Once More with Feeling.

Beets, Bears, Battlestar Galactica

It's been a week of "not much" so the writing gods haven't exactly been on my side, thus the whole lot of nothing to write about here(I mean, other than I'm getting soft in the middle).

(See, I'm even boring THIS one.  I mean, kid can't even READ but he's pretending to so he won't have to talk to me. Nicely, played, O.)

(Jerk.)

Anyway, um, lists seem to be en vogue these days, so I'll try one of those.

Apropos of nada:

1. I have laid off the celeb rants for quite some time now; too "shooting fish in a barrel" for my taste and let's be honest,  where to even begin what with the antics of LiLo, Paris, Nicole, and company but let's for a sec talk about Brit-Brit. 

In her latest missive to her fans  regarding the  X-17 letter(pap photog agency), she "cheekily" "apologizes" for the smashing an umbrella on their vehicle-incident.  Brit, I know you were just "kidding", or using  you were studying for a "roll" (not the kind found at KFC) was a met-uh-4 for what was going on in your life then, however and F-to the-Y-I, you're not funny, barely literate and your grasp of sarcasm, not so good. And as such every attempt at public speaking or putting pen to paper, what you're really doing is showing off to the public your barely passable 4th grade education level.  So, enough. Stop. Parent. Work. Put some clothes on. maybe learn the difference between "roll" and "role" (updated: her site's handlers appear to have now caught and  corrected the words/spelling). Something. But enough of the attention whoring bullshit. Please.

2. Also not funny:  Sarah Silverman at the MTV Awards going off on Paris the way she did (I won't even bother to quote it, it's just disgusting and unfunny and quite frankly, really fucking mean.) And oh yeah, a really, really shitty thing to do.  Listen, it's not like I even like Paris.  At all. But there's taking a shot at someone in a tough spot (S.S. could have said something about her going from couture to orange jumpsuits etc.), and then there is kicking a person, below the belt, when they're already down. And having it broadcasted for everyone to see and laugh at. Live.

That's not clever; that's being a bully as far as I can tell.

3. The ads for Botox Cosmetics and the tagline "Freedom of Expression". Ummmm, anyone else think this rates right up there with Lame Irony/Bad Copy Champion Always "Have a happy period" campaign?  Don't they mean the freedom to LACK expression? 'Cause it's the expressions in faces that cause a lot of those wrinkles, ad copy people, and the product is prohibiting the movement to make said expressions. Unless I am missing something.  And if I am, someone help me out here, for I is confused.

4. Sheryl Crow coming down American Idol because it "promotes commercialism" in the music industry.  Okay sure, fine, maybe I can see that, but uh,  hey Sheryl?  How's that Revlon hair color spot which features you AND your song (going on great hair) I see on the tube paying these days?  Pretty good?

5. Wednesday days off: Um, yeah, not feeling it.  Not feeling the feeling of having 2 Mondays, a weak ass "weekend", not even getting out early on Tuesday (was I the only one?) being totally messed up what day it is (I saw that The Office was on last night, and I was all, 'but wait, but it's only Wednesday, right?").  I guess the flipside/half-full card is, "Huzzah - TWO FRIDAYS!"

Libs also shares my enthusiasm:

6. I have begun the process of looking at houses. As a result, my dreams of George Clooney or the McDreamy du jour are now replaced by walk-in closets and a bathroom complete with electrical outlets/a place to house towels and a yard for some plants.  My US Weeklys and In Touches have been replaced with Real Simple and about a half dozen interior decorating/design mags.  Seriously, this week I have dreamed of the same house twice in a row, which I think basically means it's totally mine. Which roughly translates:

PAR-TAY AT JEN'S HOUSE!

7. Funny text from Jess:

"you look like babe's ruth's gay brother...gaybe ruth."

Okay, if you haven't seen Knocked Up (reviewed on her site) or the previews to the hilarious looking Superbad (same director, similar casting, seen prior to Knocked Up) please do yourself the favor and do.

I was too lazy to text Jess back, but had I not, this was in queue:

"are you one of those girls who don't know they're pregnant until they're sitting on a toilet and a baby pops out?"

8. I am going to meet Mrs. HolllowSquirrel in just over a week.  She will be in my town for biz, and do you know that her coworkers, who are NOT from Boston, who live far, far away from Boston, ...okay, ...want to know where they want to dine...intentionally?

Red. Fucking. Lobster.

Totally not making this up (and when she first told me, I really thought she was kidding.)

People, I don't even like/eat  seafood of any kind and even I am appalled on her behalf.  Only eleven billionity great places for seafood in this city and RED.FUCKING.LOBSTER??? And the truth is? You kind of have to go out of your way to get there.  It's practically in SOUTH Boston. Imbeciles.

Anyway, I am going to be her "old college roommate" to help her get out of at least one night of hanging out with them.  So I am working on my best "Delta, Delta, Delta/ Can I help ya, help ya,help ya?"s to get into character.

9. My cousin's new blog tagline which I am giving 5 (out of 5) stars:

Even Erica Kane forgave her daughter Kendall when she slept with her fourth husband.
All My Children. It's just something I know.

Well, that's all I got. Have a swell weekend, everyone. 

Collect them all! Trade 'em with your friends! (Like stickers!)

Friday's Whiteboard artistry:

The latest development has been a recent BUST by manager,seeing these photos, um, somehow on my computer.

"Excuse me, why are there pictures of my whiteboard on your computer?"

Oh snap. Think, think.

Standing up, throwing my entire back and arms to the monitor, "Uh, I don't know what you're talking about. Nothing going on here but work far as I can tell."

"People aren't calling me names on that thing*, are they?"

"Oh no, no! You come out smelling like a rose.  People think you're cool, that they wish their bosses had such a great sense of humor.  Also, where do we stand on you clipping your toenails? You vote for Sanjaya? People are asking."

"I am not voting for that fool."

So that's where we are at.  He remains mum on the toenails.  Suspicious.

*He has seen my Flickr account (hell, is is ON my Flickr account) and has seen the hideous bridemaid dress as well.

For *this* my fifteen minutes of fame???!

This morning I received an e-mail from a very nice guy, Evan.  In it he asked me if I knew I had been featured in The Times London online website and sent me the link he was referrring to.

Huh, I thought to myself, No, I did not.

Here is the article that ran (embarrassing photo here), a feature on awful bridesmaid dresses ("And She Said We Were Friends. A bridesmaid hall of shame").

I am "Exhibit 12: Kissin' Cousins".

"Oooh, action shot. Bouf up that skirt a bit and this maid would make the perfect crinoline lavatory-roll concealer. Does that fringe come attached to an alice band?"

Boy, I knew it was bad, but I didn't realize I/the dress was Hall of Shame honors material!  (I mean, secretly I had hoped, but you know how these things can be....all polictics.)

On a related note, People Magazine (online) has also contacted me to use the photo.  Yes, you're lookin' at a real life "What Not to Wear" fashion-victim. 

And I could not be more proud.

Game on.

My manager's response to "Clip toenails" and "Vote for Sanjaya":

Process my termination paperwork ("p/w") is what this all means.

Oh, so it's like that, Mr. Manager person?

We had a conversation about this this morning, and he said he was trying to keep his response vague enough that no one would get it but I would understand. 

I told him I had "Fire Someone" ready in the queue.  He said, "ooh, that's a good one."

Updated to add:  My response, "BLAME CANADA", has remained on the whiteboard for half the day.   He enjoyed that one and when something goes wrong, I point to it and offer, "See? 'Blame Canada'!"

It is the perfect catch-all excuse for not getting your monthly TPS reports in on time.

Ohmigod, you are like SO ma-chure.

After requesting your assistance, here is the double whammy. My very secret double probation e-vil plan here is he won't spot one of them.

Idea by Hollowsquirrel/Ceece:

And....

From Tim (upper lefthand corner of  board):

I may need to rewrite these to get the penmanship more on point (I can do better), but you gets the idea.

Overheard: Target

In the aisles of Target yesterday, I got to witness this display of dramatics between one 4 year old little boy mid-meltdown and one marvelously unphased mother.

Boy: (bawling, bratting it up) You know what? You're not my best friend ANYMORE!

Mom: (continuing to make way to front of the store, holding the line on denying whatever it is junior so desperately requires)

Boy: (still bawling) You're a BA-BY!

Mom: (seeing the irony that precious son cannot) Who's a baby?

Boy: (sobbing) YOU'RE a baby!

Ah, a son threatening to cut off Best Friend status with his mom.  I wonder if rescinded this in time when he realized she was the one hooking him up with dinner.

The man, he has his limits.

Last night, a shopping trip to Target yielded, among other very necessary sundries, a new DVD.  I "casually" made mention that I would like to see same later in the evening. He understands that my "I" is a "plural I" and by "I" I mean "we". I (singular) get The Look.

After "casually" mentioning it a second time, I'm officially given The Heisman.

"I am NOT watching The Newsletter, or whatever the hell."

According to scientific survey and reputable periodicals suchas Cosmo and Allure, 34 is the new 14.

Which would explain why I am breaking out like "just-a-virgin-who-can't-drive" freshman. 

And why I have braces,...

...for the third time. (count that out like the owl from the Tootsie Pop commercial, "Ah-one, Ah-two, Ah-three...Ah-three."

I call it "Braces V. 3.0 ed. 01/2007:This Time She's Serious. No, Really. Stop Laughing. I'm Not Kidding . ...Dude, Knock It Off.  You Know What? You're Just Mean." (coming soon to a theater near you!)

The BEST part about getting braces on the last day of your 33rd year? Well, lots of things actually.

Like for starters, some 20 years later after getting your first set? You don't need to get 8 teeth yanked to do it. Nor do you require the sexy date-grabber neckgear. Or the "As Seen in Maxim" elastics. Or a solid FOUR YEARS of your teen-aged life.

Or, some 10 years later after Round Two: Electric Bugaloo, the version where you got the "clear braces" (brackets that were tooth colored which, btw is such b-s) is that now you can afford the Invisilign braces which they tell you will *only* take up 11 months of your 34th year. And the beauty of the Invisilign braces, as the name would imply, is that PEOPLE CAN'T SEE THEM.

FACE!

I won't get into the whole "did you really need them?", "girl, you crazy" back and forth; it's my belief everybody has at least a someTHING physically about themselves that they aren't over the moon about (to varying extents ranging from mild annoyance to pure, unadulterated loathing) and this just happens to me my "thing".   And my extent on this thing is closer to the loathing side of the scale.

Make of that what you will, but there you go.

Now that I have them, if it can be written about plastics, I am in love. (I can't believe I just said I love braces.) I don't have to look like a adolescent in their awkward stage, nor do I have to go thru the monthly Liefest that is promising to wear elastics, and I also have the ability of being able to see the "after" results without committing to my old "trick" of covering the wires and brackets my index finger. Besides, at the end of this I will have the perfect smile and will finally (finally!) be able to start that modeling career I always thought I had in the bag (I fear it was the imperfect smile that was holding me back). 

And so, I embarked for the life-altering appointment on a fah-reezing January late afternoon. The appointment itself was pretty no-fuss, no-muss, save for one, teeny, tiny exception I'd learn as it was happening: I will require teeth to be filed 3 times during the course of treatment (so I am 1 down, 2 to go). Vertically.  To give the teeth some room to move into new space or something. It's not that it hurt, it didn't, but it did feel weird and a little sensitive.  And of course there's that magical smell of burning enamel sawdust that I can't imagine anyone loves so much they would suggest it be Bath & Body Works newest scent. Also, there may have been a little blood.  But ya know what? I can handle all this because, people? *I* am going to be America's Next Top Insurance Model (TM)! (oh yah, that is my big plan! Remember, "34 is the new 14", so I am not as long in the (heh) tooth as you think!)

After the fitting, they gave me instructions on how to care for the plastic retainers, I was told what I could and couldn't drink (him: "clear liquids only." me: "Is beer a 'clear liquid'?"), and  informed that my speech may be effected for the first few days, a slight lisp. (i.e. messages was "methages" no matter how hard I tried). So I started right away on "pwactithing my thpeach" to lose my Elmer Fudd accent.

[Oh, and right after my appointment I felt that because I was such a big girl and "so brave" (didn't even cry), there was cause for Rocket Dog shoes purchasing.  Which are SO NOT SNEAKERS by the way. (photo to follow)]

Still on the high of the appointment that was bringing me to the Promised Land (straight teeth in just 11 short months!) and imagining all the new outfits I could pair with my new teeth, I walked up the stairs into the vestibule of my mansion/apartment building and collected the mail. Not a total surprise, there was a card waiting for me as my birthday being the next day.   Walking up the staircase to the second floor, I opened the card.  It was from Aunt Teri.

Same aunt who alleges ignorance of my Braces: The Trilogy.

An Aunt whom I had the distinct impression that she actually liked me.

Hours after receiving my braces, this was the first thing I read. 

"Haffy Birfday."

Enough of the holiday cheer, give 'em something they REALLY care about - like text messages!

3Okay, the video was supposed to go up today, however, a techincal issue is delaying it at the moment. So rest easy, my little chickens, it's coming.  Though honestly, I wouldn't get too hepped up about it as I've been told by one that it was "weak" which to that I can only respond:

"First of all, BRIAN, crap lighting or no, where's your online video of you dirty dancing (badly) to "Dirty" with a mostly unwilling, peer pressured victim dance partner and secondly, exactly how freaky can a girl get wearing Ann Taylor Pants? You see my point." (oh no, have I said too much?)

Until then, a list of my favorite recent in-coming text messages. All messages are as typed.

In no particular order:

Drive by farting!!! (Y)

I guess I'll show my ignoranace...its really only a matter of time anyway. What's Sephora? (my manager)

You're mumbling (my manager)

Just got caught!

You're such a dork (my manager)

although there is that hep c issue...

Totally fecal

Does your corsage match your socks?

WAKE UP!!!! How was your prom?

were they wearing lamb?

peanut butter jelly with a baseball bat!

You're the starter in my fantasy league...for TWO!

Ghetto girl says "...what up bitch?" @ MJ o'conners

The can only hope to contain you.

Tom Brady is single

Bum

Xenu loves me, this I know

happiness is a milkshake!!! It's what we get on break from the chain gang.

Postpurri

As I sit here wearing my Best Auntie in the Whole Wide World (TM Sarah) tiara and sippin' on a leftover juice box, I realize that a lot of what I've seen and heard over the past 48 hours is still stuck in my head. In an effort to make some room for new thoughts (seeing as I average at least 2 day), I will share with you those I consider to be disposable. Thought Plaque if you will.

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Okay, to the NFL commentator I heard on Sunday, while I get it that you're not likely the next Walter Cronkite or anything, still it's my feeling that seeing as this game you're talking up is something you've probably played up for decades, and the commentating gig you got isn't that new either, so with that, you should know what you're saying when the words come flying out of your mouth.  But even if you don't or say even you're having a tough day, it's also widely known that sports + cliches =  a passable commentator. And for good reason: they make excellent crutches in times of blanking and sometimes even, you can sound like you're saying something profound even when you're not.  So learn them. Use them. Do so correctly, please.  And don't go making shit up either. We can tell.

I say this because as I was passing the TV on the way to the kitchen, I heard something that didn't quite seem right, and when my co-watcher/usual bullshit spotterr of these events didn't blink an eye, I feel the need to do a self-audit. Which is what I did Sunday. "Wait, wait a minute, did he just say, "...and that's something that can't be taught, that's something that's learned"?"

Um, what? If it's something that can be learned, then it's being taught somehow, right? Self-taught is is a teaching method, no?

I get where Johnny Too Many Hits to the Head was going with that one, but I'm sure there's a cleaner way of saying it, like, "that's something you're born with" or "something that can't be coached."

Though not to cut NFL guy too much slack, this is far from the silliest or lamest thing I've heard uttered by a sports commentator.  The one that has stuck with me the longest , and unfortunately I don't know the man's name who said it anymore, was from a commentator for the Winter Olympics games in the 1990s during the speed skating event.  Now I'll preface this with I guess ice quality can vary depending on the sport being played. For instance, in hockey the ice after 15 minutes of play is probably pretty chewed up and softer, slushier, slower, but the skate blades could grip the ice better (btw, totally talking out of my ass but let's say I'm right). 

But in no way should this excuse the Talkie guy from observing, as I believe people during the speed skaters who were wiping out were probably experiencing, "Yeah, the ice is really slippery."  Praise whoever you want that the co-anchor for this deal had the balls to call him out and between chuckles, "Um, yeah, well, that's kinda the deal with ice."

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My other ax to grind here is with the marketing geniuses for the Boston Globe newspaper.  Yesterday, I heard a commercial for the rag, and the last line, now bear in mind someone wrote this AND got paid  for it, was, "it's the BEST feeling in the world waking up and knowing the Boston Globe is outside my front door."

Um, excuse me, that for you is THE BEST feeling in the world? Now if this line holds any water for the woman speaking it, to you madam I would say GET OUT MORE because personally I can think of about a billion things better and still even those don't qualify as "the best feeling in the world."

Take for example:

Waking up on Saturday thinking it's Friday and freaking out because you think you're late and totally screwed and then realizing that it's really Saturday.

Seeing flashing lights behind you and you realize that you're going 15 miles over the limit with expired tags and the cruiser flies past your car.

Getting your period in a "better late than pregnant" fashion.

Winning 25 bucks off a scratch ticket.

Getting on the scale and seeing the number go down from your last visit.

Day your tax refund hits your account.

Waking up and seeing a cup of coffee on the nightstand.

You see my point. And incredibly, "KNOWING THAT THE GLOBE IS OUTSIDE MY FRONT DOOR" is nowhere to be found on this list.

(Seriously Globe,  let ME write your next TV spot.)

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Yesterday, as I was walking around Fanueil Hall looking of lunch, and in my focused wanderings, didn't realize until it was too late, that I had walked directly in front of a man who was filming with his video camera.  I don't know why, but by brain defaulted to, "well, that'll come in handy when I am arrested for murder and it's (clearly) a case of mistaken identity and the police will eventually track down that man's footage, date and time stamped naturally, and I will be set free."

Then that got me to thinking of all the pictures I've taken and possibly all the poor souls that could make use of my photos to set them free for their cases of mistaken identity.

What if this old timer is doing time right now because of mistaken identity? Just in case...

Dear Boston and surrounding areas Police,

This picture was taken on Sunday between the hours of 12-1:00 at Boston's Fanueil Hall.  As you can clearly see from the photograph, the highlighted old man is not committing any crimes and actually looks like he is being a pretty good citizen.

Regards,

Me

Maybe it's possible I have watched me one too many Law & Order marathons.

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From the "Kids say the darnest things" file, as I mentioned previously, I had my niece Sarah for the entire weekend. Sunday  I had a few things I wanted to get done, namely picking up the laundry and getting my nails done. The area of town that I do this in, there are a lot of little divey stores, restaurants, bars, etc. Still, I found it odd as we were picking up my laundry, that Sarah repeatedly asked me, "Is this the liquor store?"  Honestly, she asked me at least 4 times and yeah, there was one a few doors down but I had made no mention of a liquor store all weekend. So it got me wondering, "what is going on at home? Is this part of her 'weekly routine' with Mom & Dad?" When I spoke to my sister Kate about it, she was floored. "I have NEVER brought her to one, and I have no idea where she got that...I'll have to ask Dan."

No Sarah, this is NOT the liquor store. This is the nail salon.