In Response To Your Google Search Query #2

Dear Person Who Found My Blog Via The Search Query "gifts for miserable fucker",

Bon jour and welcome to my blog!

Indeed having a "miserable fucker" in your life is upsetting enough, but having to spend your hard earned money to buy gifts for such a person is unbearable.

As always, I'm here to help, although you haven't given me any clues about the nature of your relationship to the miserable fucker so I don't know if it's your boss, a co-worker, your spouse, your mother or a neighbor.

Nor have you hinted at the cause of this persons misery or the nature of his or her fuckery.

I mean are they miserable because they have a life threatening illness or because they didn't get hugged enough as a child? Does this person constantly harass you and others and make you feel small or does their fuckery take the form of being prone to commit insurance fraud and cheat on their taxes?

More importantly you haven't given me any information about the size of your budget. You have left a lot open for interpretation, but in a way I find that very freeing.

For the purpose of humor I vote against empathy today. I say we forget illness, bad childhoods and the likelihood that people are usually miserable fuckers for a some sad personal reason.

Now, let's begin.

We can really go two different routes here. One direction is to try to give the miserable fucker a gift that may make him or her less of a miserable fucker like a new Lexus, a long weekend at the Canyon Ranch or Guitar Hero. But if this person is truly a miserable fucker the joy these types of thoughtful gifts may bring will be short-lived. So in my mind the better path to follow would be the anonymous flaming bag of dog shit on the front porch sort of gift and keep Guitar Hero for yourself, you probably need it more than the miserable fucker does.

Flaming bag of dog poo not a viable option?

Here are some other suggestions:

• Make a donation in the miserable fucker's name to a charity that would really get under the skin of the miserable fucker. Here are a few examples: Is the miserable fucker a racist pig? Make a donation in his/her name to the NAACP. In your face pro-lifer? = Planned Parenthood. Jew-Hater? = Yad Ezra VeShulamit, and so on.
  
  


• Everybody wins when you purchase "Etiquette for Dummies" for the miserable fucker in your life. It not only overtly implies that the miserable fucker is stupid and rude it also leaves open the possibility for rehabilitation. The miserable fucker probably won't get it, but it'll make you feel a whole lot better and like you at least made an effort to end the suffering of yourself and others who are abused and harassed by the miserable fucker.
  
  


• Gorilla Gram! What miserable fucker worth his title doesn't act like even more of an asshole when publicly humiliated with balloons and a sweaty guy singing in a polyester fur jumpsuit? Will the miserable fucker smile and laugh as if he/she is enjoying it, like a big fuckin' phony? Or will the miserable fucker stay true to form and interrupt the performance and pout? Let's find out! All reactions are entertaining.
  
  


• Hummel Figurines - so irritating it may make the miserable fucker's head explode. Who can resist these charming little ceramic boys and girls dressed in dirndls and leather short pants prancing about arm in arm in green pastures and grassy meadows? Just about everyone, that's who.
  
  
  



• Not just any Crocs, but the really bright orange ones.
  

Hope these handy gift giving tips have been useful to you. Of course you could just remove yourself from the miserable fucker's life - quit your job, get divorced, call the cops or move to Guam then you can spend your money on people you actually like.

Best Wishes & Kindest Regards!

The Lady

Nobody In Their Right Mind Would Need This #10 - Things Found In My Own Home Edition Redux

Auto Pet Feeder


On the surface it seems practical doesn't it?

"I'm going away for a couple of days and I don't want my pet to overeat."

You can control the amout that they eat and the interval in which the lid spins.

Handy!

Why not?

Here's why - because batteries DIE.

Yes. We once went away for 4 days and starved our poor cat because the battery in this useless piece of crap died after one day. I haven't found one that plugs into the wall and that's because I'm not looking. We now include the price of boarding into our vacation budgets.

A Big Giant Box Of Tangled Cords & Wires

I'm not allowed to throw this away or put it in the Goodwill pile. MDH swears that this box has saved our lives and careers. I don't believe him.

And while I'm at it - why the hell do we have the orange faux leather suitcase? I didn't eve see that piece of shit until I posted this.

A Cabinet Full of Half Used Beauty Products

MDH is not allowed to throw this away.

I think it's obvious that I have a problem. I blame the media, glossy fashion magazines and the advertising industry for preying on weak minds like mine.

I just want to be pretty.

I just want to smell nice.

I just want to be loved.

It was all on sale!

Stop The Presses! No, Really, Stop.

I don't read USA Today except for when I'm on the road and I only read a small portion you'll find close to the back of section A called "Across the USA, News from every state". It's a half page feature with one paragraph of newsblurb for every state in the country. Neat, tidy and mostly boring, except sometimes as I'm scanning though the states, speed reading about transit strikes or health department code violations, my eye will bump across a blurb like this one from last Friday:

Florida: Jacksonville - A Jacksonville Zoo worker is recovering from surgery after an antelope's horns gashed her leg, officials said. At the time Amanda Brown was trying to get Abe, a 2-year-old, 600-pound East African bongo, into a barn. The horns of East African bongos average about 25 inches long.

I never mean to laugh at other people's injuries and pain, but the words "Gored by a bongo" just kept picking at me me until I just couldn't stand it anymore. It's fuckin' funny in much the same way that "That dingo ate my baby" is. Sorry Amanda.

Then right underneath of it was this:

Georgia: Augusta - A prosecutor said the case against two teenage boys, accused of throwing a metal tent pole at their father's head and fatally injuring him, will go to juvenile court. Authorities had said earlier that the two, ages 15 and 16, could be charged with murder. Now, if found guilty, they could be sent to a youth camp for up to five years.

First of all, yeah I know a guy died. But the words "tent pole" always send me into a fit of the giggles, secondly who doesn't want to throw shit at their dad's head? But seriously - are you kidding me Georgia? You're going to send them to camp??

Lastly:

South Dakota: Rapid City - The Highway Patrol found $99,117 in cash in the gas tank of a car that was stopped by a trooper on Interstate 90. Officials said the money appeared to have been coated in barbecue sauce and chili powder before being sealed and put in the tank. Three people from Washington State were released pending investigation.

It would seem to me that this tid-bit of news is worthy of a full page story and full-blown, balls to the wall investigative journalism. So many questions left unanswered and now I'm really hungry for pulled pork.

Thank you USA Today.

Much Ado About Knucklehead

And he didn't even show up.

Apparently Miami told him to stay away and so he did.

Everyone is a little afraid of Miami.

With that potential drama no longer a worry a mostly good time was had by all at the 100th birthday celebration of MDH's granny, Nanny.

On Nanny's big day it rained like hell and MDH and I had to drive all over Somerville and Cambridge on various errands as commanded by Miami, picking up cakes, cannolis, etc.. At one point MDH listened to a voice mail from Miami and said, "Miami now wants us to go down to the bar and pick up M & M's", and because of the typical naming structure of most of Miami's friends I said, "who the fuck is that?" Turns out he actually meant the candy. Miami had special ordered custom birthday M&M's for Nanny's party and had them delivered to the bar. What a relief.

My main concern was of course, my hair and make-up. Because of the rain and gusty winds I was on the verge of a potential beauty disaster and demanded to be dropped off at the door at every stop like a goddamned diva. I'm usually not this demanding or for that matter demanding at all, but we're talking about an all day event and having my picture taken every 5 seconds.

Once we arrived at the party it was pretty smooth sailing. Miami barked and grunted orders at everyone and we all did as he said. Nanny drank 3 glasses of Merlot, ate 4 stuffed quahogs and a giant piece of cake.

For some reason Miami thought it would be a hoot to give Nanny a g-string as a birthday present, and it kind of was.

MDH and I got her an electric kettle because she continues to boil water on the stove to make her tea although she has nearly burned the building down on numerous occasions, melting 4 tea pots in the process in as many years. She seemed to like it, but the look on her face when she opened the g-string was priceless.

I would like to state for the record: I probably won't need to eat Italian food again for the rest of the year or possibly longer.

Italian Food Items Consumed:

1. Napoli-style pizza with fried eggplant on it (dee-lish!!)


2. Spaghetti with a meatball the size of Detroit


3. Cannoli


4. Eggplant Parm


5. Anchovies drenched in oil on toast points


6. Carbonara


7. Mussels Bianco (sounds like another one of Miami's friends)

Due to a collective brain fart MDH and I spent an extra day in Boston.

We arrived at Boston-Logan Airport yesterday morning all puffed up and proud that we had made such good time. A major feat considering we had stopped by Ma's for coffee on our way and between maneuvering our way out of Cambridge, finding an open gas station and missing our freeway exit, we somehow got to the airport early.

Our pride soon turned to shame as we stood at the airline check-in kiosk with the screen displaying a message that took a few minutes to sink in, "You may not check in more than 24 hours before your scheduled departure time."

What the fuck?

Yes, our flight home was booked for the next day. We had each looked at the itinerary several times and neither one of us picked up on this. We had only booked a hotel thru Sunday.

We decided to make the most of it and not tell anyone in his family that we were still in town and got on the laptop and Hotwire booked a room at the Boston Intercontinental which now stands officially as the swankiest hotel I have ever stayed in.

You can take a water taxi directly from Logan to the Intercontinental for $10 per person and I highly recommend that you do so someday. You'll have the most spectacular view of the city. Even if you've been to Boston a million times like I have it will still take your breath away. We even saw some Harbor Seals hanging around.

We spent our bonus Boston day walking all around the city, from the financial district to the North End. Along the way we noticed lots of trailers and lighting equipment and followed the trail to a film crew staging and filming a scene for Pink Panther 2. Then we kept walking until we found ourselves at the Union Oyster House where we stopped in for some chowder and grilled oysters and had two very large Sam Adam's Octoberfests. Yum.

Later we (MDH) watched the Patriots beat the Colts from the humongous TV in our very glamorous hotel room. Features of our glamorous hotel room:

• Big giant flat screen TV (unfortunately NOT high-def)
  


• Intimacy Kit in the mini-bar (only $12 - our best guess was condom and tube-a-lube)
  


• A doorbell
  


• Electronic "Do Not Disturb"
  


• Reading lights that were all bendy and posable (we kept pretending they were microphones and sang songs in them to each other)
  

Enormous soaking tub with jets

• Enormous shower with real shelf space for products - also must note that steam kept itself in the shower so as not to fog up bathroom mirror
  


• Glam Fainting Couch AKA Chaise lounge
  


• 1 million thread count sheets (but they were Euro style flat sheets that come all undone and end up around your neck the second you start to have any fun at all)
  


• Brookstone alarm clock (not sure why this impressed me so much)

I thought I'd try something new and opened a Flickr account. You can see pictures from our trip here.

In Response To Your Google Search Query #1

Just in case you thought I was done blogging for the day:

Dear Person Who Found My Blog Via The Search Query "how to make big fluffy croissants",

Quel Damage! But mercy buckets for visiting! I presume to take the meaning of your query in a non-sexual way and hope you weren't too disappointed to find this blog has nothing to do with baked goods or pastries and everything to do with my life's boring and often disgusting minutiae. I do have some good news for you, however!

No, I didn't just save a bundle on car insurance, but I actually DO know the secrets of how to make big fluffy croissants.

Here you go:
Don't over knead the dough and make sure that both the butter AND the dough are about the same temperature before you begin rolling. 65°F (23°C) is ideal. Now, if that doesn't work for you, you can try a little trick I learned several years ago in Paris that I like to call "go to the bakery and let a professional worry about such things darling because life is short".

Bon appétit et Bonne Chance!

Toodles!
The Lady

Shameless Cat Exploitation

I'll check back in Monday with a full report of Nanny's 100th birthday party. To keep you entertained until then - here is a video of our cat Turtle eating his kibble. Yes. He is in perfect health and no limbs are broken or damaged, yet he always eats this way.

Watch it over and over - it'll totally freak out MDH when he sees that the number of views has dramatically increased. Seriously. Watch it as many times as you can stand it.

Love Means Never Having To Say "You're Spending The Rest Of Your Life In The Pokey Knucklehead"

Or at least I thought so.

Another Knucklehead Update:

Syracuse also informed MDH last night that Knucklehead is "in love" and still seeing the woman, we'll call her The Crackwhore, he's soon to serve time over. I won't tell you what the charges are, but I will tell you that he was already awaiting trial for allegedly beating a co-worker in the face with a brick when there allegedly occurred some rather serious brouhaha with The Crackwhore. Very serious alleged brouhaha. And they are still together?

I haven't met her and don't even know her name, but I'm on pins and needles wondering if he'll bring her to the birthday party (if he comes). Here is how I picture her:



Except I assume she'll be wearing more than photo-shopped pasties and probably not using a big doobie as an fashion accessory.

We should have a lot in common and get along just great. Maybe we'll head over to Filene's to buy pot holders and doilies, or have afternoon tea at the Omni.

Can you picture me in my cashmere and tweed making small talk at this party? Does anybody else find this as ridiculous and hilarious as I do? No one in the family thinks it's very funny.