Just So There's No Further Confusion

If I am married to you and you hear me holler to you from another room, "Honey, will you come help me?", you can go ahead and assume there is a silent "now"* at the end of that sentence. In bold with an underline. In fact for future reference if you don't hear the phrase "when you get a chance" in front of that sentence please imagine the worst.

In other words, put down the bong and pause the the History Channel special on Hitler's Secret Pants that you have already seen eleventy billion times (it's why we have a DVR, pause is a great feature). Get your ass off the sofa and come help me this very instant.

Assume that I am bleeding to death or that the cat is on fire and get your ass over here. Pronto.

I know you heard me. So don't try to pretend like you didn't.

Anyhoo... I can only hope that you are not disappointed when you arrive to find that I am not actually bleeding to death or that the cat's not on fire and will do me a solid by helping me with whatever thing it is I needed helping with and not ask me too many questions. I will say thank you, probably give you a little kiss if you don't give me any sass and I am way more likely to reward you in another more delightful manner, at some future time to be determined at my discretion, if you were to ask me if I perhaps needed your help with anything else before you take off back to the den. I promise, at some future time to be determined at my discretion, there will be extra credit for a good attitude and can-do spirit.

If you have failed to respond quickly enough to the hollered sentence "Honey will you come help me?" and it is followed 30 to 45 seconds later by a much louder HONEY?? in the all caps oral equivalent of shouting, then you may assume to exchange the word HONEY?? with HEY ASSHOLE!

For further clarification if I ask you do to something prefaced with the phrase "When you have the chance" you may translate that to "Sometime within the next 30 minutes" and "Sometime this week" means "Tomorrow".

*I cannot explain, but for whatever reason avoiding use of the word "now" makes me feel like less of a harpie. I'm not saying it's rational.

I Love the 70's

Lately I've been enjoying a blog called Plaid Stallions and have decided not to keep it to myself any longer. Perhaps some of you have already visited.

If you grew up in the 70's and lived your life around the seasonal arrival of the JC Penny catalog you will probably love this blog as much as I do. I'm more of a lurker over there but I read every post. Mostly it's all about the toys, games and action figures, but frequently it's all about the stylin' 70's clothes and the posts about the clothes are my favorites. The commentary about the clothing ads almost always make me laugh out loud.

Here's a link to the blog itself:

http://plaidstallions.blogspot.com/

Here's a link to the posts tagged "fashion mockery":

http://plaidstallions.blogspot.com/search/label/fashion%20mockery

Dear Fashion, Nobody Needs This

Dear MaxMara,
I'm writing to let you know, just in case you drank too many Papaya-tinis or swallowed too much Extasy at the photo shoot and weren't aware, that the model in your advertisement is wearing her leotard underpinning backwards. Also I feel it's important you understand that high waisted, tight fitting pants in a large cammo-floral-ish pattern look hideous on, oh I don't know, just about everyone. The other components of this outfit seem all right, except for maybe the leather bolo thing. Fuck it. Other than the sweater it all sucks donkey balls and if all you've got to offer us is a brown cardigan you should probably know that we can get one of those at Kohl's.
Sincerely,
Women Everywhere


Dear Topshop,
Finally! Now I know exactly where to go to buy the over sized faded t-shirts and cut off Daisy Duke jean shorts that pooch out in the crotch and make me look like I have a big giant cock. I mean where else on earth could I find that? I mean besides Goodwill... Anyhoo... now I know exactly what to wear when I give $5 blow jobs on the subway platform. Please, please tell me that they are also hand sewn and caked with the dried blood of Sri-Lankan pre-schoolers. I just love cheap hooker clothes that are made with child labor.
Crackwhorishly Yours,
Lady

Dear Calvin Klein,
Send help quickly! The model in your ad has fallen into some kind of nightmarish tree nest and her arms are too skinny for her to pull herself out on her own power. Please help her, she's trapped! Send her a cigarette and a turkey sandwich, stat. Hurry! She's starting to look really depressed.
Kindest Regards,
The Lady Who Actually Eats Lunch

The News Roundup: Much Ado About Pillows

Today I give you yet another set of numbered points filled with verbal wanderings and highlighted with photos of food and some new stuff I recently purchased, oh, and this cartoon:
1. I found the cartoon at Married To the Sea and it's almost eerily fitting for what I'm about to tell you, which is this: I finally heard back from the recruiter that has been helping me try to get a job with the company that was hedging on whether or not I was going to get a second interview (remember that? it was a couple of posts ago) and it made me angry. It made me very angry. It was not good.

Apparently the reason why they are not sure that I am the right candidate is because I mentioned during the interview that MDH and I love to travel. Apparently whatever I said about our love for travel gave them the impression that I would be off gallivanting all over planet earth so frequently that I wouldn't be able to put in enough hours working for them. Um...what? THEY ARE OUT OF THEIR GODDAMN MINDS.

Frankly I don't even really remember talking about traveling much at all, except to say that I like it, when asked the question that people in interviews so often ask, "what do you like to do in your spare time?" I pretty much always answer by saying that I like to read, cook and travel in lieu of the smarty pants answers that I'm tempted to give like, beat up nuns, masturbate and cry while watching QVC and making crafts from discarded dryer lint. I certainly do not remember acting like some kind of jet-setting prima donna, as though I would demand more vacation time than what would be offered with the position.

So in addition to being angry about the whole thing, I'm terribly confused. The recruiter was angry and confused and thought they were out of their goddamn minds as well. What-evs. As far as I'm concerned these people can suck my cock. I say good day. Next issue.

2. Wednesday night my lovely friend Ladette came by for another cooking lesson. This time I showed her how to make baked mac & cheese with bacon, pan seared pork chops rubbed with brown sugar and smoked paprika (and some other spices), and then we blanched and sauteed some fresh green beans. I made her do most of the work and she did a great job...

Speaking of masturbating and crying while watching QVC, after dinner I forced her to stay and watch TV with me. She sat through Millionaire Matchmaker and 2 episodes of The Mighty Boosh before I allowed her to leave. She even pretended to laugh a little which means she's not only a good student, she's a good sport.

3. Around September it dawned on me that the already shabby and stained toss pillows in the den were beginning to disintegrate and smell a little ripe. Those pillows get a great deal of abuse from us because we use them not only for decoration and back support, but since the den often performs double duty as a dining room, we also end up using the pillows as TV trays and placemats. Even if I didn't mention the drool, spilt beer and various other cat and human related fluids they have accidentally soaked up over the years you should be getting the picture - these pillows were exhausted.

After all this time I couldn't bring myself to spend the money on new toss pillows because I'm not working right now and the expense seemed rather decadent. Yet I couldn't stop obsessing about replacing them. It was a silent obsession because it's certainly not the sort of purchase that I can plan out and discuss in great detail with MDH. He has made it clear, typically via rolled eyes and grunting, that he is not interested whenever I attempt to bring up all things decorative. Especially when money is tight. If it were up to him we would not have new toss pillows (or anything nice) and in fact I might even venture to guess that I could have replaced the toss pillows with old horse blankets stuffed with dirty kleenex and cream cheese and he probably wouldn't notice the difference.

Anyhoo... I shopped and shopped but stopped short of actually buying anything because good toss pillows, or at least the ones I'm always drawn to, tend to be ridiculously expensive. I could never justify spending the money and I could not find a way to compromise my toss pillow ideals, namely: There must be 4 in total, they must be of a certain size (large enough to use as a TV tray or placemat), they must somehow be washable, and they must all be in a matching color or pattern that have (to me) a certain je ne sais quoi.

I knew that I'd know it when I saw it and late last month I saw "it" at CB2, or more specifically the CB2 catalog (because do you think there is a store like CB2 anywhere near the Tundra? No.). They arrived a few weeks ago and they are nice. I mean all cotton with a down pillow insert and removable washable cover nice. For $14.95 each.
My nook...

The loveseat...


I want to decorate the rest of the house in this color scheme. I don't think that MDH will notice. (Please pardon our hideous paneling).

4. This afternoon I really wanted to get out of the house so I racked my brain and rifled through the utility closet and pantry trying to think of something we needed to buy so I'd have an excuse to go shopping. All I could come up with was paper towels so I went to Target to get some. On the way home I decided to troll around in TJ Maxx for awhile where I found these big sterling hoop earrings:

You try holding your hair back, turning your head sideways and taking a picture of yourself without looking like a total weirdo. Not so easy is it? Anyway... blogworld, meet my mole.

5. How could I forget? My poor little kitten (read 16 pound behemoth grown cat) has been sick. He is sneezing, has a runny nose, inflamed tonsils and a general malaise that is very out of character. The vet gave us some anti-biotic and some goo to help him digest hairballs and he seems to be feeling better, but a rather comical side effect of this illness is that he also seems to have laryngitis, so when he's not busy sneezing and going gack, gack, gack all over the place he does this weird thing that MDH have started calling the silent meow. It's really pathetic.

Thanks for putting us at the table closest to the bar

Jogger's wedding reception on Saturday night was a big old hoot and featured a photo booth... with some props. Oh, and Raspberry Stoli... which I drank in abundance with soda and a cherry and kept 'em coming. Here is the highlight reel:

The lovely Ladette and me... In retrospect I can't believe she put those sunglasses in her mouth dude. Hindsight is always more disgusting.

MDH sporting a teeny-tiny purple pimp hat and busting out what I can only assume are Portuguese gang symbols.

I hope you all had as good of a weekend as we did, although I'm kinda still recovering.

Drinking Game

Last night after dinner MDH and I created a new drinking game while watching back episodes of House Hunters that have been piling up on our DVR. The game is called Man Cave. The rules, as with any drinking game, are simple:

• Watch any given episode of House Hunters* and chug a shot every time a guy uses the phrase "Man Cave".


• Chug two shots if a female says it because for some reason it sounds twice as stupid to hear the phrase come from the mouth of a woman.


• Players will draw for different finishes and features, ie., "granite counter tops", "stainless steel appliances", "crown molding", "tray ceiling", etc., and must drink each time their own special finish or feature is mentioned.

We didn't actually play the game because between the two of us we have too much common sense and probably not enough liquor in the house anyway.

(I'm looking forward to spring and summer when it's not unusual for MDH and I to spend the entire evening without turning on the TV.)

*Or for that matter any given half hour time slot on HGTV's prime time line up. Property Virgins, Bang for Your Buck, etc.,.

WARNING: Playing this game with the DIY show that is actually called "Man Caves" could lead to alcohol poisoning and possibly death. Play at your own risk.

Same Time Last Year

This afternoon as I was pulling on an extra sweater I realized that exactly one year ago today MDH and I were sitting on Poipu Beach in Kauai, sucking down fruity cocktails and looking out at the Pacific Ocean trying to spot humpback whales, or hump spotback whales, I don't know, we were pretty tanked. Since I'm having such a hard time writing lately, here are some pictures.

The view from my lounge chair.

MDH busted (from our balcony with the handy zoom lens) taking a break from grilling our dinner.

A monk seal stopped by for a nap as well. (Don't worry she's not dead, just sleeping.)

Above the taro fields - we'll go back someday...
Damn, it's cold here today.

My heart won't let my feet do things they should do...

Wouldn't it have been great to start off my first blog post after three weeks of zip-o with a grand and exuberant announcement that I have finally after quite a few months (I'm not ready to use the word "several" just yet) landed myself gainful, full-time, permanent employment?

Wouldn't that have been great?

It would have been great, but I'm sad to inform you that I'm still bumming around the house trying not to eat everything in sight while I watch too much reality TV.

Some days are better than others, like the days when a new episode of Project Runway is on, the days when there are actually job postings that I'm interested in and qualified for, or that time that Lady Gaga made a guest appearance on Launch My Line. Good times.

Today's a very good day because not only did I find the first disk of season 3 of The Mighty Boosh from Netflix and this week's New York magazine in the mailbox, I also found the big box of tangerines that my mom and dad shipped to me from the orchards down the road from their house in Florida sitting out there too.

Anyhoo... my job searching hasn't been all terrible. I hit a hot streak a few weeks ago and had two interviews with two very different companies in the same week. Both were for decent jobs that I'm actually qualified to do. I got a little nutty that week fantasizing about how I could wow them both and start a bidding war for my amazingness but the first company gave me a rejection email within a couple of days.

I gotta say that at the same time I was a wee bit sad that I didn't get the job I was also kind of happy that they let me know so quickly. I was almost compelled to write and thank them for getting that shit over with. I think waiting around is the worst part and they ripped off the band-aid so fast, ka-pow!, and made my life much more bearable.

The other company I interviewed with later that same week - not so much. Still waiting. And it's not like I didn't hear anything from them in the mean time. I got glowing feedback after the first interview, glowing, and I interviewed with 4 different people mind you. Then the following week they had me fill out all different kinds of forms and personality assessments and then after that they contacted my recruiter to ask if I was available to set up a second interview. That was almost 2 flippin' weeks ago and at this point I'm near my boiling point. I can only assume that the kind of people who play these cruel waiting games have never themselves been unemployed or they wouldn't fucking do it.

It's not like I mind if the process takes a long time. I get it. I absolutely understand that these kinds of important hiring decisions should not be made in haste, but for the sweet love of Ray J at least let a bitch know when she can expect to hear back.

In the meantime I have Project Runway, Let's Talk About Pep, and the new season of Millionaire Matchmaker to keep me busy and I just signed up to teach English as a second language at my local literacy center, although it'll take awhile before I get to do actually do anything because they have to do interviews and background checks and I have to go through some training courses that don't happen until late April. Stupid interviews. I thought it was odd that they have the volunteer tutors go through such hoops but when an over protective husband who attended orientation with this wife asked if the tu-tees were background checked the literacy center lady hemmed and hawed and finally said she didn't know. Interesting.

Also interesting, while describing the types of people who come to the literacy center for help, she also quickly, and I almost want to say under her breath, mumbled some things that sounded remarkably like "work release" and "parole".

The over protective husband also asked whether or not his wife's time spent volunteering would be tax deductable and whether or not she would be reimbursed for mileage. What a jackass, although I'm glad MDH didn't come with me because those are exactly the kinds of jackass questions he asked me when I told him I wanted to do this. My answer to those questions: I don't give a shit - I'm doing it anyway.

In other news, after 3 failed attempts I finally found a pair of boots that work for me (insert chorus of angels singing Ode to Joy here). The only sort of flaw is that they are not real leather, but leather was merely a nice to have, otherwise they meet all my fucked up leg criteria:


1. Must have a full side zip as I cannot bend my right ankle to accommodate a pull-on style of boot.


2. Must have pointed toe. I can't abide a round or square toe. With my giant frame? It makes my foot look like a hoof.


3. Must have an extra wide shaft. Yeah baby, you heard me right, I said extra wide shaft. (Seriously, all sexual innuendo aside, I've got big calves.)


4. Must be flat or have extremely low heel. Fused ankle. What can I do? My foot is stuck in that position. Any higher than an inch and I can't walk.

So I found a pair that work. Halle-friggin-lujah. Attention People Who Know Me - be prepared to be sick of seeing them.

Something weird just happened. My fingers went all nutty while I was typing and now the font of this post looks janky. I can't figure out how to fix it either. Dang.

So where was I? Boots. Yep. I got boots. What else? Oh hell yes - MDH and I are getting an enormous income tax return this year and are going to buy a new bed. King size.

Our first big purchase as a couple 10 years ago was our queen size bed that we currently use. I use the word "we" loosely as most nights I start off in in that bed, but typically I end up running away to the guest room after having been driven off by some combination of MDH's ungodly snoring and my chronic back pain (because the bed now folds up like a taco when are both in it). I think it goes without saying that it's time for a new bed.

That's it for now except that I'd like to say a hearty congrats and sad farewell to my young friend Jogger who is getting married this Saturday and then moving away to Texas. Good luck kid. Stay in touch or I will hunt you down.

Here's the song I've been singing around the house today, hence the title of my post ...