(like, I'm STILL laughing at this. that is, until it's my turn to fill up)
Friday, June 27, 2008
Actual Conversation I Had Today At Work
(it’s a slow work day…lots of time for idle chatter)
ME: “I want a gas stove.”
COWORKER 1: “You should get the dual oven that’s both electric and gas. It’s gas on the top…”
ME: “And electric in the back?”
Ha!
COWORKER 2: “Like a mullet oven?”
ME: “It’s a MOVEN!”
(ridiculous laughter – MINE – ensues)
((I blame the hours spent alone at my desk...))
ME: “I want a gas stove.”
COWORKER 1: “You should get the dual oven that’s both electric and gas. It’s gas on the top…”
ME: “And electric in the back?”
Ha!
COWORKER 2: “Like a mullet oven?”
ME: “It’s a MOVEN!”
(ridiculous laughter – MINE – ensues)
((I blame the hours spent alone at my desk...))
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Public Works: You're On My List
Three weeks ago during a really bad storm, this happened:
(that grass there to the right? that's my front lawn)
We were VERY lucky that:
1. our car was not parked in its usual street spot or it would have been crushed
2. it didn’t fall on our house
We were kind enough to cut up the tree ourselves and make nice piles with the branches on the street in front of our house.
The Timeline:
Sunday, June 8: the tree falls across the entire street
Monday, June 9: place phone call to the town to clean up debris
(their response, “We’ll put you on the list!”)
Monday, June 9: place phone call to electric company to inform them part of the tree is leaning on wires
(their response, “We’ll put you on the list!”)
Monday, June 16: place second call to town to clean up debris
(their response? you guessed it: “We’ll put you on the list!”)
Monday, June 23: electric company finally comes and takes down branches leaning on the wires
Present day: tree debris is still in front of the house
Really? Three weeks to come clean it up?
Yes, the main reason I want the branches cleaned up is because they look ugly. Our yard is so green and perfect and nice, and those dead branches are really an eyesore.
Vanity aside, they are taking up the street space. On the upside, this makes it impossible for my neighbors to park their monstrosity of a vehicle in front of our house. However, it also eliminates space for us to park one of our cars in front of our house, so we’re continually volleying the cars in the driveway.
Annoying.
So apparently once the electric company came to take down the rest of the tree we were to call the town again so they could come and remove the rest of the tree and grind up the stump.
Yeah, sure.
Here’s how THAT phone call went.
Brrrring!
PW: “Public Works.”
Disgruntled, I-don’t-even-know-what-you-want-but-I-don’t-have-time-for-you tone.
ME: “Hi. I’m hoping you can help me. A few weeks ago, a tree in our yard – actually it’s between the sidewalk and the street, so not technically our yard, but more on town land – fell in a storm. We cut it up and moved everything out of the way, and it’s in front of our house…”
PW: “What’s the address?”
I ignore the fact that he is rude and cut me off, and give him the address.
PW: “I’ll put you on the list.”
There’s no way he wrote down our address in that millisecond.
ME: “Yes, we have been on the list. For three weeks. I am NOW calling to report that the electric company has come and removed the branches that were near the wires. We were told when that happened to call you back so that you guys can come and remove the rest of the tree and grind up the stump.”
PW: “We just don’t take out trees. It needs to either be dead or busted up.”
ME: “I see. Can you define, ‘busted up’ for me?”
PW: “You know, broken and stuff.”
The College Of Public Works? Has very low admission standards.
ME: “Yes. Well. This tree? Has no branches on it. It is just a trunk. Coming out of the ground. Like a wooden pole.”
PW: “Oh. Then we’ll have to send a supervisor out to look at it. What was the address again?”
What? You didn’t write it down the first time? Shocking.
I relay the address again. Slowly.
PW: “You’re on the list!”
(that grass there to the right? that's my front lawn)
We were VERY lucky that:
1. our car was not parked in its usual street spot or it would have been crushed
2. it didn’t fall on our house
We were kind enough to cut up the tree ourselves and make nice piles with the branches on the street in front of our house.
The Timeline:
Sunday, June 8: the tree falls across the entire street
Monday, June 9: place phone call to the town to clean up debris
(their response, “We’ll put you on the list!”)
Monday, June 9: place phone call to electric company to inform them part of the tree is leaning on wires
(their response, “We’ll put you on the list!”)
Monday, June 16: place second call to town to clean up debris
(their response? you guessed it: “We’ll put you on the list!”)
Monday, June 23: electric company finally comes and takes down branches leaning on the wires
Present day: tree debris is still in front of the house
Really? Three weeks to come clean it up?
Yes, the main reason I want the branches cleaned up is because they look ugly. Our yard is so green and perfect and nice, and those dead branches are really an eyesore.
Vanity aside, they are taking up the street space. On the upside, this makes it impossible for my neighbors to park their monstrosity of a vehicle in front of our house. However, it also eliminates space for us to park one of our cars in front of our house, so we’re continually volleying the cars in the driveway.
Annoying.
So apparently once the electric company came to take down the rest of the tree we were to call the town again so they could come and remove the rest of the tree and grind up the stump.
Yeah, sure.
Here’s how THAT phone call went.
Brrrring!
PW: “Public Works.”
Disgruntled, I-don’t-even-know-what-you-want-but-I-don’t-have-time-for-you tone.
ME: “Hi. I’m hoping you can help me. A few weeks ago, a tree in our yard – actually it’s between the sidewalk and the street, so not technically our yard, but more on town land – fell in a storm. We cut it up and moved everything out of the way, and it’s in front of our house…”
PW: “What’s the address?”
I ignore the fact that he is rude and cut me off, and give him the address.
PW: “I’ll put you on the list.”
There’s no way he wrote down our address in that millisecond.
ME: “Yes, we have been on the list. For three weeks. I am NOW calling to report that the electric company has come and removed the branches that were near the wires. We were told when that happened to call you back so that you guys can come and remove the rest of the tree and grind up the stump.”
PW: “We just don’t take out trees. It needs to either be dead or busted up.”
ME: “I see. Can you define, ‘busted up’ for me?”
PW: “You know, broken and stuff.”
The College Of Public Works? Has very low admission standards.
ME: “Yes. Well. This tree? Has no branches on it. It is just a trunk. Coming out of the ground. Like a wooden pole.”
PW: “Oh. Then we’ll have to send a supervisor out to look at it. What was the address again?”
What? You didn’t write it down the first time? Shocking.
I relay the address again. Slowly.
PW: “You’re on the list!”
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Tuesday Night Fight
So, how about me getting into a fight with a city bus driver last night?
My friend Jen and I were meeting our husbands at a burger bar downtown. Parking can be a nightmare, because you have to find a metered spot on the street. We were at a red light when I saw someone in the next block getting into her car.
ME: “There’s one in the next block!”
I’m secretly hoping the Honda Pilot in front of me isn’t eyeing up the same spot.
The minute we get into the intersection I put my right signal on as the Pilot cruises past the woman.
YES!!!
I come to a stop and wait.
And, of course, the woman is taking FOREVER to drive away. First she’s in the front seat. Then she gets out to do something in the back seat. Then…
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
Excuse me? That city bus behind us better NOT be beeping at ME.
Now the woman's back in the front seat.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! BEEEEP! BEEEEEP!
WTF?
ME: “That bus is beeping at ME?”
We look back as the bus inches closer to the back of my car.
JEN: “Why does he keep moving up? Doesn’t he know we want this spot?”
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! BEEEEP! BEEEEEP!
ME: “Okay, that’s getting really annoying. I’m NOT moving.”
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! BEEEEP! BEEEEEP!
ME: "Is he leaning on the horn? What the f*ck?"
JEN: “He should’ve gone around us.”
ME: “He keeps inching closer.”
The woman has now turned the car on.
Hooray!
But she’s still not moving.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
What is this guy's problem???
I turn around and look directly in the bus driver’s eyes through my back window.
I mouth ‘I’M NOT MOVING’ to him.
There. That should show him.
Um, excuse me? You, in the parking spot, do you think you can hurry it up a bit?
Then, we hear a giant whoosh! of air.
JEN: “OHMYGOD! He’s getting out of the bus. He’s out of the bus. He’s coming up to the car.”
Here we go.
He approaches the passenger side of the car and starts screaming at me.
I don’t put the window down.
BD: “MOVE YOUR CAR!”
ME (screaming back so he can hear me through the window): “I’M NOT MOVING! I’M PARKING!”
BD: “SHE’S NOT LEAVING! MOVE IT SO I CAN DRIVE MY BUS!”
ME: “IT’S TWO LANES. GO AROUND ME!”
BD: “I CAN’T FIT!”
ME: “THEN YOU SHOULDN’T BE SO CLOSE TO ME!”
BD: “GET OUT OF THE WAY!”
ME: "YOU SHOULDN'T BE SO CLOSE TO ME!"
The bus driver is IRATE.
ME: “I’M NOT MOVING!”
Miraculously, the woman pulls out of the spot. The bus driver huffs back to his bus.
JEN (laughing): “I can’t believe he got out of the bus!”
ME: “I can’t believe this woman finally moved. Where was I supposed to go? I signaled that I was going to park.”
JEN: “You didn’t do anything wrong. He kept inching up closer to us!”
ME: “He’s an idiot.”
I pull up to park and the bus zooms by me.
I zip into the spot on the first try.
Even flustered I don’t lose my parallel parking skills.
(Burgers were delish, btw)
My friend Jen and I were meeting our husbands at a burger bar downtown. Parking can be a nightmare, because you have to find a metered spot on the street. We were at a red light when I saw someone in the next block getting into her car.
ME: “There’s one in the next block!”
I’m secretly hoping the Honda Pilot in front of me isn’t eyeing up the same spot.
The minute we get into the intersection I put my right signal on as the Pilot cruises past the woman.
YES!!!
I come to a stop and wait.
And, of course, the woman is taking FOREVER to drive away. First she’s in the front seat. Then she gets out to do something in the back seat. Then…
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
Excuse me? That city bus behind us better NOT be beeping at ME.
Now the woman's back in the front seat.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! BEEEEP! BEEEEEP!
WTF?
ME: “That bus is beeping at ME?”
We look back as the bus inches closer to the back of my car.
JEN: “Why does he keep moving up? Doesn’t he know we want this spot?”
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! BEEEEP! BEEEEEP!
ME: “Okay, that’s getting really annoying. I’m NOT moving.”
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! BEEEEP! BEEEEEP!
ME: "Is he leaning on the horn? What the f*ck?"
JEN: “He should’ve gone around us.”
ME: “He keeps inching closer.”
The woman has now turned the car on.
Hooray!
But she’s still not moving.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
What is this guy's problem???
I turn around and look directly in the bus driver’s eyes through my back window.
I mouth ‘I’M NOT MOVING’ to him.
There. That should show him.
Um, excuse me? You, in the parking spot, do you think you can hurry it up a bit?
Then, we hear a giant whoosh! of air.
JEN: “OHMYGOD! He’s getting out of the bus. He’s out of the bus. He’s coming up to the car.”
Here we go.
He approaches the passenger side of the car and starts screaming at me.
I don’t put the window down.
BD: “MOVE YOUR CAR!”
ME (screaming back so he can hear me through the window): “I’M NOT MOVING! I’M PARKING!”
BD: “SHE’S NOT LEAVING! MOVE IT SO I CAN DRIVE MY BUS!”
ME: “IT’S TWO LANES. GO AROUND ME!”
BD: “I CAN’T FIT!”
ME: “THEN YOU SHOULDN’T BE SO CLOSE TO ME!”
BD: “GET OUT OF THE WAY!”
ME: "YOU SHOULDN'T BE SO CLOSE TO ME!"
The bus driver is IRATE.
ME: “I’M NOT MOVING!”
Miraculously, the woman pulls out of the spot. The bus driver huffs back to his bus.
JEN (laughing): “I can’t believe he got out of the bus!”
ME: “I can’t believe this woman finally moved. Where was I supposed to go? I signaled that I was going to park.”
JEN: “You didn’t do anything wrong. He kept inching up closer to us!”
ME: “He’s an idiot.”
I pull up to park and the bus zooms by me.
I zip into the spot on the first try.
Even flustered I don’t lose my parallel parking skills.
(Burgers were delish, btw)
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
The Common Courtesy Quiz
You enter a Ladies' Room where there are six stalls. One stall is occupied.
You:
A. Choose a stall NOT next to the occupied stall.
B. Choose a stall DIRECTLY next to the occupied stall.
C. Choose a stall DIRECTLY next to the occupied stall and start talking.
D. Choose a stall DIRECTLY next to the occupied stall, start talking and exclaim, "I'd know those shoes anywhere!"
You:
A. Choose a stall NOT next to the occupied stall.
B. Choose a stall DIRECTLY next to the occupied stall.
C. Choose a stall DIRECTLY next to the occupied stall and start talking.
D. Choose a stall DIRECTLY next to the occupied stall, start talking and exclaim, "I'd know those shoes anywhere!"
I Want To Be On Food Network.
There. I said it.
I am in LOVE with the FN. It’s like my porn.
I think it started when I attended a taping of Emeril Live about 6 six years ago. I sat right at the counter! I met Emeril! I got to taste the food, enjoy some wine, joke with Rhoda.
Ever since then, I’ve been obsessed.
I want to be around all of that beautiful food.
I want my toughest decision being which burner on my Viking stove to turn on.
I want to use the phrase “fish monger”.
There are so many new faces on Food Network, that I often find myself screaming at the TV: “How come SHE got a show???” and “I could TOTALLY do that!!!”
I’m totally jealous.
Maybe I could start out slowly. Work my way up to my own show.
I could start out on Recipe Showdown.
(Um, Guy, did you get my submission for my burger recipe? Hello?)
Then I can be a guest star on Paula’s Best Dishes. We’ll share girl talk. We’ll cook comfort foods together. I’ll “WOW” her with my risotto.
(Sure, Paula, extra butter sounds divine!)
THEN, once I’m in with the FN execs, I’ll throw my idea for my show at them. They’ll fall in love with whole concept. They’ll offer me a show on the spot. We’ll film in the country in Connecticut. I’ll be a household name.
Hey Food Network – Call me!
I am in LOVE with the FN. It’s like my porn.
I think it started when I attended a taping of Emeril Live about 6 six years ago. I sat right at the counter! I met Emeril! I got to taste the food, enjoy some wine, joke with Rhoda.
Ever since then, I’ve been obsessed.
I want to be around all of that beautiful food.
I want my toughest decision being which burner on my Viking stove to turn on.
I want to use the phrase “fish monger”.
There are so many new faces on Food Network, that I often find myself screaming at the TV: “How come SHE got a show???” and “I could TOTALLY do that!!!”
I’m totally jealous.
Maybe I could start out slowly. Work my way up to my own show.
I could start out on Recipe Showdown.
(Um, Guy, did you get my submission for my burger recipe? Hello?)
Then I can be a guest star on Paula’s Best Dishes. We’ll share girl talk. We’ll cook comfort foods together. I’ll “WOW” her with my risotto.
(Sure, Paula, extra butter sounds divine!)
THEN, once I’m in with the FN execs, I’ll throw my idea for my show at them. They’ll fall in love with whole concept. They’ll offer me a show on the spot. We’ll film in the country in Connecticut. I’ll be a household name.
Hey Food Network – Call me!
Monday, June 23, 2008
Poor Packing Job
Mark Twain wrote, "If you don't like the weather in New England, just wait a few minutes."
And because of this, I was forced to do a very un-me packing job for my trip to Boston this past weekend.
Normally, I am an EXPERT packer. Once, I packed everything I needed for a week-long cruise (formal nights included!) in a carry-on suitcase.
(insert surprised-yet-impressed looks here)
THIS time, however, I had a bag bulging with stuff. You’d think I was heading on a world adventure instead of overnight at Mohegan Sun casino and two nights in Boston.
I had everything I needed.
Or so I thought.
WHAT I REALLY SHOULD HAVE PACKED THIS WEEKEND:
Weekend recap:
Amount of money I won at casino: negative dollars
Number of people in front of us to check in to the hotel in Boston: 35
Number of miles per hour I was able to drive home on the Mass Pike in the awful rain storm: 2 mph
Number of tiles on bathroom floor in Copley Hotel: 34 and a half
And because of this, I was forced to do a very un-me packing job for my trip to Boston this past weekend.
Normally, I am an EXPERT packer. Once, I packed everything I needed for a week-long cruise (formal nights included!) in a carry-on suitcase.
(insert surprised-yet-impressed looks here)
KK’s Rule On Packing:
Pick a color theme and stick to it.
You should be able to mix and match your clothes throughout your entire trip. This also means limited accessories, 1 handbag and only 2 pairs of shoes (a difficult trade-off for me, who has over 100 pairs, all dying to be included).
Pick a color theme and stick to it.
You should be able to mix and match your clothes throughout your entire trip. This also means limited accessories, 1 handbag and only 2 pairs of shoes (a difficult trade-off for me, who has over 100 pairs, all dying to be included).
THIS time, however, I had a bag bulging with stuff. You’d think I was heading on a world adventure instead of overnight at Mohegan Sun casino and two nights in Boston.
I had everything I needed.
Or so I thought.
WHAT I REALLY SHOULD HAVE PACKED THIS WEEKEND:
- Earplugs. For when I woke up at 3:30am Friday morning to the sound of the people in the room next to us having sex. LOUDLY.
- An Attitude Adjustment. For the beatnik loser who sat down at the poker table Friday morning. Now, it’s one thing to think you’re too cool for school (wearing your hippie glasses and playing $200 hands – on a $5 minimum table, btw). But you know what’s the complete opposite of cool? When you get yelled at by the pit boss to sit down. And to hold your cards over the table. And, eventually, how to play the game. I mean, really.
- An Extra Stomach. (Oh, yes, perhaps the item I missed most on my trip.) One stomach to enjoy my delicious dinner Friday, then a second to swap in when stomach #1 gets sick all night from aforementioned fabulous meal. Did I mention being sick? At a hotel (read: not in my own bed and bathroom)? All night long? NOTE: the food that’s not the best to have eaten if you should become sick: BEETS.
- An OFF Button. Guess who sat behind me at the Red Sox game? Mr. "I’ve Been There Done That Way Better And More Expensively Than Everyone Else On The Planet".
Guess who didn’t shut up for three hours? - Decorum. To give to the lovebirds sitting in front of me in the grandstand. It’s great you guys have found each other (despite your ridiculous age difference). But in 90 degree weather? I’d love for you to NOT have your arm resting on my leg (you can remove your protective arm from her shoulders; those hot dog vendors are quite harmless). And I’d also love it if when she leaned forward, you didn’t stick your hand down her coin slot.
Weekend recap:
Amount of money I won at casino: negative dollars
Number of people in front of us to check in to the hotel in Boston: 35
Number of miles per hour I was able to drive home on the Mass Pike in the awful rain storm: 2 mph
Number of tiles on bathroom floor in Copley Hotel: 34 and a half
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
I've Totally Been There
Who hasn't?
One of my favorite email forwards! Got it again today and thought I'd share.
WHEN GIRLS DRINK TOO MUCH
(That I will admit, at least)
One of my favorite email forwards! Got it again today and thought I'd share.
WHEN GIRLS DRINK TOO MUCH
- We have absolutely no idea where our purse is.
- We believe that dancing with our ams overhead and wiggling our ass while yelling "Woo Hoo!" is truly the sexiest dance move around.
- We've suddenly decided that we want to kick someone's ass and honestly believe we could do it, too.
- In our last trip to pee, we realize that we now look more like a homeless hooker than the goddess we thought we were just four hours ago.
- We start crying and telling everyone we see that we love them SOOOO much.
- We get extremely excited and jump up and down every time a new song plays because 'OHMYGOD! I LOVE this song!'
- We've found a deeper, more spiritual side to the guy sitting next to us.
- We've suddenly taken up smoking and become really good at it.
- We yell at the bartender, who we believe cheated us by giving us just lemonade (but that's just because we can no longer taste the alcohol).
- We think we are in bed, but our pillow feels strangely like the kitchen floor.
- We fail to notice that the toilet lid is down when we sit on it.
- We take our shoes off because it's their fault that we're having problems walking straight.
(That I will admit, at least)
He's Baaaaaaack!
Hooray!
Flipping Out is back on BRAVO tonight!
I can't wait to see my favorite OCD house flipper and his band of wacky assistants back for Season 2!
Set your DVR and/or Tivo!
Flipping Out is back on BRAVO tonight!
I can't wait to see my favorite OCD house flipper and his band of wacky assistants back for Season 2!
Set your DVR and/or Tivo!
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Finally!
I saw Sex And The City this weekend.
(WARNING: Spoilers to follow!)
And I LOVED it.
(And "love" doesn't even seem to do my feelings justice.)
I know there have been mixed reviews – some say it was too long, some thought it was too silly and unbelievable (um, it was a MOVIE) and others claimed it missed the mark.
For me, it was 150 minutes of pure bliss.
Now, you have to understand that I LOVED the series. I never missed an episode, my entire weekend would revolve around sitting down in front of the TV on Sunday nights to catch the girls of NYC. (And shame on you if you even tried to talk to me during those blessedly short 28 minutes!)
FYI, when I heard they were making a movie, I immediately said I wouldn’t see it. I mean, the series was so good; how would they ever replicate that magic?
But one day in March I watched an extended preview of the movie. And I was hooked. I HAD too see this movie. I needed to be reunited with my four amigas.
And I couldn’t imagine seeing the movie with anyone other than my friend Joss. The two of us share a special bond – our infatuation with TJ Maxx, our love of cooking and cuisine, and our unexplainable girl-crush on the SATC foursome. And both of us had managed to shield ourselves from the media to avoid any spoilers.
We went to the 10:20am show on Saturday morning. The best part? We were the ONLY people there; we had the entire theater to ourselves! It was awesome. We laughed. We cried. We laughed when we cried again.
The movie was everything I could have asked for and more.
First of all, every single one of the original characters was cast. I squealed when I saw my beloved Stanford, cranky Magda and even my favorite Candace Bergen, back as the editor of Vogue.
Was the story a little hokey? Maybe.
Were some of the fashion choices over the top? Definitely. (But, oh, that Vivienne Westwood wedding gown – I have never seem something so beautiful!)
Do I have a hard time believing that these women have the money to do what they do? Absolutely. (Really? Samantha was bidding on a diamond ring for $50K? Doubtful.)
But for me, it wasn’t about the big picture (no pun intended). It was all those little details that enabled this long-awaited movie to touch my heart.
It was Charlotte clutching Carrie after she was jilted at the altar, pointing at Big and screaming “No! No!” with such protective vehemence for her friend, that veins were popping out of her neck.
It was Carrie, who after seeing Charlotte’s new baby, says to sweet, sweet, bald new daddy Harry, “I see she has Charlotte’s hair.”
And it was Samantha, who has always been known as being a hard ass with a heart of steel, spoon-feeding Carrie in Mexico to help mend her broken heart.
But by far, the best character in the movie was the new addition of Jennifer Hudson, as Carrie’s assistant Louise, who brings the author back to life from her heartbreak. Hudson is funny and warm, and a perfect addition to the already-stellar cast.
About halfway through the movie, I turned to Joss and said, “I could sit here all afternoon and watch this movie over and over.”
And the silly things? There were plenty. Once – just once – Carrie calls Mr. Big “John” when she enters the apartment. It’s the only time she does it in the entire movie, and it just didn’t feel right. At times Samantha’s wardrobe was a throwback to the 80’s. And Miranda, as always, was uptight and annoying.
When the series ended, I felt empty and hollow inside. Like, the book was unfinished. I was so much a part of the lives of these women, that I wanted to know what happened next.
So I was sad when the two and a half hours were over. I felt like I was saying good-bye to some old friends.
But it was just enough. And exactly what I needed.
And, to quote Mr. Big, “You need something to seal the deal.”
And that’s exactly what this movie did for me. It was the last chapter. I can finally close the book on my favorite foursome.
(WARNING: Spoilers to follow!)
And I LOVED it.
(And "love" doesn't even seem to do my feelings justice.)
I know there have been mixed reviews – some say it was too long, some thought it was too silly and unbelievable (um, it was a MOVIE) and others claimed it missed the mark.
For me, it was 150 minutes of pure bliss.
Now, you have to understand that I LOVED the series. I never missed an episode, my entire weekend would revolve around sitting down in front of the TV on Sunday nights to catch the girls of NYC. (And shame on you if you even tried to talk to me during those blessedly short 28 minutes!)
FYI, when I heard they were making a movie, I immediately said I wouldn’t see it. I mean, the series was so good; how would they ever replicate that magic?
But one day in March I watched an extended preview of the movie. And I was hooked. I HAD too see this movie. I needed to be reunited with my four amigas.
And I couldn’t imagine seeing the movie with anyone other than my friend Joss. The two of us share a special bond – our infatuation with TJ Maxx, our love of cooking and cuisine, and our unexplainable girl-crush on the SATC foursome. And both of us had managed to shield ourselves from the media to avoid any spoilers.
We went to the 10:20am show on Saturday morning. The best part? We were the ONLY people there; we had the entire theater to ourselves! It was awesome. We laughed. We cried. We laughed when we cried again.
The movie was everything I could have asked for and more.
First of all, every single one of the original characters was cast. I squealed when I saw my beloved Stanford, cranky Magda and even my favorite Candace Bergen, back as the editor of Vogue.
Was the story a little hokey? Maybe.
Were some of the fashion choices over the top? Definitely. (But, oh, that Vivienne Westwood wedding gown – I have never seem something so beautiful!)
Do I have a hard time believing that these women have the money to do what they do? Absolutely. (Really? Samantha was bidding on a diamond ring for $50K? Doubtful.)
But for me, it wasn’t about the big picture (no pun intended). It was all those little details that enabled this long-awaited movie to touch my heart.
It was Charlotte clutching Carrie after she was jilted at the altar, pointing at Big and screaming “No! No!” with such protective vehemence for her friend, that veins were popping out of her neck.
It was Carrie, who after seeing Charlotte’s new baby, says to sweet, sweet, bald new daddy Harry, “I see she has Charlotte’s hair.”
And it was Samantha, who has always been known as being a hard ass with a heart of steel, spoon-feeding Carrie in Mexico to help mend her broken heart.
But by far, the best character in the movie was the new addition of Jennifer Hudson, as Carrie’s assistant Louise, who brings the author back to life from her heartbreak. Hudson is funny and warm, and a perfect addition to the already-stellar cast.
About halfway through the movie, I turned to Joss and said, “I could sit here all afternoon and watch this movie over and over.”
And the silly things? There were plenty. Once – just once – Carrie calls Mr. Big “John” when she enters the apartment. It’s the only time she does it in the entire movie, and it just didn’t feel right. At times Samantha’s wardrobe was a throwback to the 80’s. And Miranda, as always, was uptight and annoying.
When the series ended, I felt empty and hollow inside. Like, the book was unfinished. I was so much a part of the lives of these women, that I wanted to know what happened next.
So I was sad when the two and a half hours were over. I felt like I was saying good-bye to some old friends.
But it was just enough. And exactly what I needed.
And, to quote Mr. Big, “You need something to seal the deal.”
And that’s exactly what this movie did for me. It was the last chapter. I can finally close the book on my favorite foursome.
Friday, June 13, 2008
The Worst
I took a break today during lunch to get out and grab some food and enjoy this ridiculously nice weather we're having.
The sun is warm on my cheeks and the breeze is blowing through my hair. Perfect day for a walk downtown.
I decide on sushi.
ME: "I'd like a Jade Roll, please."
HOSTESS (laughing): "Whoa! That's a lot of food!"
ME: "It is?"
HOSTESS (still chuckling): "Should be plenty for you for lunch."
(I mean, I'm little, but that's just rude, no?)
(btw, ate the whole roll and it was DELICIOUS)
The sun is warm on my cheeks and the breeze is blowing through my hair. Perfect day for a walk downtown.
I decide on sushi.
ME: "I'd like a Jade Roll, please."
HOSTESS (laughing): "Whoa! That's a lot of food!"
ME: "It is?"
HOSTESS (still chuckling): "Should be plenty for you for lunch."
(I mean, I'm little, but that's just rude, no?)
(btw, ate the whole roll and it was DELICIOUS)
Monday, June 9, 2008
Move Over, Buns Of Steel!
Because I’ve got Buns Of Envy!
Well, sort of.
On Saturday afternoon, I decided to get my bored ass motivated to exercise.
(Yes, it was 95 degrees out. Yes, we have no air conditioning. Yes, I’m slightly insane. Buy hey, if exercising in temperatures that rival Hades isn’t showing motivation, I don’t know what is.)
My lower body is almost back to normal from the class from hell, so it must be time to work my thighs and glutes again. (You might say I'm a glute-n for punishment. Sorry. Couldn't help myself)
I flip the TV on and start surfing through the free shows we get through our cable. I click on the section for fitness. There must be a hundred different programs from which I could choose.
"Buns Of Envy" looks interesting.
I lay out my yoga mat on the carpet.
Vito senses something is up and hops down to sniff my mat. Vito HATES when anyone exercises. Maybe it’s the sudden movements or the lack of attention paid to him, but he goes nuts whenever I try to do something. So basically, I don’t exercise so I don’t upset him.
I click PLAY.
The instructor and two assistants come into view, on a beautiful beach area. She’s a petite little brunette with a diamond-studded “N” around her neck. Interesting exercise gear.
Her outfit resembles less of workout garb and more of that a Girls Gone Wild video star would wear, when she's about to hop into a ring filled with mud.
She picks up a hand weight and begins doing the first set of exercises.
Whoa! No stretching or anything. I'm cool with no warm up and pulled muscles.
My hand weights are downstairs and I don’t feel like going downstairs to get them (Hey, baby steps). What else can I use?
I run (read: walk) to the pantry and grab a can of cannellini beans.
Buns Of Envy, Italian-style.
Miss N is smiling and talking and coaching.
Here we go!
(cue dog barking!)
Reverse lunge.
Check.
Plié squat.
Check.
Glute kick.
Check.
Helicopter Lunge.
And this is where it fell apart.
It’s not that I couldn’t follow her doing the exercise. I’m very adept and catch only rather quickly. It’s just that I couldn’t listen to her coach me through it.
MISS N: “Squat and bring your arms acrost your body. Squat. Acrost. Squat. Acrost. And 8 more. And acrost…”
Acrost??? Acrost???
Her mispronunciation of the word is driving me crazy. It’s all I can hear.
I’ve stopped counting lunges and started counting how many times she’s said 'acrost'.
28.
Twenty-frickin-eight times.
All hope of me getting past this is gone. I put my beans down and sit on the mat. Vito runs up and snuggles in for a belly rub.
Doesn’t look like I’ll have "Buns Of Envy" anytime soon.
But I'm happy with "Command Of The English Language Of Envy".
Well, sort of.
On Saturday afternoon, I decided to get my bored ass motivated to exercise.
(Yes, it was 95 degrees out. Yes, we have no air conditioning. Yes, I’m slightly insane. Buy hey, if exercising in temperatures that rival Hades isn’t showing motivation, I don’t know what is.)
My lower body is almost back to normal from the class from hell, so it must be time to work my thighs and glutes again. (You might say I'm a glute-n for punishment. Sorry. Couldn't help myself)
I flip the TV on and start surfing through the free shows we get through our cable. I click on the section for fitness. There must be a hundred different programs from which I could choose.
"Buns Of Envy" looks interesting.
I lay out my yoga mat on the carpet.
Vito senses something is up and hops down to sniff my mat. Vito HATES when anyone exercises. Maybe it’s the sudden movements or the lack of attention paid to him, but he goes nuts whenever I try to do something. So basically, I don’t exercise so I don’t upset him.
I click PLAY.
The instructor and two assistants come into view, on a beautiful beach area. She’s a petite little brunette with a diamond-studded “N” around her neck. Interesting exercise gear.
Her outfit resembles less of workout garb and more of that a Girls Gone Wild video star would wear, when she's about to hop into a ring filled with mud.
She picks up a hand weight and begins doing the first set of exercises.
Whoa! No stretching or anything. I'm cool with no warm up and pulled muscles.
My hand weights are downstairs and I don’t feel like going downstairs to get them (Hey, baby steps). What else can I use?
I run (read: walk) to the pantry and grab a can of cannellini beans.
Buns Of Envy, Italian-style.
Miss N is smiling and talking and coaching.
Here we go!
(cue dog barking!)
Reverse lunge.
Check.
Plié squat.
Check.
Glute kick.
Check.
Helicopter Lunge.
And this is where it fell apart.
It’s not that I couldn’t follow her doing the exercise. I’m very adept and catch only rather quickly. It’s just that I couldn’t listen to her coach me through it.
MISS N: “Squat and bring your arms acrost your body. Squat. Acrost. Squat. Acrost. And 8 more. And acrost…”
Acrost??? Acrost???
Her mispronunciation of the word is driving me crazy. It’s all I can hear.
I’ve stopped counting lunges and started counting how many times she’s said 'acrost'.
28.
Twenty-frickin-eight times.
All hope of me getting past this is gone. I put my beans down and sit on the mat. Vito runs up and snuggles in for a belly rub.
Doesn’t look like I’ll have "Buns Of Envy" anytime soon.
But I'm happy with "Command Of The English Language Of Envy".
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Small Dog = Big Bark
Things Vito Barks At On A Regular Basis:
Squirrels
Birds
Objects that resemble squirrels and birds
Trucks
Cars
Loud noises
Soft noises
Silence
People
People coming in the house
People walking by the house
People thinking about walking on the same street as our house
Dogs
Dogs walking by the house
Dogs barking in another yard
Runners
Kids
Rain
Wind
Bugs
The vacuum
The air compressor
The lawn mower
Himself
Toys
When he’s hungry
When he’s tired
When he wants to go outside
When he wants more room on the couch
And for some reason, Vito is NOT a fan of our idiot neighbors.
(This has nothing to do with us bad-mouthing and making fun of them on a daily basis. I swear.)
And he does not like being interrupted when he’s about to go on a walk.
So tonight, when I walked out the front door and saw our neighbor on her doorstep, I knew I was in trouble.
NOSY NEIGHBOR: “Hi.”
She gets points for being friendly. But she loses points for being nosy. And annoying.
ME: “Hi.” I’m trying to control Vito, who is so excited to be outside and can’t wait to water the big oak tree.
As she starts talking to me, out of the corner of my eye I see a woman canvassing the neighborhood.
Shit.
NN: “My kids like climbing your tree.”
Visions of half-naked kids falling off branches and lawsuits fill my head.
ME: “I hope they don’t fall out and get hurt.”
Translation: keep your kids out of my tree. And yard. (And life!)
Vito spots the strange woman, who is wearing a blue “Democratic Party” T-shirt and carrying a clipboard. He announces her arrival with a ridiculously loud barking fit. Whenever this happens if you just close your eyes you’d swear there was a pit bull in front of you.
NN: “They just love your yard. That little slope there, they call it a ‘mountain’. And today when they were in your tree Micah said to me, ‘Mommy, we’re not supposed to be doing this’.”
I have a newfound respect for Micah, who at 6, is the smartest family member.
ME: “Umm hmm.” I’m trying to control Vito who is doing all he can to wrangle away from me and run to the Democratic Princess who is walking up our driveway.
DP: “Oh uh, looks like this might not be a good time.”
Vito is barking LIKE A PSYCHOPATH and trying to charge her.
ME: “You think?”
DP (taking a step towards my front door): “Should I just ring the bell?”
You see me standing outside here with an out of control dog, and you want to ring the bell?
ME: “Um, nobody’s home.” Because I’m standing out here. In the driveway. With the dog. Who is barking. At YOU.
DP: “Oh, okay.” Then she sees my neighbor, who is completely trapped on her front steps. “Hi. I’m with the Democratic Convention…”
She starts her spiel about going door to door, registering to vote, etc., etc.
Vito and I make our way out of the line of questioning and round the corner. It’s a nice night for a walk. Vito prances excitedly in front of me.
When we don’t have any interruptions, we usually have a nice walk. We vary our routes, peeing on all blades of grass equally. I know where all the dogs in the neighborhood live, so that even if we’re lucky enough to avoid them out on their nightly exercise, we can skillfully avoid them lounging in their electronic-fenced yards.
However, on those nights that Vito sees (or hears – dogs have amazing hearing!) something from the above list, forget it. There’s out-of-control barking, which is highly embarrassing. It looks like we never trained Vito how to walk on a leash and behave in social settings (NOTE: we didn’t). This raucous behavior usually results in me swooping my arm under Vito’s chest and holding him as we hurry past the offender. For some reason, Vito doesn’t bark when he’s being carried.
But, due to the Exercise Class From Hell on Sunday, there’s no way I could possibly pick Vito up with inflicting severe pain throughout my entire lower half.
And because karma’s a bitch, we have company as we approach the 4-way intersection.
What I want to do is make my way quietly (and conspicuously) across the street to the sidewalk on the left side of the street. Give Vito a chance to poop, then quietly head home.
However, I’m faced with a dilemma.
Coming at us from the right, is an octogenarian SLOWLY making his way down the sidewalk with his cane. Even though he’s moving only a slight notch above “completely still”, Vito senses the activity and whips his head around.
Damn. The geezer sees Vito and waves.
I barely notice the old man because I’m focused on the black cat sitting on the right side of the street across from us. The cat is not moving, its piercing green eyes fixated on Vito. I mentally will the cat to “play dead” by remaining immobile, and not to run away and cause a commotion.
At the same time Vito and I sense motion to our left and we both turn to see a woman walking up the sidewalk pushing a baby carriage with a dog on a leash.
You’ve GOT to be kidding me.
The feisty tan dog on the pink leash begins the barking festivities. And barking with dogs is like yawning with humans, totally contagious. Before I know it both Vito and his new friend are participating in a duet.
I give the woman my best, “Dogs. What can you do??!!” face (with shoulders shrugging) as she shouts a command to her dog who in turns stops barking and sits quietly at her feet. Show off.
(The face she gives me back (disapproving and incredulous) is more along the lines of, “Don’t you know how to control your dog???”)
Obviously not.
I continue to drag Vito across the street, shouting some commands of my own. They sound something like, “Please stop barking! You’re embarrassing Mommy!” and (my favorite, bartering with the puppy): “If you stop barking Mommy will give you extra treats when we get home!”
Vito is temporarily distracted by two squirrels playing tag in a yard and forgets about the geezer, dog and baby.
But just to keep things interesting, the black cat bolts towards us and crosses our path.
Unbridled barking ensues.
Who says 2 classes of dog obedience isn’t shining through. Normally, Vito would have chased after the cat.
Progress.
Squirrels
Birds
Objects that resemble squirrels and birds
Trucks
Cars
Loud noises
Soft noises
Silence
People
People coming in the house
People walking by the house
People thinking about walking on the same street as our house
Dogs
Dogs walking by the house
Dogs barking in another yard
Runners
Kids
Rain
Wind
Bugs
The vacuum
The air compressor
The lawn mower
Himself
Toys
When he’s hungry
When he’s tired
When he wants to go outside
When he wants more room on the couch
And for some reason, Vito is NOT a fan of our idiot neighbors.
(This has nothing to do with us bad-mouthing and making fun of them on a daily basis. I swear.)
And he does not like being interrupted when he’s about to go on a walk.
So tonight, when I walked out the front door and saw our neighbor on her doorstep, I knew I was in trouble.
NOSY NEIGHBOR: “Hi.”
She gets points for being friendly. But she loses points for being nosy. And annoying.
ME: “Hi.” I’m trying to control Vito, who is so excited to be outside and can’t wait to water the big oak tree.
As she starts talking to me, out of the corner of my eye I see a woman canvassing the neighborhood.
Shit.
NN: “My kids like climbing your tree.”
Visions of half-naked kids falling off branches and lawsuits fill my head.
ME: “I hope they don’t fall out and get hurt.”
Translation: keep your kids out of my tree. And yard. (And life!)
Vito spots the strange woman, who is wearing a blue “Democratic Party” T-shirt and carrying a clipboard. He announces her arrival with a ridiculously loud barking fit. Whenever this happens if you just close your eyes you’d swear there was a pit bull in front of you.
NN: “They just love your yard. That little slope there, they call it a ‘mountain’. And today when they were in your tree Micah said to me, ‘Mommy, we’re not supposed to be doing this’.”
I have a newfound respect for Micah, who at 6, is the smartest family member.
ME: “Umm hmm.” I’m trying to control Vito who is doing all he can to wrangle away from me and run to the Democratic Princess who is walking up our driveway.
DP: “Oh uh, looks like this might not be a good time.”
Vito is barking LIKE A PSYCHOPATH and trying to charge her.
ME: “You think?”
DP (taking a step towards my front door): “Should I just ring the bell?”
You see me standing outside here with an out of control dog, and you want to ring the bell?
ME: “Um, nobody’s home.” Because I’m standing out here. In the driveway. With the dog. Who is barking. At YOU.
DP: “Oh, okay.” Then she sees my neighbor, who is completely trapped on her front steps. “Hi. I’m with the Democratic Convention…”
She starts her spiel about going door to door, registering to vote, etc., etc.
Vito and I make our way out of the line of questioning and round the corner. It’s a nice night for a walk. Vito prances excitedly in front of me.
When we don’t have any interruptions, we usually have a nice walk. We vary our routes, peeing on all blades of grass equally. I know where all the dogs in the neighborhood live, so that even if we’re lucky enough to avoid them out on their nightly exercise, we can skillfully avoid them lounging in their electronic-fenced yards.
However, on those nights that Vito sees (or hears – dogs have amazing hearing!) something from the above list, forget it. There’s out-of-control barking, which is highly embarrassing. It looks like we never trained Vito how to walk on a leash and behave in social settings (NOTE: we didn’t). This raucous behavior usually results in me swooping my arm under Vito’s chest and holding him as we hurry past the offender. For some reason, Vito doesn’t bark when he’s being carried.
But, due to the Exercise Class From Hell on Sunday, there’s no way I could possibly pick Vito up with inflicting severe pain throughout my entire lower half.
And because karma’s a bitch, we have company as we approach the 4-way intersection.
What I want to do is make my way quietly (and conspicuously) across the street to the sidewalk on the left side of the street. Give Vito a chance to poop, then quietly head home.
However, I’m faced with a dilemma.
Coming at us from the right, is an octogenarian SLOWLY making his way down the sidewalk with his cane. Even though he’s moving only a slight notch above “completely still”, Vito senses the activity and whips his head around.
Damn. The geezer sees Vito and waves.
I barely notice the old man because I’m focused on the black cat sitting on the right side of the street across from us. The cat is not moving, its piercing green eyes fixated on Vito. I mentally will the cat to “play dead” by remaining immobile, and not to run away and cause a commotion.
At the same time Vito and I sense motion to our left and we both turn to see a woman walking up the sidewalk pushing a baby carriage with a dog on a leash.
You’ve GOT to be kidding me.
The feisty tan dog on the pink leash begins the barking festivities. And barking with dogs is like yawning with humans, totally contagious. Before I know it both Vito and his new friend are participating in a duet.
I give the woman my best, “Dogs. What can you do??!!” face (with shoulders shrugging) as she shouts a command to her dog who in turns stops barking and sits quietly at her feet. Show off.
(The face she gives me back (disapproving and incredulous) is more along the lines of, “Don’t you know how to control your dog???”)
Obviously not.
I continue to drag Vito across the street, shouting some commands of my own. They sound something like, “Please stop barking! You’re embarrassing Mommy!” and (my favorite, bartering with the puppy): “If you stop barking Mommy will give you extra treats when we get home!”
Vito is temporarily distracted by two squirrels playing tag in a yard and forgets about the geezer, dog and baby.
But just to keep things interesting, the black cat bolts towards us and crosses our path.
Unbridled barking ensues.
Who says 2 classes of dog obedience isn’t shining through. Normally, Vito would have chased after the cat.
Progress.
It Was THAT Kind Of Day
Text message I sent yesterday:
"LEAVING WORK NOW. STOPPING FOR VODKA AND BALLOONS."
"LEAVING WORK NOW. STOPPING FOR VODKA AND BALLOONS."
Monday, June 2, 2008
Can't. Move. My. Legs.
Ouch.
That about sums it up.
I’m SO sore. Like, ridiculously so.
(I can’t be THAT out of shape, can I???)
I feel a little bit better that when I was leaving the muscle class (alt class title: The Joke's On You If You Think You'll Be Walkin' Tomorrow), Melissa, the instructor, said to me, “You did a GREAT job for your first time! This was a tough class this week. I can tell you have a background in dance.”
Yes. WAY in the background. Like 2 decades ago.
On Sunday morning, my body must’ve been SO excited that it was going to exercise that it woke up at 6am. Just like that. Wide awake. And there was no falling back to sleep, either. I listened to the birds singing for a half hour and then got up.
There were 10 of us in the class, a rather impressive showing for early on Sunday morning. I was the second to youngest attendee (no surprise there). Most of the women were in their 40’s.
A few women were making small talk and doing little stretches to warm up. One woman was stretching and limbering up like she was about to take the stage as Clara in a production of The Nutcracker.
About 15 minutes into class I knew I was going to be in trouble. I was able to keep up the whole time (I have amazing balance; I had no trouble standing on one leg for 100 counts doing the exercises), but I was pushing my muscles (many of which had been strangers to the barre for 16 years).
We worked everything: glutes, inner and outer thighs, calves, obliques, abdominals, hamstrings. Even the muscles in our feet (??!!).
It was the longest hour of my life. I started to feel the pain of my future on the way home.
I couldn’t even take Vito on a walk yesterday, despite how beautiful it was outside, because I just imagined myself getting halfway around the neighborhood and my legs just collapsing in fatigue. Vito is a little small to cart my body home on his back.
It hurts to sit, stand, move, stay still, walk, drive, bend, straighten up, sneeze, brush my teeth (because I walk around while do so) and put on shoes.
However – despite bouts of nausea and almost throwing up 4 times during class – I think I will go back.
That is, if I’m able to maneuver stairs by Wednesday.
(Now I understand why there’s a RAMP into her studio!)
That about sums it up.
I’m SO sore. Like, ridiculously so.
(I can’t be THAT out of shape, can I???)
I feel a little bit better that when I was leaving the muscle class (alt class title: The Joke's On You If You Think You'll Be Walkin' Tomorrow), Melissa, the instructor, said to me, “You did a GREAT job for your first time! This was a tough class this week. I can tell you have a background in dance.”
Yes. WAY in the background. Like 2 decades ago.
On Sunday morning, my body must’ve been SO excited that it was going to exercise that it woke up at 6am. Just like that. Wide awake. And there was no falling back to sleep, either. I listened to the birds singing for a half hour and then got up.
There were 10 of us in the class, a rather impressive showing for early on Sunday morning. I was the second to youngest attendee (no surprise there). Most of the women were in their 40’s.
A few women were making small talk and doing little stretches to warm up. One woman was stretching and limbering up like she was about to take the stage as Clara in a production of The Nutcracker.
About 15 minutes into class I knew I was going to be in trouble. I was able to keep up the whole time (I have amazing balance; I had no trouble standing on one leg for 100 counts doing the exercises), but I was pushing my muscles (many of which had been strangers to the barre for 16 years).
We worked everything: glutes, inner and outer thighs, calves, obliques, abdominals, hamstrings. Even the muscles in our feet (??!!).
It was the longest hour of my life. I started to feel the pain of my future on the way home.
I couldn’t even take Vito on a walk yesterday, despite how beautiful it was outside, because I just imagined myself getting halfway around the neighborhood and my legs just collapsing in fatigue. Vito is a little small to cart my body home on his back.
It hurts to sit, stand, move, stay still, walk, drive, bend, straighten up, sneeze, brush my teeth (because I walk around while do so) and put on shoes.
However – despite bouts of nausea and almost throwing up 4 times during class – I think I will go back.
That is, if I’m able to maneuver stairs by Wednesday.
(Now I understand why there’s a RAMP into her studio!)
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Breaking The Law?
Today I was driving home from the store and as I turned onto my street I ended up behind this eight-year-old on his bike.
In the middle of the road.
Swerving.
On a cell phone.
(No, he wasn't hands free. And no, he was NOT wearing a helmet or any sort of protective pads. Um, hello? Kid, what are your parents thinking???)
In the middle of the road.
Swerving.
On a cell phone.
(No, he wasn't hands free. And no, he was NOT wearing a helmet or any sort of protective pads. Um, hello? Kid, what are your parents thinking???)
Book Review: La La Love Ya, Jen Lancaster!
I just finished "Such A Pretty Fat" by Jen Lancaster and it was fabu.
(Actually, I finished it on Friday night. Over a glass of rioja.)
I am embarrassed at how long it took me to read this book. I'm a fast reader, and I usually devour Jen's books in one sitting (they're THAT good!). But this time, everything got in the way. I had been working late. I had been really tired (been getting up early and trying to go on a walk before work). I'd read two pages, then I'd fall asleep.
And now I'm in that post-good-book melancholy that I fall into whenever I finish reading something I love. This was one of those books that I just didn't want to end.
Now onto the next book that will entertain me during lunch, distract me from TV and keep me from folding laundry.
(Actually, I finished it on Friday night. Over a glass of rioja.)
I am embarrassed at how long it took me to read this book. I'm a fast reader, and I usually devour Jen's books in one sitting (they're THAT good!). But this time, everything got in the way. I had been working late. I had been really tired (been getting up early and trying to go on a walk before work). I'd read two pages, then I'd fall asleep.
And now I'm in that post-good-book melancholy that I fall into whenever I finish reading something I love. This was one of those books that I just didn't want to end.
Now onto the next book that will entertain me during lunch, distract me from TV and keep me from folding laundry.
Who Wants Cake?
Only one week to go until Dad's retirement party.
Friday morning at work
On the phone with Mom
MOM: "I need to order the cake."
ME: "Okay. Let's do it."
MOM: "I heard that the place near you is good. It starts with a 'G'."
ME: "Emerald Bakery?"
MOM: "Yes! That's it!"
Saturday morning
Emerald Bakery
Mom lets me do the talking. We get the lowdown on the cakes. We take a card and tell the guy we'll be calling him.
MOM: "What should we get?"
ME: "What kind of cake does Dad like?"
MOM: "Your Dad doesn't eat cake."
Right.
MOM: "If it were up to me, I like chocolate."
ME: "Guess what? It IS up to you. Let's get chocolate."
MOM: "But not everybody eats chocolate."
And not everybody RSVP'd to the party, either, but that hasn't stopped us from giving the final head count and lunch orders to the restaurant.
ME: "You're never going to please everyone. How about 2 layers of chocolate and one layer of vanilla?"
MOM: "Vanilla or Golden?"
Seriously? Does it matter? Neither one of us even LIKES yellow cake.
ME: "Golden. With raspberry filling."
MOM: "And what about the frosting?"
ME: "I don't eat frosting, so I don't care."
MOM (whining, sort of): "Please help me out on this."
Help you out?
Who put together the guest list? Who picked the place? Who chose the meals? Who created, printed, addressed and mailed the invitations? Who managed the RSVPs? Who had a "you better reply NOW" email sent to the delinquent invitees? Who's coming up with the plan to get Dad to the restaurant next week?
You're right, Mom, I should totally step up.
ME: "I don't like super-sweet frosting, I think it ruins a cake."
MOM: "How about butter cream?"
ME: "Perfect." I think.
MOM: "And what about decorations on the cake?"
ME: "How about, 'Happy Retirement'?"
MOM: "And what else? I don't think your Dad is a flower guy."
ME: "Mom, it's a cake. It's going to cut up into 40 pieces. Why don't you see if they can do a little golf tee on a putting green or golf clubs or something."
MOM: "What a fabulous idea! You're so good at this."
Yes, I know.
Can't wait to "help plan" the next family event.
Friday morning at work
On the phone with Mom
MOM: "I need to order the cake."
ME: "Okay. Let's do it."
MOM: "I heard that the place near you is good. It starts with a 'G'."
ME: "Emerald Bakery?"
MOM: "Yes! That's it!"
Saturday morning
Emerald Bakery
Mom lets me do the talking. We get the lowdown on the cakes. We take a card and tell the guy we'll be calling him.
MOM: "What should we get?"
ME: "What kind of cake does Dad like?"
MOM: "Your Dad doesn't eat cake."
Right.
MOM: "If it were up to me, I like chocolate."
ME: "Guess what? It IS up to you. Let's get chocolate."
MOM: "But not everybody eats chocolate."
And not everybody RSVP'd to the party, either, but that hasn't stopped us from giving the final head count and lunch orders to the restaurant.
ME: "You're never going to please everyone. How about 2 layers of chocolate and one layer of vanilla?"
MOM: "Vanilla or Golden?"
Seriously? Does it matter? Neither one of us even LIKES yellow cake.
ME: "Golden. With raspberry filling."
MOM: "And what about the frosting?"
ME: "I don't eat frosting, so I don't care."
MOM (whining, sort of): "Please help me out on this."
Help you out?
Who put together the guest list? Who picked the place? Who chose the meals? Who created, printed, addressed and mailed the invitations? Who managed the RSVPs? Who had a "you better reply NOW" email sent to the delinquent invitees? Who's coming up with the plan to get Dad to the restaurant next week?
You're right, Mom, I should totally step up.
ME: "I don't like super-sweet frosting, I think it ruins a cake."
MOM: "How about butter cream?"
ME: "Perfect." I think.
MOM: "And what about decorations on the cake?"
ME: "How about, 'Happy Retirement'?"
MOM: "And what else? I don't think your Dad is a flower guy."
ME: "Mom, it's a cake. It's going to cut up into 40 pieces. Why don't you see if they can do a little golf tee on a putting green or golf clubs or something."
MOM: "What a fabulous idea! You're so good at this."
Yes, I know.
Can't wait to "help plan" the next family event.
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