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.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
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.
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