blaugra

summer's guilty pleasures

I'm not talking about catching fireflies, while you're by yourself, and are of age 30-something.   Or walking barefoot through the cool evening grass (which is indeed very pleasurable).

I'm talkin' 'bout stuff that's so bad you just want someone to smack you and help you stop indulging.

Here we go -  I'm putting myself out there now, go ahead and slam me:

• Justin Timberlake, bringing sexy back.
• Fresh salsa - by the bucketful.  Mango salsa*, tomatillo salsa, salsa fresca, salsa cruda - it's all that and a bag of chips.  The guilty part of this is the bag of chips.  I have no business eating a bag of chips, even if they are organic.  And they're not a healthy dinner - although with the addition of yogurt, all food groups are represented.
• Summer siestas.  They're the BEST.  Of course the bad part is when they turn into a 3-hour drooling snore-fest, and when you use them as an excuse to avoid cleaning a very dirty house.
• Hot fudge sundaes from The Cup, with the real ice cream, real whipped cream, chocolate salty --- warm fudge, and the red dye #5 cherry. 
• Watching Kathy Griffin on The D-List. 
• Playing geeky word games online until 1:30 am.
• Eating marshmallows right out of the bag.  For breakfast.
• Rediscovering 38 Special's "Rockin' into the Night".

Oh the humiliation!

* recipe for Mango Salsa:

1 ripe mango, peeled and chopped + 1 little hot green pepper de-seeded and chopped + 1/4 chopped sundried tomatoes + 2 scallions, chopped + lime juice squirt + kosher salt + handful chopped cilantro.    Throw in a food processor.  Deeeelish.

cool shit

I've been in a frenzy with my altruistic tendencies lately and I think I not only need to chill for my own psyche but you're probably not into reading about my heart bleeding all over the place -- time for some fun.  Unfortunately my life has been a bit boring this week aside from all that heavy charitable stuff.     So....

• Dark chocolate-covered pretzels from Josh Early Candies - I think they even use Unique splits.  Holy crap they're good and fresh.  Huge box of 'em at work.  I outgrew my jeans in just 8 hours.
• Cork-wedge-heeled shoes at Payless.  I bought five pairs last week - ooooy!  5!   OK, only two of them were cork heeled sandals.  This is one of them - I love the curve of the heel.  They're a little like something a 14 year old should wear with a white miniskirt but, I have those Flintstone paddle feet so I have to get wide shoes, which these are.  They look cute with jeans (even the ones I outgrew...)   Also got a pair of orange ones with a pleather twisted thing over the toe.  Hey - it was BOGO time, so no drain on the budget.
• How much am I in love with everything Neutrogena these days?  So much.  I'd not been putting any stuff on my eyes, and realized that I was lookin' a bit worn down, so...  got this eye stuff that makes me feel awake.  Now I look like Meredith Grey - when she's hungover and pulling a 24-hour shift without her damn juju.
• RC Cola is better than Coke and Pepsi.  Me and my RC.
• Are the Arctic Monkeys really all that awesome?
• I used to mail my credit card payments late.  I kept getting hit with late fees.  Finally I decided to get my act together.  I wrote a letter to my credit card company, asked them to forgive the latest late fees -- which they did!  Apparently they are "permitted" to forgive two late fees per year.  So if you've been hit, just write a damn nice but assertive letter to get credited.  And slowly, I've gotten my spending and saving back on track so that I have enough in my checking account to pay the damn bill on time.  Took a couple of months of cutting expenses to get it in line.  How sad that this is the highlight of my week?   OH, and don't even try to talk me into paying by EFT.  Forget that shit.

How sad is it that I'm sitting here when it's feckin' beautiful outside?!   I'm outtie.

rockin' the pouf

When I've fallen out of sync with my surface maintenance schedule, it's time to rock the pouf. Illustrated as such:

Bangs grown out?  Roots showing?   Split ends attack?  Easy.  Rock the pouf.  Let hair go naturally frizzy and upkempt.  Use mousse you find in the back of your bathroom closet to help achieve desired big hair.  Then, tuck the bangs back with three bobby pins haphazardly inserted behind pouf.   Lopsided pouf is OK - it says "carefree, but, I care just enough to spare you from seeing my roots."  And it can look like you're being deliberately campy instead of hopelessly outdated and behind in your hair schedule.

This pouf must not be confused with the perfect beauty pageant pouf: 

"Usually, 'pageant hair' has a poof at the top sort of like a Jackie Kennedy bouffant. Teasing and hair spray can accomplish this. You need to first tease the hair, preferably hair that has just been curled to add volume. Then start spraying a little and smoothing out the 'pouf; into the direction you want the hair to go. Continue spraying until you have achieved the desired look." 

I've tried to do the teasing and the spritzing and the dozen hidden pins for parties - but with lackluster results that looked neither runway nor classy.  Mine were more like trailer park dippity doo poufs.  So now I'm sticking with my 1989 pouf, minus the scrunchie.

Bleaker Street

I don't know, things always seem like they should be better than they are, and then you realize you shouldn't be bitching about your sweet American life at all.  I can't imagine a bleaker day to return to the 9-to-5 world.  It's just depressing.  Yeah, I'm bitching and shouldn't be.  I guess life can't be all eclairs and vodka. 

  Recent signs of brightness!

BLAUGRA gets techy:  I got this thing called an Olympus m:robe for Chhhhhanukah.  It's like a slightly oversized iPod Photo and holds 5,000 songs and a bunch of pics and it's a camera and you can make music videos which is super fun, and I think it also pops popcorn.  Anyway, it's cool but unlike iPods you have to hunt for compatible accessories so it's like an adventure.  Also unlike iPods, the m:robe is being discontinued by Olympus.  If you happen to know what I'm talking about and have any advice about "maximizing the experience" please write.  I found a hacker's fansite which has been kinda helpful.  I am getting closer to the 21st century. 

Mom & Dad get hip: Mom gave me the new Fiona Apple for Christmas, and it's surprisingly good.  I especially dig the tune Extraordinary Machine, it's sort of Bjorky but not annoying.   And Dad gave me a 90-minute hot stone massage.  HEY-OOOOOH!  Definitely makes the week less bleak.

Salty D. and I go on a date:  On Christmas Eve, after dinner with the family, we hit a bar for strong drinks and then saw Walk the Line.   We harmoniously agreed that the movie was really really good and Johnny Cash's story and music fascinating and it was the perfect way to spend oh holy night.  We disagreed on whether or not Joaquin Phoenix is totally hot.  (of course he is.)

Having a good time on New Year's Eve without driving drunk:  We traveled back to the land of blacktop and high-tension power lines to "ring in" 2006 with our new jersey new year's klatch, which involves much food, champagne, lemon drops, flashing, a few illegal activities, and 4:00 am passout time.  Pictures to come.  Not. OK, maybe.   The recovery phase was about 36 hours, which is kind of sad.   What was my alternative to these shenanigans?  Well, at the last minute a former friend came out of the woodwork to invite me to a lesbian hot tub party.  She said, "come for good times and good food and good drink - but you'd have to bring your own drink, and a covered dish"  so really she could only promise me good times, and truth be told, a hot tub party with this chick doesn't really fulfill that promise.   

New idiotic TV to obsess over:  Roller Girls!  (go Putas del Fuego!)  Dancing with the Stars! (Go Tia!  Go Jessica-Simpson's-former-brother-in-law!)  Celebrity Fit Club! (Go Kenickie! Yeah.  THAT'S why the pic is there) American Idol! (whatever!) 

Happy days.

in which Salty D. gets hit on at the republican club

Around here there seem to be a ton of "associations" (a.k.a. private drinking clubs).  Some of them have the name "democratic" or "republican" or "athletic" in their names but there is nothing political or athletic about any of these associations.  You pay $10 a year to be a member (some clubs are more exclusive than others so you might be wait-listed) and you get a key to the front door.   This key unlocks the fascinating world of 75-cent draft beers, half-pound hamburgers for $2, and all the free entertainment your brain can can absorb.  People can smoke here, play bingo, poker, and bad music on the jukebox.  For some it's their windowless, wood-paneled, smoky, loud second home.

Last nite we met some friends at "the republican club".   (Where I bought 3 bottles of beer, two sodas and left a tip for less than five dollars - jealous?)   After the "dinner hour" our friends left and we stayed to continue our buzz while the "after-dinner crowd" of mostly 20-something boys with their phones attached to their ears parade into the place to play pool and 50Cent or Sublime on the jukebox.

D. is not salty, as he is enjoying his cigar and I'm off playing pinball.  The club is fully decked out with lots of lightstrings on every available space, paper puffy decorations hanging from the ceiling, and fake snow sprayed on the big mirror behind the bar.  When I run out of quarters, I return to our table, and D. is talking to one of these young men.  I sat down, and the boy wraps up their conversation, looks at me and says hey, and leaves.   Along with his sporty fashion and bad doo-rag, I notice his very sculpted, waxed brows.  Ah, the young metrosexuals.   At the republican club?

D. said the conversation went something like this:

Boy (with his posse, looks over at D. sitting alone, leaves posse and sits down):   Hey, what's up?!  How's Christmas going for you?

D:  Alright. And you?

Boy:  Ah, I'm feeling really philosophical, you know?  {blah blah blabiddy blah} I'm studying psychology in college.

D:  Oh yeah?  I did that.

Boy:  So what do you do now?

D:  I work in the transportation field.

Boy:  Oh, can I have your card, because I may need to transport something....

Then I came back to the table and the boy was putting the card in his pocket - looked at me with that oddly sculpted brow and rejoined his clatch of buddies.

D. just kept puffing on his stogie.  I was, like, "Yo, that kid was totally hitting on you."     D. was like, "yeah that's funny."  like totally blase about the whole thing.   I said, "no, really, I think he was disappointed that I'm here.  I think he liked you!" (like we're in the high school cafeteria or something).  D. shrugged and said, "what's not to like?"   I put my head (spinning from Rolling Rock) in my hands and thought about not only the gaying shift in American culture but also in my husband's very welcome, recently found tolerance - what is happening to the republican club??!

maybe, without our receiving a memo or anything, "republican" now means "gays welcome".

yeah.   take that, washington.

'sno fun

We got a buttload of snow today.  Nice snow, all light and fluffy - fell through the night and then we woke up to  7 inches.   (I could make an off-colour comment here but my parents read this)

I just wanted to sleep in and nest like I used to do as a..... college student. 

Then I was startled by the sound of chains and bad engine noises - and of course, it was Salty D. outside in his car, frozen diagonally across an unplowed four-way intersection, with some guy in a 4x4 dislodging his bumper trying getting him out of the road.  Hmm.  Situation not so good.  I am in jammies.  D. is in a jam.   

Me:   (yelling out front door)  Whatcha doing?  (dumb question)

Him:  (really yelling loudly, so three neighbors who are nosy senior citizens clearly hear, which of course gives them more to complain about with those young people)  I'M STUCK IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKIN' ROAD!! WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE? THIS CAR SUCKS!!!  GET OUT HERE!

Me: Oh - OK!

So much for staying in my flannels and making a big breakfast and hanging out until the plow comes.  Snow is no fun anymore.

I like to think of a winter storm as nature's way of saying SLOW DOWN AND CHILL THE FUCK OUT and if you're not going to listen to your body's signals I will provide a way to keep you still.   In this time of technological advances where we can work at home, you'd think that it would be easy to "stay put" while staying connected and productive.   But if you have a job where you have to be there to get product out and make money, then chilling out in front of a roaring fire on a snow day is something you don't allow yourself to do. Just like taking a siesta from 3:00-3:30 every day is not something you allow yourself to do because it's during "business hours."   Yet all of this would be so perfect for our brains and bodies.

When's the last time you made a snow angel?   Took a walk in the snow?   Without your iPod?  (OK those of you who live in the sun belt, no fair answering any of this or trying to make northeasterners jealous)  Went sledding on a cafeteria tray?    Built a snow-fort and then sat inside until the sun went down?  (OK if you've done this and you're over 18, you may want to seek professional help.  Unless you live in one of the Dakotas or someplace where ice fishing is a daily activity.)

Snowstorms are beautiful and fun and are one of nature's phenomena that in and of themelves don't harm us if we have shelter.  Unlike a tsunami or an earthquake.  Snowstorms are only really dangerous if we confront nature by driving through them or ignoring them.

It's not even Chrismukkah yet and I just want to hibernate and take nature's advice.

Klassy with a K

I'm rollin' with my homies this weekend, eating pies and kibbitzing in Connecticut.   This is what I've learned so far:

• do not feed a child of 7 months an entire pear.  apparently, any fruit that begins with the letter P produces major poo.   
• blogging is a good excuse to get out of doing anything you don't want to do.
• i love to burp
• how to make your grocery store personnel feel inadequate by asking for items like jicama, kumquats and parsnips.
• a 3-pound log of Jimmy Dean breakfast sausage....   enough said.
• kinkajous are kinda kute.
• you HAVE to get your locs these flashcards for their stockings  make sure you are wearing a diaper though. because they're wicked pissah.
• i really think i need an aluminum xmas tree with a retro color wheel for chrismukkah this year.

trick or treat!

the princess and the pee >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

the gypsy and the tramp....       

witchypoo and what's with that giant shirt?? - that's what must have started the giant men's shirt fashion craze in the early 80's

nice gourds!

Ooooooh  this one's the BEST! 

Antmusic for antpeople!

"I want candy!"   

enjoy!

tequila, tears, and divas part 2

Whoops.  I don't think I was supposed to tell the world about the smoking of the nasty cigarettes.  Uh-oh.  Now I'm in trouble. 

See what happens when I hang out with Mr. Cuervo?   

Does it help if I explain that the junk food and "booze" were just part of the bi-monthly ritual?   You know, discussing issues of cancer and raising kids and natural disasters and the female self-image?   It's not like we were just sitting around just comparing manicures and footwear, choking down poppers and smoke.  I mean, there was a little of that, because it's not like the divas to wallow in misery.  I have to stop, I'm just digging a bigger hole for myself now.  See, they wanted to be mentioned on the blog, and now I've done it and screwed everything up!

So anyway, this movie was really really really good.  I cried at 5 different parts but laughed dozens of times more. A definite chick flick but men may enjoy Cameron Diaz's underrated performance. And Mark Feuerstein - delicious.   (I know, I know Beth!, now it's your turn to remark about how I always tend to crush on those nice jewish boys, what with their semetic good looks, and brains to boot!)  If you don't know who he is, look him up you will find this random fact which may explain to you why I like him:  "Mark is often photographed either shirtless or wearing a bow-tie."

Shoes and Tequila

I decided this weekend to embrace the weekend football frenzy as an opportunity to spend time being girly. 

It's not that I dislike football or football-watching-culture - I just don't get it.  Why is this game so fascinating?  So while my husband sits blinklessly in front of the telly, loudly berating coaches and players, it's just a chance for me to go play with the girls.   

30 minutes ago, my mother called and this is the EXACT conversation:

Mom:  Oh! You're there.

Me:  Yes. I'm here.

Mom:  Whatcha doing?

Me:  Nothing really.  I should be cleaning but I'm not.

Mom:  Oh.  Well, I was thinking of going to see a movie but it sounds like you should do what you need to do.

Me:  What movie?

Mom:  History of Violence.  But sounds like I'll just go...by myself.

Me:  Is that a comedy?

Mom:  I don't think you should go anyway because you should really clean your house.

Me:  No - um, maybe I'll go.  I can always clean later.  (yeah like that will happen)

Mom:  Yeah, right.   That's what you always say.   Just forget it, you should stay home and get your work done.    *pause*   I was also thinking about seeing In Her Shoes.

Me: (immediately) OK yeah, pick me up I'll be ready as soon as I finish blogging.    [click]

I really like Toni Collette, OK? Ever since Muriel's Wedding.

Last nite I hung out with my Divas.  We call ourselves the Divas because I suppose 10 years ago we needed a name for us and that's what it was.   They're the most un-divalike girls though (and I mean that in the best way - no unreasonable demands in a stage rider or anything).  We spend our time together building each other up and telling one another how fabulous and smart we are (seriously, we take turns being the center of attention)   3 of the 4 Divas convened last nite at Stahley's Cellarette which also is the complete OPPOSITE of a "diva destination" AND a "cellarette" because it it above ground.    But made to look like a cellar with no windows and yellow light bulbs everywhere.   No martinis, no goat cheese quesadillas --  Clams, 3.95/dozen, pitchers of beer....dirt cheap.    The beer was good but we needed more so Beth (the diva who just had a second baby girl) proclaimed:

"We're getting shots of tequila!"  The waitress was completely unfazed by our sudden turn from civilized steamers and pitchers of dark beer.   "and a basket of nachos!"  "and cigarettes!"  we all started making "demands". 

Cigarettes?  I hate smoking.   I really do.  And tequila shots - I don't remember when I last did those -- but I guess that's the idea with tequila you never really remember.   But I smoked several as we did the girl-bonding thing at the bar, surrounded by Nascar-loving men who just wanted to watch the Penn State game on TV and didn't really need to overhear our conversations about boobs, jobs, kids, sex, handbags, boys and shoes.   I could have had a couple more shots.    But that would have been too much like my trolley trip to Tijuana.

So then Lori, who is the size of my left leg so tequila effects her much more rapidly than it does me, proclaims.... "YOU GUYS ARE FUN.       YOU'RE FUN.     FUN!"   

Beth and I were like.... "Ohhhh-kay - uh, Lori? did you JUST realize this after 10 years??"

Ooops my mom is picking me up in 10 minutes and I have to remove my facial mask so I'll pick this up - on the flip side!