.
But B says nobody's buying them. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Take that, Mr. Aggressive Builder! You steamrolled over our neighborhood for what? Ha ha ha ha ha!
A better idea than building, I think, would be to rehabilitate those lovely 1900 buildings downtown and convert them into apartments. There's a view of the river, for Pete's sake! A bit of nightlife burgeons, too, especially since Danny O's was refurbished.
That's where I'd put my money, says she, who sits behind a keyboard and risks nothing.
Monday, December 20, 2004
The End of a Snow Day
What a day.
I understand the temperature will be above freezing tomorrow, so the snow will melt and the girls will go to school. Yippee!
Spoke to Mommy at the rehab facility and told her that the offspring had a snow day today. "I'll bet you loved that," she said.
"I'm so tired of those children and their nonsense, I'd like to push them out in the snow," I said.
"Oh, yes," she said. "I remember days like that!"
She won't be discharged for Christmas after all. Daddy will take her out for dinner Christmas Eve, bring her back, and then we'll take her out for dinner again on Christmas. Sibling One says, "What's the point of bringing her home if she can't stand up yet, and Daddy can't lift her."
She's right, of course. I just hate the idea of Mom spending Christmas in that place. Its "public bathroom" has a roach motel in it the size of my arm.
The children are in bed. The husband is in bed. Sweet freedom.
Peter ran to the post office this evening, so there's one less thing to worry about. I just remembered I have a sack of books in the closet that were due back at the library on Saturday, though.
Oh!
I don't know why Everybody Loves Raymond has a reputation for being wholesome entertainment. Those people are so mean to each other.
I understand the temperature will be above freezing tomorrow, so the snow will melt and the girls will go to school. Yippee!
Spoke to Mommy at the rehab facility and told her that the offspring had a snow day today. "I'll bet you loved that," she said.
"I'm so tired of those children and their nonsense, I'd like to push them out in the snow," I said.
"Oh, yes," she said. "I remember days like that!"
She won't be discharged for Christmas after all. Daddy will take her out for dinner Christmas Eve, bring her back, and then we'll take her out for dinner again on Christmas. Sibling One says, "What's the point of bringing her home if she can't stand up yet, and Daddy can't lift her."
She's right, of course. I just hate the idea of Mom spending Christmas in that place. Its "public bathroom" has a roach motel in it the size of my arm.
The children are in bed. The husband is in bed. Sweet freedom.
Peter ran to the post office this evening, so there's one less thing to worry about. I just remembered I have a sack of books in the closet that were due back at the library on Saturday, though.
Oh!
I don't know why Everybody Loves Raymond has a reputation for being wholesome entertainment. Those people are so mean to each other.
Now I Understand What Mick Jagger was Talking About
Christmas vacation is not supposed to start until Friday, leaving me one whole week to fill with activities to keep the children happy, stimulated and out of my hair. I planned to use this week to write the script for my final radio show, which tapes on Wednesday, and to do some desperately-needed food shopping. The cupboards are bare.
But today is a snow day!
So the offspring are here, making demands to go shopping ("We're bored!"), messing up the kitchen with their attempts at combining oatmeal with baking chips, blaring the television, etc.
B came along with his snowplow, so now I can actually get out of the driveway to go to the supermarket, although I'm not sure what shape the roads are in. The town is usually good about clearing them before morning rush hour, but they've fallen down on the job this time.
I have three packages to take to the post office, too, one of which is going to England. Another is going to Indiana and really must be there by Friday.
Okay, here comes Child Two, tramping into the house in her snowy boots after I explicitly told her that she is to remove them in the garage and come up through the basement.
Am I speaking Swahili?
But today is a snow day!
So the offspring are here, making demands to go shopping ("We're bored!"), messing up the kitchen with their attempts at combining oatmeal with baking chips, blaring the television, etc.
B came along with his snowplow, so now I can actually get out of the driveway to go to the supermarket, although I'm not sure what shape the roads are in. The town is usually good about clearing them before morning rush hour, but they've fallen down on the job this time.
I have three packages to take to the post office, too, one of which is going to England. Another is going to Indiana and really must be there by Friday.
Okay, here comes Child Two, tramping into the house in her snowy boots after I explicitly told her that she is to remove them in the garage and come up through the basement.
Am I speaking Swahili?
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