the cupcake tent

The Tent Lives On

2008-01-22T00:07:00.000-05:00

thecupcaketent.wordpress.com

Frosting and Farewells

2007-11-04T17:56:00.000-05:00

The Cupcake Tent is now closed. The bakery thanks you for your patronage.

"You Know There's a Well in Your Backyard. Watch The Baby!"

2007-10-15T17:37:00.000-04:00

On the twentieth anniversary of this defining moment of American history, I feel the time has come for me to speak my mind. Now that she's grown up and by all appearances seems to have a normal life, it's without reservation that I finally say: Fuck you, Baby Jessica.

Listen, we all felt bad when you fell down the well. Babies can be annoying enough to deal with given the optimal circumstances, let alone when they're trapped underground and being totally dramatic about it. But let me talk to you about a little something called Bad Timing. I'm not saying this was your plan all along, but news of your rescue cut into all the regularly scheduled programming back in 1987, and your victorious second birth from the pipe womb trumped the season finale of Rags to Riches. Remember Rags to Riches, the show where that Joe Pesci-looking guy inherited a bunch of teenage orphan daughters who randomly started singing and dancing to oldies songs? Yeah, it was pretty awesome, and not just because I was ten years old. Toward the end of this particular episode, Marta, one of the pivotal and more subtletly nuanced characters, was lying on a mountainside, half-dead from a rattlesnake bite. What was going to happen? I was riveted. And then, suddenly, breaking news. The well! The baby! The miracle! You were fine. But Marta? Poof. Gone forever.

Thanks to the internet and YouTube and the disturbingly comprehensive TV show collection at Best Buy, I could probably find out pretty easily what happened. Really, though, it's the principle of it. If you had been courteous enough to wiggle out during the daytime while I was at school, I might've been able to miss a few minutes of long division. But no, of course not. It had to be on your terms, and your gauze-clad self wasn't coming out until you were good and ready. Diva.

I couldn't yell at you when you were Baby Jessica. Yelling at babies is almost always frowned upon, but yelling at Baby Jessica would've resulted in automatic deportation, and learning a second language would've been a total pain in the ass. So now that you're Adult Jessica, it's on, bitch. You owe me four minutes of television gold and step-by-step instructions on how to remove snake venom while simultaneously singing Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow by the Shirelles. I'M WAITING.

I Know You're Home Russell Answer Your Phone

2007-10-10T23:35:00.000-04:00

So this afternoon I'm on my way from school to the home of one of the kids that I see after school and I get pulled over for making a left on a red light. In my defense, the person in front of me... and the light was just barely... and I would've been blocking the... meh, whatever. I'm a Boston driver, I admit it.

The one advantage that I can see to being pulled over in the city that I work in is the opportunity to milk the fact that I work at one of the schools and children are the future and please please don't give me a ticket. I got pulled over two months ago, though, and I got off on a warning then, so I'm not optimistic.

"Hi, I'm so sorry. I thought I could make that light but obviously not. I was just coming from the XYZ School."

"Yeah, you weren't even close to making the light. You work at the XYZ?"

"Yes, I do!" And I love puppies and flowers and most of all THE LAW!

"Okay, let's have your license and registration. It'll just be a minute."

Six long minutes later he comes back to my window. "You've had a lot of offenses, huh?"

Sure, driver retraining school comes to mind, but his tone sounds less like he's talking about illegal U-turns and more like selling crack to second graders.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, your license was suspended awhile ago."

"What? No, it was definitely wasn't."

"And there's a restraining order against you? Someone named Russell?"

"Wait, WHAT? I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't even know anyone named Russell." This isn't exactly true. I have a student named Russell, but it's been awhile since a kindergartener took legal action against me. And I had a camp counselor named Russell 15 years ago, but I'm fairly certain that I haven't been crowding him.

"How many tickets have you received in the past few years?"

"I got a couple a few years ago, but none recently. And my license was never suspended and no one has a RESTRAINING ORDER against me."

And then of course I stop for a second and think, wait, does someone? Would I know? Does my mom really hate me that much?

He kind of laughed and shrugged. "Okay, then, I guess I pulled up the wrong name. Anyway, I just wrote you a warning."

"Oh. But..." How would information on someone else come up if he ran my license? Why did he just shrug it off? But I'm already late and I decide not to push it. "Okay, well, thanks."

I thought when people stole your identities that they just bought crap online and called China. Maybe I should look into this.

And I'm sorry, Russell. BUT WHY WON'T YOU TAKE ME BACK?

Smalltown

2007-10-04T00:08:00.000-04:00

Earlier tonight I was talking to a friend from college who now lives out of state and has always stood by his opinion that Boston is a townie town, i.e. people who are born here (not that anyone is ever actually born or raised IN Boston, just close to it) never leave, or always return, and natives will obsessively extoll its virtues to anyone who will listen.

I started to disagree on principle, and then I realized that I was sitting on my bed with the Improper Bostonian flipped open to an article about fall dining in the city (which I do more reading about than eating, but I love fall and I LOVE fall menus... cider apple soup, pumpkin ravioli, baked apples, cornbread and cranberry stuffing, I could go on) while watching the Sox play, and win, their first postseason game (last October I drew a big, optimistic "07" in the centerfield dirt at Fenway with my sneaker, so here's hoping). All I needed was Matt Damon and Ben Affleck in the other room writing a screenplay.

When I told him this, he started presenting more proof of my townie status, pointing out that my split second reaction after hearing that a friend moved to California was "Why would anyone DO that?" and that my idea of a money shot is the view of the Boston skyline after the Cambridge tolls on the Pike. He reminded me that anytime I go to New York for the weekend I get homesick (what, Manhattan is freakin' scary!) and he still insists that when my road rage creeps in, so does a slight Boston accent. I deny that, but okay fine, if that's your definition of a townie, then guilty as charged, I guess. I love the seasons, being close to the water, the fact that it's a baseball town, the overall sense of coziness, the locally brewed beer, the Cape, how people are wicked smaht... okay, I'm just driving the point home now. "Born and raised" sounds so provincial, I know, but I can't imagine living anywhere else. I'd never want to be transient, but I suppose if you don't like to be trapped in one area for too long then you feel as strongly about that as I do about being a country mouse (living five miles outside of a major city). Most of the people that I love are here, and I've always been happy here. I imagine that if they weren't or I wasn't, I would've made a different decision long ago.

Do you guys feel a major connection to where you live? Would you up and move for any old reason, or have you in the past? If you didn't have job/family/etc. connections to where you live now, would you move somewhere else?

And this is the perfect time to comment, because The Great Delurking Day was... oh. Yesterday. Yeah! So anyway.

All Growed Up

2007-09-27T23:04:00.000-04:00

Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. If you manage not to die for long enough, eventually you turn thirty. In your face, Cobain!

I'm not bummed at all, actually, which is good since most of you are over thirty already and right now giving your computer screen the same hairy eyeball that I give my 27-year-old friends who talk about their biological clocks. Why do all the girls I roll with seem to be 27? Bitches. The 70s rocked and you missed it.

Also? Hairy eyeball is like the grossest expression ever.

Anyway, I'm ready! I own my age! And I've been telling people that I'm turning 50 just to try and elicit the "Holy CRAP you look great" response. That would also mean that my mom had me when she was ten, but hey. She's always been a little promiscuous.

Ahem. No more slutty mom jokes! I expect that the next time you hear from me I'll be older and wiser and wearing a smoking jacket and discussing equities. When you're thirty, you suddenly don't feel the need to do the Thriller dance in your living room, and you're such an adult that you don't leave cooked pasta that you didn't finish on the stove for two days, right?

Fine, three days.

Tuesday is The Big Day. There's a car commercial out right now that says, "Hurry, offer ends October first!" I always reply to my TV, "So does my youth!" Yeah, no one else in the room with me laughs either.

I guess I could try to come up with some corny life lessons or something, but why bother when Kenny Rogers has already done it for me? My life has been distilled into knowing when to hold 'em, when to fold 'em, when to walk away, and when to run. Sounds about right, though, huh? Of course, at the end of the day soft rock defines my life.

Anyway, I'll pretty much be drunk with my peoples all weekend (and I define weekend as being the second that work ends tomorrow until sometime very early Wednesday morning) so I'll see you once I shake off these 20s.

Quotes of the Week

2007-09-23T16:35:00.000-04:00

Me: Okay, do you really want to talk about this? Because here's the deal. Rooting for the Yankees is like going to Epcot Center instead of Europe. It's like going to Italy and looking for the Olive Garden. It's like choosing Paris Hilton instead of Scarlett Johansson. The Yankees are the drive thru value meal of baseball. When you say you're a Yankees fan, especially if you're not from New York, you're saying more about your own lack of character and integrity and class than you even realize.
Dave: You know, I've still never been to the Olive Garden.

*****

Me: The IT guy who works at my school winked at me on Match.
Kate: There are no words.
Me: And you know what this means? If my work laptop breaks there's no one I can call. Do they still make typewriters?
Kate: Who are you, Bridget Jones?
Me: Aren't I?

*****

Over the weekend I was taking care of Dorie's kids, who are 9 and 7, while she and her husband went to a wedding in Philadelphia. First of all, I have new respect for parents. I got the kids off the bus after school on Friday and went home Saturday night so exhausted that I could barely muster the energy to club my ass off until 4 AM. Hearing "Hey, is that the book you're reading? Is the book you bought yesterday? Why did you buy a book yesterday but it's not the book you're reading now? Did you start this book awhile ago and you want to finish it before you read the new book?" five seconds after you wake up kinda makes you want to crawl back under the covers immediately, even when it's coming from kids that I've loved and adored their whole lives. And then between meals (apparently cocktail olives don't constitute "a balanced meal" for children), soccer practice and soccer games and fall ball, not to mention one little girl's mom who screamed from the sidelines, "ALEXIS! Run like you mean it! Put the pressure on! GOD, this is depressing!"... holyfuckingshit. I'm doubling up on my Ortho Tri-Cyclen this month just to be safe.

Anyway, the quote came when the 7-year-old was discussing how hilarious it would be to have a secret hole that allowed him and his friends to see into the girls' bathroom at school. His sister promptly admonished him and said that she and her friends would never want to do that. Then he said, almost wistfully, "You know, it seems like with girls, we want to see THEM naked, but they don't really want to see US naked." Pretty much hit the nail on the head there, buddy.

I Remain Powerless Against Surveys

2007-09-18T17:33:00.001-04:00

1. Did you cry today?
No, and I don't plan on it.

2. What were you doing at 8:00 this morning?
I was at work listening to Knocked Up Supergirl talk about how she read that when you're newly pregnant you don't actually need to "eat for two," you only need three extra glasses of milk a day, and besides that she's enjoying snacking of lots of healthy fruit and vegetables. In that moment I wanted to shove sour cream and onion chips down her throat more than I've ever wanted to do anything in my entire life. Fruit-eating baby-housing bitch. I mean, what? Miracle of life, whee!

3. What were you doing 30 minutes ago?
Buying chicken broth and mushrooms in preparation for the now legendary Tuesday Night Dinner.

4. What did you do in 1992?
I was a freshman in high school. I played with my friends and gossiped. Wow, things are so different now.

5. What song do you love right now?
I love every song on the latest fun mix, Fun The One You're With. If I had to pick one, maybe You Know I'm No Good by Amy Winehouse.

6. Three words to explain why you last threw up.
Jen's cats suck.

7. What color is your hairbrush?
Green and black.

8. What was the last thing you bought?
Cocoa butter body oil. It kind of sounds dirty, doesn't it? Oh, just to me? Okay. Well. Anyway. How are you?

9. Where do you keep your money?
In the bank, or in Sephora.

10. What was the weather like today?
Cool in the morning and at night. I LOVE FALL! Bring it! I already have pumpkin candles.

11. What's the best part about winter?
The holidays, and the snuggliness of it all. I think winter's cozy.

12. When is your birthday?
October 2nd.

13. Are you over the age of 25?
Not a day over 22, thanks for asking.

14. What were you doing last night?
Texting and cursing the Sox.

15. Do you sing?
I love to singa...

16. Does your screen name have an "x" in it?
No. These questions have started to suck.

17. Do you know anyone named Daisy?
No. Oh wait! When my dad was a kid he had a cat named Daisy. It probably died like fifty years ago. So, actually, the answer is still no. Crap, now there's an angry cat ghost after me.

18. Do you make up your own words?
Flebbin.

19. Are you ticklish?
Yes.

20. Would you say you're feisty?
Indeed I would.

21. Favorite animal?
A fish that buys its own food and cleans its own tank.

22. Name someone whose name starts with the letter "B"?
Brody Jenner.

23. Who's the last person to call you?
Mark.

24. At what age do you want to have kids?
Mmm, that depends. Not anytime soon.

25. What is your favorite candy?
Mini Eggs.

26. What is the next concert you're going to?
Matt Nathanson next month.

27. Where did you go today?
Work, CVS, Shaw's, home.

28. What is something you say a lot?
Right?

29. You're at a friend's house in the bathroom and realize there is no toilet paper. Do you ask them or look yourself?
Well, I'd do a scan, but then I'd start pounding the wall and swearing and Larry Craiging out.

30. Do you have to work tomorrow?
Yes, does anyone have a job where they get Wednesdays off?

31. Who was the last person you said "I love you" to?
Jen, but via text, so maybe that doesn't count.

32. Soup...out of a can, packet, or homemade?
Preferably chicken noodle with extra carrots from the Soup Factory. In the dead of winter, that stuff is like crack. Warm, delicious crack.

33. Do you have a nickname?
Red. But you knew that.

34. Are you a heavy sleeper?
No, I'm a light sleeper. Sorry, former and future bedmates.

35. What are you listening to?
Um, definitely not Rock of Love. Definitely not.

36. What is the best movie you've seen in the past two weeks?
Superbad! It was fantastic. And I can't WAIT to see I Want Someone To Eat Cheese With, (Sarah Silverman, yay!), Lars and the Real Girl, and Feast of Love.

37. When was the last time you did the dishes?
Earlier today. Although my dishwasher did them, so I really can't take much credit.

38. Name someone who made you laugh today?
Elodie!

39. What's your favorite quote?
There are TONS but the most succinct is probably "If you were going to die soon and had only one phone call you could make, who would you call and what would you say? And why are you waiting?"

40. Guiltiest pleasure?

Good Fences

2007-09-16T11:14:00.001-04:00

I came home from work on Friday to find my new neighbors, who have been gradually moving their stuff over for awhile now, finally settled in. So settled in that they'd found the time to place an indescribably ugly kitchen playset and two white plastic chairs on the grassy area in front of their home, presumably for the purpose of sitting and enjoying their kindergarten-age daughter prepare fake meals. At first glance I assumed they must have been piles of garbage waiting to be taken out. By the time I left for the night about an hour later, I was already plotting how to make the eyesores go away.

If we were regular neighbors with unattached homes and yards and septic lines, then more power. Go on and whip up that fake risotto all the live long day with your proud parents looking on. But since we live a condo, we don't really have a front yard. We each have a few feet of grass that we all basically inhabit, which means that all the hideousness on their "lawn" was also on mine. Call me crazy, but I happen to think the area looks better when you don't fill it with pieces of ginormous plastic crap. Ironically, these neighbors had just spent weeks having their home professionally readied for their arrival courtesy of an endless stream of painters and carpenters and feng shui whisperer psychic good vibe analysts. Given all that, it seemed funny that they'd throw piles of decrepit Wal-Mart junk right in front of their (and my) windows. I mean, what's next, a Chevy on cinder blocks?

Now, some might say this is a Bad Time To Mess With Me to begin with. Some others may even say, Seriously, Don't Get In Her Way, That Girl Ain't Right. What, does no one else's road back to normalcy involve copious amounts of tequila and dancing to Will.I.Am and T-Pain in one's living room? Okay, so my path to happiness is a little different from the Dalai Lama's. Whatever, on my plan you can have cocktails and greasy brunch.

So maybe my altered state of mind is partially to blame for the note that my new neighbors woke up to on Saturday morning. Considering I haven't officially met them yet, you'd think perhaps that it would be "Welcome to the neighborhood!" wrapped in ribbon around a basket filled with freshly-baked cookies. I went with something slightly less heartwarming.

Personal items should be enjoyed on your patio. The courtyard is a public area and not an appropriate location for large play equipment. We appreciate your prompt attention to this matter. Thank you, The Condo Association

The Condo Association (read: me) is happy to report that when I woke up the next day all their shit was gone. Victory is mine!

It's such a fine line between feisty neighbor and that crazy lady next door, isn't it?

Does It LOOK Like I'm Wearing The Easy Button?

2007-09-13T20:26:00.001-04:00

Can we talk about inappropriate touching for a minute? Okay, not show-me-on-the-doll-where-he-touched-you Law and Order SVU inappropriate touching.

I was at Staples looking for a globe for my classroom and made the mistake of soliciting the help of one of the employees, one of those sad little men who try to offset their disturbingly tiny upper body by having a ginormously annoying personality. "I'd be THRILLED to help you! A globe? Hmmm! Are you going to be using it for traveling, because a GPS might come in more handy! HAHAHA!" And then? Hand around my waist for about three seconds as he guides me in the direction of the (overpriced) globe.

Now, okay. Shouldn't be that big a deal, right? Except why isn't it? It's one of those things that I walk away from going, What. The. Crap? Since when is it okay for a five foot four red shirted assistant manager to touch me? And since when do I not even squirm away because I don't want to be impolite? A stranger has his hand on my body and I DON'T WANT TO BE IMPOLITE? I'm a battered woman waiting to happen. He really loves me, I swear! I can't just LEAVE, don't you understand, I LOVE HIM!

On the plus side, when I finally wrangle myself away and change my identity, I'll get my own Lifetime movie.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, letting the short man at Staples get handsy. Would there have been any way to say "Please don't touch me" without sounding hysterical? Moreover, why do I care how I'd sound to him or anyone else around me?

There are other incidents in this vein: Letting some first date fucknut kiss you even though it was the longest caesar salad you've ever suffered through but you just don't know how to sidestep the moment. Because, what, you don't want this guy you'll never see again to feel rejected for the next four seconds? Or how you never call out your perpetually cheap friend whose wallet seems to mysteriously vaporize from time to time and everyone just smiles politely like they don't notice that it's happening. Again. Why do we ever let people mess with us, however slightly, especially strangers? Or maybe especially friends?

I'm not sure where I'm going with this. In any case, I still need a globe. Why are they so expensive? Are they still trying to convince us that the world is flat? Because I'm just pointing out that wall maps are much cheaper. Political propaganda? You decide.

In other news, I decided after watching approximately three minutes of the new Real World on MTV that I'm never going to have children. I'm a little concerned that my unconceived child is already drunk and screaming crying into a phone at a bar because some guy who looks like every other guy on the planet did her wrong. Seriously, what the hell is happening to teenagers? I know, it's like I'm a member of the Greatest Generation. But for reals, people. Do babies just come out with bad highlights and sideways trucker hats now?

If I do have kids, they're pre-emptively grounded. Go to your womb, sassypants.

Sing, Sing A Song

2007-09-07T17:55:00.001-04:00

What song makes you think of...

Your life twenty years ago (and where were you)?
True Blue by Madonna. I was a feisty fifth grader.

Your life ten years ago (and where were you)?
Two Step by the Dave Matthews Band. I was a junior in college, probably drunkity drunk on vodka and orange soda.

Your life now (and where are you)?
Hmmm... maybe More Adventurous by Rilo Kiley. Okay, fine, it's easier to sum your life up with a semi-hipster song, but it's really more like Good Day by Jewel. Don't judge me, I'm still in positive affirmation mode. Also, damn you Jewel! You have always pissed me off. I forget, did you ever live in your car? I'm not sure you ever mentioned that in any interviews.

Summers as a kid?
Definitely Summertime by DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince. Honkin' at the honey in front of you with the light eyes...

Summer now?
The song of this summer was, without a doubt, The Way I Are. Talk to me, girl. Also, thanks Timbaland. My students didn't really need to know how to talk English good anyway.

Spring break?
Ha! Well, the only time I did spring break up proper was when we went to Florida during senior year of college, and I was thinking the song of the moment was probably Baby One More Time. Back then I shamelessly loved the kitsch extravaganza that is Britney and I STILL DO. Don't kill yourself, Brit! Or if you do, at least make sure you do it on live TV! Anyway, I just asked one of my friends if he remembered what songs I was digging during that trip and he reminded me of a piano bar on Disney property called Jellyrolls that I LOVED. I'm sorry to tell you they played lots of Billy Joel covers. It was really fun, though! Also, why do my friends remember my life better than I do?

Your job?
All Star by Smash Mouth. Last year our principal had some group come in and he must've thought they were going to do something educational but they put on a crazy laser show in the pitch black gym, set to the tune of frenetic bubble gum songs. The kids frrrEAKED out, dancing like crazy and singing at the top of their lungs, and All Star was the song they loved the most. It was hysterical. All they needed was glow sticks.

Your parents?
Probably Misty by Johnny Mathis. It's their wedding song, and it cracks me up for several reasons. First of all, my mom randomly picked it at their reception because they hadn't thought about a wedding song until then. Second of all, the first line is, "Look at me, I'm as helpless as a kitten in a tree," and third of all, ever since then whenever my mom says, "Do you hear something?" my dad automatically says, "Misty?" even if it's the sound of a truck backing up, because when they were first married she'd get annoyed with him for not recognizing it if they were out somewhere and it came on.

Your siblings?
He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother. Just kidding, I'm sans sibs.

Your favorite relative?
Stupidly enough the song that always makes me think of my cousin Andrew is Jump by Van Halen, because I remember being at a party at our aunt's house back in the day and I was making up a complicated dance routine to it and he would jump around incessantly behind me, all useless and literal. Granted he was probably 3.

Your spouse?
Kryptonite by 3 Doors Down, which is his at-bat song.

Your kids?
I don't have any, but something like My Front Porch Looking In by Lonestar. Country song, I know, and a little cheesy, but I love it and it's the kind of thing I hope for. (Ahem, not for awhile, though, uterus. I promise I'll eventually be ready for sleepless nights and spit up, but for now I'm good with friends and cocktails and Sox games. Are we clear?)

Your best friend?
God Only Knows by the Beach Boys, especially lately.

Your exes?
Cry Me a River by JT. No, just kidding. Maybe Cool by Gwen Stefani. Or Dude Looks Like a Lady, depending what ex we're talking about here.

5 Messages For 5 Boys

2007-09-03T20:27:00.001-04:00

1. The trannie gets a lot more press, but you were my first true love. That time in the gym when you picked me as your ballroom dancing partner out of all the other girls in the sixth grade, I thought I'd die, DIE, of happiness. Even my braces were letting off tiny sparks of joy. I thought that you looked like Joey McIntyre. My parents almost died that I was 11 and demanded to start dating, but I loved going roller skating and having awkward phone conversations with you. Now that you're a goth DJ you'd probably be embarrassed to admit (or sniff, would you even remember?!) that our song was Some Kind of Wonderful from Dirty Dancing. (Ha, the best part is that I still don't know who sings that song... The Dirty Dancing Soundtrack is a band, right?)

2. I know I haven't seen you in awhile, but I gotta level with you: Not a fan, my friend, not a fan. And you know it. You were always sheepish around me, because you know Red don't play that. I don't like generic fratty guys like you, and I especially don't like when my friends are hung up on generic fratty guys like you. You've said numerous times that you don't want to be with her, so why don't you just leave her alone? Seems easy enough. You know you're just messing with her head. I almost wish I'd run into you at CVS so I could just say, "Hey, how are you? I know, it's been forever! How's work? How's your family? Oh, no kidding! Great. Oh, and STOP. CALLING. HER." I know it's none of my bidness but so help me I'd say it. Also? Why are you thirty years old and still wearing shiny shirts and clubbing every weekend with your boyz? Gay much?

3. I know that you'll either be the President of the United States or a homeless guy standing on a milk crate outside Starbucks urging us to see the irony in our actions. You can be totally infuriating, patronizing, and my friends will probably never forget that time you kicked your dog. But you and I have been friends for a long time and I still want to know that you're okay.

4. I know that your sickness and skewed perception of the world continues to hold you back, and I'm worried about you, as always. On a lighter note, I saw your ex-girlfriend on MySpace and holy shit, she's 31 but she looks ten times cuter than she did in college. What the hell? I almost wanted to email her and tell her that but it seemed like an odd way to start a conversation, you know? Oh, and I can't believe you're opening for Guster this weekend. That's rad.

5. I'm glad we're still friends. I'm glad you save emails that I sent you ten years ago and then resend them to me so I can relive being a drunk 19-year-old again. Happy birthday!

Didn't I Do This One Already? Did I Forget To Post It Or Something? Should This Be More Of An Internal Monologue Instead Of A Post Title?

2007-08-30T15:23:00.000-04:00

1. What bill do you hate paying the most?
Credit card, of course, or as I call it, tripping down impulse purchase lane. I actually don't really use it anymore.

2. Where was the last place you had a romantic dinner?
I always end up going to really nice restaurants with, like, my parents. Go ahead and read that again, I promise it'll be just as sad the second time around. It's mostly because if it's up to me I wouldn't necessarily order up a fancy night out. If my dining partner (ha) was gung ho, I'd happily go along, but most of the time if I'm going out I'd rather it be someplace where I can wear a ponytail and flip flops and watch the game.

3. Do you regret losing your virginity to who you lost it to?
Nah. He was my boyfriend so it's not much as far as exciting anecdotes go. I'm sort of glad it happened the way it did because I knew this one girl who told people she gave up her flower (hee! Friends) in an office building to some guy she was being tutored with.

4. If you could go back and change one thing what would it be?
In my life? I probably would've tried harder in school. I mean, I did fine, but I never cared and all I ever wanted to do was hang out with my friends. Who am I kidding, if I could enroll in high school all over again I'd be sitting in Western Civ texting someone, "Get me some Marlboro Lights while you're @ the packie, k?"

5. Name of your first grade teacher?
Mrs. Price.

6. What do you really want to be doing right now?
Clubbing at Les Deux.

7. What did you want to be when you were growing up?
A writer. For awhile I wanted to be a waitress named Kathy. I didn't understand how jobs worked.

8. How many colleges did you attend?
Just the one. Although I came home after first semester amped up about transferring to UCLA. What?

9. Why did you choose the shirt that you have on right now?
It chose me.

10. GAS PRICES?
Blah. Could be worse, I guess. I can fill up for $38 and still sleep at night.

11. If you could move anywhere and take someone with you, where would it be?
I'm good here for now, thanks.

12. First thought when the alarm went off this morning?
What time is it?

13. Last thought before going to sleep last night?
I'm tired.

14. Favorite style of underwear?
Striped.

16. What errand/chore do you despise?
Laundry. It's not so much that I despise it as much as the fact that it's never done. You have to wash, then dry, or hang to dry, or fold. Life is hard.

17. If you didn't have to work, would you volunteer?
Maybe. That, or be cracked out of my mind on a Tuesday. Toss-up.

18. Get up early or sleep in?
Get up early. I like to sleep in now and then, but it's gotta be a now and then thing or else you feel dirty and homeless.

19. What is your favorite cartoon character(s)?
Stewie.

20. Favorite thing to do at night with a girl or guy?
Wish on stars and talk about the future. I'm a Mandy Moore movie.

21. Have you found real love yet?
Yes, and it tastes like chicken.

22. When did you first start feeling old?
Yup, when I wasn't the youngest one at work anymore. I'm not sure why that's a reality check. Maybe because you start to realize you're not the office cherub anymore (um, because that's a thing), you're just another person living in the world doing some job.

23. Favorite 80s movie?
Labyrinth, The Goonies, The Neverending Story, Back to the Future... whenever I see one of those weird vans, I still think it's the Libyans.

24. Your favorite lunch meat?
Turkey with lettuce, pickles and mayo.

25. What do you get every time you go into Sam's Club?
I'm not a member so I don't go there. I love Jim Gaffigan's bit about that. "Are you a member of our secret club?" "Um, I just want Doritos." "Well, that will be $4,000." "Okay, well, I can't come to a lot of meetings... but I guess I'll join."

26. Beach or lake?
Beach. Lakes are scary.

27. Do you think marriage is an outdated ritual?
No. I mean, I don't think it's for everyone, and it doesn't exactly seem like a house party, but I don't think it's an outdated ritual.

29. Favorite guilty pleasure?
The Hills. Clubbing at Les Deux.

30. Favorite movie you wouldn't want anyone to find out about?
I love movies that are over-the-top terrible, but that's a kitsch thing. I actually feel more embarrassed about the stupid girly movies I like to watch sometimes, crap like Sweet Home Alabama. It's so generic female, but there's something satisfying about a good chick flick to me, as much as I hate to admit it. It's between me and Netflix.

31. What's your drink?
Diet Pepsi, white wine.

32. Cowboys or Indians?
Cowboys.

33. Cops or Robbers?
Cops.

34. Who from high school would you like to run into?
Hmmm. I can't think of anyone right now, but I'm sure there's someone.

35. What radio station is your car radio tuned to right now?
Probably Mike FM.

37. The Cosby Show or The Simpsons?
The Simpsons, although 8-year-old me is hearing that and going, "What? But Rudy's so funny!"

38. Worst relationship mistake that you wish you could take back?
I've felt bad for stringing guys along, but that mostly happened when I was a kid and had no idea what I was doing in relationships. Which contrasts wildly to now when I know everything and have no issues whatsoever.

39. Do you like the person who sits directly across from you at work?
I like Supergirl sometimes. It's purely a work relationship in that I totally respect her professionally and value her opinion, but on a personal level we really don't connect. Just kidding, we're actually having an affair.

40. What famous person would you like to have dinner with?
Air Supply, obviously. Periodically we'd stop to sing by the fire. You want to carry on... carry ONNNNNN...

43. Have you ever had to use a fire extinguisher for its intended purpose?
No. Do I even have one? God, I'm going to die, like, tomorrow.

44. Last book you read for real?
Eat Pray Love. Oh, for real? Naked Ninjas In The Desert.

45. Do you have a teddy bear?
I don't, but my mom still has my favorite broken ass teddy with an eye patch that I had when I was a kid. When Dorie's son was little(r) he decided that I needed a stuffed animal and he gave me the twin of his beloved stuffed yellow cat, which was adorable and guarantees that he'll hate me when he's 18 and I say things like, "Remember when you gave me my own version of Cuddles?"

46. Strangest place you have ever brushed your teeth?
Nothing says self-respect like the toothpaste on finger brush. It's God's way of saying, "Didn't expect to be sleeping here tonight, huh?"

47. Somewhere in California you've never been and would like to go?
CLUBBING AT LES DEUX!

48. Do you go to church?
No. But, I mean, I won't stand outside fuming if you're getting married in one or anything.

49. At this point in your life would you rather start a new career or a new relationship?
New career. Well, same career with more money. Was that an option?

50. Just how OLD are you?
29. I'M NOT SCARED OF YOU, THIRTY!

We Were On A Break

2007-08-22T12:47:00.000-04:00

I'm taking a bloggin' break, kids. But here's a little something to try and encourage good baseball karma in my absence.

Again, I'm Sorry

2007-07-31T19:03:00.001-04:00

1. Do you like cheese?
Oh sure, start with the one that makes me look crazy. I mostly don't like cheese. There are exceptions when it's melted, because I like pizza and grilled cheese sandwiches so long as they're not super cheesy. Please invite me to your wine and cheese parties anyway because I would be happy to enjoy your wine.

2. Have you ever smoked heroin?
It's tempting, but I hear detox is a bitch. Right Lins?

3. Do you own a gun?
No! And if I did, it's probably a good thing that I'm not also on heroin. Because drugs and guns lead to drive-bys, right? ISWEARTOGOD the first time around I type drive-thru. I'm so street.

4. Do you get nervous before doctor appointments?
Sometimes, but not usually.

5. What do you think of hot dogs?
They're either great or totally gross. I only eat them at barbecues or Fenway. Actually, that's probably the only time anyone ever eats hot dogs. They're everyone's summer boyfriend and then we break up with them in the fall for filet mignon.

6. What's your favorite Christmas song?
I love all Christmas songs, starting the first of December. I'm that person.

7. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
I'm not a coffee person so I just drink water. But I'd prefer a mojito.

8. Can you do push ups?
No, nor do I feel even the slightest inkling of a need to.

9. Is your bathroom clean?
Newly clean.

10. What's your favorite piece of jewelry?
I have some necklaces that I've received as gifts that I have some sentimental attachment to, but I never wear them. I wear earrings sometimes. I'm a boy.

13. What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex?
Tears.

14. Do you have A.D.D.?
What?

16. Middle name?
Susan.

17. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment?
I have to get my sheets out of the dryer. I need a haircut. And based on the five minutes that I saw of it, I have a sneaking suspicion that I Hate My 30s isn't going to be as hilarious as I want it to be.

18. Name the last 3 things you have bought?
Three books: Heat by Bill Buford (finally in paperback, yay!), Happiness Sold Separately by Lolly Winston, and Special Topics in Calamity Physics by Marisha Pessl.

19. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink.
Diet Pepsi, water, white grape-flavored sparkling water.

20. Current worry?
WHY CAN'T I CLEAN MY OFFICE? It's been a pit for like two years now. Seriously. I'm an animal. I'm going to take a picture of it and post it here in order to shame myself into finally cleaning it.

21. Current hate?
Every time I flip past Mix 98.5 on the radio in the morning, I die a thousand deaths when I hear Kelly Malone talking. She's like Access Hollywood in human form. She never has anything intelligent to say and she has a totally generic top 40 personality. Once I heard her quote a book she was reading that taught her that every time you ask "Do I look okay?" what you're really asking is "Am I good enough?" which she discussed like it was a brilliant philosophical revelation. She drank beer at Fenway after paint chips fell in it and once said her greatest fear in life is getting fat. Need I go on?

22. Favorite place to be?
With my friends and/or family.

23. How did you bring in the New Year?
I had friends over and made potent Bay Breezes. Fine, we may have also handcuffed ourselves to each other and run around outside.

24. Where would you like to go?
I'd love to be on a tropical vacation right now. I'm not picky. Beach, sand, book, sunblock, me happy.

27. Do you own slippers?
No, I hate slippers.

28. What are you wearing?
Shorts and a tank top.

29. Do you burn or tan?
Please.

30. Favorite color?
Cranberry.

31. Would you be a pirate?
Does it come with a healthcare package? Arr.

32. What songs do you sing in the shower?
I don't sing in the shower. I actually turn the radio up really loud so I can hear the music but I don't sing.

35. What's in your pocket right now?
No pockets.

36. Last thing that made you laugh?
On Sunday I got a text from a work friend telling me that she brought a 22-year-old Brazilian (male) stripper home with her the night before. Then I got the story in person and it was even better than I hoped for.

37. Best bed sheets as a child?
Strawberry Shortcake!

38. Worst injury you've ever had?
Random broken bones, nothing horrible.

41. Who is your loudest friend?
Lucretia can't keep her damn mouth shut. Love ya anyway, Lu!

42. Who is your most silent friend?
Definitely Thurston. Speak up, buddy.

43. Does someone have a crush on you?
Does anyone not?

45. What is your favorite book?
Travels With Charley by John Steinbeck. Kind of a ghetto, scruffy Eat Pray Love. With a dog named Charley.

46. What is your favorite candy?
M&Ms. In related news, I always claim to never get PMS, and yet this afternoon found me alone at a movie theater watching No Reservations with a bag of sour patch kids and peanut butter M&Ms. So, yeah. Hormones anyone?

47. What song do/did you want played at your wedding?
That's All.

48. What song do you want played at your funeral?
I don't care. I'm dead!

49. What were you doing at 12 AM last night?
Sleeping.

50. What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up?
Thunder! Ooh. (I apparently formulate thoughts as extensive as a puppy when I'm waking up.)

Jokes About The Apple Not Falling Far Are Frowned Upon

2007-07-28T11:28:00.001-04:00

I came to the Cape on Thursday for a long weekend of reading, shopping, eating good food, and lazing in the sun (or sitting inside blogging in the rain, as is the case at the moment). And, of course, time with the parents, who basically live here all summer long.

The joke with my mom is that we'll never know when she gets senile. She's always been kind of a fruit loop. Not unintelligent, just a little out of her mind. Sometimes when I think I might be getting juvenile Alzheimer's, I stop and remember who my mother is. This isn't exactly meant to be critical, but when you have quotes like "I hate these bagels! They're TOO BIG!" fired at you all weekend, you can't help but record them for posterity.

My parents are having an arbor put on the front walkway. My mom and I are pulling out of the driveway and an electrician is pulling in. She leans across me to speak to him.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm here about the arbor."
"Oh, really?! The arbor! YAY YOU!"
"I'm checking your wiring."
"I'm so excited!"
He pauses, clearly uncertain as to whether or not she's the right one to be talking to. "Do you have any wires on the ground?"
"Yay! The arbor is going up! Oh. I don't know."

*****

"You know that dinner I made, with the shrimp? Well, when I went to the supermarket, they had one thing of jumbo shrimp that were really huge for $20.99 a pound. Then they had these other shrimp that were pretty much the same size for $10.99 a pound. I asked the woman why and she didn't know. They don't know anything! So I had her get the manager and I said, 'This one is $20.99 and that one is $10.99 and they're basically the same! It's not even TRUE!' [This nonsensical line was said with such emphasis that it may be my favorite thing she said all weekend.] And he said that's just how they're priced."
"Why did you need to talk to the manager? Why didn't you just get the cheaper one?"
"I just wanted to tell him."
"So which one did you get?"
"The $20.99. They just looked better."

*****

"I was at Tracy Elise and the woman who was working there, this Oriental woman..."
"MOM."
"Asian-American! Fine! Jesus. I saw that Tocca perfume I have that you like and I asked if they had a tester so I could check and make sure it's the same thing, and she said no, the tester was empty. And I said, why don't you open one of the new ones and that can be your tester? She said that they have to make the tester specifically to be a tester. I said, NO, the tester is just a tester because of the little sticker that says 'tester.' I should've put the sticker on her and said, 'See? Now you're a tester.' She told me I could smell the cap. The cap! You've got to be kidding me. But then you know what? I looked closer at the perfume and it said it was a room fragrance. Do you think it's possible this whole time that I've been using room fragrance and thinking it was perfume?"

*****

"Your father can be so disgusting! Remember how he never used to need deodorant?"
"Yeah," I say warily, not liking where this is going. (But incidentally, it's true. For years, weirdly enough, he never wore or needed deodorant, even after biking for hours on the weekend. Still, it's not my favorite topic of conversation.)
"Well, now he needs it, and he REFUSES to wear it. When he comes in from his walk and just sits around, I say to him, 'You stink.' And you know what he says? 'No I don't.' NO YOU DON'T?! When people tell you that you smell, you should BELIEVE them! They're not making it up! I swear, that man is turning into Howard Hughes, and he's only going to get worse!" Pause. "I should've dated more."
That's the second time recently that I've heard her compare him to Howard Hughes. They must have just netflixed The Aviator.

More Surveyaliciousness

2007-07-23T13:33:00.000-04:00

I realized why I like doing blog surveys: narcissism! It's the new bipolar disorder.

1. What is your best friend's mom's name?
Mrs. Whatever. When it comes to parents, I can't do first names. Although Jen started the inexplicable tradition of calling my dad LJ, which is somehow hysterical because it's the last nickname he could ever pull off. He would need a motorcycle and tattoos and a pack of squealing women following behind him. Which he usually has anyway, that pimp.

2. What body part do you hate the most?
Blah, I don't know. This is the summer of owning all of it, anyway. My version of owning it so far has been to hit my tummy and yell "I OWN THIS!" when drinking with friends.

3. Who was the hottest teacher you ever had?
I actually never had any young teachers, and none of the oldsters really did it for me. It took awhile for me to realize that you could even have a teacher who was under fifty because all of mine were close to retirement. Dorie's kids go to the same elementary school that I went to, and when we were comparing teachers I told them that mine must be ~~dead~~ working in other schools now. But then it turned out that my old gym teacher is still there. I have no idea how. It's twenty years later, and he was old back then. They must just prop up what's left of him in the corner and he uses his disembodied voice to give instructions for how to play capture the flag.

4. Have you ever made out in a movie theater?
Ha, yes. That was the best. It was the only time you were guaranteed to not be interrupted by parents.

5. What body part do you wash first?
Maybe this is weird, but I wash behind my ears first.

6. Do you have any piercings?
Just my ears. I almost got my eyebrow pierced in college. Obviously I would have taken it out years ago, but, ha. I'm not sure what I was thinking.

7. Is your driveway steep?
I don't really have a driveway. I live in a condo.

8. What's your favorite flavored Pringles?
I'm not sure, I haven't had Pringles in years. I like sour cream and onion, though.

9. Have you ever been tied up?
I haven't. I wanted to add "yet" but that seems creepy, somehow. Very arched eyebrow coy.

10-12. Where you at?
I know, right?

13. Have you ever had two dates in one night?
Ha, sort of, but it wasn't planned ahead of time. I came home from one date and wasn't ready to go to bed and so I called this other guy who had been asking me to go out for awhile (clearly he was high up on my priority list) and told him I'd meet him in the city. We made out in the back of this weird Spanish club. I love how I talk about this like I was 21 and it wasn't last summer.

14. How many times have you been cursed at?
I'm sure gajillions. Bring it! I'm terrible at comebacks so you know you'll win.

15. Which shoe do you put on first?
I think right.

16. How old are you?
29. It's an interesting age because according to the greeting card industry, it's the age that everyone wants to be. I'm bracing for twenty ten. It doesn't help that VH1 is debuting a series called I Hate My 30s. I thought you guys were my friends! (In all seriousness, I'm pretty much over the turning 30 thing. I'd much rather be 30 than 20 again. I'm glad I got to live it up back in the day but I'm kind of over killing brain cells. No I'm not! Where's the wine?)

17. Have you ever been to a gay bar?
Yeah, and I specifically remember one where they were playing gay porn on all the TVs. I learned a lot.

18. Have you ever had any friends with benefits?
Yeah, here and there, guys that I liked but couldn't date in real life.

19. Is there one thing all of your love interests have had in common?
They all dug this fine package. I mean, I don't know.

20. Did you French kiss before you were 16?
Yeah. Probably not well.

21. Have you ever been cow-tipping or snipe-hunting?
OH MY GOD yes to the latter. Every year in my elementary school the fourth grade class went on a trip to Vermont and we went snipe hunting one night and it was so much fun. The most anticlimatic part was that they didn't even officially tell us afterwards that snipes aren't real, which is supposed to be the big comic reveal. We just kind of heard about it and passed it along and went to bed. Also, I didn't shower for five days. This one girl Jill showered and we made fun of her. A few years ago when they were organizing our ten year high school reunion, someone sent out a spreadsheet confirming everyone's addresses and someone had put in that Jill lived at 15 Huge Bitch Lane or something, and she got mad. I don't think the two stories are related, but police are investigating.

22. Who is the last person you usually think about before you fall asleep?
I don't know, I guess it depends.

23. Have you ever had a song written about you?
Yes, but nothing on the Top 40 countdown. How great would it be if I could be like, hmm, let me think, oh yeah, LoveStoned.

24. Where did 24 go?
I don't know. The show? I hope it's GONE FOREVER.

25. Have you ever found anything in your parents' bedroom that was questionable?
No. I looked through their drawers one time and found all the cards I'd ever made for my mom, which made me feel like a bad person so I stopped looking. I'm going to make sure to lock up the flavored cock rings so my kids don't find them.

26. What was your childhood nickname?
Everyone has always called me Bec, and when I was younger I got Becky, but I've always hated that one. One of my friends and I called each other Beuker (boo-ker) although I don't remember why. My mom has always called me Pie. Neither one of us particularly like pie so analyze that how you will.

27. When is the last time you played the air guitar?
Never, I have to say.

28. Have you ever peeked in the opposite sex's locker room?
No, I don't imagine that I'd observe anything particularly hot.

29. What's the weirdest thing you have done while driving?
I changed my shirt once. It doesn't sound like much but when you're suddenly topless on the highway you definitely have a OHMYGOD moment.

30. Have you ever bitten your toenails?
No, I couldn't even if I wanted to.

31. How do you normally eat your Oreo cookies?
Take them apart, eat the DELICIOUS white stuff (learn to love the lard, Carly) and then the cookies.

32. WHERE IS 32?
Again, don't know!

33. Name something you do when you're alone that you wouldn't do in front of others?
I probably would not (ahem) fully enjoy Skinimax in front of others. If I'm going to get caught, I at least want it to be while watching something respectable like Asian double penetration.

34. Where's 34?
Again, not sure.

35. And 35?
35 is the age when I hope to be mommy blogging up a storm.

36. How many drinks does it take before you get drunk?
Depends on the drink and whether or not I've eaten. I mostly drink wine or beer so with anything else, I have no idea.

37. Why are you doing this survey?
Blah, at this point I just figure I have no choice.

38-40. GAH!
Yep.

41. Do you have any strange phobias?
I don't like anything scary... movies or TV shows or stories or anything. I think they're fun during the day and then at night when I can't sleep and I swear I can hear Lizzie Borden laughing maniacally on my staircase, I regret it.

42. Have you ever stuck a foreign object up your nose?
The Monopoly thimble is probably still up there somewhere. When it rains I still have a faint urge to sew.

43-45. [Silent fuming]

46. Have you ever gotten caught sleeping while on a date?
No, but I've wanted to.

47. Have you ever played naked twister?
No, but I bet you can file that under "better in theory."

48. Have you ever been drunk at school or work?
One time my sophomore year of high school we drank beer and vodka in the woods during school. So stupid on so many levels. But I only had a little bit of beer so I wasn't really drunk. As for the second question... come on, I work with children. So yes, of course, all the time.

49. Have you ever found your date's brother or sister to be hotter then your date?
No, thankfully.

50. How many Bryces do you know?
None.

Try To Make Her Go To Rehab, She'll Say No

2007-07-14T12:57:00.001-04:00

The only way I could be more ecstatic about the new Lindsay Lohan movie I Know Who Killed Me is if it was autobiographical.

I haven't been this excited since House of Wax came out. And God knows that baby delivered.

I'm thisclose to throwing a pop culture party to commemorate the blessed event. I can see it now: Timbaland tuna tartare, Harry Potstickers... just be grateful I stopped before David Beckham and cheese sandwiches.

And instead of goody bags, a slip of paper telling you when to hand your baby or husband over to Angelina Jolie. Because she's going to end up with all of them eventually anyway.

Who You Gonna Call?

2007-07-12T20:15:00.000-04:00

My parents are at Dirty Dancing right now without me, which I may have mentioned 2 or 200 times. Anyway, my mom called me bubbling over with excitement because Waiter Friend is bringing them on a ~~journey into the gaping maw of hell~~ totally fun adventure!

Mom: Waiter Friend is going to take us on a ghost hunt tomorrow night when everyone else is asleep!
Me: What?
Mom: It's going to be so much fun!
Me: Mom, that's totally creepy.
Mom: Oh, it'll be fun. I just hope no one finds out, because Waiter Friend could lose his job. No one is supposed to be down in the tunnels underneath the hotel.
Me: The TUNNELS? Think about this for a second. The place is a jillion years old. They originally wanted to film THE SHINING there. And you know how creepy it can be at night!
Mom: Sure, I guess!
Me: No, not during the day when dad's golfing and you're at a culinary demonstration learning how to make freakin' creme brulee. I'm talking LATE AT NIGHT. It's creepy. I get creeped out just being alone in my room there sometimes.
Mom: Waiter Friend has a list of all the ghosts that are supposed to still be in the hotel. He calls them The Guests Who Haven't Checked Out Yet.
Me: Don't look at any portraits for too long! They always come to life!
Mom: Oh, you're silly.
Me: I swear, if you disappear, I am NOT coming after you with a psychic and night vision goggles.
Mom: I can't wait! We're going to see a ghost!
Me: Is your will updated?

Is It Me...

2007-07-08T13:22:00.000-04:00

...or does anyone else find it problematic that on Blogger, the "save settings" and "delete this blog" button are right on top of each other? Clearly this wasn't designed with someone like me in mind. If I suddenly disappear from the ~~blogging universe~~ bluniverse, you'll know why. And rest assured that I'm somewhere screaming, "NO! SAVE SETTINGS! I SAID SAVE SETTINGS! FUUUUUUUUUUUCK! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO NOW?"

And then, like in The Cable Guy when Jim Carrey falls into the satellite dish and everyone's cable goes out and they can no longer squander their hours pointlessly in front of the TV, I suddenly pick up a book. Cue music and deep self-actualizations, courtesy of Dostoyevsky or, you know, that chick who writes about wearing Prada and believing in yourself.

Consider My Independence Declared

2007-06-30T10:39:00.000-04:00

I'm off to the Cape to spend time with my family, friends, and that bitch who criticized me for being thisclose to albinism.

In related news, did you know that they make 70 SPF sunscreen now? It's like the world is finally holding open its screen door and telling me to go outside and play with the properly pigmented people.

I'll be back at the end of next week. Break out the bathing suits and barbecued meat and happy Fourth of July, everyone!

Freeze Frame

2007-06-29T12:33:00.001-04:00

Did you listen to New Kids on the Block?
Listened to them, lived for them, something like that. I was around 11 when they became popular, which of course is the age that guarantees that you will not only love the boy band du jour, but that pictures will exist forever of you, gap-toothed and permed, wearing sweatshirts proudly sporting the band's pictures. And of course I had every Bop, Big Bopper and Teen Beat with their faces on it, pictures of them on inexplicably ginormous buttons on my jean jacket, and a poster of Joey McIntyre on my bedroom wall.

Did you ever own a slap bracelet?
Yeah, a bunch. But we should really talk jelly bracelets.

The Babysitters Club or Sweet Valley High?
Okay, why don't you just ask me to choose between food and water? Both were finely crafted tomes about the struggles of growing up, coming of age, and Kristy was definitely gay, right? If I had to pick one (siiiiigh), I was probably more obsessive about Sweet Valley High. I started reading them in the third grade and I really felt that it helped me get a sense for what being a teenager would be like. Which worked out well because when I was finally in high school myself, I had an asexual boyfriend named Todd, drove a Fiat, and had eyes the blue-green of the Carribean. And my mischevious twin sister finally showed up! (Incidentally, you forgot Sleepover Friends. And what's up, Taffy freakin' Sinclair? I could talk a blue streak about all those bitches, too.)

Salute Your Shorts or Hey Dude?
I didn't watch either. Lame, I know. Where the hell was I?

Kids Incorporated or The Mickey Mouse Club?
I vaguely remember Kids, Inc. I think they recreated the Mickey Mouse Club when I was older or something.

Did you want Dylan to end up with Brenda or Kelly?
Okay, listen. This isn't an 80s question, but I'm perfectly happen to discuss this. Basically it doesn't matter either way because Dylan was a fucknut. The husky voice, the stupid hair, the motorcycle, the tortured past...BLEH. I liked Brandon, but I do understand that he wasn't a viable option for Brenda. The funny thing is that I still remember the creepy, pseudo-sexy dialogue between Dylan and Brenda right before he poked her on prom night. In any case, I never forgave Kelly for stealing Dylan away. So uncool! But then Brenda grew her bangs out and got boring, so whatever.

Who was ALF?
The little puppet alien guy who lived with the family and dispensed wisdom. The 80s were weird. Why did we just accept that shit? Hello, Small Wonder.

Do you remember the show Dinosaurs?
I mostly remember that my cousin Andrew thought it was really funny and I didn't. But he was also probably around four at the time, so that may have accounted for his tastes.

Do/did you know the words to the Fresh Prince theme song?
Do and did! In West Philadelphia, born and raised...

Kimmie Gibler or Urkel?
Gah, those feisty, weird-talking neighbors. What about Boner? Skippy? Mrs. Poole? (No idea what remote pocket of my brain I pulled her out of.) Also, didn't Laura end up with Urkel? Realistic.

Blossom or Clarissa Explains It All?
Blossom, although I kind of hated her and loved that her boyfriend wouldn't sleep with her. Also, can I just throw in that Elusive Jen once told me that she couldn't understand why the Huxtables' oldest daughter was white?

Bobby Brown or Tevin Campbell?
Either way, you really can't go wrong.

Step By Step or Full House?
Hmm, probably Full House. I was a little more committed to the family members and their compelling character arcs. How rude.

Did you listen to Milli Vanilli?
So much so that I didn't really understand the big deal about them lip syncing. Hello, did a complete lack of musical integrity mean that their songs were any less awe-some?

Mr. Rogers or Reading Rainbow?
I loved Reading Rainbow! I think we all outgrew Mr. Rogers pretty quickly, and some of those puppets were pretty disturbing. There was a strange dictatorship happening there with the king and queen and the rest of them.

Did you own a Glo Worm?
I don't think so.

Paula Abdul: better now or then?
Well, I was a BIG fan of Coldhearted Snake and Straight Up and Forever Your Girl and Opposites Attract and basically everything else that came out of her mouth in the 80s, but nothing beats her being drunk during live TV interviews nowadays, so it's really a toss up.

Wild 'n' Crazy Kids or Double Dare?
Um, did someone order a PHYSICAL CHALLENGE? I loved Double Dare. Didn't it seem like it was on every day? Was it? I wanted to kill the kids who didn't know that in order to go up the slide covered in hot fudge, you were supposed to put your feet on either side where there was NO hot fudge, otherwise you were never going to get that goddamn flag at the end. And I actually don't know what Wild 'n' Crazy Kids are/were.

Remember Legends of the Hidden Temple?
No, but if I was eight years old and you were suggesting that we play it in the backyard, I'd be totally into that.

The Mighty Ducks or The Little Giants?
I never saw either one.

Did you watch Saved By The Bell?
Hell yes. Jessie and her caffeine pills!

Who was hotter: Zack or Slater?
Zack! Slater was and is totally scuzzy.

Camp Nowhere or House Arrest?
I have no idea. What about Camp Cucamonga? Anyone?

Did you own a pair of Reebok Pumps?
Nope.

Care Bears or Smurfs?
Again, a very tough call. I'm going to have to side with the bears on this one. They really cared.

Rainbow Brite or Strawberry Shortcake?
Rainbow was cool, but Strawberry dominated my world in the 80s.

Did you watch Miami Vice?
Nope.

Did you own a pair of Jelly Shoes?
About ten.

Did you own a Trapper Keeper?
Of course! I love John Mayer's quote from I Love The 80s on VH1: "Trapper Keepers were the genesis of obsessive compulsive disorders for my generation. You started out strong and then by the third day of school, the Louisiana Purchase was crumpled at the bottom of your bag and you just told yourself, 'next year.'" In related news, John Mayer is a douche.

Atari or Nintendo?
They were both addictive. I remember that Atari had some program you could buy that let you write your own game, and my dad showed me how to use it and then came back a few hours later to play the game I came up with. The first thing that came on the screen was the question, "Do you like blonds, brunettes, or redheads?" Apparently I tried to develop an escort service.

Do you remember when the A-Ha video was the pinnacle of modern technology?
Remember when? It's still the shit, thank you very much. Their love survived the trash!

Ever owned one of those embarrassing crimping irons?
I can feel the judgment in your question. YES, in seventh grade I was the proud owner and obsessive user of a pink crimping iron.

Did you have Michael Jackson tapes?
Records, even! For one of my birthdays, my dad told my grandmother that I liked Michael Jackson, but instead of Thriller she bought me old Jackson Five records. Boo.

Do you remember the first time you ever kissed someone at a dance during Crazy for You by Madonna?
I never did, but my God, I WANTED TO. When I was 12, I couldn't imagine a more romantic song.

Did you play with Transformers?
No. Mostly My Little Ponies, Care Bears, Strawberry Shortcake and friends, Barbies, Jem, She-Ra, that kind of thing. My dad had a Transformer, though. He was probably 35.

What life lessons did you take from 80s movies?
Sweep the leg, angry marshmallows will kill you, in the future we turn into assholes or something, never say that Thor is a homo, Elisabeth Shue is the perfect girlfriend, my will is as strong as yours and my kingdom as great, the empress likes you to say her name, and when the pirate ship sails away filled with jewels, don't let it go just because you have enough in your pockets to save your freakin' goon docks. Swim after the damn ship and then you can buy the whole WORLD!

Patty O'Furniture

2007-06-27T13:26:00.000-04:00

I have a ~~tiny backyard with a concrete slab overlooking green~~ patio that needs furniture. And by furniture I mean stuff that can be rained on repeatedly, snowed on a little when I forget to bring it inside until after Thanksgiving, cleaned halfheartedly, periodically doused with wine, margaritas, and crab dip, and still look impossibly stunning. (I could also use a housekeeper who works for compliments and Diet Pepsi. If you know anyone.)

The "furniture" that I have out there now is 100 years old and so grimy that when one of the cushions somehow sailed over the ledge into the wetlands (my neighbor's and my affectionate term for the unidentifiably marshy land of Oz behind our homes) I didn't even bother to retrieve it. I looked down at it, thought "huh" and left it there, to think about what it had done, I guess. In the past few days it's actually reappeared, but the fact remains that I need decent patio furniture.

First I was thinking of my dear friends Crate and Barrel, because yum. Honestly, I should get married just for the registry gifts. And, um, also to celebrate love and fidelity. Anyway, in between lusting after their veranda wine glasses and wire outdoor candleholders, I realized that they don't actually seem to sell much patio furniture. But boy, will they accessorize it adorably and expensively. Sausalito striped picnic blanket, whee! Of course, I haven't been on a picnic since... okay, well, I remember one that we had after my cousin Chris's christening. He just turned 19.

A google search for "patio furniture" returned some Walmart options. So I tried googling "nice patio furniture" and got JC Penney and some listings on Craigslist. "Really fucking great patio furniture" got me a review of a place called the Spider House in Austin. Okay, apparently I'm not the efficient googler I once considered myself to be. So how about Target? Worth a look, right? And at least while I'm there I can pick up some body wash, batteries, and board games. (What, you have your weekend your way, I'll have mine my way.)

And who would've thought? You sly sons of bitches, you've got gazebos! Deep seating and conversation sets! I don't know what that last one is, but I do know that I want to sit deeply and converse! I nixed the bistro set because I've been on enough awkward dates at cafes and I really don't need to simulate one at my own home. I feel like I could sit there with Dorie and suddenly I'd be nervously asking her how long she's worked for her company and uh-huh, oh really, five years, how interesting, and how many siblings do you have?

Some of the patio stuff looked nice but then I realized that what I really liked was the sparkling pool or bright blue ocean or rolling hills of Tuscany that they conveniently placed the furniture right beside for photographs. Nice ploy, folks. I almost bought a bean bag chair filled with styrofoam peanuts because I thought it came packed alongside that weatherbeaten Italian villa.

Target has plenty of outdoorsy things that I don't need but that I really think no one should have to go through life without: Tiki bars! Cast iron fire pits! Wall fountain with lion head! Okay, okay, too far, Red. Just stick to the furniture.

Wait a second... color-changing solar party path lights? I'm sorry, did someone order a DANCE PARTY straight up? Picture me, if you will, throwing my hands up in the air and waving them around like I just don't care. Who needs a practical chaise lounge when you can have a backyard filled with tequila and pretty colors?

The Jerk Store

2007-06-21T15:56:00.000-04:00

I found out that my mom's friend's wife, who is a GINORMOUS BITCH, is coming to our Fourth of July barbecue on the Cape. Now, some might argue that this is a bad thing. However, she said something mean to me years ago* and I didn't hold her crabby ass accountable. Since then my poor family has had to hear me go on about how I should have handled the situation. No one cares about this except for me, which makes me George Costanza. Witness:

Me: You know, if she says anything like she did last time, well, I'm totally going to put her in her place.
Dorie: Okay.
Me: Don't expect me to be nice! Because I'm going to let her have it!
Dorie: Are you staying for dinner?
Me: I'm just warning you, because there might be an uncomfortable moment. A very long, uncomfortable moment.
Dorie: Do you want to make a caesar salad?

The funny thing is that I still don't actually have a comeback for her, nor am I the sort of person who can deliver blistering, well-timed, cut-you-to-the-bone comebacks. But if the time is right, I do have big plans to announce to her that the jerk store called, and they're running out of YOU!

*She was harping on me for being so pale, which I'm sensitive about to begin with, plus I don't even know her that well and she was just really nasty about it. Basically, bitch is going down. DownTOWN. You know, where the lights are much brighter. And you can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares. Just listen to the rhythm of a gentle bossa nova, you'll be dancing with them too before the night is over...

Ahem. See above where I mentioned that I'm not the best at comebacks.

Ahh, Binky, My Old Nemesis. So We Meet Again.

2007-06-18T20:53:00.000-04:00

One of my kindergarteners, soon to be a first grader, is unbearably cute. Not cute in the way that you have to pronounce all kids to be when their parent shoves a picture of them under your nose while you're just trying to heat up your Lean goddamn Cuisine. I'm talking the kind of cute where you know people must just stop and gape at him in supermarkets. The kind of cute where, in fifteen years, he will simply look at girls and their pants will fly off.

A couple years ago, he could only speak in vowels. You can imagine what your speech is like without consonants. You sound like you're doing a one man version of the Survivor theme song (ahem, not the clinical term for it). Now he's just about to turn six (six! remember that) and while he still has some speech errors, he's very intelligible, which is huge for him. He's had to work so hard to get to where he is, and I'm just glad it never seemed to affect his confidence.

Still, there's a part of me that could never figure out why the hell it was so hard for him to develop speech normally. I asked his parents, teachers and pediatrician every question under the sun, but everything pointed to a normal developmental history with his speech being the one huge exception.

I met with his parents this morning. First meeting of the day, there with my whole team, but it's mostly my show since he doesn't receive any other therapies. I run through the whole thing: making good progress, here are some things to work on over the summer, any questions?

Mom has one. "You know how you asked us all those questions about the things Kid could be doing at home that could've been hurting his speech?"

I can already tell that this isn't going anywhere good.

"Well, he's been using a binky when he sleeps for years. Could that be a factor?"

We all try very hard to always to be professional with the kids' parents, meaning that we only mock them when we're safely tucked into a corner at happy hour. But I couldn't help my reaction. I put my head in my hands and said, "Oh, no. No, no, no. You're kidding me. Please tell me you're kidding." Our school psychologist later commended me for not turning the table over.

How did I never think to ask if he was still using a goddamn pacifier? How did she not think to tell me after I assaulted her with questions about everything he could be doing with or putting in his mouth throughout the course of his entire day?

Then I read Darren's latest blog entry about seeing a four-year-old with a pacifier and I thought, yeah, it's about time for a public service announcement for parents of young children. Take away the mouth plug. It can profoundly hinder their speech development (and their ability to learn sounds, letters, interact successfully with their peers, need I go on?). Make use of the pacifier fairy, a daily star chart, or a popsicle, whatever works. Just get rid of it.

It's fine for infants, but the old saying holds true: If they can ask for it, THEY'RE TOO OLD FOR IT.

We now return to our regularly scheduled snarkfest.

Apparently Now Every Little Damn Thing Makes Me Cry. What Of It?

2007-06-17T18:28:00.000-04:00

1. The trailer for A Mighty Heart. It seems like a nice tribute, but ohmygod. I'm able to take it down a notch by reminding myself that the guy who plays Daniel Pearl also played Charlotte's gay-straight boyfriend on Sex and the City. "Ooh, is that dress Cynthia Rowley?"

2. My Daddy The Crocodile Hunter on Animal Planet. You can imagine where I'm going with this one, right? I spend all day around kids, and somehow I'm completely blown away by how unbelievably freakin' cute the footage of Steve and Bindi is. By the time the show was over, I was so thoroughly convinced of the unsurpassed adorability of the two of them together that you'd think I'd been married to the guy and given birth to Bindi myself. Khaki has never brought out such emotion in me before. I couldn't even post a picture of them here because the tears, crikey, the TEARS!

3. Dave Roberts' standing ovation at Fenway. He plays for the Giants now, but for those of you non-baseball people, he was ours in 2004 and in the bottom of the ninth inning of game four of the playoffs, down by one run against the Yankees and seconds away from losing it all, out of nowhere Dave stole second base and later scored, which changed THE WORLD (i.e. started a chain of perfection which eventually led to the Sox winning the World Series for the first time in 86 years). Anyway, he was back this weekend and received the Boston lovin' that he so richly deserves. I also like the idea that a fairweather Giants fan could've put on the game and wondered why the hell Sox fans are so nice to visiting teams. (Okay, done with the baseball talk.)

4. The fifth grade graduation last week. I'm pretty sure fifth grade graduations didn't exist back when I was in fifth grade. Neither did getting letter grades in first grade or long and involved conversations about central auditory processing disorders as opposed to "that kid just doesn't listen," but that's neither here nor there. They read Oh The Places You'll Go and sang (wait for it!) the Graduation/Friends Forever song by Vitamin C. I'm sort of glad they're done practicing, because for awhile the halls were starting to resonate with the sound of bad late 90s radio. What will next year's class do? Ladies and Gentlemen of the Class of 2008, Wear Sunscreen? When it came out ten years ago I hoped that by now it could've been Ladies and Gentlemen of the Class of 2008, Get In Your Flying Cars. Incidentally, where the hell is my flying car? I believe it was promised to me years ago. I'm talking to you, Marty McFly.

5. An email from a friend with whom I had a falling out several months back, which said:

For what it's worth fucking up my friendship with you is one of the things I most regret about 2007 so far. I don't regret the ecstasy, the blow, the alcoholism, the poor judgment in dating a sociopath in February, the handjob from that sickly, latino prostitute outside my office in downtown Chelsea, or even trying to masturbate to Brokeback Mountain "just to see..." But I regret losing a pretty cool friend.

Aww. Nothing like good old-fashioned sentimentality.

Promiscuity On The Playground, On The Next Dateline

2007-06-16T11:11:00.001-04:00

1st Grade Kid at Recess: Miss Red, Suzy and Joey* are in the corner doing something they're not supposed to be doing.
Me: What are they doing?
Kid: [long pause, searching for the right word, and finally, in a tiny voice] Weenie.

*Names changed to protect the no longer innocent.

Virgin Territory

2007-06-13T22:00:00.000-04:00

Friend A: My friend wants to fix me up with this guy, but there are two catches. He's...
Me: Wait, let us guess!

Let the record show that Friend B and I guessed that he has a kid, is married, separated, a cross dresser, an alcoholic, too old, too young, too short, been in rehab, been to jail, had sex with Paris Hilton, had sex with Paris Hilton in jail, or that he has herpes, AIDS, and/or syphilis before we arrived on the actual two catches: that he's a virgin who doesn't drink. For religious reasons on both counts, apparently, which means the proverbial chastity belt isn't coming off anytime soon. Once the dust settled, we all agreed that ~~we'd much rather date a guy who has been around the block a little bit so long as he's not crudded up because at least he probably knows what he's doing~~ bootyless sobriety is a valid and beautiful choice.

But seriously: A hush has fallen over the suburbs of Boston this evening. What does one do with a potential suitor like this? Go to the zoo? Analyze the civil war between Netflix and Blockbuster? Anyone?

Bueller?

Once

2007-06-13T10:12:00.000-04:00

Do you have plans for this weekend yet? Because I'm here to tell you that you should go see a little movie called Once. It's sweet and simple and the soundtrack is really lovely. Yes, soundtrack... I purchased a CD for the first time in I don't know how long. Actually, I only bought it because I couldn't Limewire any of the songs.

Speaking of, is it just me or do all of your Limewire searches inexplicably retrieve an audio file called "How to land a girl"? Are they trying to tell me something? Because, well, I don't mean to brag, but I'm hardly hurting in that department. What's up, ladies?

Anyway: Once. It's a love story, sort of, but not overtly so, and I agree with the reviewer who said that if it had been made by Americans it would've sucked. We would've taken whatever delicate bud of potential existed there and turned it into a revoltingly sappy pandering sobfest where someone died in a plane crash while Maroon 5 played in the background. But even though it's not American, it takes place in Ireland which means they speak English, which means no subtitles, which is also good because in addition to Celine Dioning your movies, Americans are lazy and devoid of culture.

And if my recommendation for how you should spend your weekend doesn't work for you, you could always come watch the Sox play WhoCaresIt'sTheNationalLeague with me in Harvard Square. I'll buy you a margarita at the Cactus Club and we can mock Ringo Starr's art exhibit. Because... why? Why does that exist?

Dear Ferret Rights Society, I Apologize In Advance. Sincerely, Red

2007-06-11T21:05:00.001-04:00

Not to come off like the girliest girly girl living on Princess Planet, but I hate every member of the rodent family. That means mice, gerbils, hamsters, and all the other species in the animal kingdom that fall into some variation of that category. You can argue that the little fuzzies that you keep as pets aren't rodents, but if it's tiny and hairy and should be living in nature or animated and singing about Cinderelly, I want no part of it.

When a friend's hamster died and the huddled masses gathered to bow their heads and mourn the loss, I was not asked to deliver the eulogy. Possibly because it would have started with, "I never understood why the hell you guys even bought that little wheel-running woodchip-gnawing ball of disgustingness in the first place."

Ahem. May she rest in peace.

A few months ago, one of the kids at school did a good job on something and earned the honor and glory of feeding the classroom gerbil. (Interestingly, the exact opposite technique could've been employed to get me to behave back when I was in school: "Do your homework, Red, or else you'll have to hold the wiggly ball of terror for five whole minutes.") Anyway, the teacher was preoccupied with something and I happened to be in the room, so she asked if I'd take the gerbil out of the cage and hold it while the kid fed it. Um, what? I'm sorry, WHAT? I stood there, not knowing how to articulate the depths of my squeamishness, and wanting to be helpful but not at the expense of actually having to touch the godforsaken creature that I'd been careful to avert my eyes from all year long. Eventually one of the classroom assistants noticed my cold sweat and stepped up.

I could go on, but suffice to say that mice, in all their incarnations, are not high up on my list. So imagine how thrilled I was when I got to spend Saturday night with three ferrets, one of which didn't have any hair. Let me back up. My friend discovered that two of her coworkers had totally random connections to me, so we all got together for dinner. Afterwards, we went back to one couple's house for chocolate martinis and continued conversation. I don't believe I'd ever been around a ferret before, let alone three at once, prancing around like they owned the place. It was like the animals had taken over the zoo. AND DID I MENTION ONE OF THEM WAS HAIRLESS? It looked like a sad shrunken camel.

I tried my best to laugh it off and not reveal the extent of my hysteria when they darted over my toes and almost up my pant leg. They skittered across the floor, jumped from the couch to the coffee table, slipped in and out of cushions, and aged me about fifteen years. You never knew where they were! Was one of them behind you? Was it about to jump on you? And more importantly, WHO LIVES LIKE THIS? Dogs, I understand. Cats, sure, knock yourself out. Maybe I could even forgive the errant reptile. But FERRETS? And multiple ferrets at that? This is your home, not Petco!

It posed even more of a dilemma that, while I actually went to high school with the ferret owner, I had just met his wife that night and I felt like it would maybe be a faux pas to dropkick their family pets and then whip off all my clothes and burn them in their living room, all the while screaming uncontrollably. I waited until I got home to do that.

I almost included a picture of a ferret at the top of this entry, but every time I started to upload it to Flickr, I could feel it crawling on me. Sob.

So, It Was A Land? Made Of Feathers?

2007-06-07T20:27:00.000-04:00

Me: ...and I have a lot of work to finish before the end of school, but tomorrow is Field Day so I'll be able to get a lot done.
Mark: Field Day? Is that like a field trip?
Me: No, the kids play kickball and have relay races and stuff like that.
Mark: So they're just outside all day, jumping around and shit?
Me: Pretty much. Didn't your elementary school have something like that?
Mark: No, I don't think so.
Me: Oh, mine did. It was the best. It was called the Goofy Olympics, and it was held at this big grassy area down the road from the school called Featherland.
Mark: ...
Me: I just heard myself say it. Where the hell did I grow up?

After Awhile, Crocodile

2007-06-06T21:33:00.001-04:00

So, what are we thinking about Crocs? Ugliest shoes in the world, right? Who would buy shoes that are sold on a rack and attached to each other by a plastic strip that you actually have to cut?

Well, my mom started swearing by hers and then bought me a pair. I made fun of them and then tried them on. People, I have never known comfort like this. Would you believe that you can wear them all day long and not feel the need to take them off when you get home? It's like magic.

Good thing I work in an elementary school in the sticks and not a schmancy office in the city, because I now wear them EVERY SINGLE DAY. They make my feet look like Shrek's and I may as well not even be dropping money on pedicures. In my defense, I only wear them to work. The rest of the time I wear my favorite $7 pink flip flops.

In case you hadn't already guessed, I may be the least fashionable person ever. In fact, I'm so unfashionable, I'm thinking that the word fashionable might not be very fashionable anymore. But when I'm walking down the hall and one of my first grade BOYS says, "Miss Red, look! We're wearing the same shoes!", well, I can't help but wonder if things have gone too far.

60

2007-06-03T12:42:00.001-04:00

I've been trying to avoid my mom this weekend. It's not that I don't want to see her or that she's been annoying me (well, ahem, the latter may be bordering on the truth, but that's just a mom thing). It's because I organized a 60th birthday party for her and it's happening later on tonight. She thinks it's just dinner with my dad, the Dories and me, but when we get to the restaurant, fifteen of her closest friends will be waiting, hopefully geared up for a fun night thanks to the hour they'll spend with an open bar prior to our arrival.

Her best friend, my godmother, made a scrapbook of my mom's entire life. I made her a scrapbook too, but the theme is that it's from all of her kids... Dorie's kids, my three closest cousins, and me (both godchildren and goddamn children, as my mom would say). Everyone has their own page with a picture of them as a baby and a picture of them now. The best part is that everyone included something special that they did themselves... a birthday message, a funny poem, or a recreation of all of Harrison Ford's biggest movies, incorporating my mom into the plot in some way. I think it will mean a lot to her.

When I wrote my birthday message to her, I talked about how I'll never run out of Sudafed because when I had a stuffy nose years ago she bought me a lifetime supply, how when I say that I like her jewelry she takes it off and tries to give it to me, how she takes people who were once just neighbors and turns them into family, and has lifelong friends where other people just have occasional acquaintances. Everyone who meets her wants to be her friend. I've never known anyone else who cares more about the people in her life and really knows how to show it. She and I don't always see eye to eye, but I'm really excited to be able to throw her this party. She'll really appreciate it, because she's a person who is always thinking about everyone else, and this is a chance for other people to toast her. I found myself thinking that everyone the scrapbook is from is someone who didn't exist thirty years ago, and how different the second half of her life so far has been from the first half. She's lost a lot since then, but she'd tell you she's gained even more.

Last night I was at Dorie's, admittedly not the best place for taking refuge from my mom since she and my dad live across the street. Dorie and her husband were supposed to go to her college reunion, and she was psyched. I was supposed to babysit, but then her son got sick. Nothing serious, but he wasn't up for being left. It was a last minute decision to stay home and that was that. After time in a cool bath, he felt better, and spent the rest of the night lying in the family room watching the Sox play the Yankees with his dad. Dorie washed off her makeup and we sat on the porch drinking wine, enjoying the humidity as you can only do in June when it's still a novelty, her daughter playing with my hair and then standing back and saying things like, "Maybe it looks better when you do it yourself."

It seemed like a good metaphor for how life can change: You really, really want to meet up with old friends... and then a person that you made needs you, so you don't go. And it ends up being a different kind of night, but still a good night, because for better or worse you're where you want to be. You lose and you gain, sometimes in the same moment, and what you end up with at the end of the day isn't always what you expected, but maybe it ends up being exactly what you want. Not a bad theme for a milestone birthday. And also maybe, inadvertently, the lyrics to a new Jimmy Buffett song.

Making Sweet, Sweet Love To My Television, or My Plans For The Weekend

2007-05-31T23:04:00.000-04:00

Thanks to those of you who emailed to tell me that this is on VH1 Friday night:

40 Most Soft-sational Soft Rock Songs
They're the titans of tenderness... the sultans of sensitivity... the monsters of mellow, and we're counting down 40 of their greatest songs. So dim that lava lamp, pour a chalice of white zin, and cuddle up...

And wouldn't you know, at the same time, the Sox will be playing the Yankees on NESN.

I'm faced with a dilemma of epic proportions. Lionel or Youk? Dear God, it's like Sophie's Choice. If Sophie could watch one live and DVR the other, that is.

That's called having your cake and eating Peter Cetera too. Or, uh, something like that.

How The Public Schools Failed Me, or I'm So Dumb That It's Actually Kind of Frightening

2007-05-23T10:01:00.001-04:00

The fifth graders have been participating in the state standardized testing for several weeks now. There were always bubbles to fill in, blue books to write in, and number two pencils to sharpen when I was in school, but it's much more extensive these days. I've been periodically sitting with my kids to help them with parts of it. I thought it was bad enough that I had to review fractions so that I had a clue going into the math portion, but today's test was social studies, or what will henceforth be referred to as the twenty six multiple choice questions that made me realize that I'm not the intelligent, functioning member of society that just this morning I believed myself to be.

When it comes to questions about historical events, you either know that shit or you don't. Turns out? I don't. On many, many more counts than I'm prepared to admit. The Aztecs? The Pequot War? Lewis and Clark? Not to mention the fact that the only reason I remember Thomas Jefferson's affiliation with the Louisiana Purchase is from a random memory of learning disabled Mallory Keaton, who, after studying for days on end for a history test, yelled in class, "THE LOUISIANA PURCHASE WAS DIFFICULT FOR THOMAS JEFFERSON!" I don't remember why it was so difficult. No discount? I do, however, remember that a guy named Skippy had a crush on her. If you did a scan of my brain the only thing you'd find is Kimberly Drummond and Mike Seaver playing Operation. People, I need to buy some history books and READ THEM.

Or maybe there's something I could learn by watching the History Channel. Or the Discovery Channel. Or VH1. Wait a second. Lindsay Lohan did WHAT to her hair?

Years Go By, I'm Looking Through A Girly Magazine

2007-05-16T22:56:00.000-04:00

I went to Store 24 for gum and Diet Pepsi and apparently lost my mind, because I came out with the gum, DP, Cosmo, People, Us Weekly and Allure. Why? Especially why COSMO? I don't know. I had just been thinking about how lame it is that I haven't made any time for reading this year when I have so freakin' many books that I want to get to. And... this is the solution?

I love this shit, though. Ricki Lake lost more than 100 pounds and Us listed a few days' worth of the food that she eats. One of her breakfasts was pastel frittata with shiitake mushrooms, Gruyere and fresh herbs. Uh. Yeah. Sounds just like the cereal bar that I eat in my car on the way to work. It should be easy to emulate her success strategies and work in a little PASTEL FRITTATA during my commute.

Allure and People are pretty straightforward, as always: summer products and lame human interest stories, respectively. But oh Cosmo, you glossy vixen. You almost feel bad for it, like the trampy girl in your freshman dorm who meant well but would've fucked your futon if it said she was pretty. Reading it now is how I felt reading Teen and YM when I was 13: Should I be laughing dismissively or frantically searching for my prom date?

Anyway, Cosmo taught me what his text messages really mean, and that when he texts "What are u up 2 L8R?" it means "Wanna meet up and go home together?" (It doesn't mean "What are you up to later?" I'm so naive.) They also taught me how to cuddle by using spoons to illustrate different positions for different moods. If you put your spoonhead on his spoonlap, it makes him feel manly.

Ashlee Simpson, who apparently brought a picture of her sister into the plastic surgeon and said "Please, as close as you can get me to this" is on the cover, along with the words "75 Sex Tricks: They're So Hot, This Magazine May Burst Into Flames." For the love of God, Cosmo, is there really anything left? I could understand if we were still in college with the requisite jar of honey dust in the top drawer, but do you really have close to 100 tricks to share with women in their 30s and beyond who give new meaning to been there, done that, bought the t-shirt?

But the article was actually quite entertaining because it was all tips from men. Call me childish, but the wording was the best part. Angelo, 31 enjoys the occasional "delicious thrill." Oscar, 20 talked about "nibbling at the swollen head." Earl, 26 enjoys the ocean because "the cresting waves add to the ecstasy." Andrew, 28 has a girlfriend with "hidden reserves of bone-crushing passion." And finally, Billy, 23, urges you to "Come to bed covered in baby oil. You'll be so slick, I won't know which way to do you first."

That's about when I closed the magazine and resolved that this will be the year that I finally finish Anna Karenina.

Still Waiting on That Stereo, By the Way

2007-05-14T10:57:00.000-04:00

On Saturday night Matt and I were at ~~a black tie soiree in downtown Boston~~ Stop and Shop buying Mother's Day cards. As usual, I went crazy with glee over the singing cards. The sound quality is so good! One of them plays Truly by Lionel Ritchie! Would someone please send me one of these cards already?!

Apparently I was a little too enthusiastic about them because as we were leaving some guy turned to Matt and said, "You need to buy her a stereo, pal." To which I believe Matt said something to the effect of, "Yeah, really."

Once it sank in that this guy had basically been making fun of us (well, me), Matt proceeded to spend the next two days revisiting this incident and crafting a more clever response. These gems ranged from "I'm not your PAL" to various puns related to musical equipment. The last version that I heard involved lighter fluid and physical violence. I tried to tell him that his actual response was fine in that anything more involved would have made me think he was CRAZY, but he was undaunted in his pursuit of the perfect airtight comeback.

Personally, I think great comebacks are overrated. You always remember the bad ones, anyway. For example, one time in high school I told my mom she was stupid, and she fired back with, "I'll stupid your head." Another favorite of mine was the time that Dave's dad yelled at him, "You're trying to fuck with fire, but fire don't fuck!"

Lesson learned: Next time some random stranger semi-insults you, instead of stewing for days about what you should have said, just tell them you'll [adjective] their head. Guaranteed they'll remember you forever.

Burn, Baby, Burn

2007-05-11T12:20:00.000-04:00

In the pre-school today they were having a Mother's Day tea. Pink tablecloths, lilies in vases, little kids adoring their mommies, and me getting my goods seared off. Should I back up?

The plan was for the moms to order a few things off the "menu" and for the kids to bring them what they wanted. Not to sound like Dante from Clerks, but I wasn't even supposed to be there! I just stopped in to say hi! One of the adorably outfitted little girls brought her mom a cup of tea. The kids were only supposed to carry the iced tea, but ~~we weren't paying close enough attention~~ she used Jedi mind tricks on us and picked up a cup of hot tea instead. Then she squeezed her way between me and a table, which I was crouching next to getting another little kid situated with a plate of fruit. Then she lost her grip on the cup and, well, let's just say, lemon zinger indeed.

People, I went DOWN. I couldn't help it. And it became my first true test as a teacher: That moment where you ABSOLUTELY MUST MOTHERFUCKING SWEAR and yet you can't because you're surrounded by the children that you work with and their parents at a ~~flower-drenched portal to hell~~ darling little teddy bear picnic come to life. Turns out that getting boiling water dumped on your business (granted, not a lot, but it doesn't take much) doesn't warrant merely a "shit." It warrants a, "Damn you, DAMN ALL OF YOU!" and angry pointing at no one in particular. Since I was at work, I settled for biting my lip and trying not to whip my pants off right then and there.

The school nurse doesn't get much staff in her office, but I guess it was her lucky day. I've known her for a few years and she's a total sweetheart, which I now believe even more because she insisted on holding an ice pack to my little lady for more time than I care to recall. I'm not sure that I'll ever be able to look at her in quite the same way again; our relationship has definitely moved to the next level. Call me?

The prognosis for my babymaker is good, thanks for asking. With a little time and Aquaphor, we should be back in business in no time. But the first one who calls me Firecrotch is in for it.

I Told The Truth!

2007-05-07T18:24:00.000-04:00

YouTube is a ginormous festering cesspool of copyright infringement, to which I say THANK GOD because they just reintroduced me to the most beloved commercial from my childhood. Does anyone remember this one? No one ever seems to, and I always thought it was hys-freakin-terical. Ahh, those wacky Mormon public service announcements. You laugh, but you know what else? You learn.

And, I mean, who can't relate? We all had the crotchety neighbor growing up who scolded us by singing opera.

Class of 07 Forever! Never Change!

2007-04-27T12:51:00.000-04:00

The fifth graders are starting to put their yearbook together. Each of the kids gets a half page and they say what they want to be when they grow up (lots of pro baseball or football players, teachers, and interestingly enough, one fisherman) and what their most memorable moment at school was. It's sort of like what I remember from high school yearbooks, when some people try to subtly work in how they lost their virginity in various cringe-worthy ways like "David, 2/14/94, ILY." But my students are still young enough that their memorable moments are hysterical, like "when Brian McCartney drank my milk" or "feeding bread to those ducks but then one died."

Speaking of yearbook scandal, my friend Katie's boyfriend at the time put something so nauseating and over-the-top in his senior quote that it's burned into my brain to this day: "Katie, my heart and soul are forever filled with the deepest and truest love for you and only you until the end of time. I love you so much." Not sure why he felt the need to drive the point home with that second sentence but oh, it made for yearbook gold. Granted, I quoted St. Elmo's Fire and My So-Called Life in mine, so who am I to talk? What did you guys put in yours? A bunch of initials and inside jokes that now mean nothing? Liz Phair/Dead Milkmen/Bryan Adams lyrics? Declarations of love for people you'd broken up with a month later? Inquiring minds want to know.

And speaking of high school, my friend and I are going to New York next weekend, where we'll each see a plethora of high school friends. Between the two of us we have four friends in the city and somehow all of them are having parties on Saturday night. What are the odds? As she said, we're going to be like Paris Hilton, minus the herpes and stuff.

Anatomy of a Family Road Trip

2007-04-19T22:46:00.000-04:00

Monday
I spent last night at my parents' in preparation for our, ahem, journey, but the power's out, rumor has it parts of 95 are closed, and everything seems touch and go on account of the monsoon. I'm sorry, but rain now counts as a nor'easter? Doesn't the fact that we're nor'easterners mean that we can brave precipitation? Are we just getting desperate for some inclement weather? I've so geared myself up for this road trip and at this point am of the mindset that if we're doing this, WE'RE DOING IT. We load the car, Dorie's daughter brings us some muffins, and I've taken two Excedrin before 10 AM. Along the way, my mom proceeds to exhibit her inexplicable weather competitiveness, wherein every place in the world that isn't her front yard doesn't know from bad weather, and my dad puts Rush Limbaugh on the radio. (He's also a Republican Yankees fan. Is there no end to my capacity to love?) Seven hours later, Dorie has called twice to mock me and suggest car games, I've read Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult, decided that since I didn't see any damn gardens that New Jersey should actually be called the Burnt Out Factory State, and learned that Pennsylvania puts fake tree branches on their cell towers. The hotel is pretty generic but has an adorable little wine bar in the lobby. We finally get to my grandma's (my dad's mom) and take her to dinner. Phew.

Tuesday
I take my grandma shopping for a new comforter. I foolishly assume it will be an easy task, since she just wants something simple and blue. I quickly learn that a down comforter with a duvet cover is "too puffy," cotton is "too wrinkly," quilts remind her of the one she started in high school but never finished, sateen feels weird and flannel is tacky (okay, agreed), and the rest are "just too funny-looking, Red, I couldn't put anything that silly on my bed." Meanwhile she has a fake bird on her coffee table that chirps when anyone walks by it, but okay. We leave with nothing but a detailed description of the comforter that she wants that I'm fairly certain doesn't exist. Next we try to find her a sofa bed. Mark calls during and I learn that while my cell phone doesn't work in my kitchen at home five miles outside of Boston, it works beautifully in a furniture store in Delaware. He asks if I want to go to a concert with him. "I'm in Delaware," I tell him in the flat tone that Mike Myers uses to deliver the same line in Wayne's World. "What? You're where?" "I know. It's ridiculous." Then I notice a store employee sitting on a couch nearby shooting me a look of death, presumably for mocking her hometown. I mouth "sorry" and she shrugs; it seems somehow appropriate. Later on I find that out of boredom/insanity, my mom has visited the gift shop at my grandma's place and purchased a bear dressed like an Italian chef that sings That's Amore. Back at the hotel, she decides we need a drink and buys a bottle of wine from the front desk, which she proceeds to drink in the lobby (with some help from yours truly, of course). The guy that I'm dating texts me updates of the game that night since I'm trapped in Phillies territory. The Sox lose to the Blue Jays, the stupidest freakin' team in baseball.

Wednesday
Did I mention where my grandma is living? It was actually the whole premise of this trip. She just moved to a retirement community that was started by a guy who didn't like the options available for his own aging parents. It's basically like a lovely (and huge) apartment complex for people over a certain age, and they have their own restaurants and shopping and clubs (like book clubs, not nightclubs... ha). It's like college, fifty years after the fact, with nicer accomodations and better food. And no pregnancy scares! Um, so anyway, it's a great arrangement for her. Also, her sister lives downstairs. I text Favorite Cousin that, no shit, this is the kind of place I want to live when I'm 80. He texts back that I need a drink. Temporarily unsupervised yet again, my mom purchases a trio of jungle animals that sing The Lion Sleeps Tonight. It's time to go home.

Thursday
Headed back, finally. I miss my friends, whom I love all the more for making me feel missed (via text, which I have subsisted on for the past few days). I miss my bed. I even miss work a little. Now that I'm home, the only thing I miss is my grandma. And Wawa, of course. When are we going to have those gems of convenience up north, already?

Life Is A Highway, Apparently

2007-04-13T13:08:00.001-04:00

I'll be gone for a few days because I have the week off work and I'm going to Aruba. Oh, no wait, that's Supergirl. Me, I'm going to Pennsylvania. It gets better! My grandmother moved there in January and wanted me to come visit, so I told her I'd come down during my April vacation. When my mom and dad heard that, they decided to come too. So it's somehow turned into every road trip from my childhood, sitting in the backseat of my parents' car like I'm nine years old. Where's my Walkman? At least I'm staying in a hotel. They better have one stocked bar.

I may need to capture this journey in pictures: Here's me not finding my name (as usual, only crappy variations of it) on a wall display of personalized four-color pens inscribed with "Put the Pedal to the Metal on the New Jersey Turnpike!" Here's me and Petunia, who serves the best grilled cheese ever at the Flingin' Flangin' Diner in Hartford! Hell, that sandwich was worth being riddled with bullets from the drive-by. Love ya, 'Tunia! Never change!

Re: the new blog - thanks for your emails - I'm going to set it up once I'm back.

Today

2007-04-10T22:46:00.000-04:00

Yeah, it's still a little colder than most of us would like around here, but you really can't beat a day that involves:

1. The home opener at Fenway! Obviously Boston is a baseball town, but it's still fun to see my kids at school glued to the TV during the opening ceremony (which I rationalized was okay to watch on the basis that it was, ahem, a historical event), cheering as enthusiastically for the pitching coach and team massage therapist (now there's a career option to consider) as they do for Youk and Big Papi. Plus there's the cute kindergartener who turned to me and said, "Miss Red, where's your boyfriend?" Yikes, where'd he hear that? I should probably correct him. "He's warming up in the bullpen, sweetie. And he's not my boyfriend. He's my husband."

2. And with baseball comes jumping on the T to Faneuil Hall to watch home games at the Ames Plow, Bell in Hand and even Cheers (I know, I know, but they have ginormous flatscreens and nice bartenders). I actually prefer to watch there rather than at bars on Yawkey because places like Beer Works are pink hat territory in season.

3. Getting the Barney's spring beauty catalog in the mail. Everything inside is totally unaffordable but oh, the heavy, glossy pages, the lotions, the potions, the silky purifying pore clarifying essence of it all. I need air. Or at least that Natura Bisse diamond cream, which can be mine, all mine if I conveniently lose my excise tax bill.

4. Making my most adventurous meal yet as part of my now fairly established Tuesday cooking-for-friends night: Chicken breasts stuffed with artichoke, lemon and goat cheese over rice pilaf, and carrot coins with maple-balsamic browned butter (Good Eatin' will be updated shortly).

That's a big yay, woo, sigh, and yum for the day.

It's Always Something

2007-04-09T23:55:00.000-04:00

I read the blog of a local woman in her 40s who has three children, one of whom has autism. It sounds like the sort of empty compliment you'd pay when introducing a motivational keynote speaker or something, but I really admire her candor. She talks about her difficulty connecting with other people, struggling to accept her body, her role in her family as her kids become more independent, and dealing with the minutiae of everyday life.

At the same time, she acts on issues that motivate her, is a self-proclaimed writer who actually writes, and seems to have an incredibly warm and happy relationship with her husband. There's no glossing things over, no melodrama, just the silliness and grittiness and mundaneness of a random Tuesday. Funny enough, I couldn't really imagine clicking with her in person, which in a weird way almost makes me like her more, because she doesn't pander.

I mostly read her blog because I like her perspective on being the parent of a child with special needs. She's open about the struggles and grief that have come with raising her son, but at the end of the day accepts him for who he is. She has educated herself and advocates to get him the services that he needs, but sees many of his behaviors as quirks, instead of acting like children should have their idiosyncracies therapied and medicated and hammered out of them, lest they not be athletic scholars who can play the piano and speak three languages. Basically, she wants him to lead the fullest life that he can, but she isn't trying to fix him. It sounds easy enough, maybe, but I think it's a pretty profound place to be when every day you look at your child and are reminded of what life could have been like for them, and for the rest of your family. She has a lot to teach anyone about accepting and eventually embracing a difficult path that your life can take. Anyone can pontificate about the meaning of life when theirs has mostly been a peach, but of course it means more coming from someone who has actually experienced something besides smooth sailing.

And the thing is that even people who have had mostly smooth sailing still have their own shit, and when you're in the middle of it, no one can tell you that it isn't that big a deal, that it'll work out and not to worry. There are periodically people around you who experience mind-bending tragedy and they provide that occasional contrast for you of what actually is and isn't a problem, but for the most part, you're just wrapped up in where you're at. You're worried you won't get into law school, worried about finding a job, worried about moving, worried that you won't get pregnant, worried you won't find the right partner, worried about getting married, worried about affording retirement, worried about making friends, worried about whether you're doing everything you can for your autistic son, and worried about what his life will be like when you're gone. Worried, as one of my best friends is right now, about your seven-year-old having to wear a heart monitor for a month, and what the outcome of a bunch of squiggly lines could mean.

I try to think of this kind of stuff when I get bogged down with something that isn't really a problem but feels like it in the moment, like when I'm on another date smiling into my salad but fantasizing about being home in bed reading and putting on cuticle cream, when I feel compelled to turn a discouraging evening into a funny story after the fact, like I need to put on a tophat and dance around instead of letting myself feel a little sad (okay, that mental image just kind of cracked me up... in that particular metaphor I think I'm tapdancing to the my little buttercup song from Three Amigos).

There's a tendency of some people to comfort themselves in their own imperfect lives by telling themselves that other people probably aren't as happy as they seem, but I hate that. I get discouraged by other people's misfortunes, about their relationships falling apart. When married men hit on me, it's not a rush of attention; it makes me want to scream because I imagine being the wife of a guy like that in fifteen years. I feel like the more happiness that I see around me, the more likely it is that I'll find it myself, when God knows what you end up with seems to be more of a crapshoot than the result of a well-executed plan.

And despite the shit that I know other people deal with, sometimes I find myself thinking that where I am right now is hard because I'm alone, because my choices don't get a lot of external validation, because dating means constantly auditioning my personality. Don't we all do that sometimes, tell ourselves that our own little foxhole is filled with the most shit? That's when I have to mentally kick my own ass and just get over myself, because life is just too short for the negativity. And trust me, I KNOW how Oprahfied that sounds. But it's true and it's been a pretty profound shift for me. Not that I was ever really an incessant bellyacher, but I try really hard to keep things in perspective, and more than that, I think now I'm starting to understand how important it is to do that, to recognize what I have and how great it is, and not obsess about what I don't have. That's actually been the best thing about getting older, I think, and in a way I'm glad I didn't get everything I wanted right when I wanted it, because I don't think I would have appreciated it.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I still want what I fucking want. I've got more than a little Veruca Salt running through my veins, I can't deny that.

Bunnicula

2007-04-08T20:43:00.000-04:00

My mom made Easter baskets for her godchildren across the street, customized for each kid with stuff like candy, crossword puzzles, games, and a plastic lizard that grows to three feet long once it's put in water. Which is actually kind of terrifying when you think about it.

She made one for me, too: lip gloss, Kiss My Face products, mints, Band-aids, a gift card for a couple pedicures, and a bottle of Simi chardonnay. Somebunny knows me pretty well, I'd say.

Hope you all had a good weekend, or as strangers say to one another in the religiously diverse city that I work in: Happy Easter!

Old School

2007-04-02T21:29:00.000-04:00

Supergirl and I are under siege (siege, I tell you!) by the woman in the office next to us. She's a reading teacher and also happens to be a Purveyor of Utter Pointlessness. Some of you may have thought that title was already taken by me, but surprisingly, you'd be wrong.

Purveyor is about ~~100~~ 60 and doesn't know much about computers. She never married and doesn't have kids (oh hello, worst fear of my life, glad to see you're alive and well) and I think that's contributed to it, as singleist as that may sound. Obviously there are exceptions, but I just think that a lot of women of that generation seem to have become well-versed in computers because of their husbands and kids. For example, my mom knows about computers because my dad is techy and taught her everything, I'm sure waiting patiently while she sighed and swore and kickboxed the air around her out of frustration. And while she was really only motivated to get on email when I left for college, now she communicates with everyone that way and even runs her little volunteer organization online. So without the influence of my dad and I, I could imagine that she would be among those staring suspiciously at that glowing box in the corner wondering what it wanted from her and why it was looking at her that way.

Anyway, back to the Purveyor. She's really nice, just, well, overwhelmingly ditzy. First she asked me for computer advice and when I deferred to my dad, she came back and asked if she could trust his recommendation or if he only suggested it because he makes a tiny profit off of every Microsoft Office for Teachers that Amazon sells.

She'll wander into our office sometimes and just smile. Supergirl and I will take turns dealing with her depending which one of us is busier or unwilling at that moment to accept a world with the Purveyor in it. Then she'll ask a question like, "So if I want to write a letter on the computer, how would I do that?"

"Okay, well, you can just open a document and..."

"A document?"

The other day she told me she was having trouble sending an email. Turns out she wasn't in her email, she was online and typing in the email address where you type in a website. How was she planning to write the message? With her mind?

I don't mean to be impatient, but you cannot say, "Open that folder" without her saying something like, "You mean touch it twice, right? Or once? Or do you mean click?" I mean, I work with little children. This sort of thing shouldn't be infuriating to me. AND YET IT IS.

Today it was this, which came about because she was there and I'm making chicken marsala for the first time tomorrow night.

Me: Do you know what marsala wine is?
Her: What? Who?
Me: Marsala wine, for chicken marsala.
Her: Oh! I thought you were asking me about a student with the last name Marsala.
Me: No, well, I was just wondering if it's a cooking wine or a wine-wine.
Her: You're wondering if you need it to make chicken marsala? That would make sense. Marsala.
Me: Oh yeah, well, I do need it, as it turns out. It's in the recipe. I was just trying to figure out if I can buy it at the grocery store or if I need to go to a liquor store.
Her: That's a great question! You're so cute! You've probably never even been to a liquor store.
Me: I have, actually. I'm almost thirty.
Her: I love chicken marsala!

Opening Day Eve

2007-04-01T11:15:00.000-04:00

April! Spring has sprung, people are outside, baseball is starting. On Friday night Dorie and I got swept up in the awesomeness of the weather and then a few seconds later had to cave and run back inside where it was warm. It won't be long, though. Pretty soon it will be bare feet, barbecues, open windows, the Cape, and lazy afternoons/nights with friends. Well, that last one is a constant, regardless of the season.

Speaking of baseball, in honor (sort of) of the season kicking off tomorrow, here's someone doing the worst attempt at a Boston accent you will evah heah. It's pretty horrific but worth it, in my opinion, for "The only thing Boston sucks is a victory pipe."

As eHarmonious As Ever

2007-03-28T23:35:00.001-04:00

To: Red
From: eHarmony
Subject: Red, We've Extended Your 60% Discount!

Dear Red,

Spring is definitely in the air! The response to our special 60% discount was incredible! And we don't want you to miss out, so we're giving you just a few more days to take advantage.

You're getting our ABSOLUTE LOWEST RATE AVAILABLE at a great time of year for starting a new relationship. So we urge you to seize this opportunity and continue getting to know your matches today.

Remember, it only takes one.

To: eHarmony
From: Red
Subject: I would prefer to discuss a refund

Dear eHarmony,

Fuck you so hard. No, seriously. Fuck you SO HARD. I can't put it more eloquently than that.

First of all? Or second of all, considering that swearing at you came first of all? My brief stint in office work taught me that 60% discounts on your services mean that your company is failing. And that makes me happy.

And you're right, it only takes one. It only takes ONE OF THE JACKASSES THAT YOU SET ME UP WITH TO MESS UP MY LIFE. I'm sorry. Was I yelling?

Clearly you're not familiar with my blog. Are you not aware of what your dating service did to me?

To be fair, I guess it really wasn't you. You were the conduit but not really the reason that I had to wear the sad grape bridesmaid dress, that I accidentally slept with a married guy (with kids!) after the reception, that I lost my best friend of ten years. I can't blame all that on you.

Or can I?

I shouldn't. But I do. A little bit.

Love,
Red

To: Red
From: Mail Delivery Subsystem
Subject: delivery problems encountered

A message (from Red) was received at 29 Mar 2007 3:25:23 +0000.

The following addresses had delivery problems:

Permanent Failure: 501_#5.1.1_bad_address_ehsupport@eharmony.com
Delivery last attempted at Thu, 29 Mar 2007 03:25:24 -0000

To: eHarmony
From: Red
Subject: delivery problems encountered

Dear eHarmony,

Your inability to hear me is somehow appropriate. Best wishes for continued success.

Love,
Red

Music!

2007-03-27T12:41:00.000-04:00

If you're reading this (which you are) please leave a comment and tell me about a few of your favorite albums (or what you're enjoying a lot right now, if trying to come up with all-time favorites is enough to make your head explode). I'm trying to branch out from listening to my iPod on random all the time. Plus, someone pointed out that half the songs on my beloved Wigglemix are apparently from car commercials, so maybe I'm not getting my inspiration from the best sources. I love it anyway, but I want to know what you guys are listening to and loving or have listened to and loved. Genre doesn't really matter, but I'm kinda looking for stuff that holds up now... frex, I loved Flood by TMBG back in the day, but I wouldn't necessarily recommend it to someone today.

Here are a few of mine, not that you asked:

Ben Folds' first self-titled album (then Whatever and Ever Amen and Rockin' the Suburbs)
Beatles, especially Revolver, Abbey Road, and Let it Be
Little Earthquakes and Under the Pink by Tori Amos (I loved her when I was a wee lass, but these albums probably hold up)
Monster by R.E.M.
Fumbling Toward Ecstasy by Sarah McLachlan
More Adventurous by Rilo Kiley
Rabbit Fur Coat by Jenny Lewis

That's all I can think of right now. See why I need recommendations? Help me, internets.

Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car

2007-03-25T00:04:00.000-04:00

I had some really messed up dreams on Friday night, like CSI crime scene grisly. So I did some googling (don't judge me, I'm a pursuer of subconscious knowledge!) and Sleeps.com told me "For years in our family [dreaming about death] has meant that someone in the family would soon be wed and the wedding would be beautiful." What wedding isn't beautiful? Weddings mean free dinner, chardonnay, dancing and cake.

Wait a second. On Friday night, Jen came over and copied a bunch of songs off my iTunes. She had a free dinner (I cooked), we drank chardonnay, at one point I put on a crappy bridesmaid dress from a wedding that we were both in a couple years ago and danced around to the music (I'm, uh, going to have to request no judgment from you again), AND we ate cake-flavored ice cream (Edy's Slow Churned Take The Cake, which has frosting and sprinkles in it and is nothing short of a religious experience. It's the best thing ever and it's low in points. AND it's an official ~~blog dessert~~ blessert because it came into my life on Nabbalicious's recommendation. The funniest thing is that it's a part of Edy's American Idol series. Five flavors are vying to be part of their regular line-up, people vote for their favorite one and the losers just go away. Faced with that terrifying possibility, Jen and I actually went to the damn Edy's website to make sure Take the Cake is winning. Thankfully, it is. Vote or die, people.)

Ahem. Sleeps.com also believes that death in a dream can mean "a birth, the opposite of death." Did they just define birth for me? And if you think about it, when you're single, a birth kind of would be a death: death of dating prospects, social life, and bank account. And, interestingly, your ability to sleep at night. Am I overthinking this?

Then on Saturday night I dreamed that someone I love died (don't worry, it wasn't you). Ack. Short of making tearful phone calls at 5 AM, I turned to Sleeps, now my old faithful, later that morning. But then I noticed that it said that dreaming of a fork in the road means you'll soon have to make a decision and dreaming about macaroni means that you're in for various small losses. Uh-huh. We're breaking up, Sleeps.

I turn to Lifetimetv.com, surprisingly serious on the matter considering all they do is air reruns of Designing Women or movies about your seemingly nice neighbor turning out to be a serial killer who is holding the mailman and your tenth grade boyfriend hostage and whatever you end up doing about it, at some point it will involve running down a suburban tree-lined street in the middle of the night, your heart racing and button-down shirt askew.

The intuitive minds at Lifetimetv.com say that "In the Universal Language of Mind, death signifies a change from one state of being to another" (I'm always suspicious of superfluous capitalization) and that I should "Identify the change that has occurred in your life. This will be the heart of your dream message. Who or what has died in your dream will lend insight into the nature of the change you have experienced, and will assist in responding to this change joyfully instead of fearfully. Keep in mind the change symbolized by death in a dream can be followed by a resurrection of your consciousness. Reach for this elevated awareness." Thanks for the fortune cookie, but where's my crab rangoon?

Then I thought about how well my own dream decoding worked on Friday and decided to deconstruct my Saturday night: Dorie's kitchen, more wine... but a different brand than Friday. Is that the change they're referring to? I did respond to it joyfully, instead of fearfully, and I believe it did bring about an elevated awareness: richer friends buy more expensive wine.

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

2007-03-22T19:22:00.000-04:00

This post was inspired by Darren, who wrote about a few of his memorably crazy neighbors. He also typically quotes cooler songs in his entry titles than I do.

Until I was six, we lived next door to an Armenian family that I loved. The daughters were in high school and always talking about boys. They didn't really alter their conversations when I was around and I loved that. One morning I wanted pancakes and my parents said something to the effect of, "Um, no, you can have cereal." I was sitting on our porch steps for a few minutes pondering this injustice when the dad next door saw me and asked what was going on. I told him I wanted pancakes but my parents wouldn't make them for me. He said he would. In that brief and shining moment, I became a spoiled brat. Funny sidenote: Neighbor dad went to high school with Lola's mom.

Extreme sidenote: There's definite evidence of the Boston accent that I was starting to develop when we lived in that town. My dad taped a conversation between him and myself when I was about three. I listened to it again to get the actual transcript, so prepare to surrender a few moments of your life that you'll never get back. (The daughter in the family next door, Wendy, had a sprained knee at the time, or something.)

Me: You know what you have to tell me?
Dad: What?
Me: You have to tell me what noses [nurses] do, what they do to help in the doctah's [doctor's] office.
Dad: Well, they give people medicine.
Me: Yeah.
Dad: And they take people's temperature.
Me: Yeah.
Dad: And if you need a bandage, they help put the bandages on.
Me: What's bandages?
Dad: It's like a big Band-Aid.
Me: Do you know what bandages are?
Dad: What?
Me: Well, it's like a big, big... thing. Sometimes you weh [wear] it on ya knee like Wendy.
Dad: That's right.
Me: Well, that's what it is.
Dad: Oh, okay.
Me: [suddenly impassioned] And those things ah [are] HAHD [hard]! Theh [they're] really really hahd! Wendy's is hahd. It's hahd!

Gah. Like a knife in the heart. Luckily cassettes will be obsolete soon. Oh wait, I'm just now getting a live feed from the newsroom: They already are.

Anyway, our other neighbors in that crazy 'hood had a daughter, Kathy, who was in high school, worked as a waitress and babysat for me a lot because my parents were in their early 30s and still wanted a life or something. For a few years I decided that I also wanted to be a waitress named Kathy. I'm not sure I understood that jobs didn't give you the opportunity to change your name. I still see Kathy now and again, but she's really cynical and downtrodden and always rolling her eyes about everything. My mom thinks her six-year-old son is ugly anad periodically likes to discuss this with me. The conversation always goes the same way: "Mom, you can't just call him ugly. He's a child. That's brutal." "Well, he IS. Did you see that last Christmas card? He looks like a prisoner of war, Red! UG-LY."

In our next house, the neighbors pretty much all had kids around my age. And the ones that didn't, well, who cared about them? I loved my bedroom... when I was in bed the window was right next to my head, which is still my ideal window location and I've never had it since. All I remember is playing all day, Garbage Pail Kids, charm necklaces, You Can't Do That On Television.

There were no real noteworthy neighbors in our next house, which is the one that my parents have now lived in for almost twenty years. I was in fifth grade by the time we moved there which meant less frenetic neighborhood play and more "my friends are coming over, please leave us alone." I lived there until I left for college, at which point Dorie and her husband moved in, so I guess they're officially my favorite neighbors that I've never really had for neighbors.

In college my neighbors included a girl who played Torn by Natalie Imbruglia so much that I still can't listen to the damn song, a guy named Ray who changed the default beep on my computer to the orgasming girl in that Rob Zombie song, and one guy who smelled so bad that you knew when his door was open without having to open your own.

My most favoritest neighbor in college was Ryan, of course. I wanted a single room for my junior year but I had a craptastic number in the housing lottery. It was the end of my sophomore year and I wasn't sure what I was going to do. As much as I loved my friends I just didn't want another year in a bunk bed (and yes, in case you're wondering, my college had a really bad housing situation... there weren't suites or apartments or anything like that).

So then one of my friends was dating this guy (Ryan) who was going to be an RA the following year, and the deal was that RAs could only pick a junior or senior to be their "singlemate" (i.e. you live in rooms separated by a door). Ryan was a year behind me and didn't know any soon-to-be juniors except for my friend, who was going to be an RA somewhere else. She introduced us and we awkwardly decided to shack up for the following year. It was either me or some stranger, and he probably figured that at least his girlfriend could vouch for me. I had no impression of him from that first meeting, and I wasn't overly excited about living next door to him. Come August, we were moving in and she had broken up with him, so it was basically like, "Hey, neighbor! I'm the friend of that girl who stomped on your heart!"

Although we were off to a weird start, it didn't last long. We immediately discovered our mutual birthdays and mutual everything else. We went to Fenway for a game, the first of many times we'd go. He was a Yankees fan, but the good-natured kind. This was around ten years ago when you could just show up and buy a bleachers seat for the game that night (for eight dollars!). Anyway, as time went on we decided we had a good thing and that we'd maintain our living situation until I graduated, which meant that senior year the housing gods finally smiled on me, because by then Ryan had been promoted to King of All RAs or some title like that and we got our pick of rooms in the best dorm. Of course, we chose ones next door to each other.

One time during that first year singlemating with Ryan, he and I were in his room watching Frasier (I'm sorry to tell you that was a very common occurrence) when a guy from down the hall came running breathlessly into the room. He said, "Hey Ry, do you... oh. Hi." Ryan, always the conscientious RA, got up to speak to him privately. (I would've likened him to Noel Crane, but my beloved Felicity didn't come on the air until the following year.) Then Ryan came back into the room, found a condom and gave it to the guy, who left. Not five minutes later, he was sauntering back down the hall and gave a quick wave as he went by Ryan's room. Oh, college boys. Does anyone really miss sleeping with them?

After college I lived in a tiny apartment on a little tree-lined street with a dive called the Busy B within walking distance. I loved it there. Our side of the street was all identical two family homes that had been cut in half and rented as apartments. Identical being the key word. A couple days after we moved in, I was in the backyard and my roommate ran out for something, assuming that I had my keys with me (because doesn't everyone, when they're in their backyard?) and I was locked out.

The funny thing is that our landlord, who owned most of the apartments on the street, apparently got tired of people calling him because they were locked out, especially since he didn't live in the neighborhood himself, so he kept copies of all of our keys behind the desk at the nursing home up the street. So on this and a couple other shameful occasions (at least I was sober that first time), I had to go to the nursing home, explain my predicament, and have the woman at the desk look me in the eye and say something immensely helpful like "HUH? You want a key to WHERE?" until she found someone else working who had once heard of the fact that some guy who owns some of those houses keeps copies of the keys somewhere in the vicinity of the front desk.

Anyway, on this particular day I got the key, walked back to my apartment and saw that the door was open. Gah, my roommate was already back; if I'd known she wouldn't be gone for long I could've just waited for a few minutes. Oh well. I walked in the front door and saw that our furniture had been moved. And replaced with all new furniture. And that there was a guy I didn't know sitting on the couch. How long had I been gone for? Of course, I had walked into my neighbor's apartment. The funny thing was that the guy on the couch was a friend of my neighbor, so he didn't know it was unusual for me to just walk in, and he looked at me and said, "Oh, hey, she's just in the other room." When you bust into a home that isn't yours, you would at least expect someone to leap up and say, "OH MY GOD! WHO ARE YOU?" Then my neighbor walked out of her bedroom, saw me standing there in total bewilderment and said, "Hey Red! Did you walk into the wrong apartment?"

Umm. Yes. Yes, I sure did.

Our other neighbors, with whom we shared the house, were about our age, a blond and a brunette, and affectionately nicknamed the Blond One and the Brown One. We preferred the Blond One because she would occasionally shovel the walk, but the Brown One was useless, and was mostly mentioned in the context of things like, "The Brown One took my motherfreakin' parking space again!"

Our neighbors on the other side of them had a sticker on their front door that said, "I can only please one person a day. Today isn't your day. Tomorrow doesn't look good either." Charming.

After two years there, I moved here. Here, where it's crazy neighbor central. But I believe that's already been well-documented. But considering some of the stuff that they must have seen me do (the least of which was being outside and handcuffed to a few of my friends on New Year's Eve) I'm really not one to point fingers.

(Also, new addition over in the sidebar: recipes!)

What a Doll

2007-03-19T21:52:00.000-04:00

Since I scare way too easily, I don't watch scary movies or read scary books or watch scary TV shows. Works for me. You do what you have to do in order to live on the planet.

Some of my students scare easily too, but considering they're all between three and eleven years old, I try not to hold it against them. The only time it sucks is when I have to be the grown up. (Now there's my REAL essence sentence.)

It's not that I mind comforting a scared kid. I'm not made of stone, people. I mean, as long as they're not interrupting my lunch or my coffee break or my other coffee break. So long as I'm on the clock, I'm there for them. Children are beautiful.

The problem is that everyone who has ever watched a scary movie knows that the shit starts to go down as soon as some stupid character stupidly tells another stupid character something along the lines of: "There's nothing to be afraid of!" "There's no such thing as [scary thing]!" "It's all make believe!" Call me crazy (no, really, you probably should) but I don't like tempting fate. So you can imagine how much I love conversations like this one:

Kid: Is it true that you can't talk if you don't have a tongue?
Me: Um, yes.
Kid: So if someone rips out your tongue, you can't talk anymore?
Me: What are... oh, are you talking about that movie?
Kid: Yeah.
Me: Oh, sweetie, that's all make believe. [I hope.]
Kid: No, there's this really scary woman and she dies but she comes back...
Me: It's just a silly movie. None of it is real. [But I REALLY don't want to talk about it anymore.] Think about Cars: can cars talk in real life? That was pretend, too.
Kid: But the dolls come to life and kill all these people...
Me: It's all made up, I promise. Dolls aren't real. They're just dolls.

Gah. I'll be the first to turn up without a tongue. Or a head. Tell my family that I love them.

Soundtrack Of My Life

2007-03-16T19:41:00.000-04:00

Inspired by Guinness Girl.

What's up world: Blinded by the Light by Manfred Mann's Earth Band

First song I knew all the words to and was encouraged to sing all the time despite the fact that I was three years old and the song contained the words "night time is the right time and we make love": Morning Train by Sheena Easton

Why yes I actually AM a superstar in my backyard wearing Underoos and singing into the hose, thank you for noticing: What a Feeling by Irene Cara

At that bus station, Alex P. Keaton and Ellen show the world what love (twoo wuv) really is: At This Moment by Billy Vera and the Beaters

Lip syncing and frenetically choreographed dances with my friends (where all the moves are literal, like when Whitney "wants to feel the heat with somebody," you have to fan yourself): True Blue by Madonna

Roller skating at birthday parties, waking up to ass bruises bigger than my fist: Heaven is a Place on Earth by Belinda Carlisle

Dave, my sixth grade boyfriend: Some Kind of Wonderful by The Drifters (which, ahem, I only knew about because it was on the critically acclaimed More Dirty Dancing soundtrack)

Rocking out at bar/bat mitzvahs: Bust a Move by Young MC

Rocking out at middle school dances: The Electric Slide by (who knew?) Marcia Griffiths

What got my eighth grade friends and I gathered around the radio like a dirty tribute to what our grandparents must have done on D-Day: I Touch Myself by the Divinyls

Reading (the original) Sassy magazine: Sugar Free Jazz by Soul Coughing

Freshman year: Birdhouse in Your Soul by They Might Be Giants

Sophomore year: Porch by Pearl Jam

Junior year: Hunger Strike by Temple of the Dog

Senior year: Punk Rock Girl by the Dead Milkmen

Song that I quoted in my senior yearbook, I'm sorry to tell you: Young and Innocent by Elefante (from the St. Elmo's Fire soundtrack)

Senior year summer and first love: Grey Cell Green by Ned's Atomic Dustbin

Dirty Dancing: She's Like the Wind by Patrick Swayze. Just kidding. It'd have to be Moonlight Serenade, played by their band.

College (sweaty dancing and drinking at basement parties): Naked Eye by Luscious Jackson

College (then winding down after sweaty dancing and drinking): Crush with Eyeliner by R.E.M.

College (then car dancing in the backseat on the way to get breakfast): Ladykillers by Lush

College (the first song that I heard my then-musical obsession play live): Missing the War by Ben Folds Five

College (technically I didn't cheat on you because technically we're broken up and anyway I have to go my roommate needs the phone): Call and Answer by Barenaked Ladies

College (lying around doing nothing with my roommates): Never Said by Liz Phair

College (sex): Prove My Love by the Violent Femmes or Say Goodbye by the Dave Matthews Band

College (my embracing the recent pop explosion is ironic, I swear, even if I do happen to be ironically dancing on a stage): Drive Me Crazy by Britney Spears

College (overall): Life in a Northern Town by Dream Academy

Post-college (sweaty dancing and drinking at clubs): One More Time by Daft Punk

Dancing in the living room with Dorie's kids: Bright Side of the Road by Van Morrison

What I heard right after I found out I got into grad school: Peace Train by Cat Stevens

Boozecations to the Bahamas and Cancun: Stays in Mexico by Toby Keith (and oh yes, that'd be the in-room liquor dispenser)

October 2004 (i.e. no one in and around Boston gets any sleep for a month, waiting for the Sox to finally win it all): Dreams by Van Halen

When I get down about dating: I Kicked a Boy by The Sundays

When I feel optimistic about dating: More Adventurous by Rilo Kiley

Still the best car dancing song: Kiss Me Deadly by Lita Ford

My friends: Tripping Billies by The Dave Matthews Band

Right now: 17 Again by the Eurythmics

I'm Not So Good With The Advice. Can I Interest You In A Sarcastic Comment?

2007-03-13T19:56:00.000-04:00

My latest attempt to get healthy involves counting points, going to the gym, and sitting in the backseat of a friend's car announcing several times that I'm hungry and will need to eat within the next eight minutes. I think everyone in my life is starting to feel like they're on this diet (it's not a diet, it's a lifestyle change!) with me. The new Red Barbie comes with giant bottles of water, 100 calorie packs, and a scowl. Attitude upgrade sold separately.

In all seriousness, as much as I kind of dislike Weight Watchers because there's very little wiggle room and DAMN YOU, FLORINE MARK, I'M HUNGRY, it really does seem to be the best system for me. It's about normal portions and regular food, and I've never been meant to be breadless or have frozen prepackaged meals delivered to my door every morning.

As far as working out goes, let's just say that having a second job helps me pay for the gym. It's very nice and clean and just for women, which I never thought would be a major selling point, but it turns out I really like that aspect of it. They always have a stack of the latest Improper Bostonian. Even the lighting is good. It's quite a departure from the ghetto warehouse gym that I used to go to sporadically. It was cheap but full of sweaty equipment, fluorescent lighting, and grunting meatheads.

Speaking of? Although I hadn't been to the meathead gym for, um, more than a year, I was still paying for a membership until this month. I cringed every time I saw the $19 withdrawn from my checking account; it may not have been much but it was money lost due to sheer laziness. So I finally called a few weeks ago and learned that because I had stupidly and optimistically signed a two year (!) contract back in the day, I could only cancel if I was moving or for medical reasons. "Oh, well, I'm moving," I told them. "Where?" "Uh. New York." Then they said they'd need verification of my new digs: a copy of a lease, a bill sent to my new address, or verification from my new employer. Damn. Those people REALLY wanted my $19 every month. But whatever, I can play that game. So I called my new employer, conveniently located in Manhattan, who promptly faxed the meathead gym to inform them that as of March first, I was employed as a live-in nanny to her two beautiful children, Hector and Flores.

The new job's going well. She's really a terrible mother, though... hardly ever spends time with her fictional kids.

Anyway, the only problem with the nice gym is that the members are snooty. If my gym were a man, it wouldn't call. If it were cat food, it would be Fancy Feast. If it were an actress, it would be Gwyneth Paltrow. If it were a band, it would be Coldplay. If it were a toddler, it would be Apple Martin. If it were a baby, it would be Sashqualah Jolie-Pitt.

All the women who go there have zero percent body fat, incredibly cute gym outfits, and they don't smile or say excuse me. Ever. They're maybe the opposite of me in every way. They've probably been hungry for years, come to think of it. Anyway, thanks to Nabbalicious, my ~~blogfriend and virtual personal trainer~~ blersonal blainer, I don't need to rely on any of those ice queens for moral support.

What I love most about the gym is the fact that they have an all-Friends channel. Two of the channels on the ellipticals are whatever DVDs they're playing that day, and one of them is always a random season of Friends. Now, THIS is the way to get me to exercise. If only they had a mojito and Cadbury mini egg dispenser set up next to me, I'd be all set. Yes, it might defeat the purpose of being there in the first place, but if you're going to fall off the wagon, might as well go down in flames.

Another one of the channels is an aerial view of the daycare center, presumably to monitor the well-being of the little tykes you may have left there. (Like they're not all off with the nannies, being pushed around Anthropologie or Restoration Hardware in strollers made of organic canvas and whole grains.) It's such grainy, documentary-like footage ("Is that a four-year-old or a giant wasp?") that sometimes I flip by expecting to see something crazy happen, like it's suddenly the hidden camera on To Catch a Predator. (Which is maybe the best show EVER, by the way. On the last episode I saw, one of the 'philes was in the chat room saying stuff like, "Damn! I hope this doesn't turn out to be a ruse and I end up on Dateline! lol" That, combined with the monotone announcer reading the chat transcripts? "I want to blank your blank all blanking night oh my god you make me so blank." It makes for good TV, my friends.)

Anyway, this incessant Friends-watching (even more than usual) has made me arrive at a startling conclusion: All this time I've identified with Monica, but I'm suddenly noticing that there's another character on the show who's a neurotic only child with relationship issues and always at the ready with a bad pun... and whom I believe also once had trouble getting out of a gym membership ("I wanna quit the gym!").

To sum up: I'm not Monica. I'm CHANDLER.

I Somehow Feel I've Sullied Your Good Name, Danny Pintauro. And For That I Am Sorry.

2007-03-12T21:39:00.000-04:00

I don't know if you guys remember the sneak attack song lyric contest, nay, BATTLE TO THE DEAH at my humble place of employment. You can read about it here and here. (You guys actually had some great ideas for our second go at it, but yet again I've gone and somehow deleted all my old comments.)

It's become a thing of the past, because two of my coworkers who were my partners in pointlessness now work in other schools in the district, and the other one is working someplace else. You can imagine my disappointment that they missed this.

I'm eating lunch with some work friends, one of whom is planning her wedding and talking about readings for the ceremony. She wants something original and I don't blame her; I believe the point has been sufficiently drilled home that love is both patient and... wait for it... kind. Everyone's throwing their hats/favorite wedding-ish poems in the ring so I suggest a few verses that have always touched my heart:

"There's a time for love and a time for living. Take a chance and face the wind. There's an open road and a road that's hidden, a brand new life around the bend. There were times I lost a dream or two, but I found a trail and at the end was you. There's a path you take and a path not taken. The choice is up to you, my friend. Something-something but you're on your way to a brand new life, a brand new life around the bend."

I got a couple smirks but then came this from the blushing bride: "That's sweet! What's it from?"

Corinthians! Tell her Corinthians!

Me: I'm sorry. It's the Who's The Boss theme song.
WP: No, it's not. Is it?
Me: Yeah, it is.

What was I thinking? I should've told her I wrote it and encouraged her to have a loved one read it at the blessed event. I mean, it IS pretty original. Damn it, Red... always squandering opportunities to take it to the next level.

Anyone getting married anytime soon? I'm also available to do the theme from the A-Team.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

2007-03-11T22:35:00.000-04:00

Want to know what I did? Well, I'll tell you. I retemplated (hells yes it's a word) my blog and then I couldn't get the original template back. One minute Blogger welcomed it with open arms, and the next minute it was like, "I'm sorry, and you are?" You fickle free host, you. So I played around until I finally ended up with a version that I liked better. Whee, blog makeovers... blakeovers!

On Friday I went to Nashua, New Hampshire with my friends. Ironically, we drove an hour across state lines to go to a place called Boston Billiards. I don't really play pool but it turns out I AM open to several shots of patron silver. Yeah, I was 22 again for a night. A full day later, I dimly recalled trying to make a compelling argument for why Joe is a pickle. The only bad part of the place was that they had a dance floor but it wasn't open, so I was not able to demonstrate that this ain't a scene, it's a GODDAMN ARMS RACE! What, I said I was 22. Getting down to Fall Out Boy is not only acceptable, it's encouraged. The best part of the whole night was the premise of the evening: Lo had a date and we all decided to go with her. What a sport that guy was. I enjoyed his friend, too, until he dry humped me in the parking lot of a Denny's several hours later. Ahh, New Hampshire. Good times, good times.

Also, I'm very happy about a CD that I made called Wigglemix '07 (named for what it makes you do). The songs on it are below. I've been rocking out to it every day, my friends. If you want to as well, shoot me an email and I'll send you the songs. I mean, encourage you to get them on iTunes.

Grace Kelly (Mika)
Flathead (The Fratellis)
Don Gon Do It (The Rapture)
Read My Mind (The Killers)
Do You Want To (Franz Ferdinand)
We Used To Be Friends (Dandy Warhols)
Disconnect The Dots (Of Montreal)
Here It Goes Again (OK Go)
We Will Become Silhouettes (The Postal Service)
Turn On Me (The Shins)
On The Radio (The Concretes)
Time Bomb (The Format)
Music Is My Hot Hot Sex (CSS)
The Way We Get By (Spoon)
Ruby (Kaiser Chiefs)
Nth Degree (Morningwood)
Another Sunny Day (Belle & Sebastian)
I Still Remember (Bloc Party)
Wraith Pinned To The Mist and Other Games (Of Montreal)
Jenny, You're Barely Alive (Rilo Kiley)

Look familiar, Greg? Did I do good?

Karamu, Fiesta, Forever, Come On and Sing Along...

2007-03-08T23:27:00.000-05:00

When I was in third grade I started reading the Sweet Valley High books. I've talked about them here before. Actually, Mark's one guest entry was about the magic that is Sweet Valley High. The SVH books were all numbered, and being the inflexible taskmaster that I am, of course I had to read them in order. By the time I was a devoted fan there were already a bunch of them out. Unlike the Sweet Valley Twins series (same twins, only younger); I'd eagerly look for the latest Twins book every time I went into Evergreen Books. I can still remember the JOY!!! I'd feel rounding the corner and seeing a new one. What color would it be? What would the picture on the front be? Oh my gosh! This one's about Elizabeth and how she's helping someone! And it's PURPLE!

Back to Sweet Valley High. I don't know why my parents let me read a book that was blatantly about high schoolers when I was a child, but whatever, maybe you're just happy your kid is reading. Anyway, I finished number four (Power Play, if you're interested) and was ready for number five (All Night Long, shown above). My dad and I were at the bookstore. I picked it off the shelf. He read the title, saw the man (!) with the mustache embracing the high school girl and that was it. It was a no go. I can't blame the guy, but I was stricken. I had to skip number five and move straight on to number six (Dangerous Love). Which was not really that dangerous, as it was about that vanilla kiss-ass Elizabeth.

I never really moved past All Night Long. It became my obsession. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep... no, just kidding. I was eight. I was probably distracted by something shiny and forgot about it two seconds later. But still. I never found out if Jessica stayed out all night long, or if she was as grown up as she thought she was. And I wanted to know.

Which is why I was delighted to go through the pile of rejected books donated for my school's used book fair today. The librarian pointed me in the direction of books that didn't make the cut. Turns out censorship can be really fun! There was a book about a horse being dissected (?!) and... All Night Long! Had my dad gone through the stack and taken this one out, still trying to protect me from it?

Thinking this would be a hilarious anecdote from my childhood, I called my dad at work.

Dad: [First name, last name] [By the way, this is a totally unfriendly way to answer your phone.]
Me: [First name, same last name]
Dad: Hi.
Me: What's up?
Dad: I don't know. [I love my dad. He ALWAYS answers "what's up?" with "I don't know." It's because he's waiting for ME to tell HIM what's up. I can't explain why it amuses me, but it does.]
Me: Guess what I found in my school library!
Dad: What?
Me: Remember that book you wouldn't let me read? The Sweet Valley high book?
Dad: You had all of them.
Me: I had all but ONE. It was called All Night Long and you decided it was too scandalous. You wouldn't let me buy it. Remember?
Dad: No.
Me: Oh. Well, this isn't quite as special a moment as I had hoped.

The Adventure Continues

2007-03-04T17:25:00.000-05:00

More memorable moments in online dating last week:

An email from a guy who told me he can wash himself. Does this not go without saying? Maybe I should rewrite the "what I'm looking for" section.

An email from a guy who said: "Tommy Lee and I have something in common, no I don’t play the drums, or get Married Pam Anderson, or in a hardcore rock band. (Think LONG and HARD about this one)." Juvenile AND unable to write a coherent sentence? Where do I sign up?

An email from a guy whose "biggest dating pet peeve" is women who don't feel comfortable getting in his car on the first date just because they met him online. Gah, those uptight, life-valuing bitches. Also, in a world with people who take off their wedding rings before approaching you or think kissing involves licking the roof of your mouth, THIS is your biggest pet peeve, Ted Bundy?

An email from a guy who lives in Rhode Island, asking me what my favorite places in Providence are. My actual response: I've never really been to Providence. Is it fun? The response I wanted to send: PROVIDENCE? Why in hell would I ever hang out in PROVIDENCE? I don't know why anyone would spend a night in the festering cesspool that is Rhode Island, let alone live there. Okay, maybe I shouldn't overreact, but... blech. (Sidenote: In college I lived close to Rhode Island and we got their news stations instead of Boston's. Oh, how I missed WCVB and Natalie Jacobson. The Island would let any homeless crack addict get on the air and read news, and there would always be hilarious soundbites like "Rhode Island can lead the country into the 21st century!" from then governor Lincoln Almond. Okay, fine, Rhodey has Newport, which I love, and Brown, whose booming student population is an enigma to me because everyone I know who ever applied there didn't get in. Oh wait, Andrea Marr went there.)

I say something in my profile about my affinity for bad 80s soft rock. I got an email from a guy who said he has some Air Supply on his iPod but he's not proud. Hello, did you just say AIR SUPPLY? That's like top shelf soft rock. That's the soft rock that even other soft rock won't sit with at lunch. One time the bartender at my friends' and my favorite bar gave us his iPod to control the music for the night and they ended up taking it away from me when I played Hall and Oates. And this guy is putting Air Supply on the table! The downside? Um, his name is Yoda. True story. Instead of this repelling me, I really should just sigh, square my shoulders and accept the inevitable truth: Of COURSE if I meet someone great, his name will end up being freakin' Yoda. Not Dan. Not Jeff. YODA. Marry him I might. Happy day it will be.

This Pen Is Mightier Than My Mouth

2007-03-01T22:51:00.000-05:00

I chew pen caps. It's a gross habit, I know. For awhile I was buying those generic ballpoint pens, but it was becoming an expensive habit because I would just eat them. I'd chew away distractedly at the cap, eventually notice what I'd done, and throw it away, disgusted. Then I'd eat another. Better Bic than crack, I suppose, but still!

I eventually came to realize that I cannot be rehabilitated. If I'd ever hit rock bottom (a trashcan full of Papermate corpses!) and checked myself into Promises, I'm sure I'd have busted out within twenty minutets or so, just like Britney, sobbing and bald. So imagine my delight when I recently found a pen that I thought I could refrain from consuming. It's the Staples Xeno retractable ballpoint pen and it will be my savior, oh yes. The tip is metal, and even though I still put it in my mouth, being a mere human I cannot chew metal. So, basically, I lick it incessantly. This may not be much of a solution, now that I think about it.

I went into Staples today to buy more (not because I've licked the original pack that I bought into oblivion, but because I want a million of them to replace every pen I ever need in every facet of my life). While hunting for it, one of the perky red-shirted employees asked if I needed help.

"I'm just looking for this pen that I like."

"What pen?"

At the time I didn't know the name of it, so I told him I'd know it when I saw it. And indeed I did. He told me it was their bestseller. "And it's your favorite too, huh?"

"Yeah," I said, and then I elected to overshare. "I like them because when I get regular pens, I chew on the caps all the time. And I don't chew these."

His smile faded a little. Until then I had probably seemed so normal. "Oh, well, whatever works for you!"

Come on buddy, you can't judge me. Your store sells the ultimate mindfuck... the easy button. I understand it's their cutesy little marketing thingy, but why do they sell it? Who would buy this? Nothing happens when you push it! If it transported you to Staples or at least placed a call to a 24 hour pen guy hotline, I could understand, but so far as I can tell, it does nothing but take up space and piss off the world. And by the world I mean me.

In case you're interested, here's the pen that changed my life. I think we'll be very happy together. We're registered at OfficeMax.

He May Not Be My Soulmate, But a Girl's Gotta Eat

2007-02-28T22:45:00.000-05:00

I haven't caught you guys up on the hilarity of online dating in awhile. There's a lot of crazy men out there, people. Don't get me wrong, I hope they find what they're looking for. Best wishes for continued success. I hope you dance. But don't talk to me if you're stupid, illiterate, or MARRIED. I thought that last one, especially, went without saying, but not so much. And of course, there's my dating limerick pertaining guys' ages: "If it starts with a 2, I don't want to meet you. If it starts with a 3, you can go out with me. If it starts with a fo', email me no mo'. If it starts with a 5, really? So does my dad's." Of course I keep that to myself. When I'm not posting it on the internet.

Recent highlights include:

A guy who, when I told him that I saw the Darwin exhibit at the Museum of Science over the weekend, replied (verbatim!), "What is the Darwin exhibit? Is that the one where they show people's insides?"

A guy who assured me that in real life he's much less "G-rated" than he seems in his profile.

A guy with the word "mantown" in his screen name. Delete!

A guy who "loves to touch, and loves P.D.A (public displays of affection [such as kissing or hugging])." Thanks, because if you'd left it at PDA it would've been a real head-scratcher for me. Also, who makes out in public after ninth grade?

A 48-year-old man who says his best quality is his butt. Not that I doubt it, but when I was born your butt was already out of high school.

Real quotes from two would-be suitors... I'm going to go out on a limb and say their mothers did something critically wrong during those formative years:

"Plus mother always said, Never grow up to DEPEND on a woman and I believed her, so now we're journeying deeper into the moral state of mind, which I find very conscious and healthy. Its often the reason why I remain single, just cant oblige to ONES who condone THE WAYS of today. Love my women Old Fashoined/millenium, but leaning more toward the classic side. Thats basically it, but *note*...I take individuals for face value till they pull the Fake maneuver, so just BE real to yourself, and you'll find less rocks in your shoe."

"I've had more than my fair share of women wiping they're spiked shoes in my welcome mat of a heart. If you're at ALL into doing the same, you might as well not even bother. Go peddle your papers somewhere else. This heart is for loving ONLY!! Abuse it and you might as well go tell your mother she wants you."

And of course, my dating FAQ:

So, is Red short for Rediford?
I try not to roll my eyes too much at this question because I know it could be coming from a perfectly nice person just trying to make conversation, but I've literally been asked this A JILLION TIMES OVER THE COURSE OF MY LIFE. And I have no idea why. It would never occur to me to ask a Liz if her real name is Elizabeth or a Joe if his real name is Joseph.

So, are you a REAL redhead?
You know, even the nice guys pull this one out. I really just think that they don't know what else to say sometimes, and they feel a need to comment on the hair or something. I probably seem hard to offend, and I AM, but only once you know me. Until you do, questions like this are creepy, not cheeky.

So, you work with kids... that's so noble/admirable/selfless/compassionate/brave.
Again, you can't really make fun of the guy; he's trying to say something nice. But everytime I tell someone what I do they practically start waxing poetic about how they believe the children are our future, teach them well and let them lead the way...

So, do you consider yourself honest/trustworthy/genuine/funny/good at communicating?
I've learned something interesting, which is that every jerk on the planet thinks they're all of the above adjectives. No one actually thinks they're a waste of oxygen. It's unfortunate, because a smidgen of self-awareness on their part could save me a little time, but hey... if all else is lost, refer to my subject title.

So, would you say that you're a woman who enjoys getting dressed up and having a night on the town, but can also just relax at home in sweats and eat pizza?
Do you mean to tell me you're looking for someone who can occasionally change her clothes AND her mind? Well, now you're just talking crazy. Go peddle those papers elsewhere, mister.

And The Award Goes To

2007-02-25T23:43:00.000-05:00

Kate: Do you have an Oscar speech?
Me: Yes, it's really dignified. Would you like to hear it?
Kate: Yes, please. And tell me what you won for.
Me: First, you should know that I'm wearing extensions that are so real-looking that my hair simply looks like it suddenly became voluminous and wavy. I'm at my 18-year-old weight. The smile eye wrinkles have disappeared.
Kate: In other words, you've gone all Hollywood on us. I assume you've forgotten the little people and we no longer speak.
Me: I glide onto the stage as if propelled by invisible wires and the love of the audience.
Kate: Awesome. The blogosphere will be agog.
Me: The real Red would throw up and then die. But Oscar-winning Red tears up just enough to be genuine but not too much, so as to keep all make-up intact.
Kate: And what witty comments will you make to be the buzz of the Oscars?
Me: I start with the adjectives... the incredible cast, amazing director, and (choke) my wonderful family and my friends who I love so much, and of course my doting husband Jason [Varitek].
Kate: You are quite the accomplished couple! The toast of Boston.
Me: What color should my dress be?
Kate: Deep navy with some sparkle. Duh.
Me: I already know that when I'm on the red carpet and they ask me what I'm wearing, I'll say blue.
Kate: Gucci will take back their swag!
Me: Okay, now tell me... your award/speech/dress?
Kate: Ahem, well, I'm assuming that I'll win for Best Screenplay.
Me: Yes.
Kate: I'm going to jump on stuff, likely trip up the stairs, then say "I became a writer so I wouldn't have to speak in front of people, and it's backfired horribly..."
Me: I like that.
Kate: Then shout out to friends, family, amazing cast, my husband John Krasinski. We met on set. How cute are we?
Me: Jason and John are in their seats with misty eyes, maybe a single tear. But I don't really want them to Chad Lowe out.
Kate: From there it'll devolve into a bitter Constanza-like rant about the people I hate, and they'll drag me off, one security guard under each armpit.
Me: Totally! Pull a Fiona Apple at the MTV awards. "This world is bullshit!"
Kate: You gotta make a name for yourself.
Me: From then on, anytime people throw fits it'll be called pulling a [her last name].
Kate: I'll parlay that into a book deal: "This world is bullshit!: Saying what you feel in a messed up world."

Tripping Down Memory Lane, or I Was One Disturbed 8-Year-Old

2007-02-20T01:56:00.000-05:00

Witness these debacles that ~~Kate uncovered while willingly organizing my horrific nightmare of an office~~ I just found in my office, circa 1985:

It was bedtime. Crstayl Barbie, Golden Dream, Loving You, Great Shape, Tracy the Bride, and Peaches & Cream were having a party. It was 9:30 when Dream went to bed. Then Loving wispeard to her sister, "Peaches & Cream, want to look at Crstayl's engagement ring?" Peaches wispeard back "sure!" Crstayl had an engagement! Ken was marrying her. The dimond glowed. Everyone was happy.

Seems there was something else I was thinking about in my childhood besides establishing a charm necklace trading conglomerate and whose turn it was on the zipline. I enjoy/want to die over the fact that I couldn't spell whisper or crystal, but engagement, I had down. Also: Loving You?

She-ra as you all know was the first girl born after adam and eve died. Some say she still lives but she really did, once! Let me tell you the story. There were three people known as Glimmer Shine, Angela, and Evil Catra!

Who says the middle child gets ignored?

Once there was a little girl she had a friend her name was Lauren. The little girls name was Daisy. They were called the clover kids because they loved clovers. Every day after school they would sit in a clover pacth and stare at them.

Fun for everyone. Continue.

One day it was Monday and Lauren was waking up. She caught sight of the newspaper. She read 8 paragfhs.

When in doubt, throw in more consonants.

"Oh no! They are going to cut all the clover pacths down!" How would she tell Daisy?

It would probably be more like a a mass plucking, right? And who is this "they" hating on clovers?

There once was a beautiful girl. She was trying to survive thru a horrid tonato. She scearmed for help. Her dog rosey bumped into a hard tree and died.

Never was a dog person.

Caroline Carsala was eight years old and in second grade. She had a cat she loved so much that when it was sleeping she thought it was dead.

Dear God, Little Red.

One day it was Saturday and Caroline went to see her cat as she always did. Pussy wasn't sleeping in her little box! "Pussy! PUSSY! Pussy come back!" She looked up on the tree. Pussy was hanging from it!

Thanks for your time. I'll show myself out.

Me, Me, and Also Me

2007-02-15T20:27:00.001-05:00

What kind of doctor would you want to be?
Ummm... a neurologist. But I would imagine that me being a dork who likes neuroscience and actually having that job would be two very different things. I just think it'd be ~~so freakin' neat~~ such exciting and challenging work.

On average, how many hours of sleep do you get each night? How many hours do you actually require and/or like to have? Do you have a regular bedtime routine that helps you get to sleep?
I'm like a baby... I'd like ten hours a night, but of course that doesn't happen. Even when I go out, I like to be in bed by midnight. I'm really exciting. As for a routine, I wash my face, brush my teeth, jazzercise frantically, the usual. I like to read before bed, and now that I have a TV in my room (my dad gave me a little flatscreen for Christmas) I might watch a few minutes of something. I never really gave Scrubs a chance and now that it's syndicated I catch it more often, and you know what I learned? That show's really freakin' funny. Especially the musical episode they just did.

Have you ever sent or received a piece of fan mail?
For what? Actually, this girl I went to high school with wrote a poem for our lit journal and dedicated it to me. It was pretty random because I didn't really know her, but I was flattered by it.

Do you wear a watch every day? If so, describe it.
Just to work. It's Guess, rectangular, black and silver.

Do you wear cologne or perfume?
I like perfume, but I don't really wear it. Sometimes I wear it to bed, which I know is a little ridiculous, but I'm just not a perfume girl during the day, sitting on the floor with kids or going grocery shopping. But I really like Chanel No. 5, Burberry Brit, and Lovely.

Is it easier for men or women to find good partners?
I have no idea. Maybe it's easier for men because women are usually up for a relationship, regardless of how old they are.

If you found your true love, how long would you wait for him/her to return your love?
Why do I have to wait? My true love shouldn't be on the fence. (Also, all that makes me think of is the Princess Bride: "Wuv... twue wuv...")

What profession gets too much respect?
Athletes.

What profession doesn't get enough respect?
Yours. You work hard for the money.

How long have you held your current job and how does it rate against your former jobs as far as overall happiness?
Two and a half years. I'm much happier in this job than any other job I've ever had.

What does a typical workday look like for you?
I get up at 6:45, leave at 7:15ish, get to work by 7:45 or 8, and depending on the day I'm either in meetings or seeing kids from 8:30-2:30. I have 38 kids and my days are broken up by half hours (which is why I wear the watch). The kids leave at 2:45 and on Mondays and Fridays I usually leave shortly thereafter. The other days I have kids I see after school, which is how I supplement my income, and I'm usually done with that by 5 or 5:30.

If you had to describe the thing done by someone at work that drives you the craziest, what would you say?
I don't appreciate negativity or laziness (at work, that is... in my personal life, I demand it). In my opinion, educators need to be smart, proactive, and willing to stand on their head if that's what it takes. I also don't care much for practitioners or administrators who don't work with kids anymore but appoint themselves with titles that mean nothing (like literacy specialist or educational consultant) and write long-winded reports pontificating about everything that a child needs to succeed. If you're out of the game then you just don't really know.

Where are you in birth order in your family... first, last, middle, only? Do you think that has any effect on your personality? Do you buy into the stereotypes of birth order?
I wrote an entry about this once. I'm an only and I don't really buy into any of the stereotypes. Well, of course I don't, because they're all negative. I think onlys are supposed to be socially awkward and loners, but that's not exactly me, so go figure. I think how you interact with the planet depends more on your natural-born personality and how your parents raised you.

If, for one month, you had to live day and night at any one retail store, which one would it be?
If you have to ask, you haven't been reading my blog long enough. Sephora!

Have you ever gone on a blind date?
So much so that you'd think it was my favorite hobby.

What's the weather like right now in your neck of the woods?
Gah, totally crappy. We had an ice storm and everyone's carma was shot today: I spent an hour willing my so-called SUV to go in reverse, Joe got his first speeding ticket, it took Melissa two hours to get to work, and Mardi couldn't get out at all. We had to cancel all our parents meetings because no one made it to work on time. But Mark, he had the worst day of all. While using a pick ax to try and free his car, he somehow ripped his pants, in his own words, "to smithereens, and my jolly rogers fell out."

If you were to audition for American Idol, what would your song be?
I would never audition, but I guess that answer is no fun. It would have to be a medley of Rock Lobster, Rhythm of the Night, and In Da Club. If I'm doing it, I'm DOING IT. Oh, and for my finale I'd go into a short rendition of Giving You the Best That I Got by Anita Baker. Ever since I found out that Dorie's husband secretly likes that song, it's one of my favorite slow jams. Baby.

What was the last thing you spent money on?
Two of the kids next door rang my doorbell and asked if they could clean the snow and ice off my car, and then twenty minutes later they rang it again and said they were done. So I gave them $6 (easier to split than $5). I don't know, what's the going rate for child labor?

Can you name them all the Presidents in the order they were in office? Can you name their respective Vice Presidents? Do you know what state they hailed from? What do you know?
No, no, no, and not much, apparently.

Does sure mean the same as yes? Does no problem mean the same as thank you? Are there other words that you can think of that are different, but are interchangeable in daily conversation?
Sure means the same as yes. No problem means you're welcome, not thank you. I've heard that "I'm/we're all set" is a uniquely American saying. I defy anyone to eat at a restaurant without saying it at least once.

What's the tackiest place you’ve been on holiday and loved?
Niagara Falls! Or Epcot Center. Welcome to Germany, it's Oktoberfest! Hey, it's Canada, look at this maple leaf. Epcot is the epicenter of kitsch and cultural stereotypes and I love all that stuff. Also, one time I was on the ride in the big golf ball, which is a vague odyssey of technology through the years, and at one point the booming voice said, "Technology! Imagine how far we've come! Imagine how far we can go!" and then the ride stopped and a tiny voice came on: "We are experiencing technical difficulties. Please remain in your vehicle." I guess that's just about as far as technology goes.

Do you watch Lost? Do you have a theory for what's happening on the island?
I used to watch it. I don't really anymore. It's on too late now and even though it's programmed on my DVR, I never get around to watching it. This is lame, but I get scared by that rush of music they use to cut between scenes... I don't know how else to describe it, but it freaks me out. Anyway, my theory is that the whole thing started as a sociological experiment (I love describing anything as "sociological"... it's almost as fun as starting sentences with "in society today"). Anyway, the experiment went awry (entry creepy whooshing music here). At least one of the main characters is involved... this conspiracy goes right to the top, my friends. Also? I don't care. So far as I can tell right now everyone's locked in a cage, screaming and crying in the rain, or something. Yawn.

If you were stranded on an uninhabited tropical island that does have shelter and plenty of food and water, what one item would you want with you on the island?
Say it with me now: Jason Varitek. Maybe he could bring some books or ~~crossword puzzles~~ word searches with him. I need to keep the brain sharp so I can figure out how to prevent anyone from ever finding us.

What are your five favorite songs?
Learning to Fly by Tom Petty, 17 Again by the Eurythmics, You Get What You Give by the New Radicals, Signed Sealed Delivered I'm Yours by Stevie Wonder (I'm so white, I glow in the dark!), and You Are the Love of My Life by Carly Simon (which is not as wedding dancey as it sounds... it's a song for your kids).

What song makes you think of high school?
Anything by Pearl Jam, Stone Temple Pilots or Hole. But a more recent little song called White Houses by Vanessa Carlton sums it up pretty well.

What song makes you think of college?
Anything by Dave Matthews. And, for better or worse, any of the swing music that was popular then, like the Squirrel Nut Zippers or the Cherry Poppin' Daddies.

What song makes you think of your 20s?
I'll let you know...

Snowed In and Self-Absorbed

2007-02-14T14:13:00.000-05:00

I guess it's more like I'm iced in. Anyway, this is what I'm liking at the moment in the land of products. You should go out and buy all of this right now, or come over sometime and we can play beauty parlor. Just kidding, you can't come over. You're a stranger from the internet.

Face cream: For almost two months I've been loving Booth's Marshmallow Day Cream and Shea Butter Nighttime Dream Cream. I also use their Fruit Enzyme Balance Toner. It's all cheap and available at Brooks. My skin looks better than when I was using much more expensive stuff. Who knew?

Eye cream: During the day I wear Bare Escentuals eye rev-er upper, which is just a brightener. At night I use Kiehl's creamy eye treatment with avocado. I have no idea if it works or what it's supposed to do, really, but it feels good. My mom's friend Bonnie, who may well be one of the more infuriating people on the planet, told me I'd end up with more eye wrinkles than the average person because I have dry skin. To quote Kate: So glad you came out, Bon.

Cleanser: I've been Cetaphil's bitch for years now. I used their gentle skin cleanser for years and just switched to their new daily facial cleanser for normal to oily skin (even though my skin is dry, RIGHT BONNIE?). I like the new one. It feels like it packs a little more cleansing oomph than the original. (My favorite, and, well, only Cetaphil story is an old boyfriend who liked to use mine sometimes but inexplicably called it Galderma, which is a tiny word on the bottom of the label. It would be like calling Diet Pepsi "16.9 full ounces.") I also use Almay oil-free eye makeup remover.

Makeup: I love Bare Escentuals. I use the fair foundation, the lightest shade, and their mineral veil, with a tiny bit of Revlon Skinlights in natural light on top. During the day I like Benefit high brow or MAC pigment in pink opal, and Almay intense i-color mascara in brown topaz. I sometimes wear MAC eye pencil in taupe but I should probably throw it away because it's a couple years old. When I go out at night I've been really liking Bare Escentuals' smoky eye kit (skyline eyeshadow and celestine glimmer) for a couple months now.

Mouth: I wear Blistex lip tone like it's my job. They don't have it everywhere so anytime I see it I buy three. During the day I either wear just that or Clinique Almost Lipstick in black honey. At night I like a Bare Escentuals lipstick shade called remember and Smashbox lip gloss. To bed, I wear Blistex overnight lip treatment which is awesome.

Soap: Dove is always my favorite. Sometimes I veer off into the land of Olay, but I always go back to Dove. Right now it's their gentle exfoliating beauty body wash.

Shampoo: I go back and forth between Biolage normalizing shampoo and conditioner, and Fresh soda shampoo and pomegranate conditioner. I occasionally use their meadowfoam conditioner. After I go to the gym I like using Philosophy The Fragrance shampoo/shower gel. Needless to say it's almost full.

Lotion: We'll talk summery lotions when the weather warms up, yes? For now it's all about lotions that are rich and creamy for your winter weary skin (why yes, sometimes I like to talk like I write for InStyle). I love Sephora super supreme body butter and Bath and Body Works type shea personality body cream. Palmer's cocoa butter is always good, year round, actually. I slather my students with Dove lotion from elbows to fingertips when they complain about their dry skin, which is sometimes raw and cracking. Parents, moisturize your kids, if only in the winter! And while you're at it, help them with their damn homework. Those fractions aren't going to multiply themselves totally incorrectly on their own.

Six Things I Did on Friday Night

2007-02-10T19:35:00.000-05:00

1. When Crowley's, our come-as-you-ahh local waterin' hole, suddenly became overrun with 22-year-old girls in sparkly tank tops because of a plumbing problem at a nearby hoochie bar, I suffered them silently for awhile until, finally, I couldn't deal with the screechiest, nakedest, drunkest one of them all and I ~~decided to treat her like the civilized creature she is and engage her in a conversation~~ kicked her in the ass. From my bar stool. She whipped around and glared at Mardi, who was next to me, stunned. I said, "Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry!" She immediately softened. "Oh, that's okay! I thought someone did it on purpose!" I said, "I actually did. I'm really sorry. I couldn't help it." She couldn't make out what I was saying over the music and just smiled and nodded. I felt much better. Turns out assault can be kind of liberating.

2. Some guy was chatting up Mardi and asked what I did for a living. I told him I was a heart surgeon and he looked appropriately impressed. "Wow! You save lives!" I smiled, trying my best to look both humble and brilliant. "Every day."

3. Some other guy was chatting up Mardi and pontificating about how he likes to "go down." I interjected to ask him if he also likes to go up. He hadn't heard of this before but was intrigued. So I made some shit up and told him that women love it.

4. I decided that messing with the heads of Mardi's man candy is my new favorite hobby.

5. I changed my MySpace song to High on You by Survivor. That's right I did. Let me tell you 'bout the girl I met last night...

6. I finally emerged from my grief and said, "Come on, people! She wasn't our generation's Marilyn freakin' Monroe! She was some crazy golddigger who was always high, and the media's trying to be so respectful like we didn't all mock her while she was alive!" "Rest in peace, Anna N." Really, though, I only wish her reality show was still on the air. I'd totally sit there for awhile and watch footage of an empty house with half-full Trimspa bottles and Howard K. Stern occasionally wandering through.

Mocking the dead? Assaulting people in bars? Teaching strange men sexual positions that don't exist? Giving props to one of the most horrific 80s soft rock bands? And all in one night? I'm going straight to hell.

In My Day...

2007-02-09T13:05:00.001-05:00

Apparently, I'm old. It's bad enough that I have to use eye cream, but now I'm starting to think about how, a mere fifteen years ago, things seemed to make so much more sense.

The Real World on MTV has somehow become a debacle of epic proportions. It used to be that this was actually kind of an interesting show about regular people with jobs and occasional bad skin who argued, flirted, and discussed their lives with each other. Now it's aspiring runway models who don't eat, hate themselves, and hump each other like bunnies in the hot tub, and when their season is over they try to wrangle a place on the Real World/Road Rules Challenge. The Challenge! These kids that rose to "fame" on one of the MTV shows, lest they get a real job, now support themselves by appearing on these yearly challenges. The idea is to win, but they become incensed when someone else plays to win. There's a weird sense of loyalty in that they either adore or loathe each other, although God knows how they can even tell each other apart most of the time. The trump card is calling someone fake or insecure. If you hit someone or act racist, you're so out of there, bitch. You don't just get voted off; you have to battle to keep your position against another opponent in something called the Incinerator or the Pit of Despair or something.

Whatever happened to Rachel's "biggest regret in life" being that she kissed Puck? What happened to Corey, who cried all the time and just wanted to be your friend? Where's John and his cowboy hat? We need John back!

The other thing that makes me realize I'm old is shopping. I seem to recall brightly-lit stores with maybe a little bit of music piped in over the din of the mall. But the other day I went into Abercrombie (where Fitch at?) because through the window I noticed a shirt that looked just like the one that Favorite Cousin loved and ruined changing my tire (hence my guilt over replacing it). I went in and the place is, well, a club. There was even a bouncer. He may have claimed to be there to welcome shoppers, but if I were ten years younger I know he would've checked my ID. The music was blaring and it was practically pitch black. I suddenly felt like ordering a gin and tonic and making out with a stranger. I got the shirt, but not without emotional scars and maybe an STD.

When I got out, I called Favorite Cousin (who was JUST WAKING UP. I had already worked for the day. God love college).

FC: Hey.
Me: Hi. Remember your striped shirt that you got oil on?
FC: Yeah.
Me: I just found its twin, so I'm sending it to you.
FC: Really? Awesome! Where?
Me: Abercrombie. That store is out of control.
FC: Is it?
Me: It's really loud! And dark!
FC: Uh-huh.
Me: I'm old, aren't I?
FC: I hate to say it...

It Wasn't Me, I Wasn't There

2007-02-06T12:49:00.002-05:00

A few years ago I was in the Bahamas with Party Jen, and while we were there we "swam with dolphins." I use the quotes because saying that makes it sound like a day on the open sea with Flipper and all his pals, but it was an hour or so in a sectioned-off man-made pool with one dolphin. Still fun, though, in that overpriced touristy kind of way. Anyway, before we were allowed in the water with the dolphin, we were told to only touch a certain part of their head, because if you accidentally touch them basically a quarter inch off from there, it apparently excites them in a way that only another consenting dolphin should excite them. I swear I kept my hands in the clear, but when I returned from my swim, the instructor, in front of everyone (couples! families!) told me that I had "riled up" the dolphin, that it's "not good to start something you can't finish," and that, finally, I'm a "dirty, dirty girl." He wasn't really mad, but as I climbed out of the water I slowly started to accept who I'd become: nothing but a fintease.

I tell you this story (maybe for the second time, for you longtime readers; I'm nothing if not redundant) because I think it sums me up pretty well. Maybe it's even my essence sentence, as my friend Kate might say. ("I got distracted, there was marine life.") Remember how in When Harry Met Sally, Harry tells Sally that she's the worst kind of high-maintenance, because she thinks she's low-maintenance? Well, I'm the worst kind of mischevious, because I genuinely think I spend all day whistling dixie and trouble just finds me. In the man-made pool of life, I always try to argue that the dolphin must have been coming onto me, not the other way around... and yet I'm the one who gets called a harlot (at high noon! in front of children!) when I was just trying to innocently experience nature.

Come to think of it, some variation on "I was just swimming around!" has always been my defense. When I was little, every day when I'd come home from playing and inevitably been up to something I'd begin with, "Well, I was just walking down the road/pulling my wagon along/eating a popsicle, but THEN..." (Also, ha, I did have a wagon that I liked to play with, but that makes me sound like a wee lass in the 1800s.)

Case in point: Look at this conversation that just happened at work.

Teacher/work friend: What does [student's dad] do, anyway?
Me: He's a cop.
My boss: No, he's not.
Me: He's not?
My boss: No, he's a contractor.
Me: Really? I could've sworn he was a cop.
T/WF: Just in your fantasies.
My boss: Yeah, you probably just really want him to be a cop.
School Principal: "You've been a bad, bad girl, Miss Red."
Me: Okay, see? I participated in this in no way! I just said I thought he was a cop! You guys made it dirty!
SP: Whatever helps you sleep at night.
T/WF: Thinking about [student's dad].
My boss: In his uniform.
SP: And handcuffs.

Again, just like back in the day with the dolphin, I'm going to claim innocence and that it's not MY fault that my bosses took a moment during a meeting to imply that I enjoy thinking about being disciplined by a naughty cop. Whether or not I do is irrelevant. I was just swimming around!

My Bipolar Weekend, or Fun With Mood Altering Antibiotics

2007-02-04T15:44:00.000-05:00

How did Jack Bauer survive for two years in that Chinese prison? Because I'm just saying, I was sick last week (as you already know; I'm not trying to evoke more sympathy here) but by sick, I don't mean just feverish, I mean totally mentally unstable. Shall I elaborate?

I called in sick to work on Monday and thought I was getting better. I went to work on Tuesday but was totally useless and lost my voice by the end of the day (of course, hi-lar-ious jokes ensue when you are without a voice and do the work that I do). I went to work on Wednesday but was strongly urged to leave, at which point I went to the doctor and found out what the problem was. Got the Z-Pac and my throat felt better. Then I started having crying jags, where I'd just be sitting on my couch, cross-legged, bawling. If someone had asked why, I couldn't have told them. I was almost laughing at myself, which makes for an interesting display, I'm sure. Then I'd go from having lots of energy to being really tired and dizzy. And then, as the finale, I was hanging out with my friends on Saturday night and had to bail because I started feeling really off. I kept going to the bathroom and putting my head between my knees, but I was trying to rally. I'd spent so much time on the couch or in bed and without solid food over the past several days that I just wanted to be out among people and food. I finally faced up to the fact that I wasn't feeling okay, left, and threw up in a bush. Threw up. In a bush! And no, I hadn't been drinking, unless eleven Diet Cokes count. I drove home crying. Once I got home, sat in my car crying. Fell asleep crying. Woke up crying. Seriously. What the hell?

I woke up today, called Mardi, told her I felt like I didn't have any friends. What? Cried more. Then I talked to Dorie, who said, "Uh, this doesn't sound at all like you. Maybe you're reacting to your antibioitic?"

Huh. Hadn't thought of that, and it's the only thing that's been different in my life, or in my body, in the past few days. This is less of a story I'm spinning and more of a question: Have any of you ever taken a random medication that, um, totally altered your personality?

And if I can't stomach a medicine designed to cure a sore throat then how could I survive Chinese prison? I'd be terrible at combating terrorists, clearly. These are the things that keep me up at night.

Because It's Been Awhile Since We've Heard From Our Favorite Superhero

2007-02-02T12:53:00.000-05:00

Supergirl comes into our office like gangbusters, which is the only way she really ever comes in, now that I think about it. "Hey. Do you still have the Teddy Grahams?"

I look up, a tiny bit wary, as I always am when she's clearly a little off-kilter. "Yeah, second shelf." I keep a box of individual bags for kids who forget their snacks.

Supergirl eats one bag in three seconds and then tears into another. She's downing about twenty bears at once. Like most annonyingly tiny creatures, she eats a lot, but I've never seen her eat this... fast. It's almost (wait for it) unbearable. Yes, I went there.

Me: What's up, Super?
Supergirl: I'm so hungry! I'm just so LETHARGIC! [said with so much spunk you'd think she didn't understood the word]
Me: Rough morning?
Supergirl: My blood sugar is SO LOW!
Me: Did you have breakfast?
Supergirl: Yes! I totally did! Husband made waffles! WHOLE WHEAT WAFFLES! I put strawberries on them! I wanted fresh strawberries but we only had frozen ones but luckily I had already defrosted them because we were going to use them to make Husband's smoothies and I thought they had to be defrosted but it turns out that it's okay if they're frozen!
Me: I think your blood sugar is back.
Supergirl: Do we have any pretzels? I AM SO EXHAUSTED!

Better Safe Than Attacked by a Cartoon, I Always Say

2007-02-01T21:54:00.000-05:00

Me: Headline on MSN: Did Boston Overreact?
Kate: Yeah, jumpy at toys, huh Boston?
Me: They looked like bombs! Hold us.
Kate: Boston wants to be terrorized. They have a little brother complex.
Me: We'll always remember 1/31.
Kate: You're right. I still have a pre 1/31 mentality.
Me: Listen, if we let it change us, then Aqua Teen Hunger Force has won.
Kate: They're a force of hunger...who could be a bigger evildoer?
Me: I hear it's a show about a talking meatball. Our bad.

I May Be All Germy, But That Resident Probably Had a Worse Day Than Me

2007-01-31T20:23:00.000-05:00

Nurse: Your doctor has a resident with him today. Is that okay?
Me: Sure, that's fine.

Resident: Hi, I'm Dr. Whocaresington.
Me: Hi.
Resident: So what brings you in today?
Me: [bad sore throat since Sunday, chills, generally out of it, think I might have strep]
Resident: [looks in my throat, ears, listens to me breathe, etc.] Okay, well, you don't appear to have any signs of strep throat.
Me: Oh, okay.
Resident: I'd keep up what you're doing with the Tylenol and Vitamin C. But I'll have your doctor come in and follow up in a second.

My Doctor: Hi Red.
Me: Hi.
My Doctor: So what's going on?
Me: [bad sore throat since Sunday, chills, generally out of it, think I might have strep]
My Doctor: [looks in my throat, ears, listens to me breathe, etc., then turns to Resident] You didn't see the white spots on her left tonsil?

I died a thousand deaths for the poor bastard. We've all been there, in some way.

Resident: Oh. No, I didn't.

My doctor takes out a strep kit, swipes me, and then we wait for a line to appear or not. Modern medicine, I'm telling you! The last time I got tested for strep I'm pretty sure they had to call me from the lab the next day. I almost comment that it's like a pregnancy test, but realize just in time that that sounds a little whorish.

The line shows up. My doctor turns to Resident. "She DOES have strep. Why don't you take another look?"

Aww. Poor guy. Well, we know at least one doctor in the world who's going to be damn sure he checks your throat twice next time, right? Maybe he'll diagnose everyone with strep for awhile just to be on the safe side.

Now I'm armed with my trusty supply of azithromycin, which has already helped me feel less partially lobotomized and like my throat isn't a vacation spot for a colony of furious, revenge-seeking bees. I'm almost glad it turned out to be something, because I was afraid that I was a 29-year-old sleeping twelve hours a day and crying over a cold. At least now I know I was a 29-year-old sleeping twelve hours a day and crying over a BAD cold. To make matters worse, I don't even have a sexy cold voice. I sound like someone shoved a rag down the back of my throat and said, "Now see if you can talk, biotch."

Before I left, my doctor mentioned that the antibiotics could change the effectiveness of birth control pills and that while I'm on the strep meds I should use other contraceptive methods. Thanks for the advice, but when you're so phlegmy that you wake up to a wet pillow, and all night long you're adjusting it to find the side that's the least damp*, contraception is just not your most pressing concern.

*You really didn't need to know that, did you? That's the risk you take by ambling into the Tent, my friend.

I Love Other People's Problems

2007-01-27T21:01:00.000-05:00

I woke up feeling like a diluted version of myself. Headache, sore throat, chills. Vitamin C, Tylenol, cinnamon toast. And Cruel Intentions on FX! Score. The first time I saw it I was in college: Florida, spring break, drunk. No idea why we went to the movies, but I loved every minute of it. I still maintain that this movie had some oddly redeeming qualities and just preceded the wave of entirely pointless teen movies that started coming out in the late 90s, right after Scream (which is another one I will defend). I just love all things unapologetically campy. It's why Fergalicious and Smack That are on my iPod, why my parties always have themes, why I hate truly scary movies but love trashy horror movies.

You'd think I was going to be discussing other campified things, but no. I'm all over the place today. I went out with my family this morning, then came back home and put my pajamas back on. I didn't do any laundry or wash my sheets, which is a scandalous turn of events on a Sunday for me. So in lieu of a weekend update I'm just going to post something I wrote last week (at work! I'm deviant now, like all of you).

I love advice columns. They remind me of the quizzes you'd take in girly magazines as a kid: If your boyfriend [of course no one I knew had ever had a boyfriend yet] wants to go to the football game but you want to go shopping with the girls, would you a) ditch the girls and go to the game - you want your man to be happy, b) pout until you get your way - if he really loves you he'll know what you want, or c) cheerily suggest each doing your own thing and then meet up later. The options may as well have been a) be a doormat, b) be a passive-aggressive hobag, or c) be normal.

Anyway. Here's a bunch of people with problems who didn't write to me but whom I'm hijacking and forcing my opinions on. You're all welcome.

Dear Red,
Two of my good friends are engaged, and the wedding is planned for later this year. They are genuinely satisfied with and committed to each other, and I want to see both of them happy. Problem is, I've been smitten by the bride-to-be ever since I met her. At the time, I was in another relationship, but by the time that ended, her relationship with my buddy had blossomed. As the wedding date approaches, I can't help feeling like I need to say something before all opportunity fades. I know I should just get over her, but even after dating others, my mind's eye comes back to her. To top it all off, they want me to be the best man. I feel increasingly dishonest by omission, but I don't want to sabotage two meaningful friendships. Should I tell her? Should I tell anyone? Or should I do what I've done for the last few years and just keep my mouth shut?
-Not-Quite-Best Man

Dear Not,
Don't do anything. You'd just lose your friend and embarrass his fiancee. And you probably only like her so much because you can't have her. (I took Psych 101.)

Dear Red,
Something has been eating away at me and I don't know what to do. I am an executive at a large company. About a decade ago, when I was just getting started, I became acquainted with a manager at this company who seemed interested in taking me under his wing. He was a terrific mentor, and I owe much of my current success to the knowledge and insight he passed along to me in those early years. He was also married with children. I was young, attractive, and single. As we grew closer, I became aware that he was separated and seeking a divorce. You can probably guess that eventually our relationship became sexual. This lasted a few months, and then he broke it off. I knew it was not right at the time, but I was naive and inexperienced, and I really believed he was in the midst of a divorce (not that that's any excuse). Now I am older, wiser, married to a wonderful man, and have a child. I still work at this company, as does my former mentor, but we don't see each other much. I am plagued with guilt about this past relationship! Our affair was a profound betrayal of his wife and family (by the way, he never did get divorced) and I can't believe we did that to them. I don't regret meeting him, but I deeply regret our affair. What I can do?
-Guilty

Dear Guilty,
What is there to do? You learned from your mistake and moved on. The guilt should be his.

Dear Red,
I got married two years ago, when I was 19 and my husband was 25. I have never been happier, and am very much in love. However, when people find out I'm married, they respond in ways that I can't help but find insulting and hurtful. I have had bewildered looks, comments insinuating that I am naive, and reminders that "statistics show" young marriages tend not to last. My own mother, who had a short-lived marriage at my age, has hinted several times that I would be better off not married and that my marriage is temporary. A few weeks ago, I met a girl my age who, upon finding out I was married, responded with a sympathetic, "I bet you must have been scared!" as though I was some sort of medieval child bride. I have even been asked if I got married due to an unexpected pregnancy! How do I handle these comments?
-Not a Child Bride

Dear No Child Left Behind,
If you were my daughter I'd be concerned about you getting married that young, but who are these randoms saying rude shit to you? I'd stick with something like, "I don't know about that; I'm pretty happy with my decision." Beyond that, my client has no further comment.

Dear Red,
This year, my wife is dragging me to the home of some friends of hers to celebrate the new year. The problem is that they are total teetotalers, and to me, a day (much less New Year's Eve) without a drink is no day at all! Would it be rude if I took a nice bottle of French wine (OK, maybe two)? And would a corkscrew and proper glasses be pushing it?
-Jakeman

Dear Jakeman,
I had to google teetotalers. I guess it wouldn't hurt to ask them if you can bring booze; just because they abstain doesn't mean they're necessarily opposed to being around it, right? If they seem uncomfortable, back off. It does strike me as odd to have a party on New Year's Eve if you don't drink or serve alcohol, but at the end of the day it's their home and you have to respect their comfort level. And since "a day without a drink is no day at all," on your way to pick up snacks for their party maybe stop by an AA meeting.

Dear Red,
My husband and I have been close friends with another couple since college. We were both recently in the bridal party for their wedding. After an engagement party, four bridal showers, a couples shower, and the wedding (we brought gifts for each) my husband and I have been set back financially due to the gift-giving extravaganzas. Now, the weekend that they have returned from their honeymoon, they are throwing a birthday party for their dog! My husband and I feel like we have been picked up, turned upside down, and shaken until everything we have has fallen out of our pockets. It seems like we have been taken advantage of in our relationship even before the wedding madness began (vacations, etc.). In addition, the wife recently inherited a large amount of money. My husband and I are nowhere near that kind of financial stability and lead a modest lifestyle. I would hate to end a close relationship that we have had for almost a decade, but to continue in this way is really putting a dent in our pocketbook.
-Gifted Out

Dear Gifted,
Four bridal showers? And what the hell is a couples shower? It should be mandatory that two tacky people can't marry each other, because then they have no idea how bad they both are and they just unleash their tackiness into the universe. If you've really been taken advantage of by them, by all means reevaluate the friendship. Unfortunately cheapsters have a way of making you feel cheap for standing your ground, but once you've felt screwed a few times you just have to. Double-check any bills you split and give them the benefit of the doubt; maybe they're more clueless than conniving. As for the party, go if it will be fun. Bring a bone for the dog and call it a day.

Dear Red,
I have a problem that often leaves me frustrated and angry at myself: I am very bad at small talk. It's amazing to me how people can slip in and out of frivolous talk (though I know it serves a socially useful purpose) with seeming ease. No matter how hard I try, I feel that I say the wrong thing or something inappropriate. What concerns me most, however, is that I'll soon be entering the work world, and the ability to make light conversation is paramount in business relationships. Do you have any suggestions?
-JS

Dear JS,
When I find myself in a situation like this I usually just ask them about themselves, like how it's going with whatever thing they've been up to or the person they're dating or something like that. People can talk about themselves forever (as evident by the ubiquitousness of blogs, present company included). Also, I wouldn't be too hard on yourself for being nervous. They're probably a little nervous too and not even noticing your nervousness.

Dear Red,
I am a college freshman at a large university. My roommate is a Texan, and one who seems dedicated to proving the proposition that everything is bigger (and more irritating) in Texas. His personality has been a source of much conflict on my floor, and I generally regard him as a disagreeable person with whom I associate simply because of our room assignment. The problem is that one of my female friends is both extraordinarily attractive and a close confidante. Unfortunately, my roommate wants to meet this friend solely on the basis of her good looks. For months, I have dodged his questions of "when am I going to meet ------ ?" However, it's becoming hard to keep this up. Should I bite the bullet and introduce my good friend to this blight on Texan statehood?
-College Boy

Dear College,
Just don't introduce them. You don't owe him anything. Or if it's been an elaborate song and dance to keep them from running into each other, do it but warn your friend beforehand. We have self-congratulatory "Texans" up here too, but we call them Yankees fans.

Dear Red,
My boss is a woman and she doesn't wear underwear. She is 35 and pretty and she is having an affair with a man who has two children and a wife. We have meetings and she wears slit dresses that are distracting. She lets everyone know her private life. What should we workers do? Look away or watch the whole thing?
-Kbent

Dear Kbent,
Look away. And stay away.

Dear Red,
What is the best way to turn someone down when asked for your phone number? In some instances, lying and claiming to be involved is not an option, such as when asked out by an acquaintance who is aware that you are available. What's the best response, without being rude?
-Just wondering

Dear Just,
"I've just been so busy these days, I really don't have much time to go out. Hey, how's work been going? So-and-so told me about your new job..."

Dear Red,
I have a long-distance boyfriend of three months. I've only seen him three times and I'm beginning to dislike him. However, he constantly phones me and sent me a $75 Christmas present. Should I send him a Christmas present or would this encourage him even more? I want to break up with him.
-Desperately

Dear Desperately,
Break up with him!

But Seriously, What The Hell Was Up With the Plane?

2007-01-25T20:00:00.000-05:00

Woman: Dorie McDorington's office.
Me: Hi, it's Red, is Dorie available?
Woman: Just a second.
Dorie: Hi.
Me: I love that you have someone whose job is to answer your damn phone.
Dorie: Did you get my message?
Me: Yeah, what's up?
Dorie: Can I come over tonight on my way home?
Me: Yeah, sure. You actually have free time?
Dorie: Kind of. I got in from LA yesterday.
Me: Oh yeah, didn't you leave obscenely early?
Dorie: Yeah, I got picked up at quarter of five. Then I had meetings all day and then I was supposed to get the red eye at 10 so that I could get home in time to have breakfast with the kids. But then the flight was delayed because there was a lot of blood on the plane.
Me: Uh, what?
Dorie: Yeah, they came on and said that they had to clean it up. And then they came back on and said that there was too much blood to clean up and they had to call a carpet cleaning company.
Me: They said all this on the loudspeaker?
Dorie: Then they came back on again and said that there was so much blood that the carpet cleaning company said they'd have to replace the carpet and that we just needed to get a new plane. And I thought that seemed like a good idea.
Me: Um, YEAH. So when did you even get home?
Dorie: Around nine. I just missed the kids.
Me: Did you just crash?
Dorie: No, I slept for an hour and a half and then went for a run.
Me: You're like the opposite of me. I'd have given my kids up for adoption and slept for twenty hours.
Dorie: That was Plan B, trust me.

How Online Dating Continues to Not Be For the Faint of Heart or Slow Email Repliers

2007-01-22T22:01:00.000-05:00

Me: I just got a mean email from a Match guy.
Keith: What?
Me: He wrote an email last week and I didn't write back. And he just wrote, "I don't know what I could've said in a few sentences to cancel me out so fast, but 'c'lest la vie, c'est la guerre.' Anyway, could you please let people know in the future? Guys are human too, and it hurts to be kept hanging like that. Thanks. Mike"
Keith: Yikes. It's a little presumptuous to think that his email requires a return contact, and you get scolded if you take too long.
Me: "Dear Mike, I was just paralyzed with fear over the intensity of my feelings. I've been a frothing mess since your original email. Please have dinner with me! Your wife"
Keith: You need to send that.
Me: Ha, you think?
Keith: Someone needs to sanction him, what with his wild accusatory emails and his "I said hi to you, now you have to love me" expectations.
Me: Maybe you should call him for me.
Keith: "Mike, I'm calling on behalf of your ex-budding-love interest. Can you settle down? She's not saying it's over, but things have to change."
Me: I just noticed the subject title: "OK, so you changed your mind."
Keith: From what to what?
Me: Maybe we could try counseling. I just hate for this to be it.
Keith: Not when you've both invested so much. Why throw it all away?

What Just Happened: 1/21

2007-01-21T22:00:00.000-05:00

On Friday I went home and watched the news because a kid from my high school killed another kid in the boys' room that morning. There's just no way to put that nicely, is there? So all day I learned from various news sources that my hometown is "a quiet suburb west of Boston where you would never expect to see this kind of violence." I originally wrote more about this, but then I decided that I just didn't want to get into it. I'm a little shaken up by it and I can't fathom how everything changed in an instant for both of those families. Needless to say the quiet suburb is still reeling.

Anyway. I don't have any suitable transition lines, so... that night I met up with Mardi and some of her lovely coworkers for margaritas at, well, Margaritas, fittingly enough. We're very literal around these parts. Mardi was talking about my blog and one of them pulled it up on his Blackberry and started quoting me, of COURSE from the horrific "I'm single and that's okay" entry, which is now safely tucked away as a draft. Public mocking seems like reason enough to keep from getting too serious in the Tent, right? Don't cry out loud, Red.

On Saturday I went to look at some random properties with my parents, who are considering "downsizing" to a condo that has more square footage and hip amenities than their current home. One of these places had a gorgeous pool room, full bar and adjoining media room with giant screen. I fantasized about the parties I'd throw there, but of course the kicker is that it'd be my parents' place so of course I was plotting ragers that would never happen. Oh, the humanity.

After that I met Steve for lunch, during which I tried to appeal to his manly football instincts to help me appreciate the sport. He's an absolute maniac, addicted to the NFL network, and has tried on many occasions to get me into it, his line of reasoning always being that I love baseball so loving football can't be far behind. I would actually like very much to enjoy football as much as I do baseball, but I just can't get psyched for it. I periodically threaten to come over and watch a game with him sometime, but this is the sort of response I get from him: "No, because I know what that would be like. 'Who's that guy in the striped hat?' 'What guy?' 'That guy.' 'In the STANDS?' 'Yeah. Do I know him? Is he on Grey's Anatomy?'" Of course, he does my voice high and squeaky while his voice is totally normal and exasperated with my incessant girliness.

A few years ago during the snow bowl, it seemed like the game was over and he went downstairs to get his laundry. I was still sitting on the couch and there was some weird ruling based on the angle of Tom Brady's wrist, or something. I yelled, "Something's happening!" He came running back upstairs. "What? What?" It went to commercial and he whipped around to face me, expectant and frantic. I was so football-ignorant, it must have been like trying to communicate with Lassie.

Me: I... I don't know! The game's not over!
Him: What happened? What did they say?
Me: Something about his arm.
Him: Whose arm? Brady's arm?
Me: Yes! It was a snap. Or it wasn't. I don't know! Everything's different now! I'm sorry! It will be back on soon! [And then I probably buried my face in my hands.]

Saturday night I was supposed to go out for Work Friend's birthday, but she and her friends were going to a strip club and I wasn't really into it. I prefer men who grind up against me for free. So I bailed on that and instead went to Crowley's with Mardi and Carly. We somehow got talking about Carly's affinity for drawing dirty pictures and then made her show us on cocktail napkins. I wrote "Later?" on one of the dirtier ones and then said something about how if Mardi gave it to someone (as straightfaced and over-the-top tacky as possible, like with a raised eyebrow and a wink) that I'd buy all her drinks for the year. Then we entered serious discussions wherein a preliminary contract was drawn up detailing the terms, at which point I started to waffle since a whole year of booze could get pricey. Negotitations were fierce but ultimately incomplete. We were getting ready to leave and Mardi had the finished napkin pictures folded in front of her. Then, before any of us knew what was happening, the bartender, Trevor, reached over, scooped up the napkins, and threw them away. Mardi, Carly and I simultaneously gasped and leaned forward like three idiots in slow motion. Trevor had no idea what he'd done but immediately fished them out of the trash. "What is it, you guys? The napkins? You want the napkins back?" He opened the dirtiest of them and said, "Heh. Later."

After that we went to the Tree, where I had grilled cheese and Diet Coke. Then I was in bed by midnight and slept for eleven hours. I'm such a party girl, I can't even tell you.

Another Opportunity to Educate the Young Squandered in Favor of Mocking Them

2007-01-18T15:08:00.000-05:00

Work Friend: Look at [Kid]. He's totally standing there playing with his nipples.
Me: Wow, things are getting pretty K-I-N-K-Y around here.
Another Kid: What?
Work Friend: She said things are getting pretty silly around here! Whee!

Me: I just learned from CNN.com that when kids say "You're not the boss of me," they're really just trying to express themselves and you should prompt them to say something more constructive like "I'd like a choice," and that can be a substitute for all the mean things they really want to say.
Work Friend: That's some cutting-edge research. Remember we have [Yet Another Kid]'s meeting tomorrow.
Me: I'd like a choice.

The CNN headlines can be so funny. Today one of them was "Six Annoying Things Kids Say and How to Respond." I was hoping the annoying things would be things like "Mommy, I'm cold" or "Daddy, you promised you'd quit."

Instead it gave advice about what to tell your kids if they're nagging you for crap. "I want the ring pop! IWANTITIWANTITIWANTIT!" One of the neutral responses it suggested was "It's nice to want things." I plan to use this all the time, in every possible scenario. Consider its power: When said to a despised coworker who requires something of you, you can just imagine the defeated look you'd get in return... and waitasecond, what's that suddenly in your possession? Ah yes, it's THE UPPER HAND. Or how about using it at the end of a date with someone you don't want to see again? And in a different context, were it delivered with a small, evil smile and an unblinking stare, I imagine it could be pretty terrifying.

Bottom line? Possibilities for my new catchphrase: endless!

My Two Cents

2007-01-16T21:53:00.001-05:00

50 Cent (he lets me call him Fitty) and I were interviewed in the current issue of Elle. Turns out we have a lot in common.

Elle: Who was your first crush from pop culture?
Me: Luke Skywalker. He was cute and smart and scrappy. Much better than that cocky Han.
50: The mother from The Cosby Show - Phylicia Rashad - was gorgeous to me.
Me: And how about how sexed up she was? Always had one eyebrow cocked and saying something dirty to Cliff. She was all woman.

Elle: Who was your first love?
Me: His name was Drew. We were in kindergarten together. He was cute.
50: My grandmother. I think that for all male children, their first love is their female guardian.
Me: Oh. Well, if you're going to be serious about it... I guess my grandfather. You're so wise, Fitty. Can I call you Half Dollar?
[silence]
Me: Two Quarters?

Elle: Tell me about your first sexual experience.
Me: It was actually with a girl named Natasha. I bet his was too!
50: I had sex for the first time when I was 12 years old with a grown-ass woman.
Elle: How grown-ass was she?
Me: My follow-up question exactly, Elle.
50: Like, grown-up. Like 22. She wasn't really attractive.
Me: You know that's her claim to fame! Not cool, Five Dimes.
Elle: Still, how did you manage that at 12?
50: Oh man. She managed that. I was a big 12-year-old, though, 160 pounds. I had no idea what I was doing, but I was ready.
Me: Ew.

Elle: How many women have you said "I love you" to?
Me: A bunch.
50: I've said it three times.
Me: You're a rock. You are an island.

Elle: How do you handle a situation where a woman tells you she loves you, and you don't share the sentiment?
Me: "Oh, um... thank you! You're nice."
50: I'll be like, "Stop playing," or "You buggin'."
Me: I think I need to change my answer, big time.

Elle: If you had to spend the rest of your life as a woman, who would you be?
Me: If I had to?
50: Oprah Winfrey. She started out with black women's views but has been catering to middle-aged white American women for so long that she's become one herself.
Me: Yeah. [whistles, looks around uncomfortably]

Elle: Tell me about the worst date you've ever had.
Me: I've had dates with guys I'd rather not have spent a few hours with, but I haven't really had any horrible dates, funny enough. But saying that guarantees me a few, right?
50: I didn't have a lot of money at the time, so I called a cab and gave the guy money to take us to a movie and be back in two hours - so I'd be able to to drop her off at home. He didn't show up until an hour after the movie got out. We were just standing outside the theater.
Me: Way to make the best of it, Romeo. Why didn't you take her to the candy shop and let her lick the lollipop? Also, you write disgusting songs.

Elle: Do you have any feminine traits?
Me: Several.
50: No, not very many.

Elle: So you're not a shoe hound?
Me: No.
50: I didn't know that was a feminine trait. I have a lot - a LOT - about 300 pairs. But women are different. They'll wear the shoes twice a year, and they spend more. Women's shoes never actually go out of style. If they're cute shoes, they're cute shoes.
Me: Holy crap. 300? You ARE a woman.

Elle: Your company released a porn video called Groupie Love. If you're performing, somebody's got to corral them. Do you have your own HR person for groupies?
Me: Yes, yes I do.
50: Nah, it's usually just someone in the entourage.

Elle: Is there one particular trait to look for?
Me: Baseball players.
50: Big bottoms.

Elle: The lyrics to the song "Groupie Love" would suggest that you've had sex with the same woman twice but not realized you'd been with her before. Did this really happen?
Me: No, I always remember the honeys I've bagged.
50: No. Unless it happened under circumstances I wouldn't remember because some type of freak situation went on.
Me: I need more information.

Elle: How are you with names?
Me: Good. I make an effort.
50: I'm good. If you're meeting with people who are giving you millions of dollars, it's good to remember their names.
Me: You stud.

Elle: How many groupies can you handle at one time?
Me: More than you can even imagine.
50: You want groupies? I can handle the same amount that you can. How many can you handle?
Elle: I'm good for two and a half, maybe three at once.
50: Two and a half, three? You THINK you can handle it.
Me: Do you guys want to be alone?

A Few of My Favorite Things

2007-01-15T01:15:00.000-05:00

In case you're interested, here's a place where I plan to talk about crap that I like. The dating blog was fun but was starting to feel a little Carrie Bradshaw-esque, which is the exact opposite of what I intended ("And I couldn't help but wonder..."). So this is my new side project. And by "project" I mean "another website I'll update sporadically."

Anyway, like I said, it's all stuff that I'm into (that's not vague at all, right?), which means a lot of product discussion will inevitably ensue, but there'll be other stuff too. Check it out, if you're so inclined. There's a new link for it over in the sidebar, too.

Also, Greg, thanks for including me in your sacred realm of recommendations!

If You Don't Have a Plan, You're Planning to Fail. Or Something.

2007-01-10T23:19:00.000-05:00

Me: I accidentally dialed 911 from my office today.
Kate: Oh no! Was it the 911 button or you dialed it?
Me: No button! A purposeful dial.
Kate: What happened?
Me: I'm thinking that, 1) I dialed 9 to call out, hit the 1, thought I didn't and then hit it again, and then the call I was trying to make didn't go through because of the extra 1 and I hung up, or 2) it was a thinly-veiled cry for help. In any case, this is how my place of employment deals with it. Over the loudspeaker: "Would Red McRederson please call the main office?" Hello, maybe I'm bleeding.
Kate: Oh my God, what if you were there collapsed in a heap and you COULDN'T CALL THE MAIN OFFICE on account of the no-breathing?
Me: I called the receptionist and she said, "Red, are you okay?" and I said, "Yes, why?" and she said, "Because you called 911," and I said, "No way! Well, everything's fine." Meanwhile that's what I HAVE to say because the kidnapper has an AK-47 to my throat. Wait, is an AK-47 a gun or a plane?
Kate: A 747 is a plane.
Me: One time I saw this Lifetime movie where they set it up early that the mom was lactose intolerant, right? They had her son offer her some of his milk and she said, "Honey, you know mommy can't drink milk." So you know this is coming into play later. So then her ex-boyfriend is stalking her, and in the final scene he's got her in the kitchen with a gun to her head and her husband calls downstairs to see if she's okay. She says, "I'm fine, just getting a glass of milk." Stalker thinks everything is fine, but a few minutes later, BAM! Knocked down by the husband, because he KNOWS BETTER!
Kate: Niiiiiiice. Can you imagine what it's like to live with a person so paranoid that they actually figure out that code?
Me: My plan is that if I'm ever in that situation, I will reply that I'm getting a bowl of potatoes covered in cheese and a cup of coffee. And a banana.
Kate: And I'll come a-runnin' with a frying pan to do some whackin'.
Me: But you know whoever I say it to will be like, "That's a weird craving," and go back to sleep.
Kate: I'll be like, ''Oh my God, Red got knocked up."
Me: With my luck I'd be like, "That's okay, I'm just getting a glass of [accidentally insert ex-boyfriend's name here]" and then everyone in my house is shot to death. My movie title would be An Unfortunately Timed Freudian Slip: The Red McRederson Story.
Kate: Lifetime movies are the best.
Me: What will your code be so I know if I should take out your kidnapper? "I'm just looking for my Red Sox hat"?
Kate: "Can't talk! Eating a big juicy steak!"
Me: I'm glad we have a plan.
Kate: It's good to think ahead.

Ode to 06

2007-01-08T22:33:00.000-05:00

1. What did you do in 2006 that you'd never done before?
This is like being on a date and having the guy ask you something like, "So, what do you do for fun?" Fun? What is this fun of which you speak? But actually, fun ran rampant in 2006. I went to Yankee Stadium, started writing a novel, country line danced, finally tried scotch, joined a gym so expensive that membership should include someone to go for you, experienced the heartbreak of Johnny Damon in pinstripes, was given a Wonka cherry-yum-diddly-fun dip by one of my students, discovered the delightful West Newton trifecta of debauchery (The Cherry Tree, Crowley's and Paddy's), found out that my TV has free karaoke, bought a car, drove it to Niagara Falls, was told the Dirtiest Story I've Ever Heard in My Entire Life at my godmother's retirement party, got yelled at via Friendster by a high school acquaintance, learned that Nick Lachey is emerging from the shadows of his past, saw the wonder that is House of Carters and MTV's Fat Camp, drank $150 wine courtesy of Crazy Neighbor, played psychological games with my other neighbor, spent many a summer night at Fenway pondering what my coming-up-to-bat song would be (maybe Code Red by DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince?), screamed bloody murder when Ronald McDonald walked into my office at work and asked to borrow a pen, uncovered the wonder of Chipotle, threw a couple parties, and found out that Janet Jackson is really singing "oh you nasty boys," not "ode to nasty boys."

2. Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions?
Yes! Also, I don't think I made any.

3. What countries did you visit?
Just Canada. Whee! On this trip I learned many things, such as the fact that Northern Canada is so underpopulated that it's basically lawless. In other words, start loading the car because I want to meet some cannibals. (Because underpopulation means no access to food other than human flesh, right?)

4. What would you like to have in 2007 that you lacked in 2006?
Motivation.

5. What dates from 2006 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
April 25, my dad's knee surgery. July 21, Olivia's birthday.

6. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
I made some great new friends. I also let go of a few people that had been weighing me down (I know, how Dr. Phil of me, but it's easier to float along without dead weight).

7. What was your biggest failure?
Putting energy into people who didn't deserve it. But at the end of the day, it's all a learning experience. Chalk it up and move on.

8. Did you suffer illness or injury?
I had the flu. It was during the Superbowl. I was not able to eat any chips and/or dip.

9. What was the best thing you bought?
My car.

10. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Yours, baby.

11. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Carrie Bradshaw in every rerun of Sex and the City.

12. Where did most of your money go?
Condo fee, bills, Sephora.

13. What song will always remind you of 2006?
SexyBack... YEAH!

14. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) Happier or sadder? Happier
b) Thinner or fatter? About the same
c) Richer or poorer? Richer

15. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Exercise.

16. What do you wish you'd done less of?
I could be responsible and say going out, but it's always a good time.

17. How did you spend Christmas?
With my mom, dad, the Dories, and Kate. It was perfect, except for Humor-Free Bonnie, of course.

18. Did you fall in love in 2006?
No. But loving myself is the greatest love of all.

19. How many one-night stands?
A couple.

20. What was your favorite TV program?
The Office.

21. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
Nah. This cowgirl's a lover, not a fighter.

22. What was the best book you read?
Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain. Mark had been trying to get me to read it forever and I was surprised by how much I liked it.

23. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Jenny Lewis and Rilo Kiley.

24. What did you want and get?
A lovely brown leather jewelry box from Red Envelope and lots of make-up.

25. What did you want and not get?
A vacation.

26. What was your favorite film of this year?
Spanglish. I'm not sure if it came out in 06, but I saw it in 06.

27. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I went to the Cheesecake Factory with the Jens (Party and Elusive) and turned 29.

28. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
An obscenely lucrative book deal. Actually finishing a book would be a good place to start. Nice to know I'm in it for the art, huh?

29. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2005?
Um... casual?

30. What kept you sane?
My family and friends, as always.

31. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Jason Varitek, as always.

32. What political issue stirred you the most?
The war.

33. Who did you miss?
I'll admit it: When all is said and done, I miss Bonnie. (Her response would be, "What's that supposed to mean? Is that funny?")

34. Who is the best new person you met?
Kate, Mardi, Sarah, Keith, Darren and Miss Peach. And Olivia. I really scored this year in terms of newbies.

35. Tell us some valuable life lessons you learned in 2006.
Surround yourself with people who feel like home and are a positive force in your life.
Be pickier than you think you need to be when it comes to dates, friends, and sushi restaurants.
If someone/something repeatedly seems like too much trouble, it probably is.
And Baz, who knew you'd come through: "Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself, either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's."

36. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
"Grey Goose got your girl feeling loose
Now I'm wishing that I didn't wear these shoes
It's like everytime I get up on the dude
Paparazzi put my business in the news."
-Fergalicious

Now Batting

2007-01-06T13:57:00.000-05:00

Friday night I had a date, and we were going to go to Margaritas but the wait was ridiculous, so we walked across the street to the Skellig instead. It's your run of the mill Boston-area Irish pub, complete with drunk fools having a going away party and sitting right next to us. Whenever one of them would crash into our table, making our beers wobble precariously, the rest of them would yell, "Leave those poor people alone! They're just trying to eat their dinner! You're scaring them!" and either screech with laughter or slur apologies. Come on, people, I was on a first freakin' date. If that beer had ended up in my lap, I would've killed first and asked questions later.

Then at one point our waitress came over and said, "The drunk people are picking up your tab. So what do you say, another round?" We thanked them (it WAS a classy move from people I had dismissed as decidedly unclassy) and escaped to the bar to finish our beers.

The guy was nice enough. He was eight years older than me, which wouldn't necessarily be a big deal, but I just wasn't really into him. Some of my family from Jersey (aunt, uncle, and two cousins) were coming into town that night and would be staying at my apartment for the weekend, so I used that as my excuse to end the evening a little early, even though Favorite Cousin reported that they were still a few hours away at that point.

Date and I walked to the parking lot and I did the preemptive don't-kiss-me one-armed hug, waited until he drove away, and then got out of my car and went back to Margaritas, where some friends of mine were at the bar drinking Coronas and waiting for a table. (Jeez, sometimes life is like 90210. "Oh gawd, you guys, I'm across the street on the most boring date. I'll ditch him and meet you at the Peach Pit!") They ended up coming back to my apartment for more beers, which I was trying to pawn off because I'm still overstocked. (At my Halloween party I ran out of alcohol somewhere around midnight, so for New Year's Eve I overbought and encouraged friends to overbring. Luckily, Favorite Cousin is a senior in college and a frat boy, so he was happy to take the surplus off my hands.)

Anyway, once we were back at my place I went up to the guest room to make sure it was pulled together for my aunt and uncle. And there, on the window, was a bat. A small one, not a big Dracula nightmare, but still. I must have screamed, although I don't remember screaming, because suddenly Keith ran up the stairs to find out who was murdering me. I hid behind him saying helpful things like, "Okay, open the door. NO, BE CAREFUL! Okay, try it. But slowly. IT'S RIGHT THERE! DO YOU SEE IT? IT'SRIGHTTHERE!" He suggested I get a bucket and while I was wandering around downstairs lamenting my lack of a bucket, Favorite Cousin called.

Me: There's a bat in my guest room!
FC: Oh, awesome! It'll be like Tommy Boy.

I never even saw that movie, but my thought is that if you have a bat in your home, it's best to have someone coming into your home who thinks it's no big deal and is happy to take care of it. Which is what they did. My aunt saw the thing twitching on the floor and pronounced it "so cute!" They caught him in an empty box, put him on my patio, and basically created a delightful bat condo for him. Cousin/Godson, whom you might remember from epic advetures such as this, went outside the next day and took pictures of it with his phone. I suggested, oh I don't know, KILLING THE SON OF A BITCH and was immediately shot down. So now, in the sitcom that is my life, I have a kooky bat for a next door neighbor. The bat is my Kramer.

Stare Down

2007-01-02T22:37:00.000-05:00

My latest pet peeve is people with staring problems. I wonder if Seinfeld ever did a show about them... I remember the close talkers, the low talkers, but never the starers.

In my experience, a person with a staring problem is almost always a random person who is on the fringes of your life for some tangential reason, like you work with them but not everyday. They say something to you, you have a conversation, then you wrap it up with something like, "Okay, sounds good. So we'll touch base on Thursday." (Incidentally, does anyone ever "touch base" anyplace other than work? I'm glad we don't use euphemisms like this in our regular lives. I'd never know where I was going or what I was doing if my friends started suggesting I keep something on my radar screen or take this offline. I feel like every time we throw around one of these phrases at work we're really saying, "Fuck, I don't know right now. I'm tired.")

So anyway, you and This Person You Don't Even Really Know That Well decide to touch base on Thursday in order to leverage your marketplace potential and exponentially increase your ROI (or, in the case of my job, figure out what the hell is wrong with a particular kid and whether or not Hector Flores is involved). And it's always during an innocuous moment like this that it turns out that This Person You Don't Even Really Know That Well turns out to have a staring probem. You smile, are about to look away and resume your life, and they just stand there looking at you. It doesn't go on for very long, but it's like every second that ticks by is infused with the awkwardness of a thousand blind dates. Witness the end of an exchange today between myself and a colleague whose bases I only touch occasionally:

Her: Just let me know when you have a chance to evaluate Little Timmy and I'll see if there's any data I can give you to support yada yada.
Me: Okay, great. I think I'll do it this week, so I'll catch up with you and we can talk.
Her: Great.

And this is the time for the smile, the ubiquitous "okay, thanks!", and that's just about all that I have for you today, my friend. But the starer isn't done with you yet. Oh, no. Not even close.

Her: [stares, smiling]

Three seconds pass. Maybe the longest three seconds of my life.

And she's not even the only one! Work Friend was out recently and had a substitute in for her. And what do you know, that substitute also had the affliction.

Me: You can't go to conferences anymore. Or get sick. Or take a personal day.
WF: Why, what happened?
Me: Your substitute had a staring problem.
WF: Really? You mean like That Other Teacher?
Me: Yes! I'd look back at her and she'd still be staring!
WF: Wow. It's like they're following you.

There are only a few things you can do in this situation, and none of them feel particularly great.

1) You stare back, also smiling, until they look away. This is like playing with fire, though. You two sad, grinning fools could be there all day.
2) You look away and pretend you don't notice them still staring and smiling. But of course, how can you not notice someone staring and smiling at you? If we were at a bar I'd be expecting you to have bought me a drink by now.
3) You call them on it. "Was there anything else?" But this would somehow come out bitchier than intended, and it would only confuse the starer, because they don't realize they have a staring problem.
4) You employ the magic of redundancy, which is usually my strategy. Repeat some variation of your last line to them, like you weren't done talking: "Okay, great. Wonderful." Seriously, I sometimes whip out adjectives I haven't used in years when I'm in a situation like this. "Terrif!"
5) You immediately launch into an impromptu game of who blinks first. If they blink first, ha ha, los-er. If you do, whatever, something was probably just in your eye.

Lend me your wisdom, peoples. Is appropriate social timing too much to ask of your colleagues?

2007

2007-01-01T15:20:00.000-05:00

Last year I had a craptastic New Year's Eve. I didn't want to go out, but I did, and I ended up sitting in a club for hours waiting for a friend to finish making out with someone because we were sharing a cab home. That night I decided three things: 1) I'm getting too old for this, 2) I'm no longer going out on New Year's Eve, and 3) I'll always arrange my own transportation.

God, aren't clubs the worst? They're filled with the most generic people, all of whom are either screaming the lyrics to Baby Got Back or sobbing in the bathroom. I swear, when you're waiting for a stall you hear "I thought he liked me!" more than "Do you know what time it is?" I think I went to one club last year and this year I'm aiming for zero.

So these are my words of wisdom from this New Year's Eve: 1) Stay in, but invite your friends over. Just good friends, so you don't have to maintain a party. I could've worn my pjs and none of them would have cared. In fact, I think they're surprised when I don't, 2) Be careful if you're using Grey Goose to make your New Signature Cocktail, because that stuff goes down ridiculously easy which means no one can taste the alcohol and you'll end up accidentally obliterating a couple of your friends, and 3) If you're making a New Signature Cocktail that No One Can Taste the Alcohol In, make a pitcher ahead of time. Because if you're an inefficient bartender like I am, it takes you ten minutes to make each drink, and by the time you're finished with the last one, the first person is ready for another and it's an endless cycle of mindfuckery.

Earlier today I was talking to a guy I hope to start ~~sleeping with~~ dating very casually and he was saying that it sounds like my night was more fun than his. But it wasn't fun because of jello shots or random hookups, it was fun because of my awesome friends. Thanks, guys. It was a great way to end/start the year.

Oh, weekend update, I forgot: Friday night I babysat for Dorie's kiddos, Saturday night I was a wingwoman (I took one for the team so Mardi could live the dream, but it was no biggie; the guy's friend was perfectly nice and my girl has wingwomaned for me before), and Sunday was the aforementioned good time. And by the way, start checking out my dating blog again. I have a few new stories.

Happy new year, kids! Here's hoping it's your best one yet.

They Say It's Your Blogday

2006-12-27T00:05:00.000-05:00

Happy second blogday to the Tent! I'm looking forward to a year filled with learning new words, improving hand-eye coordination, throwing tantrums, and napping.

In other words, business as usual.

(Also, here's a better explanation of my Christmas than I offered you. Hope yours was merry/filled with virile Latinos.)

What Just Happened: Christmas Miracle Edition

2006-12-26T20:03:00.000-05:00

Remember when the Sweet Valley High books had the occasional "special edition," when the characters went on spring break or a ski trip or something like that? Maybe they were called super editions, I can't remember. Anyway, I loved those. They were always so much more dramatic than the regular books and one of the twins always almost died. Anyway, this is my special holiday weekend update. No fictitious twins were harmed in the making.

Christmas Eve consisted of making luminaries, tracking Santa online (complete with 8-year-old Jillian breathlessly shrieking "He's in Paris! RIGHT NOW HE'S FLYING OVER PARIS!"), putting out reindeer food for Rudolph (but not that greedy Blitzen, hells no), a beer run, and my parents hiding a Jesus action figure in each other's cereal bowls.

Kate was a lovely addition to the festivities this year, braving the Fung Wah, offering up newly acquired Trish McEvoy makeup skills (we can make you look dewy), and being a good sport about the fact that when she met Dorie, she was entertaining her children (but mostly herself) by standing on her couch using wooden spoons to conduct Christmas music with an almost disturbing level of enthusiasm.

My mom made Kate a welcome basket with fancy chocolates, warm socks, and a keychain with a K. I think we've pinpointed the source of the family hostessing gene.

My mom's humor-free childhood friend came to Christmas dinner and subjected all of us to her social awkwardness. She's one of those people that all my mom's other friends have given up on but my mom tries to be nice and still invite her places. I think we've pinpointed the source of the family just-can't-shake-a-dud gene.

It was a merry Christmas with my family, my beloved friend, and an aunt who was astute enough to give me the Martha Stewart Homekeeping Handbook, which means I can now clean my entire apartment using just a toothpick and half a lemon. God bless us everyone.

Stealing, Lying, and More Things To Like About Christmas

2006-12-22T14:35:00.000-05:00

Last night on the news they were discussing how hoodlums broke into a church in the middle of the night and stole money from the priest's office. First of all, if you're breaking in anywhere, why a church? Second of all, do you think there's a special place in hell reserved for people who steal cash from a priest right before Christmas? I'm not saying it's all that far from the special place reserved for people who insisted on wearing blue to their first communion (me) or didn't get confirmed (me again) but I do think some special consideration must be given. Third of all, the church officials kept saying how saddened they were because that money was intended for the needy. As far as I'm concerned, anyone who breaks and enters for $40 is probably pretty damn needy, so mission accomplished, gentlemen.

Of course, this is coming from someone who, while babysitting Dorie's kids last night and trying unsuccessfully to get them to calm down and go to bed, ended up putting Santa in her cell phone. Nothing like bringing the big guy into the 21st century, right? I held up my phone to show them: "Look who I'm calling, you guys... hello, Santa? How are you? Listen, I'm having some trouble getting the kids into bed. No, no, they're good kids, you know that. And I'm not saying you should send any of their presents back, buuuut..."

By that point, they had gone from screaming bloody murder to under the covers, wide-eyed and silent. And now the "recently dialed" section of my phone is endlessly entertaining: Melissa, Carly, Mardi, Santa, Kate. I might leave him on there; I bet he hardly gets any calls/letters/faxes/telegrams/prayers/shout-outs after the holidays.

Merry whateveryou'reinto, blogfriends!

And Here I Didn't Even Know I Was in the Running

2006-12-20T00:37:00.000-05:00

Kate: I just wanted to congratulate you on being Time's Person of the Year.
Me: Congratulations to you as well!
Kate: Thank you, thank you. I knew I was on the short list last year, but this is really an honor.
Me: I had a conversation with a coworker and I think I really convinced him that I was on the cover. He said, "What, is it someone who looks exactly like you?" No, it's ME. And it's also YOU. Very existential.
Kate: Yeah, and it doesn't diminish the honor at all to have to share it with six billion other freaks.

A Few Heartwarming Holiday Moments

2006-12-19T18:32:00.000-05:00

1. My mom wrote this in an email to me: "I want to rip someone's face off. Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la!" (And all this time I've been claiming to be more like my dad.)

2. Dorie's husband offered me his children to serve drinks at my New Year's Eve party. By strapping trays. On their heads. And having them walk around. Now there's a joke only their father could get away with.

3. Melissa and I decided that we're breaking up all the couples at said party and drawing names to determine who will kiss who at midnight. People are then free to return to their chosen kissing partners, however, the duo who stays together the longest into the new year gets a great door prize. I may be getting a little competitive here, but I think One of My Friends Who is Entirely Unaware of What They're Getting Into and I will be very happy together. I can see it now: "Stop crying, Kevin. You can go back to Carly AS SOON AS I GET THAT DOOR PRIZE."

4. My students did remarkably well at their holiday concert today, considering they weren't allowed to say the word "Christmas." That meant plenty of Winter Wonderland and (wait for it) Winter Pokey, to the tune of Hokey Pokey. What have we become, America? You put your mittens on, you take your mittens off, you put your mittens on and you shake 'em all about...

5. Donald Trump just forced Santa into rehab. Thankfully the big guy is just grateful to get a second chance and promises to try much harder next time.

What Just Happened: 12/17

2006-12-17T17:47:00.000-05:00

On Friday I babysat for Dorie's kids (whom I'm not naming by name to avoid the possibility of them googling themselves... kids are so freakin' wired, it's ridiculous). I've talked about Dorie before, but for any newbies, the deal is that she and her husband have lived across the street from my parents for eleven years, so they basically moved in right when I was leaving for college. She and I have discussed the absurdity of how I lived in that house for a jillion years and she moved into the neighborhood right when I was moving out, but honestly, because of the age gap between us (about fifteen years), we probably wouldn't have been close friends back then. I mean, it would've been hard for a 33-year-old to meet an 18-year-old and form a significant relationship.

Anyway, in the years since they've moved in they've had two kids (now 8 and 7, to whom my parents are godparents) and the whole crew has become family to my family. As an only child I should probably say something sweet and corny like, sniff, I always wanted a sister. I never really did, though. But having a surrogate one has turned out to be great. Plus she and my mom bicker so much that I end up looking like the perfect daughter.

So on Friday her son and I picked up her daughter from basketball. I tease Dorie that she's raising Popular Kids, because they're both gorgeous and athletic. The boy is going to start playing lacrosse next year, for cryin' out loud; I see Duke and stockbroking in his future. I love my nights with them, because I get to be a soccer (or basketball) mom... and then I get to say goodbye and go home. One of them wanted to get a pizza at Papa Gino's and the other one wanted to go to Pizza Express and it was such A Big Deal that you'd think, from their faces, that the ensuing coin toss to decide between the two should've happened in slow motion with Chariots of Fire theme song playing in the background. (Papa won, and the disgruntled party settled for scraping the excess tomato sauce off their slices with a spoon.)

At one point Dorie called me, in that two-and-a-half-margaritas happy place:

Her: You know what's so funny? I'm at the Cactus Club and you're home with my kids!
Me: Wait, you mean you wanted me to stay with the kids until you got home?
Her: I'm out and you're home! It's like we switched lives! Ha ha ha!
Me: Do you call all your babysitters and say this?

When they got home, Dorie and I stayed up talking late, and I rolled across the street at about 3 AM to sleep in my old bedroom. It's very counterintuitive to stroll into my parents' house obscenely late; I still have that 16-year-old mentality of feeling like I should be creeping silently up the stairs and hoping that I don't have any hickeys or smell like Marlboro Lights.

On Saturday I went to see The Holiday with Sarah. I loved it! It was a perfectly executed chick flick, all marshmallow fluff and cuteness... the cinematic equivalent of the honey in the plastic teddy bear. But because nothing normal ever happens to me, I got to the theater before Sarah, got in line to get our tickets, and the guy in front of me inexplicably asked for about fifty gift cards, each of which had to be stamped or initialed or something by the guy behind the counter, and everyone involved in this mindfuck took their sweet ass time, despite the growing line and my silent fury. Sarah arrived ten minutes later, got in another line, and I ended up jumping ship to her line because she got tickets faster.

That night I had dinner with Mardi and her friend Kathy, and then Mardi and I went to the Tree. Sarah met up with us later. All I can say is that hilarity ensued, our night ended at about 4 AM, and today I slept until 1:30 in the afternoon, which I haven't done since college.

And now Christmas is right around the corner! How did that happen? Things are getting very giddy up giddy up giddy up let's go. I still have to finish my cards and I THINK I've finished all my shopping. I know I'm ready to be done with work until the new year, so I'm just marking time this week. But I can't wait to start scoring snowman candles and "Teachers Build the Future" paperweights from my kids, all of whom are already psychotic with the anticipation of Santa.

Oh, like I'm not. He always brings me products.

Dear Japan, Miso Sorry

2006-12-14T22:52:00.000-05:00

For those of you not from the area or not in a baseball state of mind, the Sox just spent the national debt to acquire a young Japanese pitcher named Daisuke Matsuzaka. Although my feelings toward our new friend are not unlike my feelings toward Barack Obama (i.e. "aaand what's all the hype about, exactly?"), I'm optimistic. Red Sox Nation is always optimistic. And I drew an "07" in the center field sand at Fenway in October so that's got to count for something.

But guess what? Turns out, surprise surprise, that we're really just freakin' tacky. The headline on Boston.com was "Konichiwa!" Our local sports journalists basically pinched the cheeks of the swarming Japanese media and called them adorable. I just heard one of my favorite radio stations play a soundbite, "Welcome and domo arigato, Daisuke!" Yeah, you could argue that it means thank you, but we all know it's a Mr. Roboto reference.

I shudder to think of how much "Turning Japanese" we'll be hearing in the bars come April. And I just heard that they served hot dogs and sushi in the press box dining room. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

I Was Just Trying to Buy Brownie Mix and Everyone at the Store Made Fun of Me, and Other Anecdotes on Life

2006-12-11T16:42:00.000-05:00

What do you think, have I found the title for my autobiography, or what?

This is reason 3,001 why I don't bake. I remembered on the way home that I had to bring brownies into work tomorrow. Because the grocery store is So Far Away, I went to Store 24, so I pretty much felt guilty before I walked in the door. At a place like that there's always that sense that anything you're purchasing could've been sitting on the shelves since the same store was illegally selling me Marlboro Lights in high school.

But they had brownie mix and I looked at the back of the box to see what else I needed: vegetable oil, eggs, water. I must have read the ingredients under my breath because a woman walking behind me said, "You don't know how to make brownies?" I turned, smiling, assuming she wasn't a horrific bitch, but she was. Woman was totally sneering at me. Excuse you, Betty Crocker. I should've told her I was making them for disabled kids. Maybe I'll go back tomorrow, hope she comes back in as well, and have a "well, the jerk store called and they're running out of YOU!" moment.

Then I'm in line, and the guy behind the counter turned the egg carton on its side the long way and stacked it in the bag. Maybe I'm overly egg protective, but I said, "Oh, actually, can I get the eggs in their own bag?" The guy said sure and couldn't have been nicer. And then the woman behind me (a different woman!) said, to no one in particular, "Now she needs a separate bag for her eggs!"

Now I need a separate bag? Now? As though the bag is yet another thing in my exhaustive list of demands?

I left and have decided that from now on I'm buying my brownies at Rosie's, like any other respectable non-baker. Clearly the magic of the season has touched us all.

What Just Happened: 12/10

2006-12-10T18:46:00.000-05:00

After work on Friday, I got my hair did. Well, cut. Now it's shoulder length, if any of you are keeping track. As I think I've mentioned, my hairdresser is a longtime family friend and every time I see her, she repeatedly asks me to a) get it cut more often, which I really should, b) blow it dry adequately every time, which I really should, and c) use products. I don't really use any products; my hair is Totally Straight and Boring (see right) and I'm inexplicably a wash-and-go girl in this one area of my life. My hairdresser can't get over the fact that I love every other kind of product and yet I'm not at all enticed by shine spray or texturing paste or whatever the hell she puts on me. It always goes like this:

Me: I never blow it dry for this long.
Her: I know.
Me: Or this thoroughly.
Her: I know. But you should.
Me: I'm filled with regret.
Her: Oh, enough out of you.

Me: You don't have to use any product.
Her: I know, but this will just make it shiny/silky/supple/sublime.
Me: No, that's okay.
Her: I'm just using a TINY bit.
Me: No!
Her: YES!
Me: FINE.

Clearly, I'm good at drawing boundaries when it matters.

With hair like a golden, dewy meadow, the only time in the foreseeable future that it won't be damp and/or in a ponytail, I went to meet Mardi and Doug at the Marriott bar/restaurant, where there appeared to be a Santa convention going on. Those sorts of things are funnier to observe when you're drinking vodka cranberries. Then we went to (where else?!) the Cherry Tree, where our favorite barfly has, sadly, left for brighter pastures, which means that we now have to pay for our own pitchers. Miller Lite is back to tasting like hooker bile now that it costs money again. At one point all the Santas that we saw at the hotel came raging into the Tree singing Christmas carols; apparently they were bar hopping to spread the holiday cheer and raise money for underprivileged kids. Mardi lured one of the well-intentioned Santas into drinking cheap beer with us for awhile, and Doug looked up at one of the other ones and asked, "Are there really needy kids in [Affluent City We Were In]?"

On Saturday I went to my godmother's Christmas party. She hasn't had a party in about fifteen years so I got to hear plenty of "Oh, my goodness, look at how big you've gotten!" which really isn't a compliment when you're 29. I flitted around like the social freakin' butterfly that I am and provided answers to questions like "So what are you doing for work these days?" (I'm a neurologist who practices law on the weekends and also writes children's books), "So where are you living these days?" (I split my time between my country home, my city home, and the island of Hawaii, which I recently purchased), and "So have you met anyone special?" (Nah, still screening Leonardo's calls; he can be so needy, you know?)

I got home around 1, and Mardi and Sarah were still out but the bars were closing (welcome to Boston, we're lame!) so they came over to my place, because it's the happening afterhours (read: in lieu of a full bar and live band, it features a laundry basket full of towels and a fridge with nothing but wine and ketchup). Mardi brought a boy, in keeping with the tradition of my friends using my home as their motel, and Sarah and I went upstairs to sleep but she kept me awake and giggling. In the morning I drove the lovebirds home and then Mardi and I shopped for accessories for my New Year's Eve naughty-or-nice extravaganza. One of the stops was a party store where I was able to use my teacher discount. Nothing like exploiting the kids to save a few bucks on handcuffs, extra large blow pops and candy necklaces; I'm sure I can incorporate them into a lesson plan somehow.

(P.S. Thanks Zorak! See how I turned my gratitude into a shameless plug? Takes skill.)

Good Eatin'

2006-12-05T21:05:00.000-05:00

When I say I'm a beginning cook, I mean beginning. But part of my new healthy kick has been trying new recipes, and I thought I'd share the good ones with you guys. Yes, I'm a novice, but I'm okay with that. Everything I put on this page has been made by me and deemed to be good, so take that for what it's worth. This page will be updated (hopefully a lot!) with new stuff. There's nutritional info included for everything as well. I got most of these from Cooking Light.

And in case you start noticing a recurring theme, yes, I'm a chicken girl. I don't eat a lot of red meat, but not for any particular reason... I love hamburgers at barbecues and spaghetti and meatballs, but I just don't have it all that often. I also don't like potatoes, cheese (although a little of it is okay if it's melted) or beans, so you'll notice the absence of those below (if any recipes say to add grated cheese, for example, I don't, but you feel free to rock the parm). I haven't tried cooking fish yet but I will sometime. Ooh, and I just found a recipe for watermelon margaritas. Yum! When's summer getting here?

Chicken Marsala

1 lb. boneless chicken breast
4 cups of egg noodles
3 portobello mushrooms caps, cut into 1/2 inch slices
2 teaspoons cornstarch
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons olive oil
3/4 cup marsala wine (The recipe actually calls for 1 1/4 cups, but the consensus was that the finished product was a little too marsala-y so next time I'm cutting back. However, I used actual marsala wine because I couldn't find cooking wine, so maybe when you use cooking wine you need more of it, I'm not sure.)
1 tablespoon cold water
1/4 cup lemon juice
Salt and pepper

Stir together the water and cornstarch in a small bowl until smooth. Stir in the marsala wine, lemon juice and 1/8 teaspoon pepper and set aside.

Combine the flour, 1/8 teaspoon pepper, and dash of salt in a shallow bowl. Cut chicken into 1 inch pieces. Flour chicken by lightly pressing both sides of each chicken piece into the flour mixture.

Heat 1 tablespoon of olive oil in a large nonstick pan over medium-high heat. Arrange chicken strips in a single layer. Cook for about 2 minutes on each side or until they are lightly browned but not cooked through. Transfer chicken to a plate and cover to keep warm.

Heat the remaining 1 tablespoon of olive oil in the pan over medium heat. Add the mushrooms and cook, stirring and turning the mushrooms occasionally, for about 3 minutes or until the mushrooms are lightly browned but not tender. Stir the sauce and pour it over the mushrooms. Cook, stirring occasionally for about 1 minute or until the sauce becomes clear and thickens slightly.

Stir in the chicken. Cover and cook for about 8 minutes or until the chicken is done. While the chicken is cooking, make the noodles. Spoon noodles onto plate and top with chicken-mushroom mixture and sauce.

Makes: 4 servings

Nutritional info per serving:
CALORIES 494; FAT 12.8g; PROTEIN 42.5g; CHOLESTEROL 141mg; SODIUM 87mg; CARBOHYDRATE 52.3g

Chicken and Mushrooms in Garlic White Wine Sauce (served with garlicky green beans, see below)

4 ounces uncooked medium egg noodles
1 pound skinless, boneless chicken breast halves
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon bottled minced garlic
1/2 teaspoon dried taragon (or basil or parsley)
1 (8 oz) package presliced mushrooms
1/2 cup dry white wine
1/2 cup fat free less sodium chicken broth
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese

Cook noodles according to package directions. Drain and keep warm.

Cut chicken into 1 inch pieces. Place chicken breast halves in a shallow dish. Combine 1 tablespoon flour, 1/4 teaspoon salt, and 1/8 teaspoon pepper, stirring well with a whisk. Sprinkle flour mixture over chicken; toss to coat.

Heat 1 tablespoon oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add chicken to pan; sauté 4 minutes or until browned. Remove chicken from pan. Add remaining 1 tablespoon oil to pan. Add garlic, tarragon, and mushrooms to pan; sauté for 3 minutes or until liquid evaporates and mushrooms darken. Add white wine to pan; cook 1 minute. Stir in remaining 1 tablespoon flour; cook 1 minute, stirring constantly. Stir in broth, remaining 1/4 teaspoon salt, and remaining 1/8 teaspoon pepper; cook 1 minute or until slightly thick, stirring frequently.

Return chicken to the pan. Cover and simmer 2 minutes. Uncover; cook 1 minute or until chicken is done. Stir in noodles; cook 1 minute or until thoroughly heated. Place about 1 1/2 cups chicken mixture on each of 4 plates; top each serving with 1 tablespoon cheese.

Makes: 4 servings

Nutritional info per serving:
CALORIES 350(29% from fat); FAT 11.1g (sat 2.6g,mono 6.2g,poly 1.4g); PROTEIN 34.3g; CHOLESTEROL 99mg; CALCIUM 91mg; SODIUM 502mg; FIBER 1.2g; IRON 2.5mg; CARBOHYDRATE 26.5g

Garlicky Green Beans

2 cups green beans, trimmed
1 teaspoon butter
Cooking spray
1/8 teaspoon coarsely ground sea salt
1/8 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper
1 tablespoon minced garlic

Cook beans in boiling water 2 minutes. Drain and plunge beans into ice water; drain. Melt butter in a small nonstick skillet coated with cooking spray over medium heat. Add beans, salt, pepper, and garlic; cook 2 minutes or until heated.

Makes: 2 servings

Nutritional info per serving:
CALORIES 54(35% from fat); FAT 2.1g (sat 1.2g,mono 0.6g,poly 0.1g); PROTEIN 2.1g; CHOLESTEROL 5mg; CALCIUM 45mg; SODIUM 170mg; FIBER 3.8g; IRON 1.2mg; CARBOHYDRATE 8.4g

Peach-Glazed Chicken

Cooking spray
1 teaspoon vegetable oil
1 pound chicken breast tenders
1/2 cup peach preserves
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
1 green onion, chopped
1/4 teaspoon pepper

Coat a large nonstick skillet with cooking spray; add oil, and place over medium-high heat until hot. Add chicken, and saute 5 minutes on each side or until done. Remove chicken, set aside and keep warm.

Reduce heat to low; add preserves and remaining 3 ingredients. Cook, stirring constantly, until preserves melt and onion is tender. Spoon preserves mixture over chicken.

Makes: 4 servings

Nutritional info per serving:
CALORIES 238 (10% FROM FAT); FAT 2.7g (SAT 0.6g); PROTEIN 26.3g; CARBOHYDRATE 26.4g; CHOLESTEROL 66mg; SODIUM 95mg

Black Pepper Citrus Chicken

1 tablespoon canola oil
1 1/4 teaspoons coarsely ground black pepper
1/4 tablespoon salt
4 (6 oz) skinless, boneless chicken breast halves
1 cup sliced onion
2 teaspoons bottled minced garlic
1/4 cup white wine
2 tablespoons orange juice
1 tablespoon lemon juice
2 tablespoons chopped parsley

Heat 1 teaspoon oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Sprinkle 1/2 teaspoon pepper and salt over chicken. Add chicken to pan; cook 2 minutes on each side or until browned. Remove chicken from pan; keep warm. Add remaining 2 teaspoons oil to pan. Add onion and garlic to pan; sauté 2 minutes. Add wine; cook 1 minute. Return chicken to pan. Add remaining 3/4 teaspoon pepper and juices. Cover, reduce heat, and simmer 4 minutes or until chicken is done. Sprinkle with parsley.

Makes: 4 servings

Nutritional info per serving:
CALORIES 240(22% from fat); FAT 5.9g (sat 0.8g,mono 2.6g,poly 1.5g); PROTEIN 39.6g; CHOLESTEROL 99mg; CALCIUM 29mg; SODIUM 259mg; FIBER 0.5g; IRON 1.5mg; CARBOHYDRATE 3.8g

The Obliterate Your Friends Bay Breeze

3 shots cranberry juice
3 shots pineapple juice
2 shots Grey Goose

This is the perfect amount to fit in a martini glass. Shake well, and use the Goose! It makes a difference. Also, have lots of pillows and blankets on hand, because nobody's going home after a few of these.

Wherein I Use More Synonyms for "Vagina" Than I Ever Thought Possible

2006-12-04T19:54:00.000-05:00

Damn my expired Us Weekly subscription; I'm so out of the celebrity gossip loop. But I'm happy to find that it's reached terrifying new heights. It appears that in my absence, labia flashing has become a trend. It's not enough that these twenty-something starlets are all drunk and coked up every night, now they're showing off their goods like a new handbag. I mean, what the hell? Is vulva the new black?

When I heard that Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears and Paris Hilton's favorite new accessories were their vajayjays, I was all like, nuh-uh, did their skirts just ride up a little or something? But people, these pictures are unbelievable! There's one here and another one here... and oh yeah, here's one more! Those are the edited ones, but you can Google Image your way to the real McCoys, as you'd better believe I did. (In fact, not unlike a 14-year-old boy, I said, "Awww, come on!" when the first ones that I found had strategically placed blurs.)

Seriously, WHAT'S GOING ON? You cannot honestly make a mistake like that. You would have to be novacained from the waist down to not feel a gentle breeze long before some paparazzi has a chance to catch your business on film.

What's next, reverse cowgirl with one of the wise men in the middle of a Catholic school nativity scene? Can I get an amen?

What Just Happened: 12/3

2006-12-03T14:20:00.000-05:00

After my dad and I went to New York for that baseball weekend in September (when I also met Darren, Miss Peach, hung out with Kate and Dave, experienced Chipotle for the first time, and didn't sleep), my mom and I decided that we should plan a mother-daughter weekend (pause for the "awww" here), so she and I just spent the girliest two days in Boston.

We stayed at the Westin in Copley, which is a solid A- as far as hotels go, and they have something that no other hotels do: the Heavenly bed and bath. Seriously, the bed is like nirvana. I don't even know what to say about it. I tried to deconstruct its infinite complexities to figure out why it felt so good, but then I just gave up and made sweet, sweet love to it instead. The Heavenly bath is great too. My new Philosophy 3-in-1 and I took three heavenly showers over the course of 40 hours. Fine, four. (Incidentally, Party Jen and I stayed at a Westin in the Bahamas a few years ago, and we called everything in the place heavenly, including the ants we found on our nightstand. Ew. In the hotel's defense, I'm sure the heavenly ants invaded us because of our empty daiquiri glasses.)

Anyway, since the hotel connected to all the stores in the Pru, we went Christmas shopping for, um, everyone. We probably got something for you. We're hoping that you like it, but there's a gift receipt in there so you can exchange it if you want to.

Before we went out on Saturday night we got our makeup done at Trish McEvoy at the hotel spa, which is probably the silliest thing you can spend money on, but we hardly knew our own beauty (and no one else will know it either, because we didn't bring a camera and washed everything off six hours later). I was coveting this, but got it to give to my mom for Christmas instead, because if I need to spend $85 for skin that's supple and glowing, I'll stick with drab and dehydrated and instead put the money toward my electric bill. No, just kidding. Don't you know me at all? They just didn't have two, and tis the season to give unto others (in hopes that she gets sick of it by February and then gives it unto me).

We went to see the show Respect, which was light and fun and adorable. It featured a blond, brunette and redhead, so it was kind of rocking a BFC vibe. (Ahem, I've mentioned my BFCs before and have received a few questions about this acronym; I've been meaning to add this Tent trivia to the SAQ, and just finally did, if you find that information at all interesting.) I'd never been to the Stuart Street Playhouse and liked it there. So it was this nice little show about music and women through the ages-a-lama-ding-dong, and we left on a happy little cloud of positivity, and then I had to tell a drunk hooker to step off. She and her lumpy fortyish-year-old date were about to jump right into the cab that I'd been waiting ten minutes in the cold for. I don't think so, kids. (When we got back to the room, my mom called my godmother and said, "You wouldn't believe it, Red just yelled at a prostitute! It was great!")

The food! Room service breakfast both days, which means you can eat eggs and drink hot chocolate and then lie down! Am I too young for that to make me as happy as it did? Friday night at Meritage in the Boston Harbor Hotel was parmesan and caramelized shallot wrapper style ravioli with white truffle oil, maple rubbed lamp chop with risotto, and a chocolate tasting plate. They actually do something that other restaurants should start copying... anything that you order can be served as an appetizer (excuse me, "small plate") or meal ("large plate"). So you can get a normal meal or order all apps and share, which is one of the best ways to eat out. Also, you know how lots of menus have wine recommendations for certain meals? (Jeez, they even do that kind of thing at places like the Olive Garden now, so now you can decide which "house merlot" goes better with your chicken parm.) Anyway, the chef designed the menu so that it's actually organized by wine... genres? what's the word I'm looking for? and the food that would go best with it. Neat! If I wasn't strictly a chardonnay girl, I'd have tried the prix fixe menu. Saturday night at Rustic Kitchen was olive bread, butternut squash tortelli (not tortellini, is there a difference?) with brown butter, sage and creme fraiche, and then chocolate chip gelato. The place is so lovely, cozy and warmly lit, perfect for a cold night.

While it wasn't like I was really away for the weekend (I live ten minutes from Boston), it felt like I was, and I was sort of out of the loop with my friends, so the text messages that I was getting were cracking me up: "I don't understand, you're in Boston but you're away for the weekend? Are you in captivity?", "Going to Hurricane O'Reilly's. Want to drop by, or are you busy being exfoliated?" and my personal favorite, "I know you're away, but do you think it would be bad to bring a girly magazine to visit my cousin in the hospital? Nothing hardcore, just like a bikini girl magazine."

All in all, a pretty perfect weekend. It could've only been better if I'd been there with Jason. No offense, mom.

Movies of 07

2006-12-01T20:58:00.000-05:00

2/18: Music and Lyrics. The first movie I've seen in a theater this year. Clearly, I get out a lot. Saw it with Kate and liked it. Liked it in that simple way that it's possible to like a straightforward, unapologetic RoCo. No Oscar nods, no complaints, no aftertaste.

1/27: Sideways. Saw this for the second time and loved it just as much as the first go around. However, I stayed in on a Saturday night to watch it, citing fatigue and being cash poor, and then woke up with strep. Lesson learned: Always go out.

1/9: Boys on the Side. I've seen it a million times. Love it.

1/6: The Devil's Own. This is the sort of movie that you'd probably sit on the edge of your couch watching for a few minutes if it happened to come on TBS, until the dryer buzzed or the phone rang. But thanks to my mom's love for The Ford, there were nine of us who spent part of their Saturday watching it. Probably would've been better if they'd just had Brad Pitt be some pawn of organized crime or something rather than involve the whole Northern Ireland debacle, which was totally glossed over anyway in favor of extended shots of Harrison's furrowed brow. Plus, you don't even get to see Brad have so much as a good make-out with Natasha McElhone. Maybe that was for the best, considering I was watching it with my family, but still: robbed!

1/1: The Wedding Date, which I DVRed ages ago. It was pretty terrible, but at the same time it was perfect for a rainy, gray, New Year's Day when I just wanted to lie on the couch and not clean up yet. There was a cute, rally-the-ladies quote in it ("Here's to the guys who've caught you, the losers who've lost you, and the lucky bastards who have yet to meet you") and then about twenty minutes later, Party Jen texted me and said exactly that as her toast to the new year. Weird, huh?

Books of 07

2006-12-01T20:54:00.000-05:00

Nothing yet. I'm not much into the book learnin'.

5 Things About Christmas That Are Supposed to be Touching But Pretty Much Just Make Me Want to Lay Down and Die

2006-11-28T17:34:00.000-05:00

When Frosty melts. What's the lesson here? That someday everyone we love will die so we might as well enjoy them while we can? Fine, I guess that's an okay lesson. But I still can't hear "Frosty the Snowman knew the sun was hot that day..." without being overwhelmed with dread. My mom claims that when I was little I would become hysterical following Frosty's demise. What a treat I must have been.

When Hermey and Rudolph have to run away together because no one at home can deal with their socially unacceptable nose/fact that they want to be a dentist. Like there's anything wrong with rhinoplasty/dental school? And then the poor bastards end up on the Island of Misfit Toys, which is sort of like claymation's homage to New Jersey, with nary a licensed plastic surgeon or bubble gum-flavored fluoride treatment.

Two words: Christmas Shoes. I'll be experiencing a massive personal trauma like a long line at Bloomingdale's or the effort of avoiding the forlorn gaze of the Salvation Army bell ringer, and then I hear this song, and I suddenly want to cuddle with a homeless person and cut up my Mastercard. Kind of.

A Very Brady Christmas. Have you seen this? It's so great. And it ends with (SPOILER ALERT) Mike getting trapped in one of his buildings as it's collapsing. Personally, I'd rather see the incompetent architect go down with his own crappily built ship rather than an innocent office manager who just works in the damn place. But no worries, Carol sings O Come All Ye Faithful, and Mike is able to toss aside the ninety ton cement slabs than he's pinned beneath. In an emergency situation, it can be tough to decide between calling 911 or Christmas caroling, but thankfully she made the right call. (Miraculously, Carol's singing not only helped Mike emerge unscathed, but Kitty Carryall was also plucked from the rubble, Cindy spontaneously lost her lisp, and Jan suddenly felt okay just being Jan.)

Charlie Brown and his bag of woes. How old is he, like eight? Why is life so difficult? Where the hell are their parents? Charlie just wants to have fun, his friends all mock him, and he incessantly wonders what it's all about. Shut up, I see absolutely no similarities.

City Mouse, Country Mouse

2006-11-27T19:13:00.000-05:00

My mom always insists that she hasn't been spoiled by suburbia, that she's still more city girl than circular driveway. Honestly, if there's any Boston left in her, it's strictly Beacon Hill; the woman shops almost exclusively at Talbots and calls a week without a manicure "really chaotic." She grew up in an Irish-Catholic home with a huge oil painting of the Kennedys on the wall and now secretly votes Republican. Don't get me wrong, she's an absolute love, but Dorie and I always delight in her unwillingness to admit that now she's much more "go children slow" than "checks cashed here."

Anyway, my dad is describing an apparently ginormous Christmas lawn decoration that features a snow globe with a penguin that rises out of it. He wants to get it; he says earnestly that it's "wonderful." Same man who came home with a snowman last year that sang and danced to "I'm a Snowman" to the tune of "I'm a Soul Man," which, I have to admit, was pretty freakin' hilarious.

Mom: If you put that thing on the lawn, so help me I'll call someone and have it taken right down.

[Hysterical laughter ensues.]

Mom: I mean, I'LL take it down! I'll take it down myself! I don't need to call anyone to do it! DAMN IT!

Thanks, weird penguin creation, for proving our point once and for all.

What Just Happened: 11/26

2006-11-26T20:27:00.000-05:00

This weekend was two weekends in one, which means that I got to execute the pointless mindfuckery that comes into play whenever holiday circumstances allow more than the typical two-day weekend. When the weekend starts on Wednesday, it's like it's Friday. Thursday is Saturday, and Friday is Sunday. And THEN, just when you think your weekend should be over, it starts all over again, because now it's REALLY Saturday! Everything leading up to the real Saturday was just a bonus! Am I the only one who does this?

Fine. I figured as much.

Being home for a couple days was fun. As usual, Thanksgiving was like a party in my mouth and all the Pilgrims were invited. I was somehow coursing with tryptophan before I even ate any turkey. Seriously, I fell asleep every time I sat down. It didn't matter who I was talking to or what the topic was, every conversation was like a big glass of warm milk with a side of Tylenol PM, and I'd wake up twenty minutes later wondering what happened and where I was. So basically, I was your grandpa, minus the brown sweater and glass of bourbon.

Then at dinner I ate potatoes, which would normally be a relatively unremarkable thing, but I don't eat potatoes. When I was a baby, my dad mashed one up for me and I spit it all over him, and that's pretty much been my reaction ever since. But my mom's friend made these sweet potatoes and they were really good. I had two helpings and everyone just stared at me, presumably waiting for my head to spin around and a demon voice to announce that Red's not here anymore.

Friday night, Mardi and I went to Melissa and Joe's to help decorate their tree, eat most of the appetizers we brought, and give Olivia more opportunities to writhe in misery every time I came within ten feet of her. I'm really glad that we're bonding. I can already picture her at three years old, facedown on the carpet and having an epic tantrum because mom and dad went to a movie and left her in the care of some vile, unfathomable monster, i.e. Auntie Red.

After we left Mardi and I went to Watch City, played some pool at a hole in the wall (I won! I won two pool games two days in a row!) and then went to the Skellig for a bit. I rediscovered my adoration of Lose Your Love by the Outfield (I totally just broke out the Microsoft Word thesaurus so I didn't have to say "I rediscovered my love for Lose Your Love... could you tell?). You should all go listen to that song right now, incidentally. "Josie's on a vacation far away..."

On Saturday, I... don't know what I did during the day. Whatever it was must have been fascinating. I met Carly and Kevin for dinner at Iguana Cantina and then we went to Lifestyles, Moody Street's own frosted-glass, ID-required sex shop, where the cashier is knocked up (insert tactless joke here). The predictably skeevy shelf stocker showed off an XXXL t-shirt illustrating all the different kinds of "boobies" and told us that wearing it once helped him get laid, to which I could only reply, "Sir, I simply do not believe you." I decided to start picking up favors for my New Year's goody bags, but the edible undies were pricey, as were the individual packs of anal lube, and they came in chintzy flavors like coconut and berry (wait a second... flavors?). The only affordable thing to buy in bulk was Rough Rider condoms, so I bought them out. Sorry if you went in there right after me hoping to pick some up. But why not treat yourself to some of their watermelon pleasure potion, and check out the Hispanic fetish DVDs; for a limited time you can get three for $30.

After that I met Mardi, Sarah, and some of Mardi's friends at Crowley's, and then we went to the Cherry Tree to bid adieu to our favorite drunk, who is moving to New York next week. I got to second base with Sarah and then booty-called all the restaurants in her phone, because who has Applebee's on their speed dial? (Honestly, maybe I should. I secretly love their chicken fajita wrap, as I've shamefully admitted before.)

Also, I'm suddenly realizing what a klassy girl I am. Maybe this weekend update thing is better in theory.