Archive for February, 2010


Stop Sending Me Crap!

It’s true. I’m cursed with great credit. I was an “old woman” at 17, lived my life uber-responsibly, (anybody know how to have blogspot give me an umlaut?) and had to live out my teenage rebellion in my early 40s; but the effects of that gross strategic error are felt every day when I open my mail. I must be one of the 7 people in the country that the credit card companies still feel are worthy of their harassment. Yes, I have the same Master Card I’ve had since 1991. Yes, I usually pay my bill in full every month. [Yes, my former husband’s name is still on the account with mine because, despite the fact that the card is in MY name, I can’t just take him off, I have to close the account, lose all of the accumulated airline miles, and open a new one. As if.]


I keep getting these little packets of checks I can use to help stimulate the economy and try to assuage that persistent feeling that I’m not really happy, but I would be if I just had those boots or that coat or this glorified iPod named after a sanitary napkin. (okay, maybe the boots would help) LOW MONTHLY INTEREST! NO PAYMENT FOR 6 MONTHS! NO EFFECT ON YOUR AVAILABLE CREDIT BALANCE! NO! I don’t want these checks, they keep sending me these checks, and I can’t just throw these checks in the garbage for the underpaid, under-appreciated garbage collection workers to fish out of my dumpster from amidst the old chicken bones, shrimp skins and bags of used cat litter and use to buy groceries. As if I don’t have enough papers to deal with with 2 school-age children in the house and a college teaching job, I have to open each and every one of these envelopes, and extract the checks from the handy little “Convenience” pad they come bound in and shred them. (I have a whimpy shredder; what can I say, I’m cheap; and there are those boots I’m saving up for . . .)

Maybe I should just send them back from whence they came. If they used them, would THEY owe ME interest? Hmmm. . .


Let’s Ban Pairs Skating

Really. As said by that Canadian rock group and purveyors of modern wisdom Barenaked Ladies, it’s all been done before. He throws her (how hard can it be? she only weighs 60 lbs), they jump and spin a few times and take turns falling, and then there’s the death spiral; first this way, then that way. As far as I can see, the result of what must have been desperate casting about for new choreography has resulted in a series of “show-the-crowd-your-crotch” poses and an exploration of the various and universally awkward ways one can skate on one foot while holding on to the other. It’s not pretty. Don’t do it.


Chicken Olympics

Watching the Olympics. I’ve always loved the Olympics — the triumph of the human spirit combined with really difficult things done really well; what’s not to like? Okay, I’m not terribly fond of the overwrought, manipulative sentimental stories (there actually seem to be a lot fewer of them this time thank GOD!), but that doesn’t mean that I don’t tear up on cue and make vows to become more athletic maybe starting sometime next week.

Anyway, these skiers are amazing. Flying down this ice-hard vertical slope at what, 65, 70, 75 miles an hour on 4″-wide sticks of wood? I imagine myself flying over that first jump, shrieking in abject terror, throwing myself to the ground and curling up in the fetal position, where I lie, whimpering, until some kind souls on a snowmobile come with a sled to rescue me.

Also, despite rumors to the contrary, I seriously doubt that Olympians eat Chicken McNuggets. Of course, I don’t have any official verification of this theory, we’ll just call it a gut feeling. Not related to the feeling in my gut when I eat Chicken McNuggets.


(10) of the World’s Best Inventions

Okay, please add to the list as you see fit; by no means do I consider this to be definitive. I’m also going to try not to let it be just about food:

1. French press coffee. 1b. espresso

2. Asian take-out. Subcategories: shrimp sambal, hot-and-sour soup, crab rangoon, and the little divided plastic trays it comes in.

3. Feather pillows (one firm, one squishy).

4. Hot showers/baths. It’s a no-brainer — you’re clean, you’re awake, you’ve either warmed up (winter) or cooled down (summer). Throw in someone to wash your back, a little Clinique Happy shower gel and some gentle exfoliating cleanser and you’re practically in heaven.

5. Yoga. Ommmmmm. . . .

6. Mineral water. It’s fizzy, it’s tangy, it has 0 calories.

which has to lead me to

7. Wine. Any varietal except asti spumante and any but the best rosé’s.

8. Chocolate. Dark.

Hmmmm, mostly about food.

9. Sex?

10. SLEEP!!!

Okay — What does it say about me that sex was a question and sleep was in capitals?

Actually, it’s because I was realizing that sex would probably be considered more a discovery than an invention, and because I never get enough . . . sleep.


Care, Dammit!

I don’t know why herds of wasted youths, much like I consider myself to be, continue to congregate around plastic digital-cable systems instead of with one another, organically. Like many of the people with whom I interact on a day-to-day basis, I’m growing apathetic about my apathy. We don’t care that we don’t care. . .But if we continue along the path we’re collectively treading, our children are going to care even less than we do, and our leaders will be even better at bending the rules.

We’re very comfortable. We owe the world an interest in ourselves. We’re the superpower. But if we continue to hardly bat an eye when our leaders lie and cheat us, we could very easily just be an ordinary country, like, I don’t know, France.

Just imagine. France.

Apathetic youth hinder global change

I want these shoes.

And a budget that would allow me to purchase them.
And a back that would allow me to wear them.
Oh, and while I’m at it, a really kick-ass outfit to go with them.
That’s all.


Au Naturel?

I consider, on occasion, to stop futzing with myself. No makeup; scrunch the hair and let it dry. The Real Me. Let’s see if the world can take it.

I mean, what message am I sending my daughter every day as I cover uneven skin tone, accentuate non-existent cheek bones, and lengthen my puny eyelashes?

Isn’t it possible that efforts such as this are contributing to global warming?

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